The first rule of speaking well is to think well.--MME. DE
LAMBERT.
Attention is a tacit and continual compliment.--MME. SWETCHINE.
Gravity is a stratagem invented to conceal the poverty of the
mind.--LA ROCHEFOUCAULD.
To discuss an opinion with a fool is like carrying a lantern
before a blind man.--DE GASTON.
To use many circumstances ere you come to matter is wearisome;
and to use none at all is blunt.--BACON.
That is the happiest conversation where there is no
competition, no vanity, but only a calm, quiet interchange of
sentiment.--JOHNSON.
If you your lips
Would keep from slips,
Five things observe with care:
Of whom you speak,
To whom you speak,
And how, and when, and where.
If you your ears
Would save from jeers,
These things keep meekly hid:
Myself and I,
And mine and my,
And how I do or did.
Though there are not many persons that seem to think so, still it
is true that the value of no other accomplishment can be compared
with that of a thorough knowledge of one’s mother tongue, be that
tongue what it may. The most of us do more or less talking in the
course of every one of our waking hours, and we impress those
that hear us, favorably or unfavorably--as far as our culture is
concerned--according to the manner in which we express ourselves.
The tones of the voice, the construction of our sentences, the
choice of our words, and the manner in which we pronounce and
articulate them--all have their influence in impressing, either
favorably or unfavorably, even the most unlettered. How desirable
then it is that we should cultivate the graces of speech, which are
first among the rudiments of the Art of Conversation!
“There is a part of our education,” says a clever English writer,
“so important and so neglected in our schools and colleges, that
it cannot be too highly impressed on the young man that proposes
to enter society. I mean the part that we learn first of all
things, yet often have not learned well when death eases us of
the necessity--the art of speaking our own language. In every-day
life the value of Greek and Latin, French and German is small,
when compared with that of English. We are often encouraged to
raise a laugh at Doctor Syntax and the tyranny of grammar, but we
may be certain that many misunderstandings arise from a want of
grammatical precision.
“There is no society without interchange of thought, and since the
best society is that in which the best thoughts are interchanged in
the best and most comprehensible manner, it follows that A PROPER
MODE OF EXPRESSING OURSELVES IS INDISPENSABLE IN GOOD SOCIETY.”
“The commonest thought well put,” says another English writer, “is
more useful, in a social point of view, than the most brilliant
idea jumbled out. What is well expressed is easily seized, and
therefore readily responded to; the most poetic fancy may be lost
to the hearer if the language that conveys it is obscure. Speech is
the gift that distinguishes man from the lower animals and makes
society possible. He has but a poor appreciation of his privilege
as a human being who neglects to cultivate ‘God’s great gift of
speech.’”
“The manner in which things are said,” says a French philosopher,
“is almost as important as the things themselves. For one man that
judges you by your thought there are twenty that judge you by the
manner in which your thought is presented. Not only should your
words be well chosen, but your bearing should be self-possessed and
the tones of your voice agreeable.”
M. L. H., in _Lippincott’s Magazine_ for February, 1883, writes
very instructively on the art of conversation as follows: “How
seldom it is that one enjoys the pleasure of a real conversation,
taking the word to mean something more than the casual chat
of calling acquaintances, and something different from the
confidential intercourse of familiar friends!
“There is no pastime more delightful in its way than the leisurely
talk of a company of congenial persons met for the simple
enjoyment of one another’s society, the agreeable interchange
of ideas and sentiments, and it would seem that this pleasure
should be an easily attainable one. As a matter of fact, however,
the entertainment is not so cheap and easy to be had as might be
supposed.
“It is a privilege restricted mostly to the dwellers in our larger
cities, where, although social life may have a tendency to form
itself into separate circles, yet each of these has a circumference
great enough to include a sufficient number of persons disposed
to draw together by natural affinities. In our smaller provincial
cities and towns there is, generally speaking, nothing that can
be called society, and conversation is not a lost art, but an art
unknown. In such places as these the hostess who should offer her
guests no other entertainment than the conversation of their equals
would, I fear, be thought to provide for them but badly. If this
be true, it certainly is a reflection upon those who compose this
provincial society so called: it seems to argue a lack of brains,
culture, and social tact, when the result of their gathering
together is only a common boredom.
“Yet, on second thoughts, this inability to make conversation
a mutually agreeable thing has its partial explanation in the
circumstances of the case. Each unit of the small provincial whole
lives in a narrow round of his own; his occupations and interests
are necessarily much the same as those of his neighbor, and it is
not possible for either of them to bring anything very novel or
amusing by way of contribution to the social repast. The daily
life of the resident of a large city is, by comparison, infinitely
varied and full of incident; he dines to-day with B. and meets C.
and D., but to-day is not the simple repetition of yesterday, for
then it was A. that entertained him, and the guests were E. and F.
“Doubtless there is an ideal of conversation that is not commonly
realized. It implies the gathering together of a certain--not
too large--number of men and women, each of whom is both able
and willing to play his individual part. It does not need the
possession of brilliant gifts in every member, nor even in any one
member of the company; it needs only a fair amount of intelligence
and culture, and of that ready perception of the drift and meaning
of the words of others, which may be called a sort of intellectual
tact. ‘The whole force of conversation,’ it has been said, ‘depends
upon how much you can take for granted. Vulgar chess-players have
to play the game out.’
