Title: The Man Who Pleases and the Woman Who Charms
Author: Cone, John A.
Language: English
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  THE MAN WHO PLEASES
  AND
  THE WOMAN WHO CHARMS

  BY
  JOHN A. CONE

  "Look out lovingly upon the world and the
  world will look lovingly in upon you."

  HINDS & NOBLE, Publishers
  31-33-35 WEST 15TH STREET, NEW YORK CITY

  _Schoolbooks of all publishers at one store_



  _Third printing, February, 1904._

  Copyright, 1901.
  by
  JOHN A. CONE,
  in the
  United States
  and
  Great Britain.
  Entered at Stationer's Hall,
  London.

  All Rights Reserved.



  TO
  MY MOTHER.



CONTENTS.


                                    PAGE
  THE MAN WHO PLEASES                  1
  THE WOMAN WHO CHARMS                16
  THE ART OF CONVERSATION             29
  GOOD ENGLISH                        37
  TACT IN CONVERSATION                48
  THE COMPLIMENT OF ATTENTION         57
  THE VOICE                           65
  GOOD MANNERS                        73
  DRESS                               84
  THE OPTIMIST                        97
  PERSONAL PECULIARITIES             106
  SUGGESTIONS FROM MANY SOURCES      114



PREFACE.


The makers of books have been divided into two classes--the creators and
the collectors. In preparing this volume the author has made no claim to
a place in the first division, for he has been, to a great extent, only
a collector. The facts which the book contains are familiar to
intelligent people, and the only excuse offered for presenting them in a
new dress is that we need to be reminded often of some truths with which
we are most familiar.

In our daily intercourse with one another, we may forget to render to
others that thoughtfulness and attention which we exact from them.

We all know that the essence of courtesy is the purpose, in speech and
manner, to be agreeable, attractive, and lovable, to awaken by our
presence happy impressions in another. We all understand this, but we so
easily forget it, or, at least, forget to put it into practice.

Courtesy is not the least of the Christian virtues, and it should be
studied as an art.

The reader is requested to accept these chapters in the spirit in which
they were prepared. They are not profound psychological studies, or even
original essays, but only a bringing together of simple, yet important
truths, which are of concern to us all. Possibly they may be of some
help--"Lest we forget,----"



THE MAN WHO PLEASES.

    _The dearest friend to me, the kindest man,
    The best-conditioned and unwearied spirit
    In doing courtesies._
                                               MERCHANT OF VENICE.

    _He hath a daily beauty in his life._
                                                          OTHELLO.

    _Such a man would win any woman in the world if a' could get her
    good will._
                                           MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING.


There are few subjects of deeper interest to men and women than that of
personal fascination, or what is sometimes called "personal magnetism."
We commonly talk about it as though it were some mysterious quality of
which no definite account could be given.

"A man is fascinating," we say, "he is born magnetic; he has an
indefinable charm which cannot be analyzed or understood," and, with the
term "naturally magnetic," we hand the matter over to the world of
mystery.

Is this quality of so bewildering a nature that it cannot be understood,
or will a study of those men and women who possess preëminently the
power of pleasing show us the secret of their influence, and prove to us
that the gift of fascination is not, necessarily, innate, but that it
can, to a great degree, be acquired?

Will we not find that what appears to be the perfection of naturalness
is often but the perfection of culture?

From all our well-known public men who have won the reputation of being
"naturally magnetic," perhaps we could not select a better example than
James G. Blaine. With the possible exception of Henry Clay, no other
political leader in our history, under all circumstances, had so devoted
and determined a following. Both Clay and Blaine possessed sympathetic
and affectionate dispositions, and both understood human nature and the
art of pleasing. It may be said that Mr. Blaine's popularity was due, in
a great measure, to the brilliant and attractive nature of his public
service, and this was, no doubt, true to a certain extent. No man knew
better than he the importance of making the most of opportunities for
dramatic and sensational display, and his methods of statesmanship were
always calculated to please the multitude.

His greatest power, however, was manifested in his winning men by direct
and individual contact. One thing which assisted him in this direction
was the fact that he was, perhaps, the most courteous of all the public
men of his generation. Whenever a stranger was introduced to him, a
hearty handshake, a look of interest and an attentive and cordial manner
assured him that Mr. Blaine was very glad to see him. If they chanced to
meet again, after months or even years, the man was delighted to find
that Mr. Blaine not only remembered his name, but that he had seemed to
treasure even the most trivial recollections of their short
acquaintance. He had a marvellous memory for faces and names, and he
understood the value of this gift.

This ability to remember faces is not difficult to acquire. We could all
possess it if we would make sufficient effort. No two figures or
countenances are precisely alike, and it is by noting how they differ
one from another that you will remember them.

In explaining his own remarkable memory for faces, Thomas B. Reed once
said to a reporter that he never looked a man in the face that some
striking peculiarity, a line, a wrinkle, an expression about the eye,
the set of the lips, the shape of the nose, something set that man's
face down in his mind indelibly, and distinguished him from the rest of
mankind.

Blaine carefully trained himself to pick out some feature or peculiarity
by which he could distinguish one face or person from all others and by
which he could associate the name of the individual.

The ability to remember names and faces is one of the most valuable
accomplishments for the man in public life, or, indeed, for any man or
woman who wishes social success. Not only does it insure comfort to
one's self, but it is especially pleasing to others. Next to the comfort
of being able to address by name and without hesitation a person one has
met but once, and without mistake, is the comfort of being recognized
one's self.

Another reason why Mr. Blaine was popular with the masses was because he
was not difficult to approach, and he never missed a chance to be useful
to a person who might some time, in turn, be useful to him.

The _St. Louis Globe-Democrat_ said shortly after his death: "It was not
the habit of Mr. Blaine to wait for men to seek favors from him. He
anticipated their desires, and doubled their obligations to him by
doing voluntarily what might have been delayed for solicitation. That
gave him the kind of popularity which outlasts defeat and resists all
ordinary influences of criticism and hostility. He could always count
upon a certain measure of unflinching and unconditional support,
whatever forces happened to be arrayed against him; and he changed
bitter enemies into zealous friends with a facility that was a source of
constant surprise and wonder."

But why should his success in attracting others to himself be a source
of "surprise and wonder"?

Mr. Blaine, in common with many other magnetic men and women, understood
that the secret of personal fascination lies in one single point; that
is, "in the power to excite in another person happy feelings of a high
degree of intensity, and to make that person identify such feelings with
the charm and power of the cherished cause of them."

Any quality, good or evil, that enables a man to do this, renders him
fascinating, whether he be saint or sinner. Indeed, some of the men who
have been the most skilful in the art of pleasing have been scoundrels.

Said a writer in the _Boston Herald_: "It used to be said of Aaron
Burr--so irresistible in charm of manner was the man--that he could
never stop at the stand of the ugliest old crone of an apple-woman,
without leaving on her mind when he went away the conviction that he
regarded her as the fairest and most gracious of her sex. And so, had
woman suffrage prevailed in his day, he would have had the solid vote of
the apple-women for any office he might aspire to."

Aaron Burr clearly understood that the woman does not exist who is
wholly without sentiment, and he always appealed to that part of a
woman's nature.

He understood very well the truth of these words written by Croly: "In
the whole course of my life I never met a woman, from the flat-nosed and
ebony-colored inhabitant of the tropics to the snow-white and sublime
divinity of a Greek isle, without a touch of romance; repulsiveness
could not conceal it, age could not extinguish it, viscissitude could
not change it. I have found it in all times and places, like a spring of
fresh water, starting up even from the flint, cheering the cheerless,
softening the insensible, renovating the withered; a secret whisper in
the ear of every woman alive that to the last, affection might flutter
its rosy pinions around her brow."

Burr, understanding this, left in the mind of the apple-woman the firm
impression that he thought she must have been at one time a duchess,
reduced in fortune by some accident, and now driven to the last refuge
of an apple-stand, and that those sad facts evidently accounted for the
traits of high breeding and delicate refinement so visible through all
her present poverty.

He understood the fact that all people live in two distinct worlds--the
world of reality and the world of imagination. In the world of reality
they use brooms and shovels, wash floors and dishes, or sell apples; in
the other, they live in drawing rooms, feast sumptuously and are the
wonder and admiration of mankind.

"Few people," continues the writer in the _Herald_, "would believe that
an ugly, dilapidated looking apple-woman could dwell in the enchanted
realm of imagination just as much as the rich and favored do. But Burr
believed it, so when he spoke to the old crone, he went up, not to her
withered and beggarly self, but to her ideal self, imaginatively
entering into the duchess dream in her, and instinctively became
deferential in his bearing.

"Forthwith the duchess in her came out to meet the courtly gentleman in
him, and greetings were exchanged as between two incognito scions of
noble lineage. Each enjoyed the meeting, each had vividness enough of
imagination to impart to it the flavor of reality, and to keep out of
sight common, material facts."

"But," you say, "not every man can make such an impression, for few are
able to do and say things with the ease and grace of a Burr. There must
be a naturalness of manner which never suggests suspicion. Let the
average man attempt to force his nature and to manufacture smiles and
looks of pleasure, and the old apple-woman will know at once that she is
being fooled." Very true, and it is not desirable that the average man
should possess the ability of an Aaron Burr to influence others. Few
persons try as he did to acquire that power, but because the average man
cannot at once exercise that potent influence over others which he did,
it does not follow that we are unable to understand the secret of Burr's
success, nor is it evident that other men cannot acquire something of
this power by thinking it worth while to do so.

It would not be safe to say that all men can be equally successful, try
as they will, in inspiring in others "happy feelings of a high degree of
intensity," for nature has not been impartial in bestowing equally upon
all the gifts of adaptation and expression.

There are a few persons so constituted by temperament and mental
organism that they exercise a depressing influence over their
associates. They have a negative, flabby spirit that seems to operate,
speaking figuratively, much as a wet shoe does upon one who is compelled
to wear it. They draw upon the nervous strength and exhaust the patience
of those who are compelled to be much in their company. But there are
not many of this type. Most of us could make far more progress in
acquiring social graces and in the art of pleasing than we do.

Let us now consider some of the particular qualities which render a man
pleasing to the opposite sex.

Of course different types of men please different women. Some women care
little for the moral element in men. They do not admire them for their
goodness or nobility of character, but rather for their manners and
their ability to flatter and say pleasing things. Some women are
fascinated by mere brute strength, but they are not many. Rank, wealth,
and social position are very attractive to some, but these things do not
make the man himself more attractive to the true woman.

While a girl is young, she may go into raptures over "a cameo profile, a
Burnes-Jones head of hair, or a pre-Raphaelite languor and pallor," but
these things are bound to pall, and become absolutely distasteful. Some
even admire downright wickedness in men, and these are the women who
send delicacies to murderers in prison, and overwhelm them with
bouquets. But, fortunately, these types represent but a small fraction
of the fair sex, and this chapter has to do only with the great
majority; the intelligent, moral, cultured women of the land. What
qualities in men are most attractive to them?

Physical beauty is always attractive in either sex, yet the handsome man
has the advantage of his plainer rival only in this--he is able to draw
attention to himself at once. He must, however, have something more to
hold that attention. He may be physically an Apollo, but if he be
ill-mannered, dull or ignorant, he will stand no chance beside the man
skilled in the artful polished ways of what is called society, who is
master of that grace of manner and flexibility of speech which more than
wealth, reputation, or personal attractiveness, win their way with
women.

It has been proven, again and again, that even ugliness of face and form
is not, by any means, a bar to popularity with women, and while we are
often amazed at the choice which brilliant, beautiful women sometimes
make from a crowd of admirers, at the bottom of every apparent fantastic
selection, there is a solid, and, usually, a sensible reason.

Ernest Renan was certainly not handsome. He was exceedingly corpulent,
his complexion was said to resemble nothing else so closely as tallow.
He had claw-shaped hands, bushy gray eyebrows, and thin gray hair, yet
wherever he went into society he was sure to be the center of an
admiring group of women. He was not fascinating by reason of his
ugliness, but in spite of it. There was enough in the subtle charm of
his manner, and the melodious flow of his conversation, to make up for
all outward deficiencies.

