GOOD ADVICE.
'Write, write, write, a letter. Good advice will make us better. Father, mother, sister, brother, Let us all advise each ether."
rhyme was repeated to the present writer by a member of a large family in which it is constantly quoted, and literally carried out. The composer, who was one of the clan, is dead and gone; it was written in 1820. What a fearful waste of good advice there is in the world. One wonders in what spiritual lumber-rooms it is all stored, so many people,
ask for more than they. want, and so many offer more than any one else has a use for. Within the confines of the family a certain prodigality in the matter of advice is not, after all, to be deprecated. It tends to keep the family intimate, and makes a good excuse for that intellectual luxury which is almost a necessary, personal conversation. Outside the family more economy should be practised, lest we not only advise but bore each other. We are inclined to think that the man who continually asks advice is a greater bore than the man who continually offers it. The first is anxious to talk about himself; the latter as a rule desires to talk about his neighbours. Very young people form an exception to this as to all other rules. They will talk about themselves, and they will give advice also. Not long ago the present writer beard a very young curate preaching in a country church. He explained to all the clergy—Bishops, priests, and deacons—in the cities and towns of England exactly why they had failed to convert the working classes and to solve the problem of urban poverty, and gave them good advice for the correction of their obvious mistakes. There were no clergy there to listen to him, and his words floated away over the heads of labouring men and country gentry into the warm summer air. Yet he was not exactly a bore, because in a sense he was talking all the while about the only thing of which he had any real knowledge, and that was himself, revealing under a light covering easily pierced by middle-aged eyes his own ideals, ambitions, and schemes of social salvation. The advice of the young is almost always interesting, there is something about it which is so untrammelled. Experience dulls the didactic imagination.
An inclination to advise is not a bad trait in character even when youth is passed. It shows a keen interest in human affairs, large and small, and a willingness to accept responsibility. The consent which life extracts from some men and more women to let the world go its own way, to lay no restraining hand upon the shoulder of friend or acquaintance, means that the mainspring of the nature has been broken, and that the whole character has become passive. It is a strange attitude, witnessing to a great deal of suffering, but accompanied very often by a strong sense of humour. But most of those who refrain always from advising refrain out of pure selfishness. Their own affairs give them trouble enough, they reflect, without mixing themselves up in other people's. Like most of the unsympathetic, they have an unnatural fear of blame. No doubt there are a few inveterate advisers who will take no responsibility in action, and risk nothing in their proper person,—timid people who would never take the sort of advice they give, but who love to counsel boldness. When their advice has been taken and has succeeded, they feel that they have actually done the deed they advised, and feel also that they have gone up propor- tionately in their own eyes. Indeed, the giving of advice is one of their methods of keeping on good terms with them- selves. If another man got the V.C. by their advice, they would themselves wear it for life—in imagination. On the other hand, if he died in the attempt, they would but sigh a little over their own too great hardihood. Perhaps the most irritating men and women in the world are those who ask for advice, receive it with contempt, think it over, take it, and with it the credit of the whole transaction.
Some women give advice exactly as they read novels, or as their children play with dolls. It is their method of passing the time. They are deeply interested in all the human stor;m they come across, and go on with a tale themselves when the narrative stops. Their advice is sometimes dramatic, sometimes ingenious, seldom very practical. They never think about it again after they have given it, and would not be.able, for want of memory, to question the recipient a little while after as to whether he had taken it. Moral advice is almost always offered unasked, and is very seldom any good. Yet it is usually given with a good heart, and often by com- petent persons. Very frequently it has no effect, but to set tip the receiver's back, Now and then, when moral advice is simply an expression of deep affection and concern, it may have a tremendous effect; but then one wonders whether it is love, and not counsel, which has prevailed over the wayward. We believe the great iealon of its inefficacy to be that it seldom throws any new light upon the questions at issue. In spite of all the wits and naodern philosophers, every man does practically know right from wrong, aid the man 3vho urges
him to choose the former is only telling him what he knows already. Of course there are a few people who have a perfect terror of any advice. They dare not speak of their affairs lest any one should offer it to them. They fear the very shadow of interference in a manner which makes one think they have little power to stand against it, and generally there is a very real weakness of purpose hidden under a show of strength.
An immense variety of motives lead both men and women to ask advice. A few are actuated by the simple desire for guidance. Some people have no practical ability, and know they have none. They ask advice as a blind beggar asks assistance, and unless they are—which is not impossible— admirable judges of character they are a prey to the indis- criminate charity of the world. Some women, though they cannot weigh the advice they get, never make a mistake in their choice of an adviser. It is their best claim to a vote; they pass for wise women, and have their households in sub- jection under them. Many men who cannot weigh the advice they receive are, if we may be allowed a somewhat incorrect expression, very clever at counting it. They ask the same question of many people, and make out the general opinion pretty shrewdly, and act upon it, never very foolishly, for, after all, there are more wise men than foolish, just as there are more good men than bad. At times the asking of advice is a mere method of flattery or a mere expression of vanity. The asking and giving of advice is a fairly sure way of bringing two people into relation, of arousing or of showing an interest.
We are inclined to think that the wisest men and women in the world ask advice fairly often, and are as open about their affairs as circumstances permit. They ask it not only of experts, but they ask it sometimes of their ordinary acquaint- ance, not to obtain direct guidance, but to get a new light, just as they read a new book on their own subject, not on the chance that they may reverse their point of view, but in the assurance that they will enlarge it. More wisdom is required in taking than in giving advice. It should seldom be taken whole. The great thing, as we believe, is to take none which is out of character. To do so is to regret it. If we are naturally slow of decision, we shall be hurried into promptness at our peril. If we are by nature placable and polite, we must not take advice to be arbitrary even in the best cause. If we are impulsive, we should take counsel with a man of the same temperament and stronger mind ; but not with the phlegmatic, though he be the wisest slowcoach on earth. We all know our own defects, and if we are decent people at all our moral constitution has set up certain com- pensations. To disturb these is to court failure. So far as the isolated act is concerned, rashly accepted advice may be good enough—and successful enough—but how are we to go on? We have started on a course which is out of character, and we shall stumble until we get back into our stride.
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