84 SELF'COySCIOUHNESS. 



cares for is in the lust resort merelv the effect his 

 reimirk may be siipposeil to liave upon the sin- 

 loundiiig listeners. Not that lie is striving after 

 effect, poor fellow! lie is far too nervous un<l 

 self-conscious for that. All that lie desires is, 

 without absolutely effacing and annihilating him- 

 self, to escape notice in the unnumbered crowd of 

 his fellow-creatures. lie wishes to live what [)oets 

 advise us all, a life of obscurity. If he makes a 

 remark, it is dragged out of him by a stern sense 

 of tiie absolute necessity of saying something. 

 He speaks, not because he has something he de- 

 sires to say, but because he feels other people 

 expect him to contribute his poor little quotum to 

 the passing conversation. 



In the case of women the miseries of self- 

 consciousness are even more poignant and more 

 unendurable. A girl may be pretty, engaging, 

 attractive, modest ; she may have a sweet disposi- 

 tion and a sufficient stock of intelligence for the 

 world at large, as at present constituted ; but, if 

 once this terrible demon of self-reflection takes 

 possession of her, she will never know another 

 hour of quiet happiness in the society of her 

 unsuspecting fellow-creatures. How am I look- 

 ing? What are they thinking of me? Am I 

 pale to-night? Have I an unbecoming coJ/L)r? 

 Am T saying everything I ought to say? Have 

 I put my foot into it with anybody? Oh, how 