Liszt was not a handsome man--quite the contrary; yet probably no other
man ever lived who exercised a more magnetic and potent influence over
women. Even when he had become gaunt and old, his eyes dim, his blonde
hair snow-white, his spare, lean figure wrapped in a black, priestly
gown, he was followed about by a train of fair admirers.

Chauteaubriand could charm at eighty-four, the Abbé Liszt at
seventy-five, and Aaron Burr--who was by no means handsome--had at
seventy a charm of manner that was irresistible.

The fact is, one cannot recall half a dozen very talented men who were
admired for their personal beauty. Pope was very plain; Dr. Johnson was
no better; Mirabeau was "the ugliest man in France," and yet he was the
greatest favorite with the fair sex.

These examples are not cited to prove that women do not care for
physical beauty in men. On the contrary, that is a very strong
attraction, but not the most powerful factor in holding them. Women more
frequently prize men for their sterling qualities of mind than men do
women. A perfection of physical beauty rarely associates itself with
great mental ability in either sex, but still there have been some
notable exceptions, especially among women, and every pretty woman who
reads this may consider herself one of these exceptions.

As a general thing, the man who pleases is the man who understands. It
does not matter much to a woman whether a man has great and brilliant
thoughts of his own, if he comprehends her wishes and her feelings, as
well as her thoughts. He should, if he desires to please, make a careful
study of that mysterious and complex thing--a woman's nature. He must
understand that it is of a finer fibre than his own; that it is
sensitive and easily hurt. He should have sentiment, but not be a
sentimentalist. He will be wise, indeed, if he can skilfully draw the
line between the two things. "Sentiment is divine: sentimentalism
absurd." He should be able to say much in little and he must not be a
chatterer. A woman who talks too much becomes tiresome; a man who is an
aimless talker is an intolerable bore to both sexes.

Few men understand a woman. They do not look at things from her point of
view, and, therefore, do not realize to what extent civilized life has
permitted her to assume that convention of manner and those civilities
of speech which are in some harmless degree hypocritical. It could not
be otherwise. Her ideal of a man is a very high one, but she rarely
meets him, and so she accepts the one who comes nearest to her ideal and
makes the most of the situation. She would that he were different, but a
woman can love in spite of very many things. Usually she is obliged to
if to love at all. She is much cleverer at love-making than a man. "She
is an artist where he is a crude workman, and she does not go through a
love scene without realizing how much better she could have done it if
the title rôle had been given to her."

If she is a woman of sensibility, she is shocked by a hundred
disagreeable habits which many men think justifiable. She is repelled by
awkwardness of manner, coarse modes of speech, by carelessness of person
and dress, and yet, for all that, she loves.

The lover who is most successful in retaining the affection of a
sweetheart or a wife is the one who expresses over and over again the
love and the tenderness he feels. Women, more than men, like to hear
things talked about. They are far more wide-awake to the value of
trifles, and more sensitive to changes of mood. They are given to saying
in many ways, with delicate variations, what a man is satisfied to state
once for all, even to state badly.

A man will believe in a woman's love and be satisfied with far fewer
visible tokens of it than are necessary to confirm his tenderness and
keep her convinced of it.

The truth is that a man's power of pleasing does not depend upon some
occult quality of which no account can be given, but upon the degree in
which he holds certain attractive qualities--innate or acquired. We have
no difficulty in understanding any single one of these qualities, yet
when a man possesses such a combination of them as to entitle him to the
term "fascinating" we pronounce it incomprehensible, and fall back upon
that vague term, "personal magnetism."

The personal elements which are most conducive to our influence over
others are, in a broad way: good manners, a pleasing voice, the ability
to converse well, personal neatness, taste in dress, tact, good morals,
culture and refinement, physical beauty, and intellectual force. We are
pleasing or offensive just in proportion to our possession of these very
desirable characteristics, and, possibly, what we term "personal
magnetism" is simply the result of a well-balanced development of some,
or all, of these enviable characteristics.



THE WOMAN WHO CHARMS.

    _Look on this woman. There is not beauty, not brilliant sayings,
    nor distinguished power to serve you; but all see her gladly; her
    whole air and impression are healthful. Manners require time, as
    nothing is more vulgar than haste._
                                                          EMERSON.

    _Possessed with such a gentle, sovereign grace,
    With such enchanting presence and discourse._
                                                 COMEDY OF ERRORS.

    _She's a most exquisite lady._
                                                          OTHELLO.


Is it the handsome woman? Yes, sometimes, but not always. Beauty is
always attractive, but the handsome woman has the same advantage only
that the handsome man possesses--she draws attention to herself at once.
If she has nothing but her beauty to rely upon, she does not hold the
attention.

It was Balzac who reminded us of the fact that nearly all of the most
celebrated attachments in history were inspired by women in whom there
were noticeable physical defects. Mme. de Pompadour, Joanna of Naples,
Cleopatra, La Valliere--in fact, almost all the women whom a romantic
love has invested with a halo of interest--were not without
imperfections and even infirmities, while nearly all the women whose
beauty is described to us as perfect, have been finally unhappy in their
loves.

"Perhaps," says Balzac, "men live by sentiment more than by pleasure.
Perhaps the charm, wholly physical, of a beautiful woman has its bounds,
while the charm, essentially moral, of a woman of moderate beauty may be
infinite."

Whether this be true or not, women surely overestimate the influence of
mere physical beauty to attract and hold men. Madame de Staël, whose
dominion over the hearts of all those with whom she came in contact is
well known, declared that she would gladly give up all her gifts of
person, and all her learning, if she could receive beauty in exchange.
It was fortunate for her that her wish was not granted, for, had it
been, probably she would have found her kingdom slipping away. While
she did not have a beautiful face, she possessed physical
characteristics and personal traits which rendered her absolutely
fascinating.

To a sensible man nothing is quite so insipid as a vain, brainless,
tactless beauty, whose opinions are but echoes, and who imagines that
her beauty alone will hold him chained to her chariot.

Beauty holds for a time, but after a man's eyes are satisfied, he must
be entertained, and the plain girl who possesses brains and tact need
have no fear of her more beautiful rival. Modern research has proved
that not Sappho, not Aspasia, nor even Cleopatra were women who would
have attracted any special attention by reason of their physical beauty.
Their highest charm was intellectual--the possession of an "immensity to
give," as Plutarch expresses it, in the way of grace and accomplishment.

The idea that plain girls are allowed to run to waste as "unappropriated
blessings," is not supported by evidence, for we are constantly meeting
wives far plainer than the majority of the unmarried women of our
acquaintance; and it frequently happens that a man who has a wife
physically beautiful, becomes enamored of an exceedingly plain woman who
possesses a certain quality of congeniality, some trait of adaptability
which he misses in his partner.

Says a writer in _Lippincott's_: "It is safe to make the broad
generalization that a homely girl, all other things being equal, is
likely to have fewer offers than a pretty girl, but quite as likely to
receive the one offer which will make her a happy wife. But all other
things (save the gift of beauty) seldom are equal between the homely and
the pretty girl; by the natural law of compensation, the homely girl has
either some inherent or some acquired ability that is lacking in the
other, which asserts its charm as acquaintance progresses. Beauty only
has the start in the race."

It frequently happens that the beauty makes the mistake of expecting to
be entertained by her admirers, and does not exert herself to please.
The plain girl, however, is often superior in tact, for being obliged to
study human nature closely in order to get the most out of
companionship, she learns to depend upon this knowledge in her efforts
to please. She is not dazzled by admiration, nor is she unduly confident
when she obtains it that she will retain it.

Mme. Hading, who is a strikingly handsome woman, and, therefore, can
discuss beauty without falling under suspicion, once said:

"A woman is very unfortunate who has nothing but beauty to insure her
success. There are other things superior to beauty. Taste, good taste,
brains, tact, health, those are the things a woman must have to hold
people. And then there are good manners--so rare and yet so easily
cultivated. To be refined, to be gentle, to be amiable, to be charitable
in thought and in speech, to be intelligent, is to be charming, in spite
of an unattractive body and an ugly face. To be well born is, indeed, to
be blessed, but to rise above low birth is sublime. The greatest painter
of the age could make only a caricature of a face for the Empress
Josephine, and yet the sweetness of her smile and the charm of her
pleasing and gracious ways immortalized her name. There are other ends
to happiness than mere wealth; there are sweeter things in a woman's
face than beauty."

Again, the woman who charms is not necessarily young. History is full of
accounts of women who have been fascinating when beyond middle life. The
truest and strongest love is not always inspired by the beauty of
twenty. The enthusiasm over sweet sixteen is not supported by the old
experience which teaches that the highest beauty is not found in
immaturity. Louis XIV. wedded Mme. Maintenon when she was forty-three
years old. Catherine II. of Russia was thirty-three when she seized the
Empire of Russia and captivated the dashing young Gen. Orloff. Even up
to the time of her death--at sixty-seven--she seemed to have retained
the same bewitching power, for the lamentations were heartfelt among all
those who had ever known her personally.

Cleopatra was considerably over thirty when Antony fell under her spell,
which never lessened until her death, nearly ten years later.

Livia was thirty-three when she won the heart of Augustus, over whom she
maintained her ascendancy until the last. Aspasia did not wed Pericles
until she was thirty-seven, and for more than thirty years after that
she was regarded as one of the most fascinating women of her time. Ninon
de l'Enclos, the most celebrated wit of her day, was the idol of three
generations of the golden youth of France, and she was seventy-two when
the Abbé de Berais fell in love with her.

Helen of Troy, the celebrated Greek beauty, was over forty-five when she
took part in the most famous elopement in history; and as the siege of
Troy lasted ten years, she must have been at least fifty-five when the
ill-fortune of Paris restored her to her husband, who is reported to
have received her with unquestioned love and gratitude. Mlle. Mars, the
celebrated actress, was most attractive at forty-five, and Mme. Récamier
was at the zenith of her good looks and of her power to please when
between thirty-five and fifty-five. Diana de Poitiers was over
thirty-six when Henry II., then Duke of Orleans, and just half her age,
became attached to her, and she was regarded as the first lady and the
most beautiful woman at court up to the time of the monarch's death and
the accession to power of Catherine de Medici.

The common idea that the mature beauty of forty is less fascinating than
that of the girl of seventeen or eighteen is without foundation. By
beauty is not meant merely well-formed features and a fresh
complexion--these things even dolls possess. In spite of the rosy, fresh
complexion bestowed upon youth by nature, a woman's best and richest age
is really between thirty-five and forty-five, and sometimes considerably
beyond that period.

No one would dare say how old Madame Patti is. Everyone who meets her
exclaims at her marvellous youthfulness and vivacity. Patti's
explanation of her bright eyes, smooth skin and happy expression is
given in a few words: "I have kept my temper. No woman can remain young
who often loses her temper."

As a woman grows older, she ought to become more attractive in certain
ways than she could be in her youth. One of the most needful things for
attaining this result is good health. Fine muscles, a healthy, glowing
skin, eyes bright with energy and ambition--these make a valuable
foundation for the woman who would be attractive. The woman who, at a
certain age, considers herself _passé_, commits a great error. If she so
regards herself; if she believes she has passed the time when she can be
interesting, others are quite likely to find her unattractive. Surely a
woman should be more interesting after she leaves the period of
girlhood. She ought to be able to converse better, she should possess
more wisdom, greater tact, broader knowledge of human nature; and she
should have more repose, more grace of manner. Indeed, she should have
all her accomplishments well in hand, and be more facile in their use
for the pleasure of others; and she will be able to use them to better
advantage if she has cultivated placidity of temper, human sympathy and
generosity, and is not careless of her personal appearance. It
frequently happens that women who have reached middle life neglect many
of the aids to physical beauty which they once carefully followed. They
are careless about dress, and grow to esteem it excusable to dispense
with those simple and necessary accessories of the toilet which formerly
helped to make them so exquisitely fresh and dainty. They grow
accustomed to think that untidiness must necessarily be associated with
drudgery. But in these days it is becoming more possible to carry the
element of refinement and beauty with us everywhere.

