always instructive and pleasing; but she is a poor listener. When my
part of the conversation comes in, her manner is depressing. I feel
embarrassed, my words become tangled, my memory leaves me, and I hurry
to close my remarks, conscious of having made a weak argument, although
I had a point when I began. My friend loses her easy manner when I
speak, becomes restless, and breaks in upon me before I have fairly
begun. Her unresponsive eyes tell me as plainly of her superiority as
though she had written it in black and white."
Clergymen, teachers, and public speakers understand and appreciate
better than others "the compliment of attention." Embarrassing, indeed,
is it to anyone who is talking to observe signs of weariness and
inattention on the part of one's hearers. Those not accustomed to stand
before an audience seldom realize that a speaker feels and understands,
without conscious endeavor, the attitude toward him of every member of
his audience. The good listener inspires and encourages him, while the
restless, inattentive auditor is a thorn in the flesh, irritating and
distracting.
At the close of a lecture given a few years ago in a town in Maine, the
lecturer--who was a state superintendent of schools--turned to the
writer and asked:
"Who are those two ladies dressed in black, standing there by the
window?"
After telling him their names the writer said, "Why do you ask?"
The lecturer replied: "They have been of great help to me all the
evening. They are delightful listeners. They appeared to appreciate so
thoroughly everything I said that I seemed to be talking especially for
their benefit."
"That girl," said a teacher, pointing to an attractive young lady just
leaving the school-room, "is the most restful pupil I ever had in my
school. She is so gentle in her demeanor, so thoughtful and so attentive
during recitations, that one cannot help loving her. No matter how
restless the other members of the school become, she is always giving
the closest attention. If one could have an entire school like her,
teaching would be a delight; but she is one among fifty."
We gain many things besides the good will of others, by being good
listeners, even though we must sometimes submit to be bored to an
unlimited degree without interrupting the speaker, or responding in any
other way than by "nods and becks and wreathed smiles."
"Open your mouth and shut your eyes and see what heaven will send you,"
says the old maxim; but, "shut your mouth and open your eyes," has been
suggested as much more sensible advice under some circumstances.
"But," you say, "we are told that Samuel Johnson, Tennyson and Macaulay,
and many other great thinkers, usually monopolized the conversation when
they were in company, and their friends delighted to listen to them.
Surely they gave but little heed to 'the compliment of attention.'" Very
true, but no doubt they would have been sometimes more agreeable to the
company if they had been more considerate of the wishes of other people.
Great men are great in spite of their weaknesses, not because of them.
We can forgive unpleasant propensities in a genius more easily than in
the average mortal, and as almost all of us are average mortals, without
a trace of anything akin to genius, we cannot afford to dispense with
any of those qualities which help to make us pleasing to others. We
should remember that there was but one Macaulay--a man who could talk
brilliantly on almost all subjects--and notwithstanding his brilliancy,
his friends admitted that he was often something of a bore.
A very useful lesson may be learned from a little story which appeared
some years ago in _The Youth's Companion_:
George Paul, a young civil engineer, while surveying a railway in the
Pennsylvania hills, met a plain, lovable little country girl, and
married her. After a few weeks he brought her home to his family in New
York, and left her there while he returned to camp.
Marian had laid many plans to win the affections of her new kinsfolk.
She had practiced diligently at her music; she was sure they would be
pleased to hear her stories of her beautiful sister and her brother; she
imagined their admiration of her new blue silk gown and winter bonnet.
But the Pauls, one and all, were indifferent to her music, her family
and her gowns. They gave "George's wife" a friendly welcome, and then
each went on his or her way, and paid no more attention to her.
After the first shock of disappointment Marian summoned her courage.
"If I have nothing to give them, they have much to give me," she
thought, cheerfully. She listened eagerly when Isabel sung, and her
smiles and tears showed how keenly she appreciated the music. She
examined Louisa's paintings every day with unflagging interest,
discussed every effect, and was happy if she could help mix the colors
or prepare the canvas. She questioned grandma about her neuralgia,
advised new remedies, or listened unwearied to the account of old ones
day after day. When Uncle John, just returned from Japan, began to
describe his adventures, Marian was the only auditor who never grew
tired nor interrupted him.
After a two hours' lecture, in which her part had been that of a dumb,
bright-faced listener, Uncle John declared that George's wife was the
most intelligent woman he had ever met.
When George came home the whole family was loud in her praises.
She was a fine musician; she had unerring taste in art; she was
charming, witty and lovable. But George soon saw that she had won them
unconsciously--not by displaying her own merits, but by appreciating
theirs.
This is a true story in fact, but the truth of its meaning is repeated
wherever a woman is found who has that quality called charm. She may be
plain or even deformed, but she will win friendship and love.
