insufficient; to these, in all or in part, must be added in some degree
the talents of active life. The character has as much to do with
colloquial power as has the intellect; the temperament, feelings, and
animal spirits, even more, perhaps, than the mental gifts. "Napoleon
said things which tell in history like his battles. Luther's Table-Talk
glows with the fire that burnt the Pope's bull." Cæsar, Cicero,
Themistocles, Lord Bacon, Selden, Talleyrand, and, in our own country,
Aaron Burr, Jefferson, Webster, and Choate, were all, more or less, men
of action. Sir Walter Scott tells us that, at a great dinner party, he
thought the lawyers beat the Bishops as talkers, and the Bishops the
wits. Nearly all great orators have been fine talkers. Lord Chatham, who
could electrify the House of Lords by pronouncing the word "Sugar," but
who in private was but commonplace, was an exception; but the
conversation of Pitt and Fox was brilliant and fascinating,--that of
Burke, rambling, but splendid, rich and instructive, beyond description.
The latter was the only man in the famous "Literary Club" who could cope
with Johnson. The Doctor confessed that in Burke he had a foeman worthy
of his steel. On one occasion, when debilitated by sickness, he said:
"That fellow calls forth all my powers. Were I to see Burke now, it
would kill me." At another time he said: "Burke, sir, is such a man
that, if you met him for the first time in the street, where you were
stopped by a drove of oxen, and you and he stepped aside to take shelter
but for five minutes, he'd talk to you in such a manner, that when you
parted you'd say--'This is an extraordinary man.'" "Can he wind into a
subject like a serpent, as Burke does?" asked Goldsmith of a certain
talker. Fox said that he had derived more political information from
Burke's conversation alone than from books, science, and all his worldly
experience put together. Moore finely says of the same conversation,
that it must have been like the procession of a Roman triumph,
exhibiting power and riches at every step, occasionally mingling the low
Fescennine jest with the lofty music of the march, but glittering all
over with the spoils of a ransacked world.
--_Mathews._
* * * * *
The fault of literary conversation in general is its too great
tenaciousness. It fastens upon a subject, and will not let it go. It
resembles a battle rather than a skirmish, and makes a toil of a
pleasure. Perhaps it does this from necessity, from a consciousness of
wanting the more familiar graces, the power to sport and trifle, to
touch lightly and adorn agreeably, every view or turn of a question _en
passant_, as it arises. Those who have a reputation to lose are too
ambitious of shining, to please. "To excel in conversation," said an
ingenious man, "one must not be always striving to say good things: to
say one good thing, one must say many bad, and more indifferent ones."
This desire to shine without the means at hand, often makes men
silent:--
The fear of being silent strikes us dumb.
A writer who has been accustomed to take a connected view of a
difficult question and to work it out gradually in all its bearings, may
be very deficient in that quickness and ease which men of the world, who
are in the habit of hearing a variety of opinions, who pick up an
observation on one subject, and another on another, and who care about
none any further than the passing away of an idle hour, usually acquire.
An author has studied a particular point--he has read, he has inquired,
he has thought a great deal upon it: he is not contented to take it up
casually in common with others, to throw out a hint, to propose an
objection: he will either remain silent, uneasy, and dissatisfied, or he
will begin at the beginning, and go through with it to the end. He is
for taking the whole responsibility upon himself. He would be thought to
understand the subject better than others, or indeed would show that
nobody else knows anything about it. There are always three or four
points on which the literary novice at his first outset in life fancies
he can enlighten every company, and bear down all opposition: but he is
cured of this quixotic and pugnacious spirit, as he goes more into the
world, where he finds that there are other opinions and other
pretensions to be adjusted besides his own. When this asperity wears
off, and a certain scholastic precocity is mellowed down, the
conversation of men of letters becomes both interesting and instructive.
Men of the world have no fixed principles, no groundwork of thought:
mere scholars have too much an object, a theory always in view, to which
they wrest everything, and not unfrequently, common sense itself. By
mixing with society, they rub off their hardness of manner, and
impracticable, offensive singularity, while they retain a greater depth
and coherence of understanding. There is more to be learnt from them
than from their books.