Many women could seem much finer, more delicate than they appear, if
they were not accustomed to think that a certain homeliness, and even
negligence of attire is quite excusable, and, indeed, almost inseparable
from common work-a-day life. As we grow older, it becomes more necessary
that we use care in always presenting that appearance of personal
neatness which never fails to be attractive to those with whom we come
in contact.

One of the strongest elements a woman can possess to attract the other
sex is a sympathetic interest in a man's work. This was what attracted
Dr. Schliemann, the famous Greek scholar and explorer, to the young
woman whom he married. She was familiar with the Iliad and the Odyssey,
and was an enthusiast upon the subject of uncovering the ancient cities
of Homer.

Men like to have women interested in the things in which they themselves
are interested.

One who has read Richard Harding Davis' "Soldiers of Fortune" may
remember that Clay grew very fond of Miss Langham. His first
disappointment in her came to him when he discovered her lack of
interest in his work of opening up the iron mines in South America. Miss
Langham's younger sister, Hope, was, on the other hand, extremely
interested in the mines, made an exhaustive study of the methods of
mining, and when she, with the other members of the family, visited the
scene of Clay's engineering operations, it was she who drew Clay's
attention to herself by intelligent questions and suggestive remarks. He
was delighted with her, admired her, fell in love with her, and then
married her. That day at the mines was the beginning of the end of the
old love, and the awakening of the new.

To interest men a woman should, by reading the papers, acquire, and be
able to express, a reasonably clear idea of what is happening in the
world. She should ascertain what is of special interest to the
particular man she wishes to attract, and, whether the subject be
politics, business, out-door sports, art, science, or literature, she
should be able to contribute something in a conversation upon that
subject more interesting than a mere yes or no.

As it is the manly man who wins and satisfies a good woman, so it is the
womanly woman who pleases and retains the regard of the estimable man.

Men like the womanly woman. She need not be soft or silly, weak or
nervous; she may be strong, vigorous, resolute, and brave. A man has
little sympathy for the girl who imitates men either in dress, manner
or conversation. If a womanly man is not pleasing to either sex, what
shall we say of a manlike woman!

He thoroughly expresses the writer's view who said: "A perfect woman may
be adorable; a woman who is perfect would be beyond endurance." Yet,
however irreligious a man may be himself, he always dislikes irreverence
in a woman. He wishes and expects his wife to be better than he is, and,
generally, she is.

Men do not like the over-dressed woman--the one who goes to the extreme
of a fashion and a little further. He does not care for costliness of
apparel, but he is always attracted by freshness and daintiness.

A sense of humor is a valuable gift in a woman who wishes to please. Men
like the girl who sees the funny side of a thing; who can make them
laugh; who can be witty without being sarcastic; who can jest and not be
malicious; who can relate humorous experiences without saying things
calculated to make others uncomfortable.

A man likes a woman who entertains and amuses him. Young girls often
express surprise that one of their number is so popular among men. They
know she is not so pretty as dozens of other girls. She is not dressed
so richly as they are, yet, at a party, she will have half a dozen
young men about her while they are neglected and alone. She must, they
conclude, have that indefinable quality of magnetism, and that is all
that can be said about it, and they could not find out the secret if
they tried. But probably there is no secret about it. Although she is
not pretty, and does not possess a vast amount of information, she has
tact, and a quick and electric vivacity of spirit which acts as a breeze
on the sluggish waters, making ripples of pleasure and laughter, and so
produces an exhilarating effect upon all about her.

Many young men, if diffident or awkward, feel, it may be, a little out
of place. They hardly know what to do or say, but this particular girl
wakes them up, and they find themselves laughing and talking with
astonishing ease. She understands how to make them feel at ease, how to
draw them out, and as they associate with her they become unusually
elated, and it is not at all strange that in every company they look
eagerly for her presence.

While, judging from the descriptions and representations which we have
of her, Cleopatra was by no means beautiful, there is no mystery about
her fascinating influence over men.

"She had," said a writer in _The Boston Herald_, "jaded Roman conquerors
to deal with, men sated with every form of mere animal pleasure. There
was no piquancy left in anything; all had palled and staled on their
cloyed palates. But in Cleopatra was evermore something fresh,
unexpected, perfectly original!

"No wonder the bystanders cried, 'Age cannot wither nor custom stale her
infinite variety.' What had she to fear from the rivalship of mere youth
and beauty so long as her nimble intellect was fertile, like the Nile
floods, in successive harvests, in the one quality her lovers were ready
to lavish kingdoms for, namely, 'infinite variety.'"

To go back to the definition of personal fascination given in the
preceding chapter, we repeat that it consists "in the power to excite in
another person happy feelings of a high degree of intensity, and to make
that person identify such feelings with the charm and power of the
cherished cause of them."

There may be such a thing as the "indefinite quality of magnetism" which
draws people to the possessor whether they will or no; but there are
many personalities who are charming because they have willed to be,
because by painstaking perseverance they have acquired those
characteristics which enable them to please and charm all with whom they
come in contact.



THE ART OF CONVERSATION.

    "_Though conversation, in its better part,
    May be esteemed a gift and not an art,
    Yet much depends, as in the tiller's toil,
    On culture and the sowing of the soil._"
                                                           COWPER.

    _In all countries where intelligence is prized, a talent for
    conversation ranks high among accomplishments. To clothe the
    thoughts in clear and elegant language, and to convey them
    impressively to the mind of another, is no common attainment._
                                                   MRS. SIGOURNEY.


The man or woman who is an intelligent, tactful conversationalist,
commands one of the most essential elements of a pleasing address. While
all of us may have certain defects which we cannot wholly overcome,
however earnestly we may try, we can, if we will, re-form our
conversation. We can so train ourselves that good nature,
considerateness and benevolence will always have a place in our
intercourse with others. We can, if we will, use good English, and we
can avoid the temptation, so common, to talk of persons rather than of
things. Theoretically, we despise gossip; practically, most of us add
our mite to the common fund. We may not be ill-natured, and the sweet
charity that "thinketh no evil" may have a home in our hearts; yet
sometimes, if we are not watchful, it may fall asleep, and bitterness,
or the spirit of spitefulness come creeping stealthily to the surface.

We can, if we will, be intellectually honest--a kind of honesty which is
indeed rare. The principal reason why arguments and discussions lead to
so must dissatisfaction and ill-feeling on the part of the disputants,
is the lack of this quality.

Two men are engaged in conversation and a question of religious belief
or of politics is brought to the front. Each takes a side in the
discussion and maintains his opinions to the end. Neither is searching
for the truth, but is eager to defend his side of the question against
the attacks of his opponent. It does not occur to either that anything
else can be the truth except the things he has been taught to believe.
To both, the truth simply takes the form of their own opinions; and
since they are most firmly attached to their opinions, neither ever
questions his own devotion to the truth. Such persons can scarcely be
said to use their minds at all, for their thinking has been done by some
one else. Many a hostess is obliged tactfully to separate aggressively
argumentative and disputatious guests, who have never learned that
others have an equal right to their own opinions, and that not every
dinner party is the proper occasion to plunge into heated argument in
the hope of changing another's views.

Again, we can all avoid the habit of exaggeration--a fault which does
not get itself called by the name of "falsehood," but which is in
dangerously close proximity to it. A man hears something, true enough in
its original shape, but he passes it on with a little addition of his
own. The one to whom he tells it adds his touch of exaggeration, until,
at last, the statement is so swollen and distorted as to convey anything
but the real truth. It would be difficult to charge any one with
deliberate prevarication. The result is a sort of accumulative lie, made
by successive individual contributions of little dashes of exaggeration.
Thousands who would never be guilty of inventing an entire story
derogatory to the reputation of another, are constantly contributing to
the formation of these accumulative falsehoods, which are quite as evil
in their results as though conceived and concocted by one person.

We can put into requisition a nice sense of honor in our conversation.
In a hundred different ways this most fitting attribute of the true
woman and the real gentleman is often put to the test. We can remember
that it is quite as easy to be ill-mannered in speech as in conduct.

There are men and women who, at a dinner, would not under any
circumstances, transgress the rules of table etiquette, but who may
offend quite as grossly by a thoughtless or an intemperate use of words.
They may not dispense with the fork, but they wound the heart by unkind
words. They may observe all the amenities from oyster-fork to
finger-bowl, yet they offend some member of the company by sarcasm or
personal innuendo. They may not misplace or misuse the napkin, but they
may render the entire company uncomfortable by declining to yield, in
argument, to the greater weight of evidence; or by overloading a story
with unimportant details. They may be scrupulously neat, and of easy and
graceful deportment, but may never have learned the gentle art of
keeping one's temper sweet when criticised or when confronted by a
contradiction.

These very suggestive words appeared in "The Churchman": "It is almost a
definition of a gentleman to say that he is one who never inflicts
pain. The true gentleman carefully avoids whatever may cause a jar or a
jolt in the minds of those with whom he is cast. He has his eyes on all
his company; he is tender toward the bashful, gentle toward the distant,
and merciful toward the absurd. He avoids unreasonable allusions on
topics which may irritate; he is seldom prominent in conversation, and
never wearisome. Another delightful trait in him is that he makes light
of favors when he bestows them, and seems to be receiving when he is
conferring. He never speaks of himself except when compelled, never
defends himself by a mere retort. He has no ears for slander or gossip;
is scrupulous in imputing motives to those who interfere with him, and
interprets everything for the best. He is never mean or small in his
disputes, never insinuates evil which he dare not say out. He has too
much good sense to be affronted at insults, and is too well employed to
remember injuries. He may be right or wrong in his opinions, but he is
too clear-headed to be unjust. He is as simple as he is forcible, and as
brief as he is decisive."

The entertaining talker is not, of necessity, a great talker; he is
often a good listener. He understands that a bright story, briefly told,
will amuse, but that people are bored by a long story, filled with
pointless details. He is not necessarily learned or profound. He
understands that small change is of as much importance in social
intercourse as it is between men in business. "Although deprecated by
some wise people as vain and frivolous," says _Zion's Herald_, "small
talk has a legitimate function in human intercourse. It is the small
coin of conversation. Those who despise its use often get on as badly in
social life as would the merchant who should exclude the dimes and
quarters from his money-drawer. Without them, the wheels of trade would
be blocked. An honest old copper penny will often turn the corner of a
good bargain. Chit-chat gives ease to conversation. The strait-jacket is
removed; the mental forces have full play; the man acts himself; and the
communication of soul with soul becomes free and delightful. With small
talk he is familiar, and can toss it about as a juggler does his cards.
The philosopher with his learned and exact phrases at once deadens the
flow of soul."

Men and women are not strictly original. The things we say to-day have
been said just as well a thousand times before; but that forms no reason
why we should not say them again. The coins in your purse have been
through a hundred hands and are not the less useful in serving you
again.

The fellowship enjoyed rather than the store of wisdom communicated, is
the end of conversation. Whether they say anything of importance or not,
we like to hear some persons talk; they inspire us and set our own
mental machinery in motion. Small talk often brings us most readily in
contact with another soul.

All good conversationalists know the use of small talk. To be sure, they
know something more, something larger and better, but the chinks in the
larger subject are filled in wonderfully by a familiar interpolation of
the smaller things in a chatty way. Many a wise and learned man would be
a better talker if he had at hand a supply of small coin. He can talk
extremely well on serious and recondite subjects, but the quick jest and
easy repartee of the parlor and the dining-room are beyond him. He is,
in spite of his learned lore, at a disadvantage in society, where there
is no time for homilies or for treatises on erudite topics. Persons less
gifted chat and laugh and have a good time while he sits in gloomy
silence. Those who would please and be pleased in social intercourse
must carry with them and be ready to dispense the small change of light
and witty conversation.

To be popular in society, find out whether your companion prefers to
talk or listen; avoid personalities; endeavor to lead the conversation
to subjects familiar and interesting to others rather than especially
pleasing to yourself; never indulge in sarcasm; be good-natured and
sympathetic; strive to be tactful; exchange small courtesies; talk to
all with equal attention and interest, and whatever the topic of
conversation, or wherever you may be, appear cheerfully contented.
Acquire, and then exhibit, that adaptability to place and people which
conduces ever to grateful and pleasing companionship.