“More than anything else, conversation implies individual
self-abnegation, the putting out of sight of large egotisms and
small vanities, and contentment with one’s due share of attention
only. There need not be agreement of opinion, but there must be
mutual tolerance.
“It also implies individual responsibility and the obligation of
every one to give of his best. Intellectual sloth has no place at
the feast of reason.
“One need not shine in the talk, but one must at least be able to
listen intelligently.
“How much of the charm of words lies in the manner in which they
are spoken! Our thoughts and sentiments have not one mode of
expression, but a hundred; the tone of the voice interprets the
meaning of the word, the glance and the smile soften or intensify
it.
“Conversation is seldom so agreeable as around a dinner-table of
the right size, where the talk is general and lively without
confusion. At a large gathering, where the company inevitably
breaks up into groups, conversation may flourish more or less
brightly, but never quite so well as where the guests are few and
congenial and form but a single circle.
“I often wonder why it is that there is such difficulty in getting
people to unite in making the talk general. Some perverse instinct
seems to drive them to split apart; the force of repulsion is
stronger than that of attraction; six or eight persons are engaged
in four duets, and, if the talk begins to flag between numbers one
and two, nothing better occurs to them than to exchange partners
with three and four and raise a distracting cross-fire. If I
want to see a friend alone, it is usually easy to accomplish it;
but if I try to hold a pleasant conversation with three or four
other friends at the same time, they too often appear to conspire
together to defeat my wish.”
If one would have an agreeable manner in conversation, there are
certain things that must be attended to:
1. _One must cultivate repose._ The man that fidgets, tugs at
his beard, runs his fingers through his hair, rubs his hands,
cracks his finger-joints, grates his teeth, or indulges in
much gesticulation, while very likely he sits cross-legged and
swings one foot, is never an agreeable person to talk with. This
restlessness is always an evidence of weakness. That kind of
strength that brings with it a feeling that one is equal to the
situation is always accompanied with that quiet self-possession
that we call repose.
2. _One must avoid interrupting._ Always let your interlocutor
finish what he has to say. Note the points that you would reply
to, and wait patiently till it is your turn to speak. The world
is full of ill-bred persons that have the habit of breaking in
on the speaker as soon as he says anything they would reply to,
or that suggests a thought. Wait, I repeat, and wait patiently
and respectfully, as the American Indian always does, till your
interlocutor has finished. Men that continually interrupt are
always men whose early training was very faulty. With such men
_conversation_ is impossible.
3. _One must learn to listen._ It is not sufficient to keep
silent. You should be attentive, seem to be interested and not
wear the expression of a martyr. There are those whose mien when
they listen seems to say: “Will he ever get through and let me
give breath to the words of wisdom!” or, “Poor me, how long will
this torture last!” or, “When you get through, I’ll show you in a
word or two what nonsense you talk!” Such listeners are generally
persons that think their utterances much more heavily freighted
with wisdom than other people think them.
4. _One must learn not to speak too long at a time._ The social
monologist is one of the most disagreeable characters one ever
meets with. There are two species of them. To the one belong those
egotistic, patronizing creatures that seem to take pity on you and
do all the talking in order to put you at ease in their august
presence. To the other belong those men that talk much and say
little; that go over a deal of surface and never get below it; that
go round and round, and up and down in search of some way to get
at the pith of the matter, until they finally give up the chase in
despair. Of the two species, the first is the least tiresome--and
the least numerous--as there is always something ludicrous, and
consequently amusing, in their coxcombry.
5. _One must learn--if one can--to stick to the subject under
consideration._ Pausing to remark upon the irrelevant that may
be suggested in the course of a conversation is a characteristic
of the female mind. Many men, however, are as great sinners in
this direction as are women generally. This is a fault peculiar
to persons of hazy mental vision, and is very trying to those of
clearer perceptions.
6. _One must learn not to laugh at one’s own wit, nor to chuckle
at one’s own remarks._ There are men that cannot take part in a
conversation without falling into a broad grin, which frequently
develops into a chuckle that renders their articulation indistinct.
This is a habit that is among the easiest to correct.
7. _One must learn to control one’s temper._ There are those that
habitually--and involuntarily, perhaps--take refuge in indignation
the moment they are opposed, and especially if they are opposed
with reasons that are too weighty for their logic. Then there are
others that have so exalted an opinion of their own opinions that
they think it presumption on the part of another to question their
correctness and resent any opposition as an indignity. It is not
the wise that are least respectful to those that venture to differ
from them.
8. _One must be careful to avoid a certain labial gesticulation,
and a certain “Jakey” toss of the head that some unbred people
indulge in, when they talk._ Of all the vulgar habits that vulgar
people indulge in in conversation, this is one of the most vulgar.
9. _Never, anywhere or under any circumstances, talk with a
toothpick, a cigar, or a cigarette in your mouth._ Anything more
disrespectful or more thoroughly low we rarely have to complain
of. And yet we sometimes see men standing in the street talking to
women--not ladies, for a lady does not allow herself to be treated
with such disrespect--with cigars in their mouths.
The author of “Mixing in Good Society” says: “We must not bring
our gloomy moods or irritable temper with us into society. To look
pleasant is a duty we owe to others. One is bound to listen with
the appearance of interest even to the most inveterate proser who
fastens upon us in society; to smile at a twice-told tale; and, in
short, to make such minor sacrifices of sincerity as good manners
and good feeling demand.
“In conversation the face should wear something that is akin to a
smile; a smile, as it were, below the surface.