--_Hazlitt._
* * * * *
There are some people whose good manners will not suffer them to
interrupt you, but, what is almost as bad, will discover abundance of
impatience, and lie upon the watch until you have done, because they
have started something in their own thoughts, which 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 full as
good, and that might be much more naturally introduced.
There is a sort of rude familiarity, which some people, by practising
among their intimates, have introduced into their general conversation,
and would have it pass for innocent freedom or humor; which is a
dangerous experiment in our northern climate, where all the little
decorum and politeness we have are purely forced by art, and are so
ready to lapse into barbarity. This, among the Romans, was the raillery
of slaves, of which we have many instances in Plautus. It seems to have
been introduced among us by Cromwell, who, by preferring the scum of the
people, made it a court entertainment, of which I have heard many
particulars; and, considering all things were turned upside down, it was
reasonable and judicious; although it was a piece of policy found out
to ridicule a point of honor in the other extreme, when the smallest
word misplaced among gentlemen ended in a duel.
There are some men excellent at telling a story, and provided with a
plentiful stock of them, which they can draw out upon occasion in all
companies, and, considering how low conversation runs now among us, it
is not altogether a contemptible talent; however, it is subject to two
unavoidable defects, frequent repetition, and being soon exhausted; so,
that, whoever values this gift in himself, has need of a good memory,
and ought frequently to shift his company, that he may not discover the
weakness of his fund; for those who are thus endued have seldom any
other revenue, but live upon the main stock.
--_Swift._
* * * * *
The highest and best of all the moral conditions for conversation is
what we call tact. I say a condition, for it is very doubtful whether it
can be called a single and separate quality; more probably it is a
combination of intellectual quickness with lively sympathy. But so
clearly is it an intellectual quality, that of all others it can be
greatly improved, if not actually acquired, by long experience in
society. Like all social excellences it is almost given as a present to
some people, while others with all possible labor never acquire it. As
in billiard-playing, shooting, cricket, and all these other facilities
which are partly mental and partly physical, many never can pass a
certain point of mediocrity; but still even those who have the talent
must practise it, and only become really distinguished after hard work.
So it is in art. Music and painting are not to be attained by the crowd.
Not even the just criticism of these arts is attainable without certain
natural gifts; but a great deal of practice in good galleries and at
good concerts, and years spent among artists, will do much to make even
moderately-endowed people sound judges of excellence.
Tact, which is the sure and quick judgment of what is suitable and
agreeable in society, is likewise one of those delicate and subtle
qualities or a combination of qualities which is not very easily
defined, and therefore not teachable by fixed precepts. Some people
attain it through sympathy; others through natural intelligence; others
through a calm temper; others again by observing closely the mistakes of
their neighbors. As its name implies, it is a sensitive touch in social
matters, which feels small changes of temperature, and so guesses at
changes of temper; which sees the passing cloud on the expression of one
face, or the eagerness of another that desires to bring out something
personal for others to enjoy. This quality of tact is of course
applicable far beyond mere actual conversation. In nothing is it more
useful than in preparing the right conditions for a pleasant society, in
choosing the people who will be in mutual sympathy, in thinking over
pleasant subjects of talk and suggesting them, in seeing that all
disturbing conditions are kept out, and that the members who are to
converse should be all without those small inconveniences which damage
society so vastly out of proportion to their intrinsic importance.