William Mathews writes in _Success_: "Conversation rules the destiny of
the state and of the individual; from diplomacy, which is essentially
the art of conversing skilfully on political themes, down to the daily
transactions of the mart and the exchange, its empire is evident to all.

"Such being the potency and importance of conversation, why is so little
attention given to its culture to-day? Why is it that so many educated
men, who are fastidious regarding their personal appearance, and bestow
upon their bodies the most solicitous care, are yet willing to send
their minds abroad in a state of slovenliness, regardless of the
impression they make?"



GOOD ENGLISH.

    _We should be as careful of our words as of our actions._
                                                           CICERO.


An accomplishment, in its accepted meaning, is "something acquired which
perfects or makes complete; an attainment which tends to equip in
character, manner, or person, and which gives pleasure to others."

Surely, then, the man or woman who desires to please cannot possess too
many accomplishments; and, accepting the definition just given, is there
any other accomplishment of greater importance than facility in speaking
and writing one's native language with ease and with elegance? Is there
any other single test of culture so conclusive as this? Is it not the
matter, and, particularly, the method of one's speech more than anything
else which impresses the person whom we meet for the first time, either
favorably or unfavorably in regard to our acquirements? We may have but
few opportunities during a lifetime to display our knowledge of
geometry, algebra or astronomy; we may be for weeks in the company of
other people without giving them an opportunity to suspect that we
possess any knowledge of Latin or Greek, but as long as we live, and
every day we live, we are giving evidences of facility or awkwardness in
the use of our mother tongue.

How much time is wasted in practicing upon unresponsive musical
instruments--unresponsive because not touched by sympathetic fingers!
How much time is spent in acquiring a slight knowledge of French and
German, which results, generally, in an ability to use a few simple
phrases, and to translate easy sentences with the aid of a dictionary!
How many young women, with no artistic ability whatever, spend weeks and
months under the instruction of teachers in vain attempts to produce
something in oil or in water-color worthy to be called a picture! How
much more to the advantage of these young women would it be if a part of
this time were spent in acquiring a better understanding of the use of
English!

The writer once knew a girl who, after playing a selection upon the
piano, left the room and burst into tears because she had been guilty of
a slight blunder in her execution--a blunder not noticed by two of the
twenty persons assembled in the parlor. This same girl, however,
exhibited, habitually, a carelessness in pronunciation, and an
ignorance of English grammar of which she should have been heartily
ashamed, and which caused far more annoyance to her friends than her
blunders in music.

Boys and girls should be trained to feel that it is as discreditable to
them to confound the parts of speech in conversation, as it is to make
discords in music, or to finish a picture out of drawing, or to be
guilty of some inadvertence of manner. They should be made to feel that
proficiency in music, French, German, or painting, or any other
accomplishment, so-called, will not compensate for slovenliness of
diction.

In addressing a girl's school, Bishop Huntington once said: "Probably
there is not an instrument in common use, from a pencil to a piano,
which is used so imperfectly as language. If you will let me be plain, I
suspect that it would be safe to offer a gold medal as a prize to any
young lady here who will not, before to-morrow night, utter some
sentence that cannot be parsed; will put no singulars and plurals in
forbidden connections; will drop no particles, double no negatives, mix
no metaphors, tangle no parentheses; begin no statement two or three
times over without finishing it; and not once construct a proposition
after this manner:

"When a person talks like that, they ought to be ashamed of it.'"

These are frank statements to address to a class of young ladies; but
the Bishop's implication would hold with equal truth not only in the
case in point, but also with a large number of the high schools,
seminaries and colleges of this country. Surely such a charge against
the other practical branches of study could not be made and sustained.

When James Russell Lowell said: "We are the most common-schooled and the
least educated people in the world," he might have added that the
statement was especially applicable to our habits of using or abusing
our mother tongue.

This general indifference to good English is not, in most instances, the
result of a lack of knowledge, for time enough is devoted to the study
of technical grammar in almost all schools, to enable the pupil to
become thoroughly acquainted with the principles which govern the use of
our language.

It is because many persons, not having acquired the habit of correct
speech, do not think to apply the rules of grammar in conversation. Were
children accustomed from infancy to hear only correct English, there
would be but little need to memorize arbitrary rules of grammar, for
they would, from habit, speak and write correctly. Thus it is that the
children of educated parents are generally so easy and graceful in their
conversation, contrasted with the children of the uneducated. Our
language, like our manners, is caught from those with whom we associate.

Several other nations are far in advance of our own in the thoroughness
with which their youth are drilled in the use of language.

In France, a knowledge of the French language, spoken and written, is
regarded as of special importance. In all entrance examinations, or
examinations for promotion or graduation, the pupil's knowledge of his
native tongue is first determined; and no promotions are allowed, and no
diplomas granted, if the student is notably deficient in this regard,
even though his knowledge of the other required branches should prove to
be all that could be desired. We have not so high a standard in the
United States. It has been but a few years since a definite knowledge of
English was added to the requirements for admission to American
colleges, and even now it has not, in any of our educational
institutions, the relative weight in determining examinations which
French and German have in the systems of those countries. While great
improvement has been made in teaching English, and while better methods
are employed than formerly, it is still safe to say that in no other
branch of study, pursued with equal diligence, are the results so
unsatisfactory.

Surely in no other way do we so clearly show the degree of our culture
and refinement as by our every-day conversation. Is it not important,
then, that we devote our efforts seriously, and with infinite patience,
if necessary, to mastering a matter so essential?

The selection of good English does not necessarily imply either a
stilted monotony of speech, or a tiresome affectation. It is simply
elegance and naturalness. There is no reason why any person, however
humble his station in life, should not hope to speak his native language
correctly. It is an accomplishment which is not expensive. In its
acquirement one does not require high-priced teachers. It demands only
care and attention. Be critical of yourself. Watch your sentences. Get
your companions to correct your slips of the tongue. Say over correctly
the troublesome sentence until the mistake becomes impossible. Listening
to well educated persons and reading the best literature are both of
great assistance in this direction, especially if we offer to both the
sincere flattery of imitation. Our literature teems with masterpieces of
style. To read them consistently is to imbibe a certain facility of
diction.

There are many persons who, while they do not violate the rules of
technical grammar, habitually indulge in slang, hyperbole, and in many
"weeds of speech" which should be pulled up promptly and cast aside. A
great many boys and girls, and even some older persons, imagine that the
use of slang lends piquancy and force to their conversation. Slang is
always an element of weakness. It is bad enough in a man, but in women
it is far more questionable. It is not the expression of the refined. To
the cultivated taste it is discordant.

Another fault prevalent among girls is the habit of hyperbole.
Perfectly, awfully, nice, and splendid, are the four most overworked
words, and awfully is the most abused of them all. It is strange, the
hold this word has secured in the vocabulary of girls who, in almost all
other respects, are considerate in their use of English. Persons are
called awfully good, awfully bad, awfully clever, awfully stupid,
awfully nice, awfully jolly and awfully kind. It is made to do duty on
all occasions and under all circumstances, as though it were the only
adverb admissible in good society. Among adjectives, splendid easily
ranks as the most popular. To many, everything is splendid, whether it
is a flower, a sunset, a dinner, a football game, a friend, a sermon, or
a book. Then we are continually hearing that certain things are
_perfectly_ splendid, _perfectly_ lovely, _perfectly_ hateful,
_perfectly_ glorious, _perfectly_ magnificent and _perfectly_ sweet. How
word-stricken society would do without these expressions it is difficult
to determine, yet certain it is that the woman who deals recklessly in
superlatives demonstrates forthwith that her judgment is dominated by
her impulses, that her opinions are of doubtful reliability, and her
criticisms valueless.

In a recent number of one of the popular magazines Prof. Brander
Matthews has an article on the prevailing indifference in regard to the
proper use of words. The points which he emphasizes are these:

The gentleman is never indifferent, never reckless in his language. The
sloven in speech is quite as offensive as a sloven in manner and dress.
The neat turning of a phrase is as agreeable to the ear as neatness of
person is to the refined taste. A man should choose his words at least
as carefully as he chooses his clothing; even a hint of the dandy is not
objectionable, if it be but a hint. It is even better to go to the
extreme of fastidiousness than to indulge the opposite extreme of
negligence.

The art of writing letters is but another phase of the same matter.
Indeed it is but conversation carried on with the pen, when distance or
circumstances prevent the easier method of exchanging ideas by spoken
words. It is an art which should be faithfully cultivated by those who
desire to please. In social life, in business, in almost every other
circumstance of life, we find our pen called into requisition. Yet while
it is an almost indispensable accomplishment, it is one which is
pitifully neglected. The art of letter-writing is becoming obsolete;
that is, the art of writing such letters as enriched the epistolary
literature of a former generation. This is unfortunate, as there is
nothing that will so stimulate thought, and bring into activity,
practical, every-day niceties of phrase as the exercise of this art.
Constant drill in letter-writing will tend to take from one's vocabulary
words which have no place there, and will accomplish quite as much as
any other means to broaden, beautify, and to refine the language at our
command, as well as to train the mind to exact habits of thinking. A
further important consideration is the charm which "a gem of a letter"
has for the delighted recipient.

The indispensable requisites of a good letter are neatness of
chirography, simplicity, and grammatical correctness. Defects in any one
of these particulars are scarcely pardonable. We cannot all be pretty
writers, but we can all write legibly and give to the page the
appearance of neatness. Scribbling is inexcusable.

"A scribbled page points to a scribbling mind, while clear, legible
handwriting is not only an indication of clear thinking, but a means and
promoter of accurate thought. Indeed, simply as a business proposition,
one cannot afford to become a slovenly penman."

"And who," says _The Philadelphia Record_, "does not know the charm of a
gracefully worded, legibly written letter, with its wide margins, its
clear, black ink and dainty stationery? An art, indeed, is the writing
of such a missive; an art which it behooves every woman to cultivate.
A hastily written line betraying signs of carelessness, and scrawled
on an indifferent sheet of paper is a poor compliment, indeed, to the
receiver, and elicits anything but flattering comments upon the writer."

Careless speech is quite bad enough, but the charm of the speaker may be
so great as to disarm criticism. The letter, however, the written word,
stands on its own merits; "what is writ is writ." There is no graceful
vivacity to plead for the writer; no coquetry of manner to distract the
glance of the reader from the errors coldly set forth in black and
white. Observe, then, the utmost care in inditing an epistle, whether to
a friend or foe or to a lover. Never send forth a letter in undress, so
to speak, scarcely more than you would present yourself _en dishabille_
before your most formal acquaintances. The one is almost as flagrant as
the other.



TACT IN CONVERSATION.

    _"Ask only the well about their health."_

    _Discretion in speech is more than eloquence._
                                                            BACON.

    _Brilliancy in conversation is to the company what a lighted
    candle is to a dark room--it lightens the whole of it. But every
    now and then some unskilful person, in attempting to clip the
    wick to make it brighter, snuffs it out._
                                                   JAMES C. BEEKS.


Seldom does there occur in society any lapse so astonishing as the
uncomfortable remarks innocently made by men and women to each other.
Some persons who are careful and considerate in other respects, seem to
have a woeful lack of that quality which we call tact. They wish to be
pleasing; they would not for the world intentionally say or do anything
to injure or wound the sensitiveness of a friend; yet they are
continually saying those "things that would better have been left
unsaid."

_Harper's Bazar_ mentions some of these speeches which have no excuse
for being.

"What a dear little fellow that is!" said a caller to the mother of a
three-year-old.

"He is a great comfort to us," replied the mother, stroking the child's
long curls.

"Yes; I should think so. He is not pretty, is he? His hair is so
beautiful now that at the first glance one would call him pretty. But if
you imagine how he will look when those golden curls are cut off, you
will see that he will be a very plain child."

Said another woman to an acquaintance: "Mrs. A., I hope you will pardon
me for saying that I think I never saw a more beautiful piece of lace
than the flounce on the gown that you wore to the Assembly Ball last
week. I said to my husband afterward that if Mr. A. should fail again
and lose everything, as he has done once or twice already, you could
sell that lace and easily get a good price for it."

