But I should be talking about tea, not smoking; and tea has other baneful influences besides destroying the digestion.  I think that afternoon tea is the time that breeds more gossip and scandal than any other hour in the day.

As Young exclaims:—­

    “Tea!  How I tremble at thy fatal stream! 
    As Lethe dreadful to the love of fame. 
    What devastations on thy bank are seen,
    What shades of mighty names that once have been! 
    A hecatomb of characters supplies
    Thy painted alters’ daily sacrifice!”

Acquaintances drop in.  They have all the latest doings of the neighborhood at their fingers’ ends, and in a quarter of an hour have picked everyone of their most intimate friends to pieces, nor do they leave them a shred of character.

Why do we feel such a relish in running down our friends and relations—­the latter especially? I quite enjoy it, though I should never do so outside my own family; thus my words never come round to their ears.  It is a necessity to relieve your feelings occasionally, and your family is a good, safe receptacle.

For those who have a taste for speaking spitefully of their neighbors, I can suggest an amusing game which was, I believe, started in Oxford.  It is called Photograph whist, and is played by four.  Two or three dozen photographs are dealt round, and each person plays one, he who plays the ugliest portrait taking the trick.  The more hideous the photograph, the greater its value as a trump!  I have played the game with a man who always keeps his brother to the end, and then brings him out with enormous success, the said brother never failing to overtrump any other card in the pack!  So you see it is a most amiable game altogether.  You must only be careful not to spread your doings abroad, or no one will present you with their portraits ever again.

There is no sin so bad as being found out.  You can say anything as long as you are not discovered to be the originator.  But if your words against a person ever happen to get round to him or her (of course added to, and made almost unrecognizable in their progress) you make an enemy for life.  At least, this is so as a rule.  Personally, I never care what people say against me, so long as it is not true.  But if they only keep to the truth, then it is aggravating.  You cannot deny it!  You cannot “tremble with indignation, and fling the words back in their faces,” as the slandered heroine always does in the modern novel.  You must simply submit to the accusation.

A man I know was saying all round the place a little while ago, that my sisters and I “were all good looking until we opened our mouths.”  Of course we heard of it, and have never forgiven him for his “damning praise.”  But it is true.  We always admit the fact.  We know we show our teeth too much when we laugh and talk.  It was impossible to disclaim such a statement.  If he had said that we squinted, not a syllable would have been pronounced against him.  Our eyes are all exceptionally good, and would bear any detrimental remarks.  But no, he kept to the truth, and consequently has suffered ever since, for ways of revenge have been found which were thoroughly successful.  He is the ugliest man I ever met too, and should therefore have been the last to offend.