The Art and Mystery of Scolding.
By Ambrose Clay
I TAKE it for granted that all who practice the art and mystery of scolding do so with high aims and lofty ambitions. To scold upon impulse and without method is the fashion of a barbarous age. It is as much a blunder as to write poems without meter, or to build houses without proportion. The true scold is as much an artist as the painter. Talent varies, it is true, but the great principles remain the same. Even Titian must handle a brush, and the most gifted scold must not neglect the rules of his profession. It is well to remember, also, that, while talent is hereditary, its development in our children depends upon the example which we set before them. For we learn to scold, as we learn to speak, by hearing those about us. Therefore we ought to strive for consummate success, knowing that, even if we fail, we shall have insured a triumph for those who shall come after us. The rules of art are few, but they are inexorable. Eight lamps there are which light the way of the elegant and thorough-going scold. First, never scold when you are angry. Anger is hard to reconcile with elegance. If you neglect this rule, you are likely to win the character of a common, or vulgar scold, which will injure your chances in the higher walks of the profession. Before all other things, self-control is needed to make you a master in your art. If an occasion arises for its exercise, study well your part. Never act hastily. It is an admirable plan to retire, and, taking pen and paper, to commit the words you are about to use to writing. Thus they can be filed away, and will always be ready in case you wish to publish. The play of your fancy may greatly embellish them. Yet too frequent quotations from the poets cannot be recommended. It is always best to commit the very words to memory. Ladies should never fail to take a parting look in the mirror before going out to the exercise of their art. A marble brow is indispensable, and crumpled hair or an unpinned collar will mar the finest effort. I once knew a man who entirely lost the affection of his children by neglect of this first rule. He suffered himself to scold when he was angry; and, unfortunately, he was angry so often that his boys and girls mistook his art for earnest. Second, never scold upon an empty stomach. It is undignified. Before dinner little things seem great. The stomach and the eyes are intimately connected. Do not waste your sweetness on the hungry air. Save your tragic scowl for great occasions. Third, never scold if the matter can be mended. The man who leaves his baby in the fire while he scolds the nurse for dropping him in, is a bungler and a Philistine. There is neither sweetness nor light about him. He should pull the child out first, and then withdraw to act as recommended under the first rule. You cannot too often repeat to yourself that entire self-control is indispensable to the success of the consummate scold. Fourth, never scold if the matter cannot be mended. Do not be led astray by the fallacious cry of, "Art for art's sake." You might as well carve the east wind in stone, or build a fire of pebbles, as to scold or cry over spilled milk. A family once started for a picnic, and Johnny was charged to put the lunch basket under the seat. While he was looking for his fish-hooks, his father called him, and he left the basket on the kitchen table. No one thought to ask about it until they were ten miles on their way. Now here was a chance for the father to show his training. If he had been a really elegant scold, knowing that the matter could not be mended he would have held his tongue and gone to the hotel for dinner. Poor Johnny was sorry enough, seeing his mother's look and the faces of his sisters. In imagination he saw the cookies and the pie, lonely and forsaken on the kitchen table, and he saw them with an empty stomach. I regret to state that his father was a bungler. In open defiance of this rule, he sent Johnny to the country store for crackers and cheese, and scolded him until he made up his mind to run away from home and be a cowboy. If we can ever get a general convention of free and accepted scolds, we will read that father out of the organization. Fifth, always scold the right person. I knew a man who used to get angry with his wife, and go out to the stable and scold and whip his horse. It is quite common, I am sorry to say, for men to visit the discomforts of their business on their wives. Ministers sometimes get the blues for want of exercise or want of faith, and then go to church and scold their congregations. I have even known a woman to scold her son in public, when she really meant it for her husband. Now all this is highly inartistic, and should be avoided by every accomplished scold. Sixth, never scold those whom you love. It is waste of good material. You can influence them more easily in other ways. It is characteristic of all good art that it never uses an unnecessary stroke, nor seeks display for its own sake. Its work is done in the most direct and simple way. Remember that scolding is not the only art of which you are to be master. You will do well to reserve it for those occasions when it stands unrivaled. Above all, you ought to love children. Never waste your skill on them. They cannot appreciate the finer touches of your art, any more than they would understand Homer, or enjoy the frieze of the Parthenon. Keep a pocket full of sugar-plums for them; they are better suited to their capacity. Seventh, always scold at the right time. I have known men to scold a minister just as he was going into the pulpit, to the utter ruin of his discourse. I have known mothers to scold children just as they started for school—to make them love the street better than the home, I suppose—and to whip them just as they went to bed—to bring them pleasant dreams. I have even heard of ministers who scolded their Lord's people at the communion table, though I confess this seems incredible. I know of men who are mean enough to scold their overworked and ailing wives, which does not surprise me, since I know that wife-beating is a common crime. All these things are lamentably inartistic. A really cultivated taste is annoyed by them, and the offender loses caste among his fellow-scolds. Lastly, when you are through, stop! It is a vulgar ambition which impels you to go on forever. Quality is to be studied before quantity. A famous artist once said to me that his difficulty was to know when a picture is finished. "There is a point," he said, "beyond which you cannot go with advantage; for when that is reached, every additional stroke mars the whole effect." Find this point of ideal beauty in your scolding, and when you have reached it, stop! A continual dropping may remind your hearers of hard words which were written long ago in an old-fashioned book. If further directions are needed for complete success in this lovely and delightful art, you will find them drawn out at some length in the third chapter of the epistle of James.—Ambrose Clay, in Congregationalist.