The same woman, while making a visit of several weeks, said to her
hostess, as the time of her departure drew near: "I always think that
the nicest thing about making a visit is the returning to one's home.
One's family are always so glad to see one, and there is always great
luxury to me in getting back to my own house, where I can do what I
please, say what I please, and order what I want to eat."

Again, there are people who seem to think that it is their mission to
puncture every person's infirmity with whom they come in contact. They
study to speak disagreeably. They corner you in the social circle, and
talk about the subject they know to be most disagreeable to you, and
talk in a tone sufficiently loud to be heard by all the other persons in
the room. If you have made a blunder they reveal it. If you have been
unsuccessful in any of your undertakings they are sure to inquire about
it, even to details. They unroll your past and dilate upon your future.
They put you on the rack every time you meet them and there is an
instinctive recoil when you perceive their approach.

"We all know these persons," says _Zion's Herald_, "the persons who
always utter the unsuitable word, who make themselves generally
disagreeable, who never, apparently, try to make a pleasing impression
upon others, but who delight to sting and wound."

Are we not all acquainted with the neighbor mentioned in this quotation:
"As a brief and sharp tormentor, as a nail in the boot, a rocker for
the shins on a dark night, or a sharp angle for the ulnar nerve, Mrs.
R----, our neighbor, excels all persons I ever saw. I am quite sure if
she could disturb a corpse by whispering to it that its shroud was
ill-fitting, and the floral gifts were not what had been expected, she
would do it."

If you are a woman have you not more than once gone out for a walk with
some other woman who is never satisfied with your appearance?

She gives your gown a pull, saying: "This dress never did fit you; it
isn't at all becoming to you, why didn't you wear your other one?" You
soon begin to feel uncomfortable, and to wish you were at home again.
Your bonnet may be never so becoming, or your new jacket may fit you to
perfection, but she never mentions either. She notices only defects; she
sees all that is disagreeable. Such persons always leave an
uncomfortable feeling behind them when they leave you.

Sarcasm is not a quality to be cultivated by either sex. Men do not like
it in women. It may be amusing when it is directed against another, but
there is always a lurking fear that it may some time be directed against
one's self. Sarcasm is a rank weed, that, once sprouted, grows and
grows, choking out the little plants of kindness, forethought and
consideration, until it overruns the garden of the mind, dominating and
controlling every thought with a disagreeable, pungent odor that cannot
be eradicated.

The sarcastic girl is not fascinating, for she is not a pleasing
companion. She is too sharp to be agreeable. She may possess talent
above the average of her acquaintances; she may be able to talk in half
a dozen different languages; she may be as beautiful as a Greek statue;
but men fight shy of her. Sarcasm is not wit, though wit may be
sarcastic. One may be bright and say all manner of clever things without
hurting the feelings of others by keen, knife-edged opinions that are
full of bitterness and teeming with gall.

The tactful person does not make the mistake of talking too much about
himself. While we are young, at least, we are very interesting to
ourselves, and we are likely to imagine that all the world is interested
in our opinions, prejudices and tastes. But though this may be true of
our dearest friends, it is not true as far as other people are
concerned.

"Without question," says the _Magnet_, "our conversation must be based
upon what we have experienced in one way or another. But that does not
make it necessary for us to talk continually about ourselves. If we
should examine carefully the things we say to the merest acquaintances,
we would be astonished, oftentimes, to see that we assume an interest
in ourselves which we have no right to expect." People who are ill are
likely to make indiscriminate claims upon sympathy, entertaining
strangers as well as friends with detailed descriptions of their latest
symptoms, and the doctor's latest remedies. Some of us who have not the
excuse of illness, impose on the persons we meet by obliging them to
listen to a great deal of personal information which may be of interest
to ourselves, and possibly to those who love us very dearly, but
scarcely to any one else.

Several years ago the _Christian Union_ related this incident: The
social occasion was a dinner. One of the guests was a woman who had
passed middle life; good taste, ample means, with womanly grace and
natural refinement, made her an addition to any circle. The hostess of
the occasion was a woman who prided herself on her ability to meet the
requirements of her station. She had no doubt as to her fitness in any
social capacity, but her friends had not the same unquestioning faith in
her tact.

The gentle guest found to her delight that she was assigned to the care
of the son of an old school friend, and inwardly thanked her hostess for
the consideration and thoughtfulness which made it possible for her to
hear from her friend, whom she had not met in years. The guests were no
sooner seated at the table than the hostess leaned toward the young man,
and, in a voice perfectly audible to the entire company, said: "Never
mind, Bob, I will do better for you next time."

For one minute there was perfect silence, the lady and her escort alike
appalled by what had been said; but the kindliness of the guest overcame
the embarrassing moment by calling the attention of the young man to the
roses on the table, which, she said to him with a smile, were great
favorites of his mother when she was in school. This broke the ice. The
hostess was perfectly unconscious that she had been guilty of any
rudeness. Her intention was to be particularly polite to the young man;
first to assure him that he would be her guest again, and, secondly,
that she would then have a rosebud to assign to his care. The amusing
part was that the young man greatly admired his mother's friend, and had
frequently been her guest on his visits to the city.

It is difficult to imagine how a woman could move in society to any
extent and remain capable of such a blunder, and yet we have all passed
through similar experiences at the hands of people whose social
experience should render such tactlessness impossible. There comes to
mind now an imposing woman, who prided herself on the fact that she
always said just what she thought. At a reception, she filled the room
by her manner; it was impossible to continue oblivious of her presence.

Bowing affably to her acquaintances, she sailed--for women of this type
do not walk--up to a modest little lady whose health, she had heard, was
declining, and in a loud voice exclaimed: "What have you been doing to
yourself? You have aged fifteen years since last I saw you!" Not unkind
by intention, she was but practising her system of saying just what she
thought, and she was constantly urging upon her friends the propriety of
this course; but what an unbearable place our world would be if we all
followed this example of inane and inconsiderate bluntness.

So the woman who is always finding in you resemblances to some other
person whom she has met, creates many of the uncomfortable experiences
of social life, and when she thinks it interesting to exploit the
character of your prototype, dwelling upon the mental and physical
defects, she becomes unbearable. Yet society has, as yet, found no sure
way to eliminate her.

Such infelicities are not the outcrop of unkindness so much as of a
certain ineptitude or lack of _savoir faire_. Such people feel
constrained to do their share of the talking, but have not acquired
tactfulness in selecting the topic, nor alertness to avoid the
pitfalls--both of which traits may by sedulous self-training be acquired
by any one in whom, unhappily, they are not innate.

In one of these instances bad manners were the natural expression of the
woman, because her impulse was selfish; for it is certainly true that a
person of truly unselfish nature will not offend by making personal
remarks. Manners are the expression of the heart, and the man or woman
who lives mentally in kindly, thoughtful relations with fellow men and
women will refrain from expressing the thought which might possibly give
offence. There is no mystery in social grace. It is remembering other
people in their several relations to us. The woman who is a social
success is not the one who has for her purpose in life so much the
desire merely to please, but the one whose desire, rather, is to make
others happy. One is a polite purpose; the other is a fine type of
unselfishness that makes impossible the utterance of unwelcome truths to
the chagrin of anyone encountered in the casual personal contact that we
term society.

Holmes gave us some good advice when he said: "Don't flatter yourselves
that friendship authorizes you to say disagreeable things to your
intimates. On the contrary, the nearer you come into relation with a
person, the more necessary do tact and courtesy become."



THE COMPLIMENT OF ATTENTION.

    _"Were we as eloquent as angels we should please some people more
    by listening than by talking."_

    _"A good listener is as needful to a witty talker as steel to
    flint. It is the sharp contact of the two which makes the sparks
    fly."_


There are certain amenities attending social intercourse with which we
are all familiar, yet we are constantly forgetting to put them into
practice. In no respect is this forgetfulness more noticeable than in
conversation, and especially in connection with what may be called "the
compliment of attention."

If you despair of becoming a good talker you can, at least, make
yourself a good listener, and that is something not to be despised.
There are apt to be more good talkers than good listeners, and, although
to say so may sound paradoxical, the better you listen, the greater
will be your reputation as a conversationalist.

In the opinion of the cynical Rochefoucauld, the reason why so few
persons make themselves agreeable in conversation, is because they are
more concerned about what they are themselves going to say, than what
others are saying to them.

If you have read "Nicholas Nickleby," you remember Mrs. Nickleby tells
how remarkable Smike was as a converser. She entertained poor Smike for
several hours with a genealogical account of her family, including
biographical sketches, while he sat looking at her and wondering what it
was all about, and whether she learned it from a book or said it from
her own head.

Said a writer in the _Chicago Herald_: "What is there, indeed, more
colloquial than an intelligent countenance, eagerly intent upon one
while telling a story? What language can be compared to the speaking
blush or flashing eye of an earnest listener? It was Desdemona, with
greedy ear devouring his discourse, who won Othello's heart. He told his
wondrous story, and she listened--that only was the witchcraft he had
used."

It is said of Sir Walter Scott that, although one of the best talkers in
the world, he was also the best listener. With the same bland look he
would watch, throughout an entire evening, the lips of his garrulous
tormentor ignorantly discoursing on Greek epigrams, or crassly dilating
on the intricacies of a parliamentary debate.

It was said of Madame Récamier that she listened most winningly, and
this was one secret of her wonderful power to charm.

We have all heard the story of Madame de Staël, who, by a clever
stratagem, was introduced to a deaf mute at a party. She talked to him
the whole evening, and afterward declared that never before had she met
so intelligent a listener and so fine a conversationalist.

Do you remember the story told by Sterne in "The Sentimental Journey"?

He had been represented to a French lady as a great wit and an engaging
converser, and the lady was impatient for an introduction that she might
hear him talk.

They met, and, writes Sterne: "I had not taken my seat before I saw she
did not care a sou whether I had any wit or no. I was to be convinced
that she had. I call heaven to witness I never once opened the door of
my lips."

The lady afterward said she never in her life had a more improving
conversation with a man.

Many other instances might be mentioned derived from both fact and
fiction, to show how attentive listening may enhance the delights of
conversation, and that one may sometimes gain a reputation for
conversational powers by exercising one's ear instead of one's tongue.

"A frequent caller at my home," said a lady, "is a capital story-teller,
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 wreathéd 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 æsthete, 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.

It is strange that every business man does not appreciate the commercial
value of politeness. The writer knows a clerk who is employed in a drug
store in one of the largest towns of Maine. So polite is he in his
attentions to customers, so willing to be helpful, so pleasing in his
manner, with that restraint and quietness which mark the gentleman and
destroy every trace of effusion, that he has made himself invaluable to
his employer. It is reported that, more than once, his friends have
urged him to establish a business of his own, but his employer,
realizing his value in attracting and holding customers, has turned him
from the idea by a generous increase of salary. Thousands of clerks and
thousands of professional and business men could greatly increase their
earning power by closer attention to the accepted rules of courtesy.

Some people excuse a roughness of manner by saying that they detest
affectations of all kinds, that they love the truth, that they are
perfectly frank and outspoken. Such people pride themselves upon their
naturalness, and on the ground of frankness they will wound by rude
language, will insult you, and defend their awkwardness and ill-breeding
by the plea of "natural manners." Naturalness is not always commendable.
If nature has not invested us with those qualities which are pleasing to
others, we should try to improve upon nature. The plainest truths may be
conveyed in civil speech, and it is better to "assume a virtue if you
have it not." To object to politeness on the ground that its language is
sometimes unmeaning and expressed for effect, is as foolish as it would
be to object to the decoration of our parlors or the wearing of good
clothes.

In the ordinary compliments of good society there is no intention to
deceive. Polite language is pleasant to the ear, and soothing to the
heart, while rough words are the reverse, and while they may not always
be the result of bad temper, they are quite likely to cause it.

The motive for politeness should not be the desire to shine, or to raise
one's self into society supposed to be better than one's own. The
cultivation of good manners is not merely a means to the gratification
of personal vanity, but it is a duty we owe not only to other people but
to ourselves; a duty to make ourselves better in every respect than we
are. Indeed, the true spirit of good manners is so nearly allied to that
of good morals that they seem almost inseparable.