“We should always look at the person who addresses us, and listen
deferentially to whatever he says. When we make answer, we should
endeavor to express our best thoughts in our best manner. A loose
manner of expression injures ourselves more than our interlocutor;
since, if we talk carelessly to those whom we will not take the
trouble to please, we shall feel at a loss for apt words and
correct elocution when we need them.
“Always think before you speak; as thus only can you acquire the
habit of speaking to the purpose.”
Good talkers are generally deliberate talkers.
“Polite vulgarisms must be scrupulously guarded against. A
well-educated person proclaims himself by the simplicity and
terseness of his language. It is only the half-educated who indulge
in fine language, and think that long words and high-sounding
phrases are _distingué_.
“Everything approaching to extravagance in conversation is
objectionable. We should endeavor to ascertain the precise
meaning of the words we employ, and employ them at the right
time only. Such phrases as ‘awfully hot,’ ‘immensely jolly,’
‘abominably dull,’ ‘disgustingly mean,’ etc. etc., are used in the
most reckless manner. This hyperbolical way of speaking is mere
flippancy, without wit or novelty to recommend it.”
The late Dr. George Ripley was wont to say that the secret of being
agreeable in conversation was to be hospitable to the ideas of
others. He affirmed that some people only half listened to you,
because they were considering, even while you spoke, with what
fine words, what wealth of wit, they should reply, and they began
to speak almost before your sentence had died from your lips.
Those people, he said, might be brilliant, witty, dazzling, but
never could they be agreeable. You do not love to talk to them.
You feel that they are impatient for their turn to come, and that
they have no hospitality toward your thoughts--none of that gentle
friendliness that asks your idea in and makes much of it.
“Dean Swift,” says an English writer, “with his keen eye for
the foibles of his fellows, has put on record some faults in
conversation that every one that wishes to be an agreeable talker
should make it his business to avoid.
“He justly condemns the habit of talking too much. No man in a
company has a right to predominate in length and frequency of
speech, any more than a player in an orchestra has a right to
convert the performance into a solo. Even if a man can talk as well
as a Macaulay, he has no right to prevent others from talking.
They have come not to hear a lecture, but to converse; to talk as
well as to listen; to contribute as well as to receive. Even the
listeners and admirers that gathered around Macaulay sometimes
longed for a ‘flash of silence.’ Oh, the misery of it, when some
inordinate gossip gets you by the buttonhole and drums away at your
aching tympanum with an incessant crash of prattle!
“Still more wearisome is the talk of those who will talk only
of themselves; whose everlasting ‘I’ recurs in their speech as
certainly as the head of Charles the First turned up in the speech
of Mr. Dick. They deluge their hearers with the milk-and-water
history of their sayings and doings from childhood upward; and
relate the annals of their diseases with all the symptoms and
attendant circumstances. To a talker of this sort to have the
measles is a delight--the small-pox a boon. A gentleman will never
admit that his constitution is anything but sound--in conversation.
Of all bores the greatest is he that carries his pills, powders,
and plasters into the society of his friends; that bids the world
listen when he sneezes, and thinks his rheumatism a matter of
national concern.
“Others, as the Dean remarks, are more dexterous, and with great
art will lie on the watch to hook in their own praise: ‘They will
call a witness to remember they always foretold what would happen
in such a case, but none would believe them; they advised such
a man from the beginning, and told him the consequences just as
they happened, but he would have his own way. Others make a vanity
of telling their own faults; they are the strangest men in the
world; they cannot dissemble; they own it is a folly; they have
lost abundance of advantages by it; but if you should give them
the world they could not help it; there is something in their
nature that abhors insincerity and constraint--with many other
insufferable topics of the same altitude.’
“The most successful talker is the man that has most to say that
is sensible and entertaining on the greatest number of subjects.
A specialist can never make a good conversationist; his mind runs
always in one groove.
“Swift comments upon two faults in conversation that appear very
different, yet spring from the same root and are equally blamable;
the first, an impatience to interrupt others; the second, a great
uneasiness when we are ourselves interrupted. The chief objects of
all conversation, whether conversation proper or small talk, are to
entertain and improve our companions, and in our own persons to be
improved and entertained. If we steadily aim at these objects, we
shall certainly escape the two faults indicated by the dean. If any
man speak in company, we may suppose he does it for his hearers’
sake, and not for his own; so that common discretion will teach him
not to force their attention if they are unwilling to lend it, nor,
on the other hand, to interrupt him who is in possession, because
that is the grossest manner to indicate his conviction of his own
superiority.
“There are some people,” says Swift, “whose good manners will not
suffer them to interrupt you; but, what is almost as bad, they
will discover abundance of impatience, and be upon the watch until
you have done, because they have started something in their own
thoughts that they long to be delivered of. Meantime, they are so
far from regarding what passes that their imaginations are wholly
turned upon what they have in reserve, for fear it should slip out
of their memory; and thus they confine their invention, which might
otherwise range over a hundred things fully as good and that might
be much more naturally introduced.
