SCENES.

CONSIDERING how popular fiction is, and that it mainly depends for its charm on scenes-that is, on humanity being exhibited in its more striking combinations, where the whole nature is stirred by emotion of some kindit is strange what a universal horror there is of a scene in real, actual life. The very idea of being exposed to one puts us under the apprehension of being made painfully ridiculous, of being taken possession of, and losing the guardianship of ourselves. Every one shares the dread. Amongst people who represent society, the recoil is unanimous. Of course, the alarm is greatest where something harrowing and distressing is apprehended, and this needs little accounting for; but mere pleasurable excitement, if it threatens their serenity, is a thing that well-to-do, comfortable people always eschew if they can. Now we suspect that men generally assume this reluctance to having their feelings meddled with to arise from the fact that something very startling some effect of roused emotion which should.

shake them to their centres-would be the consequence of breaking through their crust of reserve. They take for granted they must be cold and self-restrained outwardly, because they have such a great deal of feeling at bottom, though kept religiously out of sight. There are people, for instance, who never will say good-bye, or encounter a parting, because they cannot stand it. Now we do not want scenes to come into fashion, and should be sorry to see the world turn maudlin and sentimental; but still there is a view of this horror of scenes, and this extreme solicitude to avoid them, which seems to us more in accordance with probability than the one thus readily acquiesced in. Men imagine they are afraid of any expression of feeling because they might risk exposing themselves by some unmanly excess of vehement emotion; but have they not also other grounds for evading the trial? We greatly suspect that, under this superficial belief that we should be too deeply moved in certain situations—perhaps torn and convulsed by tragic or pathetic passion-there is a lurking, unacknowledged misgiving that possibly we should not be moved enough for our credit, or even for our self-esteem: for to discover that the crust is impenetrable-in fact no crust at all, but just nether millstone inside and out-would be by no means gratifying to our self-love. Yet people whose feelings are never reached, who carefully keep themselves out of the way of having them tried, are much more likely to have too little feeling than too much. And how many injustices and cruelties are committed, how many

abuses go on, because of this dread of breaking the tranquil surface of things! And why this dread? Because there is a vague notion that people cannot bear-that they would sink under, or be permanently injured by things which they could bear perfectly well, and which would not injure them at all. We are convinced that too much feeling, as a disinterested benevolent affection, is one of the very rarest excesses to be found in human nature. The purest feeling submits to the inevitable; and, when tinged with selfishness and obstinacy, it yields and calms itself, with whatever illgrace, so soon as nothing is to be gained by holding out.

The majority of men, from the habit of indulging a selfish fear of pain and annoyance, have not feeling enough-they would be ashamed of themselves if they knew how little. We are justified in saying this of any one who, when nature and the occasion demand some expression, makes no sign-who is cold and forbidding when he ought to be warm and sympathising. We cannot believe in any feeling that never shows itself; or only on extreme occasions which disorganise the mind and will; though there is a romantic notion the reverse of this, connecting a stern impassive manner, under all ordinary trials, with hidden fires and a world of unexpressed passion if it could but be reached. It may be that peculiar circumstances will rouse the smouldering flame into a brief conflagration; we may see a struggle of half temper, half feeling, in these harder natures; but what good does it do, and why do we prize it because it is hard to reach? It is not fair

to value pity or tenderness in proportion as they are unwillingly given; and yet how often it is so! "You have no heart there, my dear Fontenelle," said a witty Frenchwoman, laying her hand on the waistcoat of her friend, "it is another brain;" but if Fontenelle could have been betrayed under extreme pressure to exhibit some symptoms of humanity, there are many who would deem the emotion, when it came, all the choicer and more precious for its rarity; and so, probably, would the man himself, taking good care at the same time that the thing should never happen again.

But even where there is the average of heart and kindliness, how little cause is there for alarm on this head! How soon people get over things! Which of our acquaintance have we any reason to suppose has permanently suffered by his feelings? How rarely have we seen our friends deeply moved! And if we have on some trying occasion, what harm has it done them to sound for awhile the hidden depths of their nature, and how long did the pressure last? We do not wish it otherwise. We are not complaining that passionate feeling is not lasting there would be no peace, no living, if it were; but we argue from it that the alarm about scenes is not really chargeable to any excess of sentiment in most of us. We are all made of pretty tough material, and can bear a good deal. In some the objection may no doubt be traced to a reasonable and dignified reluctance to having our more secret subtle life intruded upon without urgent necessity. In the majority, it arises from that preference of the super

ficial over the deep, as involving little trouble and taking least out of us, which is amongst the most universal of human characteristics, and which leads us constantly to prefer the pleasure that costs us least effort, even while we know intenser enjoyment from the exercise of our nobler faculties to be within reach. In a great many, it is attributable to the opinion that affected shallow natures revel in scenes, and therefore that manliness must keep clear of every expression of feeling. There are people, no doubt, the opposite of those we have hitherto discussed, who have a relish. for excitement of the weeping, demonstrative, tragic sort-people who, from natural fussiness and the want of good social training, love to display themselves in melodramatic action, and whose fancy is easily caught and tickled by sudden, and, as it seems to them, touching situations. While they are expressing as much real emotion as is in them, they are not insensible to an agreeable consciousness of doing the thing well and putting colder natures to shame. These persons, from thinking a good deal of themselves, and very likely of their family peculiarities, have less tact than their neighbours, and are apt to enlist unwilling recruits into the service of their gushing effusions; and they may well make scenes a term of horror and reproach to us all by getting them up with unsympathising seconds, caught at unawares, who have to walk through their part in unspeakable quandary and confusion.

It is much the same spirit which enjoys these little emotional dramas that dictates the grand pompous