--_Mahaffy._
* * * * *
In the course of our life we have heard much of what was reputed to be
the select conversation of the day, and we have heard many of those who
figured at the moment as effective talkers; yet, in mere sincerity, and
without a vestige of misanthropic retrospect, we must say that never
once has it happened to us to come away from any display of that nature
without intense disappointment; and it always appeared to us that this
failure (which soon ceased to be a disappointment) was inevitable by a
necessity of the case. For here lay the stress of the difficulty: almost
all depends in most trials of skill upon the parity of those who are
matched against each other. An ignorant person supposes that to an able
disputant it must be an advantage to have a feeble opponent; whereas, on
the contrary, it is ruin to him; for he can not display his own powers
but through something of a corresponding power in the resistance of his
antagonist. A brilliant fencer is lost and confounded in playing with a
novice; and the same thing takes place in playing at ball, or
battledore, or in dancing, where a powerless partner does not enable you
to shine the more, but reduces you to mere helplessness, and takes the
wind altogether out of your sails. Now, if by some rare good luck the
great talker, the protagonist, of the evening has been provided with a
commensurate second, it is just possible that something like a brilliant
"passage of arms" may be the result,--though much even in that case will
depend on the chances of the moment for furnishing a fortunate theme,
and even then, amongst the superior part of the company, a feeling of
deep vulgarity and of mountebank display is inseparable from such an
ostentatious duel of wit. On the other hand, supposing your great talker
to be received like any other visitor, and turned loose upon the
company, then he must do one of two things: either he will talk upon
_outré_ subjects specially tabooed to his own private use,--in which
case the great man has the air of a quack-doctor addressing a mob from a
street stage; or else he will talk like ordinary people upon popular
topics,--in which case the company, out of natural politeness, that they
may not seem to be staring at him as a lion, will hasten to meet him in
the same style, the conversation will become general, the great man
will seem reasonable and well-bred, but at the same time, we grieve to
say it, the great man will have been extinguished by being drawn off
from his exclusive ground. The dilemma, in short, is this:--If the great
talker attempts the plan of showing off by firing cannon-shot when
everybody else is content with musketry, then undoubtedly he produces an
impression, but at the expense of insulating himself from the sympathies
of the company, and standing aloof as a sort of monster hired to play
tricks of funambulism for the night. Yet, again, if he contents himself
with a musket like other people, then for us, from whom he modestly
hides his talents under a bushel, in what respect is he different from
the man who has no such talent?
--_De Quincey._
* * * * *
Some, in their discourse, desire rather commendation of wit, in being
able to hold all arguments, than of judgment, in discerning what is
true; as if it were a praise to know what might be said, and not what
should be thought. Some have certain commonplaces and themes wherein
they are good, and want variety; which kind of poverty is for the most
part tedious, and, when it is once perceived, ridiculous. The
honorablest part of talk is to give the occasion; and again to moderate
and pass to somewhat else; for then a man leads the dance. It is good in
discourse, and speech of conversation, to vary, and intermingle speech
of the present occasion with arguments, tales with reasons, asking of
questions with telling of opinions, and jest with earnest; for it is a
dull thing to tire, and, as we say now, to jade any thing too far. As
for jest, there be certain things which ought to be privileged from it,
namely, religion, matters of State, great persons, any man's present
business of importance, and any case that deserveth pity; yet there be
some that think their wits have been asleep, except they dart out
somewhat that is piquant, and to the quick. That is a vein which would
be bridled; _Parce, puer, stimulis, et fortius utere loris._ And,
generally, men ought to find the difference between saltness and
bitterness. Certainly, he that hath a satirical vein, as he maketh
others afraid of his wit, so he had need be afraid of others' memory. He
that questioneth much shall learn much, and content much, but
especially if he apply his questions to the skill of the persons whom he
asketh; for he shall give them occasion to please themselves in
speaking, and himself shall continually gather knowledge: but let his
questions not be troublesome, for that is fit for a poser; and let him
be sure to leave other men their turns to speak: nay, if there be any
that would reign and take up all the time, let him find means to take
them off, and to bring others on, as musicians use to do with those that
dance too long galliards. If you dissemble sometimes your knowledge of
that you are thought to know, you shall be thought, another time, to
know that you know not. Speech of a man's self ought to be seldom, and
well chosen. I knew one was wont to say in scorn, "He must needs be a
wise man, he speaks so much of himself;" and there is but one case
wherein a man may commend himself with good grace, and that is in
commending virtue in another, especially if it be such a virtue
whereunto himself pretendeth. Speech of touch towards others should be
sparingly used; for discourse ought to be as a field, without coming
home to any man. I knew two noblemen, of the west part of England,
whereof the one was given to scoff, but kept ever royal cheer in his
house; the other would ask of those that had been at the other's table,
"Tell truly, was there never a flout or dry blow given?" To which the
guest would answer, "Such and such a thing passed." The lord would say,
"I thought he would mar a good dinner." Discretion of speech is more
than eloquence; and to speak agreeably to him with whom we deal, is more
than to speak in good words, or in good order. A good continued speech,
without a good speech of interlocution, shows slowness; and a good
reply, or second speech, without a good settled speech, showeth
shallowness and weakness. As we see in beasts, that those that are
weakest in the course, are yet nimblest in the turn; as it is betwixt
the greyhound and the hare. To use too many circumstances, ere one come
to the matter, is wearisome; to use none at all, is blunt.