“I think that wit must be introduced into conversation with
great reserve. Such a caution seems, however, little called for,
considering the limited number of persons to whom it applies; but
there is a cheap form of wit that most ill-natured persons can
plagiarize, and in a mixed company its effects are not seldom
disagreeable; that is, the repartee, or smart answer, which
assuredly does not turn away wrath; the epigrammatic impertinence
that young speakers suppose to be wit. ‘It now passes for
raillery,’ says Swift, ‘to run a man down in discourse, to put him
out of countenance and make him ridiculous; sometimes to expose
the defects of his person or understanding; on all which occasions
he is obliged not to be angry, to avoid the imputation of not
being able to take a jest. It is admirable to observe one who is
dexterous at this art singling out a weak adversary, getting the
laugh on his side, and then carrying all before him. The French,
whence we borrow the word ‘raillery,’ have a quite different idea
of the thing, and so had we in the politer ages of our fathers.
Raillery was to say something that at first appeared a reproach or
reflection, but by some turn of wit, unexpected and surprising,
ended always in a compliment, and to the advantage of the person
it was addressed to. And, surely, one of the best rules in
conversation is, never to say a thing that any of the company can
reasonably wish we had left unsaid; nor can there well be anything
more contrary to the ends for which people meet together than to
part dissatisfied with one another or with themselves.
“This fatal kind of smartness, which all may master who have no
regard for the feelings of others, is very much more common now,
I imagine, than in Swift’s time, when people could hardly be
persuaded that wit and rudeness were synonymous. It has found its
way into the House of Commons, where it is assiduously practised
by men that have little hope by more worthy means of achieving
a reputation; and on the stage, where, in ‘drawing-rooms richly
upholstered,’ the characters pass their time in saying impertinent
things to one another. That such flippancy should pass muster as
wit cannot, however, be wondered at in a generation that mistakes
sensuousness for poetry, æstheticism for art, and charlatanism for
statesmanship!
“I have already made a distinction between conversation and
small talk; but after all, the cautions that apply to the one
have a distinct reference to the other. I presume that a good
conversationist is also a good small-talker; though, of course,
the reverse does not follow; a man may shine in small talk, and
prove very dull in conversation. It is not my object or desire to
depreciate small talk, which, in the present condition of society,
is a substitute for conversation, and in any condition would be
a necessary complement of it. We cannot always be passing our
five-pound notes; we must sometimes descend to inferior currency,
and not only sovereigns, but crowns and two-shilling pieces have
their value. Besides, we cannot afford to carry on an exchange
by which we always lose. We cannot give our five-pound notes
when others stake but shillings and sixpences. Barter is fair
and profitable only when we get as much as we give. Our pockets
may be full of sovereigns, and yet we shall hesitate to give one
for a penny roll; but to a man that has nothing but counters in
his pocket, it does not matter whether the roll cost a penny or
a shilling. The moral of this is, that we must put pence into
our purse as well as pounds. For want of such a precaution, the
meditative scholar is often, in society, at a loss to find topics
of conversation; he has nothing small enough to give, and his
companions have nothing with which to conduct an exchange. It
is wisdom, therefore, to pay close attention to this matter of
small talk, and endeavor to arrive at a certain command of and
proficiency in it. Men of the highest gifts cannot dispense with it
if they wish to be at no disadvantage in their ordinary intercourse
with mankind.
“There are many spheres in which, I grant, the small-talker would
be out of place. He would make a sorry figure in an assembly of
scholars and thinkers, engaged in the discussion of subjects as
momentous and as profound as those with which Goethe overwhelmed
the hapless Excelmann. His true arena is the dinner-table. It is
there he can make the best use of the old, familiar weapons. He
does not shun the traditional allusions to the weather or the
crops; and, indeed, it is clear that he _must_ begin on some topic
that he and his companions have in common. That once found, others
will naturally spring out of it; but in passing to and from them,
much dexterity is required. If the small-talker shows any doubt of
his own powers, or puts himself forward too obtrusively, he will
come to grief, as we all instinctively rebel against an attempt
to drag us into conversation. The string that leads us must be
invisible. The exchange of small talk is like a game of battledoor
in which an accomplished player will sometimes designedly drop
his shuttlecock, partly to flatter and propitiate his partner,
and partly for the sake of a prospective advantage. When once he
has full command of the game, he will quietly take the lead, and
guide it surely but gently into the direction best adapted for the
display of his powers. The attractiveness of skilfully managed talk
of this kind is felt by everybody; and we remember with pleasure
the evening when, unwittingly, we were taken captive by some man
or woman whose intellectual superiority, perhaps, we should not be
willing to admit, but who, we readily own, enabled us to pass some
very pleasant hours.
“But this small talk that so agreeably flavors conversation is
different indeed from that _very_ small talk in which society
nowadays indulges so unblushingly, go where you will--not
necessarily, as Mr. Hale remarks, into the society of the suburban
‘Row’ or ‘Terrace’ of semi-detached villas, nor into that of the
small provincial town, or the colonial garrison; but into that
found in the homes and among the families of English gentlemen.
Mr. Hale does not, I think, exaggerate when he says it is painful
to listen to the general conversation; the name of a common friend
is mentioned, and something that he or she has said or done is
commented upon with a freedom that, to be in any way justifiable,
presupposes a thorough knowledge of all sides of the case; and the
minor worries of life, servants, babies, and the like, furnish
the theme for a multifarious and protracted discussion. If there
is talk that should disgust all refined tastes and ordinarily
intelligent minds, it is the farrago of trivialities that makes
the daily staple of conversation in some of our English homes.
As a proof that I do not exaggerate, let any one refrain for
four-and-twenty hours from dealing with such ‘small beer,’ and
observe how great a difficulty he will experience in discovering
subjects for conversation. This shows how injurious the habit is.