Many an attractive girl would save herself much anxiety and vain effort
on her entrance into the world of society, if she understood that
society, so called, is composed of individuals, the most of whom desire
not to find the beauty, the wit, the talent of others, but to elicit the
cordial recognition by others, of their own.
THE VOICE.
_"Tender tones prevent severe truths from offending."_
_"There are tones which set commonplace words apart, and give them
lights and deeps of meaning, just as one fine emotion idealizes
and exalts a homely face."_
_"There is no power of love so effective as a kind voice. A kind
hand is deaf and dumb. It may be rough in flesh and blood, yet do
the work of a soft heart, and do it with a soft touch. But there
is no one thing that love so much needs as a sweet voice to tell
what it means and feels."_
In our efforts to please, while much depends upon what we say, quite as
much depends upon how we say it. The influence of a pleasing voice is
wonderful; who has not felt its charm?
It has been said that the greatest defect in the American woman is her
voice, and while this may not be strictly true, there are heard in
conversation at home and abroad many voices more unpleasant than
necessary--more harsh, more rasping.
A woman's voice may imply good breeding, or the reverse, and in
estimating the power of feminine charms, a pleasing voice should be
placed very near the head of the list. Is it not strange, then, that so
little effort is made to remedy defects in vocal expression?
We cultivate the voice for singing and for elocutionary effects, but
little is done for the average boy or girl by way of training the voice
for the everyday effect. Only a few can sing well enough to give
pleasure to others, but we all talk every day of our lives, and often
the quality of our voice speaks more significantly than the words we
utter. A sympathetic tone will often win us a friend, though what we say
may be of little importance. Purity of accent plays a great part in the
art of charming, and it has been truly said that "a woman may be ugly,
old, without distinction or instruction, but if she have a soft,
insinuating, mellow-toned voice, she will charm as much as her more
beautiful sister."
A telephone operator in a place near New York was on a certain Christmas
the recipient of checks for five, ten and a hundred dollars, a diamond
pin, a dress pattern, and eight boxes of confectionery; although she was
known to the donors only by her gentle voice, by the deference of its
tone, by her readiness to accommodate, and by her office number as one
of the operators.
Why is it that we regard vocal training and oral expression as something
to be confined wholly to the specialists? We think such training is
needed by public speakers and readers, and by all who intend to make a
professional use of the voice, but we do not appreciate its value for
the average man or woman.
"What should we think," says _Expression_, "of a woman who dresses in
the richest of apparel, who is extremely careful of every point of
dress, but who speaks with a nasal twang and throaty tone, and makes no
effort to correct the fault? We know that this is often the case. Why is
not the inconsistency corrected? Why is there no endeavor to improve the
voice and make it beautiful and winning? What a sensitiveness people
exhibit about going abroad with a smudge on the face; but, alas! there
is little sensitiveness regarding a smudge on one's voice.
The truth is that voice culture should not be confined to the few, but
should become a prescribed branch of the education of boys and girls
generally. Not alone are the voices of the women too often unmelodious,
but those of the men also need attention. A fine voice may be of
inestimable value to a man. The majority of the celebrated orators have
been aided by the possession of a good voice, along with the knowledge
requisite to enable them to employ it effectively. Mr. Lecky says that
O'Connell's voice, rising with a melodiously modulated swell, filled the
largest auditoriums and triumphed over the wildest tumult, while at the
same time it conveyed every shade of feeling with the most delicate
flexibility.
Mr. Gladstone's voice is said to have had the musical quality and the
resonance of a silver trumpet; while William Pitt, who was a ruler in
Parliament at the age of twenty-one, possessed a voice of masterful
power yet of a wonderful sweetness.
Webster's voice, on the occasion of his reply to Senator Dickinson, was
so commanding, so forceful, that one of his listeners said he felt all
the night as if a heavy cannonade had been resounding in his ears.
Garrick used to say that he would give one hundred guineas if he could
say "Oh" as Whitefield would say it.
"But," you declare, "nature has not given us voices like the voices of
those celebrated men, and we must be content with what we have."
While nature may not have bestowed upon us their melodious voices, we
can do much to improve our own. A study of biography will inform us that
many of the most successful speakers, whether actors or orators, have
been men and women possessing some native defect of speech or figure
which they resolutely mastered by patient, persevering application. We
all know of Demosthenes' impediment of speech, and are familiar with the
story of his months of struggle and his final success.
Savonarola, when he first spoke in the cathedral at Florence, was
considered a failure, on account of his wretched voice and awkward
manner. Phillips Brooks, one of the greatest preachers America has
produced, was told by his college president that the ministry was out of
the question for him because of his nervousness and the defects of his
speech.