--_Bacon._
* * * * *
Think as little as possible about any good in yourself; turn your eyes
resolutely from any view of your acquirement, your influence, your
plan, your success, your following: above all, speak as little as
possible about yourself. The inordinateness of our self-love makes
speech about ourselves like the putting of the lighted torch to the
dried wood which has been laid in order for the burning. Nothing but
duty should open our lips upon this dangerous theme, except it be in
humble confession of our sinfulness before our God. Again, be specially
upon the watch against those little tricks by which the vain man seeks
to bring round the conversation to himself, and gain the praise or
notice which the thirsty ears drink in so greedily; and even if praise
comes unsought, it is well, whilst men are uttering it, to guard
yourself by thinking of some secret cause for humbling yourself inwardly
to God; thinking into what these pleasant accents would be changed if
all that is known to God, and even to yourself, stood suddenly revealed
to man.
--_Bishop Wilberforce._
* * * * *
In speaking of the duty of pleasing others, it will not be necessary to
dwell on the ordinary courtesies and lesser kindnesses of our daily
living, any further than to observe that none of these things, however
trifling, is beneath the notice of a good man, ... but I mention one
thing, because I think that we are most of us apt to be rather deficient
in it, and that is in the trying to suit ourselves to the tastes and
views of persons whose professions or inclinations, or situation in
life, differ widely from our own.... As a general rule, no man can fall
into conversation with another without being able to learn something
valuable from him. But in order to get at this benefit there must be
something of an accommodating spirit on both sides; each must be ready
to hear candidly and to answer fairly; each must try to please the
other. We all suffer from the want of acquaintance with the habits and
opinions and feelings of different classes of society.
--_Dr. Arnold._
* * * * *
If you would be loved as a companion, avoid unnecessary criticism upon
those with whom you live. The number of people who have taken out
judges' patents for themselves is very large in any society. Now it
would be hard for a man to live with another who was always criticising
his actions, even if it were kindly and just criticism. It would be like
living between the glasses of a microscope. But these self-elected
judges, like their prototypes, are very apt to have the persons they
judge brought before them in the guise of culprits.
Let not familiarity swallow up old courtesy. Many of us have a habit of
saying to those with whom we live such things as we say about strangers
behind their backs. There is no place, however, where real politeness is
of more value than where we mostly think it would be superfluous. You
may say more truth, or rather speak out more plainly to your associates,
but not less courteously than to strangers.
--_Helps._
* * * * *
Much of the sorrow of life springs from the accumulation, day by day and
year by year, of little trials--a letter written in less than courteous
terms, a wrangle at the breakfast table over some arrangement of the
day, the rudeness of an acquaintance on the way to the city, an
unfriendly act on the part of another firm, a cruel criticism
needlessly reported by some meddler, a feline amenity at afternoon tea,
the disobedience of one of your children, a social slight by one of your
circle, a controversy too hotly conducted. The trials within this class
are innumerable, and consider, not one of them is inevitable, not one of
them but might have been spared if we or our brother man had had a grain
of kindliness. Our social insolences, our irritating manners, our
censorious judgment, our venomous letters, our pin pricks in
conversation, are all forms of deliberate unkindness, and are all
evidences of an ill-conditioned nature.