We feed so long on infant’s food that we can digest nothing more
substantial. Our small talk resembles a hand-organ, which is set to
a certain number of airs, and grinds through these with monotonous
regularity.
“I have dwelt at some length on this subject, because it seems to
me of great importance. The whole tone of society would be raised
if we could raise its conversational standard; if we could lift
it from very small talk to small talk and thence to conversation.
Women especially may help toward a satisfactory result, for at
present women are the great manufacturers of very small talk. Let
them rise to the measure of their duties; men will soon follow
their example, and we shall live to see the end of the very
small-talk era.
“In certain ‘Hints upon Etiquette,’ by Αγωγος, published nearly
half a century ago, but characterized by a good sense that must
always render them valuable, I find a wise caution in reference
to ‘talking shop,’ which I may add to my own emphatic warning
against this particularly disagreeable custom. ‘There are few
things,’ he says, ‘that display worse taste than the introduction
of professional topics in general conversation, especially if
there be ladies present; the minds of those men must be miserably
ill-stored who cannot find other subjects for conversation than
their own professions. Who has not felt this on having been
compelled to listen to “clerical slang,” musty college jokes,
and anecdotes divested of all interest beyond the atmosphere of
a university; or “law-jokes,” with “good stories” of “learned
counsel;” “long yarns,” or the equally tiresome muster-roll of “our
regiment”--colonels _dead_, maimed majors retired on pensions,
subs lost or “exchanged,” gravitating between Boulogne and the
“Bankruptcy Court”?
“‘All such exclusive topics are signs either of a limited
intellect or the most lamentable ignorance.’ They are signs, too,
of exceedingly bad breeding; for the introduction of a topic on
which no one can discourse but the speaker necessarily chokes out
the life of a conversation, and for the lively talk of the many
substitutes a dreary monologue. They imply an almost supernatural
egotism, as if the speaker believed that all the world must
perforce be interested in whatever concerns _him_. Needless to say
that these remarks do not apply to the case of an acknowledged
‘expert’ whose opinion has been invited on the questions that of
right fall within his special province. Now, as a rule, society
cares nothing for the individual; and there can be no greater
error than for a man to put forward in conversation his individual
tastes, opinions, views, unless he has attained to a position that
entitles him to speak as one having authority. And even then what
he says should be general in tone and application, with as little
allusion as possible to himself. Nor should he suffer his remarks
to assume the form and proportions of an oration, lest his hearers,
in spite of themselves, betray their weariness. A St. Paul may
preach, and yet Eutychus fall asleep! In spite of his reputation
as the Aristarchus of his day, Samuel Johnson could irritate his
hearers into administering a rebuke to his verbosity.
“The colloquial inferiority of the present generation is attributed
by Mr. Hannay purely to the action of the press. Newspapers,
novels, magazines, reviews, he says, gather up the intellectual
elements of our life like so many electric machines, drawing
electricity from the atmosphere into themselves. Everything,
he adds, is recorded and discussed in print, and subjects have
lost their freshness long before friends have assembled for the
evening. And he concludes: ‘Where there _is_ talk of a superior
character, it appears to affect the epigrammatic form; and this is
an unhealthy sign. If there were no other objection, how rarely can
it avoid that appearance of self-consciousness and effort that is
fatal to all elegance and ease.’
“Topics of conversation are not far to seek in these active days
of ours, when the thoughts of men are widened by the process
of the suns. The current history of the time--the last drama
or opera or newest book, the scene of war--and there is always
war somewhere--the last device of some scrupulously great or
greatly unscrupulous statesman, the latest exploit of swimmer or
mountain-climber, the last invention--these, and similar themes,
will call forth and maintain an agreeable discussion.
“You must learn to express yourself with conciseness and accuracy,
and, if possible, with a happy turn of expression that, though
it will not be wit, will sound witty. Your talk should not be in
epigrams, yet should it be epigrammatic. Around the dinner-table,
elaborate criticism or argument, pathos or profundity would be out
of place. You are not to soliloquize like Hamlet, but to bandy
light speeches and sharp sayings like Mercutio. Of course you
will avoid bitterness; there must be no vinegar, but a touch of
lemon-juice will flavor the mixture.
“The epigrammatic is a valuable element, but should never
predominate, since good conversation flows from a happy union
of all the powers. To approximate to this, a certain amount of
painstaking is necessary; and, though artifice is detestable, we
must submit, that talk may be as legitimately made a subject of
care and thought as any other part of a man’s humanity, and that it
is ridiculous to send your mind abroad in a state of slovenliness
while you bestow on your body the most refined care.
“I would establish but one great rule in conversation,” said
Richard Steele, “which is this, that men should not talk to please
themselves, but to please those that hear them. This would make
them consider whether what they speak be worth hearing; whether
there be either wit or sense in what they are about to say, and
whether it be adapted to the time when, the place where, and the
person to whom it is spoken.
“Conversation is a reflex of character. The envious, the
pretentious, the impatient, the illiterate, will as surely
betray their idiosyncrasies in conversation as the modest, the
even-tempered, and the generous. Strive as we may, we cannot always
be acting.
“Let us, therefore, cultivate a tone of mind and a habit of life,
the betrayal of which need not put us to shame in any company; the
rest will be easy.
“If we make ourselves worthy of refined and intelligent society, we
shall not be rejected from it; and in such society we shall acquire
by example all that we have failed to learn by precept.