It would be easy to multiply instances to show that the most awkward
body and the roughest voice may be brought under control. In fact, where
the voice is imperfect and the man is obliged to make a determined
effort to master it, he attains by this means, a mental vigor and an
emotional strength and a flexibility of voice and mind, as well as a
command over the body, which render his delivery in the highest degree
effective.
Again, it is not sufficient that we have naturally a melodious voice;
we must know how, or else learn how, to use it. There must be feeling
and expression in one's tones. If we wish to express cordiality, words
are futile unless the voice sounds the feeling we wish to express. We
need to learn how to modulate the voice so as to make it a true reflex
of the mind and mood. Unless it tells of sincerity, apologies fail to
convince of a contrite spirit. Unless it conveys confidence,
protestations are in vain; yet the very tone of one's voice may allay
bitterness, though one may stumble over the words of an apology. If,
then, one recognizes the fact that his voice is colorless and devoid of
feeling, though his heart be warm, let him at once apply himself to
remedying the defect.
Listen to your own voice when speaking, and note the harsh, strident
tones, and the imperfect inflection, and correct them. Many girls speak
in a nervous, jerky, rapid way, beginning a sentence and repeating a
portion of it two or three times before completing it. Some speak in
high, shrill tones which are not only displeasing but positively
irritating because discordant. Some speak too fast, while others, going
to the opposite extreme, simply drawl. These are defects which can be
corrected, and, by correcting them we add measurably to our power to
charm.
If you do not understand the imperfections of your tone productions, or
the faults in your manner of speaking, or if you have trouble in
correcting them, go to one who does know, and who is as sensitive to the
speaking voice as he is to the singing voice. It may cost you something
to do this, but it will be money judiciously expended. You take music
lessons, both vocal and instrumental, and you do not consider the money
expended for such lessons as wasted even though you have no intention of
going upon the stage in opera or of becoming a professional pianist. You
study music as an accomplishment. Why then should you not give some
time, and if need be, a little money for the purpose of perfecting your
speaking voice, if by so doing you can make yourself more agreeable to
others. You may not be called upon very often to sing or play for other
people, but you will talk every day and many times each day, and the
voice is "the agent of the soul's expression."
"The art of singing," says _The Boston Herald_, "strange to say, does
not include the art of speaking, for some very fine singers have harsh
and unmusical voices in conversation. But with all the training now
given to the rising generation, voice education should be considered.
Take the rasp and the hardness out of your sons' and daughters' speech,
and give them another grace with which to conquer society."
The importance of what we say and how we say it, has never been more
clearly or pointedly expressed than in this quotation from an American
writer: "A man may look like a monkey and yet turn out to be a
philosopher; a man may dress like a vagabond, and yet have the
intuitions of a scholar and a gentleman. The face, the expression of the
eye, the dress, the manner even, may all be deceptive, but the voice and
speech of men and women classify them infallibly."
GOOD MANNERS.
_Life is not so short but that there is always time for
courtesy._
EMERSON.
_"Politeness is real kindness kindly expressed. This is the sum
and substance of all true politeness. Put it in practice and all
will be charmed with your manner."_
_Young men generally would doubtless be thoroughly astonished
if they could comprehend at a single glance how greatly their
personal happiness, popularity, prosperity, and usefulness
depend on their manners._
J. G. HOLLAND.
In attracting others to us the value of a pleasing manner cannot be
estimated. It is like sunshine. We feel it at once, and we are attracted
to the person who possesses it.
"Give a boy address and accomplishments," said Emerson, "and you give
him the mastery of palaces and fortunes wherever he goes; he has not
the trouble of earning or owning them: they solicit him to enter and
possess."
Much has been written upon this subject. Indeed, so much has been said,
and said so well, that there will be little attempt to do anything else
in this chapter than to bring together some of the best thoughts of the
best authors.
The men and women who have accomplished great things in the world have,
as a rule, understood the value of politeness, and have acted in
accordance with that knowledge. You can, possibly, recall a very few
exceptions, but these were persons great in spite of their lack of
courtesy, and they would have been even greater had they practiced the
art of gentle manners.
The Duke of Marlborough, whose general education was in some respects
sadly neglected, had so irresistible a charm of manner that he swayed
the destinies of nations. Mirabeau, who was unattractive in person, won
by his politeness the good will of all with whom he came in contact.
There has been no time in the history of the world when good manners
counted for more than they do at the present time. In fact, to-day more
than ever before a man is dependent for success upon his personality.
Good manners often bring to one many things that wealth cannot procure,
and "politeness has won more victories than powder."
"No one," says an American writer, "who has any appreciation of grace
and beauty in nature or in art can fail to recognize the charm of fine
manners in an individual. We rejoice in them as we do in a lovely sunset
view, or a beautiful piece of architecture, or a fascinating poem, for
their own sake and for what they express; but even beyond this they have
another attraction in the magnetic power they exert upon all beholders
in setting them at ease, in sweeping away shyness, awkwardness and
restraint, and in stimulating them to the expression of whatever is best
worth cherishing within them."