--_John Watson._
* * * * *
If this be one of our chief duties--promoting the happiness of our
neighbors--most certainly there is nothing which so entirely runs
counter to it, and makes it impossible, as an undisciplined temper. For
of all the things that are to be met with here on earth, there is
nothing which can give such continual, such cutting, such useless pain.
The touchy and sensitive temper, which takes offence at a word; the
irritable temper, which finds offence in everything whether intended or
not; the violent temper, which breaks through all bounds of reason when
once roused; the jealous or sullen temper, which wears a cloud on the
face all day, and never utters a word of complaint; the discontented
temper, brooding over its own wrongs; the severe temper, which always
looks at the worst side of whatever is done; the wilful temper, which
overrides every scruple to gratify a whim,--what an amount of pain have
these caused in the hearts of men, if we could but sum up their results!
How many a soul have they stirred to evil impulses; how many a prayer
have they stifled; how many an emotion of true affection have they
turned to bitterness! How hard they sometimes make all duties! How
painful they make all daily life! How they kill the sweetest and warmest
of domestic charities! The misery caused by other sins is often much
deeper and much keener, more disastrous, more terrible to the sight; but
the accumulated pain caused by ill-temper must, I verily believe, if
added together, outweigh all other pains that men have to bear from one
another.
--_Bishop Temple._
* * * * *
Wicked is the slander which gossips away a character in an afternoon,
and runs lightly over a whole series of acquaintances, leaving a drop of
poison on them all, some suspicion, or some ominous silence--"Have you
not heard?"--"No one would believe it, but--!" and then silence; while
the shake of the head, or the shrug of the shoulders, finishes the
sentence with a mute meaning worse than words. Do you ever think of the
irrevocable nature of speech? The things you say are often said forever.
You may find, years after your light word was spoken, that it has made a
whole life unhappy, or ruined the peace of a household. It was well said
by St. James, "If any man among you seem to be religious, and bridleth
not his tongue, that man's religion is vain."
--_Stopford Brooke._
* * * * *
There are three kinds of silence. Silence from words is good, because
inordinate speaking tends to evil. Silence, or rest from desires and
passions, is still better, because it promotes quietness of spirit. But
the best of all is silence from unnecessary and wandering thoughts,
because that is essential to internal recollection, and because it lays
a foundation for a proper regulation and silence in other respects.
--_Madame Guyon._
* * * * *
The example of our Lord, as He humbly and calmly takes the rebuff, and
turns to go to another village, may help us in the ordinary ways of
ordinary daily life. The little things that vex us in the manner or the
words of those with whom we have to do; the things which seem to us so
inconsiderate, or wilful, or annoying, that we think it impossible to
get on with the people who are capable of them; the mistakes which no
one, we say, has any right to make; the shallowness, or conventionality,
or narrowness, or positiveness in talk which makes us wince and tempts
us towards the cruelty and wickedness of scorn;--surely in all these
things, and in many others like them, of which conscience may be ready
enough to speak to most of us, there are really opportunities for thus
following the example of our Saviour's great humility and patience. How
many friendships we might win or keep, how many chances of serving
others we might find, how many lessons we might learn, how much of
unsuspected moral beauty might be disclosed around us, if only we were
more careful to give people time, to stay judgment, to trust that they
will see things more justly, speak of them more wisely, after a while.
We are sure to go on closing doors of sympathy, and narrowing in the
interests and opportunities of work around us, if we let ourselves
imagine that we can quickly measure the capacities and sift the
characters of our fellow-men.
--_Bishop Paget._
* * * * *
How much squandering there is of the voice! How little is there of the
advantage that may come from conversational tones! How seldom does a man
dare to acquit himself with pathos and fervor! And the men are
themselves mechanical and methodical in the bad way, who are most afraid
of the artificial training that is given in the schools, and who so
often show by the fruit of their labor that the want of oratory is the
want of education.
How remarkable is sweetness of voice in the mother, in the father, in
the household! The music of no chorded instruments brought together is,
for sweetness, like the music of familiar affection when spoken by
brother and sister, or by father and mother.