“There is a certain distinct but subdued tone of voice that is
peculiar to persons of the best breeding. It is better to err by
the use of too low than of too loud a tone.
“A half opened mouth, a smile ready to overflow at any moment into
a laugh, a vacant stare, a wandering eye, are all evidences of
ill-breeding.
“Next to unexceptional diction, correct pronunciation, distinct
enunciation, and a frank, self-controlled bearing, it is necessary
to be genial. Do not go into society unless you can make up your
mind to be cheerful, sympathetic, animating as well as animated.”
Of the late George Eliot, who was one of the most agreeable talkers
of her time, some one has said: “She had one rare characteristic
that gave a peculiar charm to her conversation. She had no petty
egotism, no spirit of contradiction; she never talked for effect. A
happy thought, well expressed, filled her with delight; in a moment
she would seize the thought and improve upon it, so that common
people felt themselves wise in her presence, and perhaps years
after she would remind them, to their pride and surprise, of the
good things they had said.”
Avoid slang as you would the plague. It is a great mistake to
suppose that slang is in any way a substitute for wit. It is
always low, generally coarse, and not unfrequently foolish. With
the exception of _cant_, there is nothing that is more to be
shunned. We sometimes meet with persons of considerable culture
that interlard their talk with slang expressions, but it is safe to
assert that they are always persons of coarse natures.
“Eschew everything that savors of the irreverent, and, as you
love me, let not your tongue give way to slang! The slang of the
æsthetic disciple of sweetness and light--the slang of the new
school of erotic poets--the slang of the art-critic--the slang of
the studios--the slang of the green room--the slang of Mayfair--and
the slang of the Haymarket; shun each and all as you would flee
from the shield of Medusa! Plain English and pure, from the well
undefiled of the best writers and speakers--let that be the
vehicle in which your opinions are conveyed, and the plainer and
purer the better.”
Profanity is absolutely incompatible with genuine refinement; it
is always ungentlemanly, and, therefore, to be avoided. If those
men that habitually interlard their talk with oaths could be made
to see how offensive to decency their profanity is, they would,
perhaps, be less profane. Really well-bred men are very careful to
avoid the use of improper language of every description.
“Immodest words admit of no defence,
For want of decency is want of sense.”
“It is not easy to perceive,” says Lamont, “what honor or credit is
connected with swearing. It is a low and paltry habit, picked up by
low and paltry spirits who have no sense of honor, no regard for
decency, but are forced to substitute some rhapsody of nonsense to
supply the vacancy of good sense. The vulgarity of the practice can
be equalled only by the vulgarity of those who indulge in it.”
The extent to which some men habitually interlard their talk
with oaths is disgusting even to many that, on occasion, do not
themselves hesitate to give expression to their feelings in oaths
portly and unctuous.
Among the things that are studiously avoided in conversation by
persons of taste is the use of old, threadbare quotations. He
that can’t do better than to repeat such old, threadbare lines as
“Variety is the spice of life,” “Distance lends enchantment to the
view,” “A thing of beauty is a joy forever,” “A rose by any other
name would smell as sweet,” and the like, would appear to better
advantage by remaining silent.
“Sir” and “madam,” or “ma’am,” are far too much used by some
persons in this country, especially in the South. In England
neither “sir” nor “madam” is considered proper, under ordinary
circumstances, except on the lips of inferiors. A man having
occasion to address a lady that is a stranger to him should always
address her as “madam,” never as “miss,” if she has reached the age
of womanhood, in which case courtesy supposes that she has entered
that state that all women should enter as soon as they are fitted
for it.
One of the things that we should be most careful to guard against
in conversation, if we would appear to advantage in the eyes
of persons of the better sort, is undue familiarity. The man
of native refinement, as well as the man of culture, is always
careful to observe--in a greater or less degree, according to
circumstances--the conventionalities that obtain in refined social
intercourse. Perhaps the most repulsive character to be met with is
the youth that seems to think it makes him appear vastly more manly
to Jack, Jim, or Joe his acquaintances, in addressing them, and
to speak of persons that he may, or may not, know in a familiar,
disrespectful manner. To him Mr. Sheridan Short, if he has occasion
to speak of him, is simply “Shed;” Mr. Lester Bullock is simply
“Lester;” Mr. John Guthbert is simply “old John,” and so on. If
this vulgar specimen of “Young America” has a father, he speaks of
him as his “old man,” and middle-aged and elderly men, if they have
grown-up sons, he designates as “old man Burt,” “old man Harrison,”
etc. This kind of youth is always one of those loud-mouthed, guffaw
fellows that think themselves, as the Kentuckian would say, “simply
mountaneous.”
Story-telling in society is something that even those that tell
stories well should indulge in but sparingly. All stories, unless
well told, are tiresome; and then there is always the danger that
to some of those that are compelled to listen they will be a
“twice-told tale.” A serious fault of many story-tellers is that
they themselves cannot refrain from laughing at the humor of their
own anecdotes. All stories should be told clearly and tersely, and
be so managed as to have a marked climax; and if the teller must
laugh at them, he should be sure not to laugh until the climax is
reached. The skilful do not think it incumbent on them to tell
stories just as they hear them. Modifications that they think will
render them more effective they do not hesitate to make.