"Did you ever think how invisible is the armor of defence afforded by
perfect politeness?" asks _Harper's Bazar_. "Neither man, woman nor
child can resist it. The quick tempered Irish maid who loses her hold on
her tongue so easily and 'answers back' with a hot retort is abashed
when her mistress meets her with quiet courtesy. The angry person, off
guard and saying what he really does not mean, is foiled by the
self-control of his interlocutor, who has not, for an instant, forgotten
the gracious manner of good breeding."

Politeness is, perhaps, instinctive with some, but with the majority it
is a matter of training, of the slow and careful discipline of voice and
eye and carriage. Under this training all the angles of personal vanity
and self-consciousness are rubbed off, the person becomes adorned with
grace, ease, simplicity and gentleness, and what may seem to the
untrained observer as the perfection of naturalness may be simply the
perfection of culture.

Very sensitive persons who suffer acutely from fancied slights can save
themselves many wounds by always being as scrupulous in giving as they
are in exacting courtesy. To suffer one's self to perpetrate a rudeness
is to lay one's self open to the same. In nothing should we be less
economical than in politeness. It should lead us to prompt and generous
acknowledgment of every kindness, to responsive thanks when a gift,
however small, is brought to our door. It should oblige us to listen
with patient attention even to the person whose conversation is not
entertaining, to sit apparently absorbed when in public we are present
at concert or lecture. This defensive armor, so smooth, so polished, so
easily worn, will make our intercourse with society agreeable.

The fact is, that when we come in contact with human beings anywhere and
in any occupation, we are quite likely to get in return just what we
give.

A man who is always the gentleman seldom meets with rebuffs from even
the most unpolished and crude. The employer who uses kind words with his
workmen, usually gets kind words in return.



DRESS.

    _"No woman is ugly who is well dressed."_
                                                  SPANISH PROVERB.

    _For the apparel oft proclaims the man._
                                                           HAMLET.

    _I believe in dress. I believe that God delights in beautiful
    things, and as he has never made anything more beautiful than
    woman, I believe that that mode of dressing the form and face
    which best harmonizes with her beauty is that which pleases him
    best._
                                                    J. G. HOLLAND.


As the author of this volume is a man, this chapter on dress is, of
course, written from a man's point of view. He knows very well that,
were he to attempt to write scientifically of woman's clothes he would
be lost. No one but a woman can do that. The man who tried it would soon
find himself bewildered by a maze of technical terms and expressions
which seem absolutely necessary to describe exactly what is meant.
Possibly, however, the author can take a broad, mental grasp of the
subject apart from and above the pretty finesse with which feminine
writers would treat the subject. Clothes are the woman's weapons, one of
the resources of civilization, with which woman marches forth to the
conquest of the masculine world, and the writer wishes to estimate from
the man's standpoint just how much the silks, the laces, the ribbons and
the velvets have to do in influencing the masculine heart.

What one wears is accepted as an index of one's character. Whether this
is as it should be or not, yet it is true; and we all feel, more or
less, that coarseness or refinement finds visible expression in apparel
as in no other way. "Surely," says _The Boston Journal_, "nothing so
intensifies the personality as the clothes one wears; through
association they become a part of us, help to identify us, even in some
peculiar, reactionary way, serve to control our mental states."

Many women will tell you that their most infallible cure for weariness
and the blues is to go and dress up in one of their prettiest gowns.
Many men will tell you that a clean shave, clean linen, and a fresh suit
of clothes are most reviving and soothing in their effect upon the
psychical as well as the physical man.

The statement, often made, that women dress well only to please the
men, is only a fraction of the truth.

They dress to please the men; to please one another, and to please
themselves. Which of these three motives is the strongest depends upon
the individual, for,--"while there are men and men, there are women and
women and women," and it is absurd to make any attempt to analyze
motives or to formulate principles which will apply to all women.

The men who dress well do it for the women and for themselves. The
effect that their apparel has upon others of their own sex, gives men
but little concern. If all the women should be taken from the world
tailors would at once lose half their business, for the men would
immediately begin to wear out their old clothes.

As a rule, few men care very much for fine clothes for their own sake,
but a love of dress is natural in woman, and one who exhibits
indifference in regard to her personal appearance convicts herself of
either indolence, self-righteousness or pedantry. A woman who has not
some natural taste in dress, who does not take a positive delight in
combinations of colors, who is not fond of fine apparel for its own
sake, is an anomaly.

Men do not notice details of a woman's dress. Few know enough about the
subject to distinguish cheese-cloth from _point d'esprit_. The
description in detail of a new gown as given in a fashion journal is
about as intelligible to the average man as the inscriptions on an
Assyrian tablet.

They accept the woman as a whole, and consider her, and what she has on,
as one harmonious, homogeneous, unanalyzable completeness. If you doubt
this ask a man to tell you how a certain lady was dressed at a reception
he attended the evening before. Perhaps he noticed her particularly
while there, and told you at the time that she was becomingly attired.
He may be able to tell you that she wore a pink waist, or that the
prevailing color of her costume was blue, but there his knowledge of the
subject ends.

While it is true that men give but little thought to the details of a
woman's dress, unless it is conspicuously bad, very many of them know
whether she is becomingly attired or not. While they may have no clear
idea as to whether the material of a gown cost five cents or five
dollars a yard, or whether the gown itself is quite in fashion, they
know whether the owner carries it well, and whether the material, style
and color are becoming to her. Perhaps, on the whole, a man of good
taste is a better judge than a woman as to whether she is becomingly
dressed. This is because they regard the subject from entirely different
standpoints. The stylishly gowned woman is, to the average woman, well
dressed, but not necessarily so to the man. It is a perpetual wonder to
some men why women have not the courage to reject certain combinations
and certain styles of dress that are inharmonious and ugly in
themselves, and, consequently, unbecoming to the one who wears them.

Years ago certain colors were thought to be becoming to certain types of
women. There was an undisputed tradition in regard to the colors which
the blonde should wear, and also what ones were becoming to the
brunette. This was not a dictate of fashion; it was a fact ascertained
by experience. Of late these traditions have been disregarded by
fashion, and the stylish woman wears any color or combination she
pleases, but often at the sacrifice of her good looks.

Fashion cannot change the laws of cause and effect--the laws of
harmony--and if the decided brunette chooses to wear colors which are
becoming only to blondes she does it at the expense of half her natural
beauty. Men feel this and wonder what is amiss.

A few years ago fashion made quite common a style of sailor hat with
diminutive crown made in the shape of an hour-glass. They were ugly in
themselves, and when perched upon the head detracted from the beauty of
any face. Nothing could be more ridiculous than the sight of a stout,
tall girl, with broad hips and prominent features, marching along the
street with her head surmounted by that parody on the most becoming of
all hats for a young woman--the sailor. One at once called to mind the
dice-box which the negro minstrel wears to make himself appear as funny
as possible. One man wittily characterized them as "the hats that wore
corsets." Men never liked them, but thousands of them were worn.

From a man's point of view it would be far better if women made a more
comprehensive and sensible study of their individual needs in dress and
did not blindly follow the decrees of fashion; if more women would
realize that the garment suitable to a tall, slim figure, is utterly
inappropriate to a stout, short one. When Sara Bernhardt invented the
glove which was to give size and form to her thin and poorly shaped arm,
she recognized the highest aim of fashion. When a woman is in need of a
new hat or bonnet, a man's advice would be: "Hunt the tables until you
find one which, in shape and trimming, is suitable and becoming to you.
Never mind if it is not the very latest style; if it suits your face and
figure, take it, and you will not be sorry."

In furnishing a room we understand that we should put in it only what
makes the room look better--not what is simply pretty in itself; and if
women would follow a similar plan in dress,--wear only what is becoming
to them, and not wear things, simply because they think them pretty and
fashionable, men would be better pleased. Man is attracted by a woman's
beauty itself, and whether she has just the latest modes or not seldom
interests him in the least. So the girl who would dress to please men,
should, first of all, wear what will show off her natural attractiveness
of face and figure to the best advantage; after that she may be as
fashionable as possible.

Without doubt many girls attach too much importance to dress as a means
of attracting the other sex. It is frequently the case that, when a
young lady is invited to a social function, her first thought is, "What
shall I wear?" Her second thought is, "What shall I wear?" This question
is with her much of the time until she goes to the place where she is to
be entertained; and as she enters the room her first thought is, "I
wonder how I look." If, upon an examination of the other young ladies
present, she concludes that she is as well dressed as anyone there, she
experiences a feeling of restfulness and of satisfaction, and enjoys the
evening. She imagines she must be an object of interest to the men, and
to an extent she is.

Men like women to be "well groomed." They take in her whole appearance
at a glance, and then pay but little further attention to the question
of gowns, ribbons, slippers or sashes. They want to be entertained and
amused. If the only preparation a young lady has made to render herself
attractive and interesting is the care bestowed upon her personal
appearance; if her resources for attracting consist only of a pretty
face and a graceful figure in a pretty gown, she will never become
famous for her conquests.

Simplicity and exquisitely fresh neatness and daintiness are to a man
more attractive than any extravagance of fashion or costliness of
material. No man was ever induced to propose to a girl by the splendor
of her costume. Of course it would be absurd to assert that physical
beauty is of no value, or that dress is of little importance. That girl
who is born physically beautiful, is fortunate indeed, and any girl of
common sense knows that an attractive gown or a becoming hat is of
importance. The great thing for her to understand is that there must be
something better under the becoming hat than a pretty face, for her own
happiness, and if she would be very attractive to others.

Just as there are some persons who are said to be born magnetic, so some
women are supposed to have a peculiarly attractive way of wearing
clothes which defies imitation.

Said a writer in the _Springfield Republican_: "There is a subtle
something which one cannot get on the microscopic slide, which refuses
to be reduced to percentages, which baffles description, and that is the
manner in which some women wear their clothes. Two girls with faces of
equal value and garments of identical texture will fail to produce
equivalent effects, because one has this indefinable quality, and the
other has not. Consequently we often hear it said that some girls are
more attractive in calico than others in richer material."

That there is a marked difference in the way different women wear their
clothes, no one will deny, but because some girls look and appear to
better advantage than others in the same material, is it necessary to
regard it as beyond comprehension, or to declare that it "baffles
description"? The writer did not go far enough in his description of the
two girls. While their faces were of equal value, and their clothing was
of the same material, there might be other differences which would
account for the "indefinable quality." Possibly one was pleasing in
manner and the other not. One was awkward in person and in speech,
while the other was tactful and graceful. One was dull; the other
interesting. The difference was one of physical and mental
characteristics, and not a quality that "baffles description." Indeed it
is a difference easily understood and analyzed.

If two girls have faces and forms of equal value, and are equally
graceful, tactful and well mannered, their clothes, if of the same form
and material, will be worn in much the same way, and will produce much
the same effect.

       *       *       *       *       *

No man, whatever his position in the world may be, can afford to be
careless about his personal appearance. Dress may not make the man, but
we all form in our minds a very clear idea of what a man is by his
dress. We gain our first impression of persons by what they have on; our
second judgment is formed from their conversation and manner.

The well dressed man is more attractive to others, and he feels much
better himself than he would if carelessly attired. Have you noticed the
wonderful transformation which takes place in a man when he doffs his
everyday clothes and dons a dress suit? During the day he may have an
untidy and even a slovenly appearance, but as soon as he puts on a well
laundered shirt, a high standing collar, a fresh lawn tie, and a dress
suit, he seems completely changed. He looks from five to ten years
younger, and from his manner you know that he feels younger. He is on
better terms with himself and with the world.

Every woman likes a man better for being well dressed. She may excuse,
or overlook, carelessness or even slovenliness in his personal
appearance, if she is very fond of him, but she would like him much more
if he were neat and tidy and tasteful. She may forgive his green and
yellow necktie, she may overlook his soiled linen, she may make no
reference to his coat with its collar covered with dust and dandruff;
she may not let him know that she has even noticed any of these things,
but she has. She thinks of them whenever he is with her, and sometimes
when she is away from him, and she wishes he were different. She may
like him in spite of these defects. Women usually like a man in spite of
things. If a man noticed half as many things about a woman that did not
please him, he would never love her at all.

