THE HABIT OF FRIVOLITY.
By H. Clay Trumbull
THE duty of being cheerful is one which is at all times binding upon us. We have no right to be morose or sullen, or to accustom ourselves to look on the dark side of things. No sense of the solemnity and importance of life can excuse us for giving way to a sour and unhappy temper. Though sadness must at times fall across our path, and our hearts and souls be often impressed with the weight and seriousness of imposed duty or of surrounding circumstances, yet sadness and seriousness ought by no means to be considered synonymous with gloom and despondency. From the exercise of trustfulness and cheerfulness, in a high and true sense, we are never absolved, whatever discouragements or temptations beset us. But cheerfulness and frivolity are utterly different things, and those who confound them make a sad mistake. Some of the noblest and serenest natures, which are cheerful and wholesome the whole year round, cannot assume a manner of light playfulness, nor utter tripping words of banter and jest, nor rouse their companions to a merry laugh. And on the other hand, there often lies beneath the thin veneering of real or affected gayety, wherewith men and women win the reputation of being happy and hearty, a true disposition toward insincerity and cowardice and cynicism, and all the essentials of genuine misery. True cheerfulness, whatever its reserve and modesty, will surely show itself sooner or later—if not in spontaneous outbursts at unimportant times, then all the more at such seasons of trial or danger as threaten to overwhelm the more superficial nature. But the frivolous mind, however it may seek to conceal its real character behind its slender barricade of outward manner or spoken word, is equally certain to reveal to others, at some time when it is least prepared, the essential feebleness and the consequent wretchedness and misery which it fain would cover. Since frivolity is plainly to be distinguished from that wholesome and natural gayety which is either innocent or positively praiseworthy, it often seems strange that persons of a frivolous disposition so deceive themselves as to the effect which they produce upon others. Every community, however small, is pretty sure to contain within its society, and sooner or later to rate at his true value, some person—man or woman—whose walk and talk are utterly given over to the frivolous and the trifling. If the conversation turns upon some topic of the utmost importance to religious or social welfare, such persons find nothing in the words of those who are wiser than they, save material for some cheap pun or would-be witticism. If news comes to their ears of a sad casualty, or a woeful downfall of personal character, they gayly intimate that “those people won’t travel on that railroad again,” or that “he has been found out at last.” By them a political revolution is measured by its effect on their personal comfort, and a foreign war is reckoned only in view of its effect upon the price of dry goods. All the true work of life—in the line of the betterment of men’s souls, the instruction of their minds, or the welfare of their bodies—is to them but food for playful jest and humorous sally. They seek to conceal ignorance on some important subject by hollow jokes or ill-timed personalities, and they seem to think that their own superior wisdom and importance are sufficiently proven by the fact that they are, in their idle way, more ready to attack and criticize than to defend and upbuild. If the habit of frivolity were only a thing affecting young men and young women in their389“salad days,” it would still be sad enough to look at, and hard enough to endure. But it is a habit which grows apace with all indulgence of it, and too often fastens itself upon the adult character so that it can be shaken off, if at all, only by an effort that shakes the whole moral nature. And it must be shaken off, else it will surely bring one down to the lowest depths of that woe and misery at which it has so long laughed and mocked. A time of storm and stress is sure to come—a time beneath which the nature accustomed to nothing better than frivolity is sure to quail. And whether in life or death—for a frivolous death is really no worse than a frivolous life—he must indeed have little forethought or brief experience, who thinks to escape a tempest by relying upon any habit of jocose speaking or superficial thinking, however long and however painstakingly that habit may have been acquired.—H. Clay Trumbull.