He that never will confess his ignorance nor admit that he has
erred in judgment publishes his weakness when he thinks he is
concealing it. There are no surer indications of strength than
candor and frankness. Men of sense do not expect to be looked
upon as being all-wise and infallible, and they know that a frank
confession that they are ignorant or have erred, always works to
their advantage; and further, they feel that they are so wise and
are so often right that they can afford to be frank in confessing
their ignorance when they are ignorant and their errors when they
have erred. “A man should never blush in confessing his errors,”
says Rousseau, “for he proves by the avowal that he is wiser to-day
than he was yesterday.”
Relatives and intimate friends should be careful, in their
associations with others, not to make an indiscreet or ungenerous
use of the knowledge they have gained of one another. The wise
man is silent in regard to the weaknesses of those with whom he
stands in close relations. Indeed, there is something generous and
noble in the endeavor to make men think as well of one another as
a regard for truth will permit. The habitual depreciator is one of
the weakest and most unlovable of men.
One of the things we should be most studious to avoid in
conversation is perversity. There are men that seem to think it
their special mission in this world to set others right. Say what
you may, and say it as you may, they will immediately proceed to
show you that you are at least partly, if not wholly, wrong. As
for agreeing with you, they never do, unless, in disagreeing with
a third person, they agree with you accidentally. It is hardly
necessary to say that this perverseness is not a characteristic of
persons of a generous nature or a large understanding. It is the
product of a feeling closely allied to envy, and is peculiar to
men of overweening conceit and inordinate love of adulation. Quite
unconsciously they oftentimes do little else than assail whatever
is advanced by others, solely because they cannot brook the thought
that the attention of the company be diverted from themselves.
The old injunction, “If you cannot speak well of people, speak of
them not at all,” has never yet been heeded by any one, nor should
it be, for it is by exchanging opinions of our acquaintances and by
discussing their faults and weaknesses that we add to our knowledge
of human nature, than which few things are more desirable. “There
are two kinds of gossip,” says an English writer--“the good-humored
and the scandalous--the gossip that touches lightly on faults and
foibles, and amusing incidents and curious contrasts, and the
gossip that peers into the privacy of domestic life, and invents or
misrepresents. The latter no right-thinking person will indulge
in or listen to; the former is the salt of ordinary conversation.
We cannot help taking an interest in our fellows, and there is
no reason why we should not, so long as that interest is not
malignant.”
“Keep clear,” says Dr. John Hall, “of personalities in general
conversation. Talk of things, objects, thoughts. The smallest minds
occupy themselves with persons. Personalities must sometimes be
talked, because we have to learn and find out men’s characteristics
for legitimate objects; but it is to be with confidential persons.
Poor Burns wrote and did many foolish things, but he was wise when
he wrote to a young friend:
“‘Ay, tell your story free, off-hand,
When wi’ a bosom crony;
But still keep something to yoursel’
You’ll scarcely tell to ony.’
“Do not needlessly report ill of others. There are times when we
are compelled to say, ‘I do not think Bouncer a true and honest
man.’ But when there is no need to express an opinion, let poor
Bouncer swagger away. Others will take his measure, no doubt,
and save you the trouble of analyzing him and instructing them.
And as far as possible dwell on the good side of human beings.
There are family-boards where a constant process of depreciating,
assigning motives and cutting up character goes forward. They are
not pleasant places. One who is healthy does not wish to dine at a
dissecting-table. There is evil enough in men, God knows. But it is
not the mission of every young man and woman to detail and report
it all. Keep the atmosphere as pure as possible, and fragrant with
gentleness and charity.”
Persons of kindly natures take pleasure in repeating the pleasant
things they hear one acquaintance say of another; on the other
hand, persons of an envious, jealous nature repeat the unpleasant
thing they hear, or nothing. There is nothing that does more to
promote kindly feeling than the repeating of pleasant things.
Never say, “It is my opinion,” or “I believe,” or “I
think”--expressions that differ but little in meaning--when you are
not thoroughly acquainted with the matter. In a matter of which
a man has no knowledge he can have no _opinion_; he can, at the
most, have an _impression_. Say, therefore, when speaking of a
matter of which you know little or nothing, if you would talk like
a man of sense, “My impression is,” or “from the little I know of
the matter, my impression is,” or “I know only enough of the matter
to allow myself an impression, and that is,” or something of the
sort. Men that are always ready with their “opinion” generally have
no _opinions_ of anything.
“There is a kind of pin-feather gentility,” says “The Verbalist,”
“that seems to have a settled aversion to using the terms _man_ and
_woman_. Well-bred men, men of culture and refinement--gentlemen,
in short--use the terms _lady_ and _gentleman_ comparatively
little, and they are especially careful not to call themselves
_gentlemen_ when they can avoid it. A gentleman, for example,
does not say, ‘I, with some _other_ gentlemen, went,’ etc.; he is
careful to leave out the word _other_. The men that use these terms
most, and especially those that lose no opportunity to proclaim
themselves _gentlemen_, belong to that class of men that cock their
hats on one side of their heads, and often wear them when and
where gentlemen would remove them; that pride themselves on their
familiarity with the latest slang; that proclaim their independence
by showing the least possible consideration for others; that laugh
long and loud at their own wit; that wear a profusion of cheap
jewelry, use bad grammar, and interlard their talk with big oaths.”
“Socially, the term _gentleman_,” says the London periodical, _All
the Year Round_, “has become almost vulgar. It is certainly less
employed by gentlemen than by inferior persons. The one speaks
of ‘a man I know,’ the other of ‘a gentleman I know.’ Again, as
regards the term _lady_. It is quite in accordance with the usages
of society to speak of your acquaintance the duchess as ‘a very
nice person.’ People who say ‘a very nice lady’ are not generally
of a social class that has much to do with duchesses.”