Leaving out of the question the fact that women like to have men neat
and even elegant in their raiment, no man who is seeking to make his way
in business or in a profession, can afford to be careless about his
clothes.

"A few men," says _The Lewiston Journal_, "clothed in the serenity of
soul that approaches the insanity of genius can afford to go
illy-clothed. President Lincoln was given free license to wear frock
coats unbecomingly. Horace Greeley could wear a linen duster with grace
and equanimity. But they were unique. They could make fashion look
insignificant, but you and I cannot, if we care to move amid the throng
of busy people seeking passage on the car of progress."

No better advice has been given to men on the subject of dress than in
an article which appeared in _Success_. A short extract from the article
will close this chapter.

"Clothes are one of the accepted standards by which men are judged the
world over. They form the chief standard of first impression; so, for
that reason alone, it would be difficult to overestimate their
importance. They show at a glance whether a man is neat or untidy;
careful or careless; methodical or shiftless, and what sort of taste he
has. Nothing else about him reflects so much of his personal
characteristics. So it is not surprising to be told by those who yearly
give employment to thousands of men and boys, that more applicants are
turned away on account of their personal appearance than for all other
reasons put together. But it would surprise some people very much if
they knew how widely this rule is applied.

The well dressed man is one whose clothes do not make him the object of
comment, either because they are showy or shabby. He never goes to the
extremes of fashion, thereby courting notoriety; he never goes to the
other extreme by paying no attention at all to what he wears or how he
wears it. He is always modest in his attire. He conforms to the
established customs of changing his attire as the occasion demands,
without making himself a slave to reform. He does not always wear
expensive clothes, nor is it at all necessary that he should. But he is
always clean and neat, or, as the present day has it, he is "well
groomed."



THE OPTIMIST.

    _The habit of looking on the bright side of things is worth far
    more than a thousand pounds a year._
                                                 --SAMUEL JOHNSON.

    _"More than half the unhappiness in the world comes from a
    person's unwillingness to look on the bright side so long as
    a dark side can be discovered."_


We all like the optimist. The bright, cheerful, good-natured fellow, who
always looks through the cloud and sees its silver lining, is as good as
a tonic to our most pessimistic dispositions. If, then, you wish to make
yourself agreeable to others and to yourself, cultivate the habit of
cheerfulness--of always looking on the bright side. Wear a pleasant
countenance; let cheerfulness beam in your eye; let love write its mark
on your forehead, and have kind words and a pleasant greeting for those
whom you meet. Don't forget to say "good morning!" and say it heartily.
Say it to your brothers and sisters, your school-mates, your parents,
your teachers and your friends. Pleasant, hearty greetings cheer the
discouraged, rest the tired, and make the wheels of life run more
smoothly. They clear up the thorny pathways, win friends, and confound
enemies. In fact, it is impossible to resist the influence of
cheerfulness. Let a bright face beam on the darkness of defeat, shine on
the abode of poverty; illumine the chamber of sickness, and how
everything changes under its benign influence.

Victory becomes possible, competence promises a golden future, and
health is wooed back again.

On the other hand, you cannot estimate the amount of unhappiness you may
cause by wearing a clouded face and by speaking harsh, unkind words.

Many persons fret and whine all through life. They never appear to have
a generous impulse.

"They seem to have come into the world during one of those cold, bleak,
gloomy days, when there was nothing with which to build a fire. They,
apparently, grew up in the same bleak atmosphere, and they live in it
all their lives. You see their smallness in everything they do and say.
You see it in their buying and in their selling, in their talk and in
their actions. They have been well called 'the frogs that constitute
one of the plagues of society.' They have never made one heart glad, nor
shed one ray of sunshine upon man, woman, or child."

It is just as easy to be kind as to be cross, and as easy to give
pleasure as pain. It costs nothing; it is a smile, an appreciative word,
a mention of what one likes to hear spoken of rather than an irritating
reference.

If your minister has preached a sermon that interested and helped you,
tell him so. It will encourage and cheer him, and he will try to give
you still better sermons in the future. Remember that the preacher is
much more human than most people think, and that no man more highly
prizes the genuine, manly word of good cheer, sympathy and affection. If
your grocer has sold you something that was particularly good, tell him
so. No doubt you have often found fault with the tea and the flour and
the meat; then why not surprise him by letting him know that you
appreciate a good thing when you get it.

Perhaps you have children who are attending the public schools. Perhaps
their teacher by patience, tact, and the expenditure of much nerve
force, has succeeded in interesting them in their studies as they have
never been before. Don't you think it would stimulate her to still
greater effort if you should say to her when you meet: "My children are
doing well at school this term. They like you and are interested in
their work." No doubt you have often severely criticised teachers,
methods, and school management, and you have been very free with your
words of condemnation. Why not help a little by some expression of
approval if you can honestly do so.

Give pleasure to your wife, if you have one. Notice her painstaking
efforts to make home comfortable; compliment her dinner and show that
you appreciate the thousand things she does for your comfort. There is
no greater exhibition of heroic fortitude than is seen in one who dwells
in a cheerless home she does her best to brighten, and who wears away
the years in an unsatisfied desire for words and tokens of love and
sympathy which never come to her.

Do not be afraid of giving something of yourself, of letting yourself
out a little; and do not fear that your heart will run away with your
head. Do not confound sentiment with sentimentalism, and do not hesitate
to praise a thing or an act if it is really worthy of it. You need to do
this for your own sake as well as for the sake of making others happy.

"For my own sake," you say. "In what way will it help me if I bestow
praise upon another?" Praise, when it is deserved, is of more
importance to the giver than the receiver.

"Praise does not immediately affect the merit of him to whom it is
awarded," said a writer recently, "but it does immediately affect the
merit of him to whom its awarding belongs. If a man deserves praise he
is quite as much of a man without it as with it; but no man can be so
much of a man, nor seem so much of a man, while withholding just praise
as while bestowing it."

In little matters as well as in large ones, to acknowledge the merit of
others is a duty, the performance of which is even more important to the
one who owes it, than to the one to whom it is owed. We do not fail to
express our appreciation of heroic deeds, but it is in the common,
everyday life that the words of appreciation are most sorely needed, and
too seldom spoken. Many a woman would have been greatly cheered and
helped over many hard places, if, while living, she could have heard
half as many nice things said to her by those she loved, as were put
into her funeral sermon and obituary notice.

There is, of course, a great difference between the expression of a due
and delicate appreciation of merit, and that false and exaggerated
praise which is dictated by the desire to flatter. The former is always
received with pleasure, but the latter wounds the susceptibility of
those on whom it is lavished. To a mind rightly constituted, there are
few things more painful than undeserved, or even excessive commendation.
Flattery is never excusable; deserved praise should never be withheld.

Do not be a grumbler. Is there any person more unwelcome than the
chronic growler? When we meet him he begins by growling about the
weather; then you are entertained with a long account of his aches and
pains, his trials and his losses. Nothing pleases him. His neighbors are
dishonest, church members are hypocrites, public officials are, in his
estimation, all rascals, law makers are corrupt, and the country is
going to the dogs. If you speak in commendation of an individual, he at
once attempts to belittle him in your estimation. If you praise a cause
or an institution, he is sure to find fault with what you say. He wishes
your sympathy for his troubles, but he has none to give.

We all crave sympathy, but, if we are not careful, we may exhaust the
patience, even of our best friends, with the recital of our troubles. If
your aches and pains are ever so bad, the best advice for you is "grin
and bear it." It is all very well to be an interesting invalid for a
short time. Your neighbors will bring you in good things to eat, and
your friends will bring you pretty flowers to look at, and books to
read, but do not remain too long in bed if you can help it, and do not
wear too long and sad a face when you are recovering. It will not
relieve your pain at all to tell everyone you meet how much you suffer,
and when your friends have sympathized with you a dozen times they
become a little tired of it. This advice is worthy of practice, not for
the sake of your friends only, but for your own. The burden cheerfully
borne becomes light, and any physician knows that the hopeful, cheerful
patient has many more chances of recovery than the despondent one. In
the lives of us all there are hours of anxiety, disappointment, pain and
vexation; seasons of trial that are to be met only with stubborn
patience. Greatness of soul is tested by the serenity with which these
inevitable ills are borne and finally overcome. The little mind will
fret and chafe and fume over little things, even as the petty stream
over its narrow, pebbly bed, while the deep, strong river moves swiftly
and silently over the boulders that lie at its bottom.

"But," you say, "while the advice is good it is very hard to follow it."
Yes, but it is really harder not to heed it. "The bird that beats
against the iron bars of its cage suffers more than the patient
captive."

Laugh all you can. It is good for you. Physicians tell us that laughing
has a direct and positive effect upon one's health. The physical
movement caused by a hearty laugh causes the arteries to dilate and the
flow of blood to hasten, thus promoting an acceleration of vital
processes; and a mental action through stimulating the blood vessels of
the brain. He who administers medicine in the shape of wit and humor to
the sad heart is most assuredly a "good Samaritan."

The irresistible, good-humored philosophy of Mark Twain has relieved the
depression and sorrow of multitudes. He has compelled us to laugh, and
his mission in the world has been a beneficent one. A cheerful face is
as good for an invalid as pleasant weather. Cheerfulness is health,
melancholy is disease. Cheerfulness is just as natural to the heart of a
man in sound moral and physical health as color to his cheeks, and
wherever we see habitual gloom we may be sure there is something
radically wrong in the animal economy or the moral sense.

Sydney Smith once gave a lady two-and-twenty receipts against
melancholy. One was a bright fire; another, to remember all the pleasant
things said to her; another, to keep a box of sugar plums on the chimney
piece and a kettle simmering on the hob. These are trivial things in
themselves but life is made up of these little pleasures and none
should be neglected because of their seemingly trifling nature.

If our temperament does not make us naturally cheerful, we can, at
least, cultivate those habits of body and mind which seem most favorable
to the growth of this condition. We can keep the mind open to cheerful
impressions, and close it to those that are gloomy. It is far better to
magnify our blessings than to depreciate them. The Spaniard of whom
Southey tells that he always put on his magnifying glasses when he ate
cherries, in order to make them seem larger, had the true philosophy of
life. So the ancient Pompeiians seem to have well understood the art of
making the most of everything. Their gardens were very small, but by
painting the surrounding walls with plants and landscapes their little
area became indefinitely enlarged to the eye of the observer.



PERSONAL PECULIARITIES.

    _"Eccentricity may be harmless, but it never can be commendable;
    it is one of the children of that prolific failing--vanity. And
    whether it shows in feeling, manners, or peculiarities of dress,
    it is clearly acted upon from the presumptuous supposition that
    the many are in the wrong, the individual in the right."_

    _Society will pardon much to genius and special gifts, but, being
    in its nature a convention, it loves what is conventional or what
    belongs to coming together. That makes the good and bad of
    manners, namely, what helps or hinders fellowship._
                                                          EMERSON.


We all know that the outward address of a person has great influence
upon his success both in the social and the business world. Thousands of
men and women are, in their efforts to please, hindered by some
personal peculiarity which is painfully apparent to other people, but of
which they themselves seem wholly ignorant. Thousands of professional
and business men are prevented from attaining the success they might
reach by some infelicity of manner or speech which could be remedied by
a little painstaking effort.

Here is a physician who has prepared himself thoroughly for his
profession by years of hard study and by the expenditure of a
considerable sum of money, but he knows little of human nature, and but
little of the requirements of good society. He has no tact, and has not
thought it necessary to cultivate that quality. He is cold and
unsympathetic. He has no ability to make friends or to keep them. He is
not sociable, and he does not make himself agreeable to his patients by
those little kindly acts and sympathetic speeches so comforting to
invalids. He feels that he is well prepared to practice his profession,
and he regards any personal defects as of little importance. Other men
of less ability, but with more tact, soon outstrip him in the race for
public favor. He never succeeds in acquiring a large practice, and,
possibly, never knows the reason why.