It is undoubtedly true that the presence of fine manners, whether it be
in the home or the social circle, in the workshop or the counting-room,
in the visit of charity or the halls of legislation, has an immediate
effect in reproducing itself, in diffusing happiness, in developing the
faculties, and in eliciting the best that is in everybody.
Surely there is no quality that a girl or a woman can possess which
recommends her more favorably to the good opinion of others than that of
uniform courtesy and good manners.
William Wirt's letter to his daughter on the "small, sweet courtesies of
life," contains a passage from which a deal of happiness may be
learned. "I want to tell you a secret. The way to make yourself pleasant
to others is to show them attention. The whole world is like the miller
at Mansfield, who cared for nobody--no not he, because nobody cared for
him. And the whole world would serve you so, if you gave them the same
cause. Let everyone, therefore, see that you do care for them by showing
them the small courtesies in which there is no parade, whose voice is
still to please; and which manifest themselves by tender and
affectionate looks, and little acts of attention, giving others the
preference in every little enjoyment at the table, walking, sitting, or
standing."
Young men who wish to make their way in the world cannot afford to
forget that there is not in all the world a talisman of such potent
magic as the irresistible spell of a charming manner. While in some
cases it seems innate, it can, in a great measure, be acquired. Yet a
careful observer of the young men of the present generation cannot fail
to notice a tendency, on the part of some at least, to disregard the
small courtesies of life--the intangible, yet very perceptible little
things which make the man a gentleman. Some people even contend that
outward manner is a secondary consideration if the head is well stored
with knowledge, and that if a young man has the faculty to get on in
the world, it is a matter of very little importance if he have not the
manners of a Chesterfield. That this idea is prevalent is accounted for
by the great number of well-educated men--men of ability and power--who,
clever and with no lack of brains, are painfully deficient in good
breeding. With no intentional lapses they are awkward, presuming, and
even vulgar.
"In most countries," says the _Toronto Week_, "an educated man and a
gentleman are almost synonymous terms. On this side of the Atlantic they
by no means always apply to the same man. Educational advantages are
within the reach of all classes of people--even persons who have missed
the benefit of home training for their manners, or who have not numbered
cultured persons among their acquaintances. Such persons by native
ability and hard work often attain to high positions of honor and trust
in the various professions, and win for themselves the title of
'self-made.'
"Yet because a man by his brains, energy, and pluck carves out his own
fortune, putting himself in a prominent position, is it not very
desirable that he should also cultivate the courtesies of life so that
the talent be not hidden by roughness and uncultivated bearing."
We frequently meet college students--especially from the smaller
colleges--good, honest, earnest, ambitious fellows, who are working hard
to make their way in the world. They are poor, and have come from homes
where the stern realities of gaining a livelihood have left, apparently,
no time for culture; where the table manners are but little better than
those of the logging camp, and where the graces of refined speech and
manners have never even taken root. They may take never so high a rank
in their college studies, may pursue the work preparatory to a
profession with never so much diligence, yet they will always be
handicapped by their ignorance of those embellishments so necessary to
social, and even business, success. They find themselves continually
placed at a disadvantage, and their lack of social training is
responsible for failures which might have been avoided.
Because a man is a successful lawyer he is not justified in saying that
he can be his own tailor, or that ill-fitting clothes, if belonging to
him and of his own make, are as suitable as those of a good cut. So it
is with the intellectual giant who takes no heed of his manners. He may
learn much from less talented persons, who are, nevertheless, his
superiors in many respects. Desirable as it may be for a young man to
shun the extravagance of the aesthete, and to despise the shams of
society, he cannot afford to neglect the courtesies of life; and he
does well who, while devoting his energies to mathematics and the
classics, pays attention to the improvement of his manners. It is while
young that manners are formed; the most strenuous efforts will not
wholly eradicate in after life the awkward habits formed in youth.
The young man who is ambitious, upon whom Dame Fortune is already
turning a dawning smile, should pause and think about this matter. Some
time he may be rich; some time he may aspire to a high position in
society or in public life, and he should begin early to fit himself for
the proud position he means to occupy.
The outward address of a man has no little influence upon his success in
business. The polite attention and readiness to meet every reasonable,
and often unreasonable, demand of his customers, on the part of A. T.
Stewart, when he opened his narrow linen store on Broadway, was almost
as important a factor in his rapid success in securing business as his
remarkable quickness in discovering changes in the market, and in
adapting his goods to the taste and necessities of his patrons. This
marked self-restraint and politeness of manner he retained to the last.