“The terms _lady_ and _gentleman_,” says the London _Queen_,
“become in themselves vulgar when misapplied, and the improper
application of the wrong term at the wrong time makes all the
difference in the world to ears polite.”
“Bashfulness,” says Bacon, “is a great hindrance to a man both of
uttering his conceit and understanding what is propounded unto
him; wherefore it is good to press himself forward with discretion
both in speech and company of the better sort.”
“Shyness,” says a modern writer, “cramps every motion, clogs every
word. The only way to overcome the fault is to mix constantly in
society, and the habitual intercourse with others will give you the
ease of manner that shyness destroys.”
“In all kinds of speech,” says Bacon, “either pleasant, grave,
severe, or ordinary, it is convenient to speak rather slowly than
hastily; because hasty speech confounds the memory, and oftentimes
drives a man either to a nonplus or unseemly stammering upon what
should follow; whereas a slow speech confirmeth the memory, addeth
a conceit of wisdom to the hearers, besides a seemliness of speech
and countenance.”
The man of real dignity, of real intellectual strength, never
hesitates to establish a sort of friendly relation with his
servants and subordinates. If you see a man going about with a
“ramrod down his back,” looking over the heads of his servants and
subordinates, you may be sure that he knows just enough to know
that his dignity is a nurseling and needs his constant attention.
Be not in haste to take offence; be sure first that an indignity
is intended. He that calls you hard names, if they are unmerited,
is beneath your resentment; if merited, you have no right to
complain. In either case, nine times in ten, the better course is
to say little and go your way. A well-bred man seldom if ever feels
justified in indulging in recrimination. Altercations are as much
to be avoided as personal encounters.
It often requires more courage to avoid a quarrel than to engage in
one, and then the courage that keeps one out of a quarrel is the
courage of the philosopher, while the courage that leads one into a
quarrel is the courage of the bully. He that boasts of his prowess
is a blackguard.
Steer wide of the stupid habit many persons get into of repeating
questions that are asked them, and of asking others to repeat what
they have said. If you take the trouble to observe, you will find
your experience with these people to be something like this: “Will
this street take me into Chatham Square?” “Chatham Square, did you
say?” You go into a men’s furnishing store and ask: “Will you show
me some sixteen-inch collars?” “Sixteen inch, did you say?” You ask
an acquaintance: “How long have you been in New York?” “How long
have I been in New York, did you say?” or, “Which do you think the
prettier of the two?” “Which do I think the prettier?” or, “I think
it will be warmer to-morrow.” “What did you say?” or, “Patti was
ill and did not sing last evening.” “What do you say, Patti didn’t
sing?” “When do you expect to break yourself of the habit of asking
me to repeat everything I say, or of repeating everything over
after me?” “When do I expect to break myself of the habit?” If you
think you have been understood, all you have to do, as a rule, is
to keep silent and look your interlocutor full in the face for a
moment to be made sure of it.
There is a kind of comparatively harmless gossip that some men
indulge in, that makes them appear very diminutive in the eyes of
men of the world. I refer to the habit some men have of making what
may chance to come to their knowledge of other people’s affairs and
movements the subject of conversation. Though there is generally
nothing malicious in the gabble of these busybodies, it sometimes
causes a deal of unpleasantness. Men whose ambition it is to appear
knowing, _know_, if they did but know it, far less than their
discreet-mouthed neighbors.
All writers on the amenities of conversation agree that the
discussion of politics and religion should be excluded from
general society, for the reason that such discussions are very
liable to end unpleasantly. Yet this would never be the case, if
we were sufficiently philosophic to reflect that we are all what
circumstances have made us, and that we, with only now and then an
exception, should be of the same opinions as our neighbors had we
been reared under like influences. When we censure another for his
way of thinking, if we did but know it, we find fault not with him,
but with the surroundings amid which he has grown up. There are
but very few men in the world that have opinions that are really
their own, _i.e._, that are the product of their own, independent
judgment. Most men simply echo the opinions that have chanced to
fall to their lot, and had other opinions chanced to fall to their
lot--though directly opposed to those they now entertain--they
would, in like manner, have echoed them--have fought for them, if
occasion offered. But as there are very few of us that are not
swayed by prejudice rather than guided by philosophy, politics and
religion are, and are pretty sure to remain, dangerous topics to
introduce into the social circle, and that, too, for the simple
reason, as already intimated, that they are subjects upon which
people generally feel so deeply that they cannot discuss them
calmly, courteously, and rationally.
We sometimes meet with persons that lose no opportunity to say
sharp things--things that wound. They are occasionally persons of
some wit, but they are never persons of any wisdom, or they would
not do what is sure to make them many enemies. Good manners without
kindliness is impossible.
Persons of the best fashion avoid expressing themselves in the
extravagant. They leave inflation to their inferiors, with many
of whom nothing short of the superlative will suffice. From them
we hear such expressions as “awfully nice,” “beastly ugly,”
“horridly stuck up,” “frightfully cold,” “simply magnificent,”
and “just divine,” while persons of better culture, to express
the same thoughts, content themselves with “very pretty,” “very
plain,” “rather haughty,” “very cold,” “excellent,” and the
like. Intemperance in the use of language, like intemperance in
everything else, is vulgar.