A young man applies for a position as a teacher. He is well equipped in
scholarship for the place he wishes, for he led his class in college,
and he comes highly recommended as a young man of integrity and
earnestness. After a short interview the superintendent of schools
decides that he is not the man for the position and the applicant goes
away disappointed. Why was he rejected? Not by reason of poor
scholarship, nor for lack of moral character, but simply on account of
his personal appearance. He was untidy in his dress. His linen was
soiled, his coat was not brushed, his cuffs were frayed at the edges,
while his finger-nails gave evidence that he was habitually careless
about personal neatness and cleanliness. The superintendent decided at
once that he did not want him, and the young man did not know why.

Here is a young woman who is fine looking, intelligent and accomplished.
Apparently she possesses all those qualities which are necessary to make
her a favorite in society and she seems to deserve a host of friends.
Yet she is not greatly sought after by her acquaintances, and she has
few firm friends. Young men pay her but little attention, and seem
afraid of her. Other girls, less brilliant intellectually, with fewer
accomplishments, and with plainer faces, are far greater favorites in
society. Her particular weakness is that she has allowed herself to
fall into the practice of employing sarcasm to an extent which is
offensive to those with whom she talks. She has a habit of saying
disagreeable, biting things in a humorous way, and she never suspects
that people are hurt by them. She has cultivated the habit to such a
degree that she can always raise a laugh at some person's expense, and
she is constantly on the watch for opportunities to exercise this
accomplishment. Finally it dawns upon her that she does not hold her
friends; that she is sometimes slighted in the matter of invitations;
that she is not a popular girl, and she doesn't know why.

A certain clergyman is a fine preacher, capable of attracting,
instructing, and inspiring the most cultivated audiences, but he is shut
out from his proper sphere of usefulness and influence, and prevented
from reaching the position for which his endowments qualify him, by a
matter which might seem trifling in itself, but which has become
offensive through its persistent hold upon him. He exhibits a lack of
proper deference to the feelings of others, an arrogant and
unsympathetic tone of voice, and sometimes yields, under opposition, to
unrestrained violence of language. He betrays his weakness every time
anyone crosses his plans and desires. It seems hard for him to
understand that others have an equal right to their preference and
opinions. He forgets that while it is easy to be amiable when everyone
agrees with him, the test of character is in keeping the temper sweet
and reasonable when people differ from him and criticise him. He
understands his power to move audiences; he is told by persons competent
to judge that his sermons are superior; he knows that in higher
intellectual qualities he surpasses many other clergymen who secure and
retain prominent positions; yet the painful truth is forced upon him
that his services as a pastor are not sought for, while inferior
preachers are selected for places of power and influence.

A man goes into trade. He is a shrewd buyer, energetic, honest, and
keeps a good assortment of goods, but he is not obliging to customers.
He is short and crusty in his speech, irritable and sometimes almost
rude in his manner; consequently he does not hold his patrons. They
leave him, one by one, and do their purchasing at other stores where
they receive polite attention. The merchant does not prosper in
business, and he never knows why.

Here is a woman who prides herself upon her plain speaking. She boasts
that when she has anything to say she is willing to say it to one's
face, and not behind one's back. She thinks it is a mark of sincerity
and frankness to say disagreeable things and to bring one's infirmities
to the surface. Her tendencies finally become fixed habits. She finds
herself shunned by her acquaintances, and she does not know why.

Then there is the loquacious woman, the woman who monopolizes the
conversation, the woman who has an apparent contempt for paragraph and
punctuation. No matter what the topic of conversation may be, she at
once takes the management of it into her own hands, and the other
members of the company are made to feel at once that they are expected
to be only listeners. The loquacious woman may talk well--she often
does--but she fails to understand that there may be such a thing as too
much even of good things, and so she talks on and on, with an utter
disregard for the rights and the comfort of those around her.

A professional man, who possesses much intellectual force and
originality, takes pride in his unconventionality in the matter of
dress. His garments are so far from the prevailing style that they
attract attention and invite comment. He does not realize that the man
who rebels against fashion may be open even more to the imputation of
vanity than he who obeys it, because he makes himself conspicuous, and
practically announces that he is wiser than his associates. An
affectation of superior simplicity is vulgarity.

Stop a moment and recall twenty men and women of your acquaintance. You
will probably remember that two-thirds of them have some peculiarity,
some defect of speech or manner which detracts from their social and
business success, or from their usefulness. One is a gossip; another
possesses a hasty temper, while a third is intellectually dishonest,
never yielding his position, even under the most absolute proof that he
is in the wrong. One of your friends is a pessimist, and is continually
attempting to convert you to his point of view, while his wife is so
inquisitive that you at once become nervous when you perceive her
approach. A young woman of your acquaintance would be a most charming
person if she did not laugh too much. A conversation with her is, upon
her part, a perpetual giggle.

These may generally be good, intelligent, and, in many respects,
charming people, but unfortunately they are hampered by these
deficiencies. They have become so unconscious of these personal traits
that, doubtless, they would be greatly surprised were their attention
called to them. The effect of these shortcomings upon others is,
however, just as unfortunate as if they were intentionally retained and
nourished, for we usually regard the outward manner as a true index of
the inward emotion.

If so many of our acquaintances display idiosyncrasies that affect us
disagreeably, is it not possible that we too may be harboring some
remediable evil of temper, some superable infirmity of manner or of
speech which is a bar to our own usefulness, because distressing to
those with whom we are thrown?

Let us think about this.



SUGGESTIONS FROM MANY SOURCES

  FOR

  THE MAN WHO WOULD PLEASE AND
  THE WOMAN WHO WOULD CHARM.


A gentleman makes no noise; a lady is serene.

                                                            EMERSON.

       *       *       *       *       *

So I talked a great deal and found myself infinitely pleased with
Brandon's conversational powers, which were rare; being no less than the
capacity for saying nothing, and listening politely to an indefinite
deal of the same thing, in another form, from me.

                                                      CHARLES MAJOR.

       *       *       *       *       *

Talk about those subjects you have had long in your mind, and listen to
what others say about subjects you have studied but recently. Knowledge
and timber should not be much used till they are seasoned.

                                                       O. W. HOLMES.

       *       *       *       *       *

A beautiful form is better than a beautiful face; a beautiful behavior
is better than a beautiful form; it gives a higher pleasure than statues
or pictures; it is the finest of the fine arts.

                                                            EMERSON.

       *       *       *       *       *

Believe nothing against another but on good authority, nor report what
may hurt another, unless it be a greater hurt to another to conceal it.

                                                       WILLIAM PENN.

       *       *       *       *       *

"Life is like a mirror. It reflects the face you bring to it. Look out
lovingly upon the world, and the world will look lovingly in upon you."

       *       *       *       *       *

But it is mostly my own dreams I talk of, and that will somewhat excuse
me for talking of dreams at all. Everyone knows how delightful the
dreams are that one dreams one's self, and how insipid the dreams of
others are. I had an illustration of this fact not many evenings ago,
when a company of us got telling dreams. I had by far the best dreams of
any; to be quite frank, mine were the only dreams worth listening to;
they were richly imaginative, delicately fantastic, exquisitely
whimsical, and humorous in the last degree; and I wondered that when the
rest could have listened to them they were always eager to cut in with
some silly, senseless, tasteless thing, that made me sorry and ashamed
for them. I shall not be going too far if I say that it was on their
part the grossest betrayal of vanity that I ever witnessed.

                                               WILLIAM DEAN HOWELLS.

       *       *       *       *       *

"There is a great mistake in supposing that giving is concerned only
with material benefits. These form indeed but a small part of its
mission. Whoever creates happiness, whether by a kindly greeting, or
tender sympathy, or inspiring presence, or stimulating thought, is as
true a giver as he who empties his purse to feed the hungry."

       *       *       *       *       *

Politeness and good breeding are absolutely necessary to adorn any or
all other good qualities or talents. Without them no knowledge, no
perfection whatever, is seen in its best light. The scholar, without
good breeding, is a pedant; the philosopher, a cynic; the soldier a
brute; and every man, disagreeable.

                                                  LORD CHESTERFIELD.

       *       *       *       *       *

"Tact, though partly a natural gift, is a good deal indebted to
education and early habits. The superiority of one sex to the other in
this respect will often be found to depend on art quite as much as upon
nature."

       *       *       *       *       *

"Never is silence more eloquent than when it is preserved toward persons
older than ourselves when they voice opinions long since proven
erroneous. Age doesn't like to be contradicted, right or wrong."

       *       *       *       *       *

In the supremacy of self-control consists one of the perfections of the
ideal man: not to be impulsive, not to be spurred hither and thither by
each desire that in turn comes uppermost; but to be restrained,
self-balanced, governed by the joint decision of the feelings in council
assembled, before whom every action shall have been fully debated and
calmly determined.

                                                    HERBERT SPENCER.

       *       *       *       *       *

In the exhaustless catalogue of heaven's mercies to mankind, the power
we have of finding some germs of comfort in the hardest trials must ever
occupy the foremost place; not only because it supports and upholds us
when we most require to be sustained, but because in this source of
consolation there is something, we have every reason to believe, of the
Divine Spirit; something which, even in our fallen nature we possess in
common with the angels.

                                                            DICKENS.

       *       *       *       *       *

"When you bury animosity don't set up a headstone over its grave."

       *       *       *       *       *

I don't never hav truble in regulating mi own kondukt, but tew keep
other pholks straight iz what bothers me.

                                                      JOSH BILLINGS.

       *       *       *       *       *

"Hundreds of the most agreeable persons in fashionable society are those
who are content to be taught the things they already know."

       *       *       *       *       *

It is better to return a dropped fan genteelly than give a thousand
pounds awkwardly; you had better refuse a favor gracefully than grant it
clumsily. All your Greek can never advance you from secretary to envoy,
or from envoy to embassador, but your address, your air, your manner, if
good, may.

                                                  LORD CHESTERFIELD.

       *       *       *       *       *

"The art of not hearing should be learned by all. It is fully as
important to domestic happiness as a cultivated ear, for which both
money and time are expended. There are so many things which it is
painful to hear, so many which we ought not to hear, so very many which
if heard will disturb the temper, corrupt simplicity and modesty,
detract from contentment and happiness that everyone should be educated
to take in or shut out sounds according to his or her pleasure."

                                                      _Once A Week._

       *       *       *       *       *

"The bitterest tears shed over graves are for words left unsaid and
deeds left undone. She never knew how I loved her. He never knew what he
was to me. I always meant to make more of your friendship. I did not
know what he was to me till he was gone. Such are the poisoned arrows
which cruel death shoots back at us from the door of the sepulchre."

       *       *       *       *       *

We are only really alive when we enjoy the good will of others.

                                                             GOETHE.

       *       *       *       *       *

A difference of taste in jokes is a great strain on the affections.

                                                       GEORGE ELIOT.

       *       *       *       *       *

"Power hath not one-half the might of gentleness."

       *       *       *       *       *

Manner is of importance. A kind no is often more agreeable than a rough
yes.

                                                             BENGEL.

       *       *       *       *       *

We are always clever with those who imagine we think as they do. To be
shallow you must differ from people; to be profound you must agree with
them.

                                                             BULWER.

       *       *       *       *       *

If you want to spoil all that God gives you; if you want to be miserable
yourself and a maker of misery to others, the way is easy enough. Only
be selfish, and it is done at once.

                                                   CHARLES KINGSLEY.

       *       *       *       *       *

Language was given us that we might say pleasant things.

                                                              BOVEE.

       *       *       *       *       *

"The specially social qualities are good nature, amiability, the desire
to please, and the kindness of heart that avoids giving offence. A good
natured person may frankly disagree with you, but he never offends."

       *       *       *       *       *

Good manners are made up of petty sacrifices.

                                                            EMERSON.

       *       *       *       *       *

Pride of origin, whether high or low, springs from the same principle of
human nature; one is but the positive, the other the negative pole of a
single weakness.

                                                             LOWELL.

       *       *       *       *       *

The best possible impression that you can make by your dress is to make
no separate impression at all; but so to harmonize its material and
shape with your personality, that it becomes tributary in the general
effect, and so exclusively tributary that people cannot tell after
seeing you what kind of clothes you wear.

                                                      J. G. HOLLAND.

       *       *       *       *       *

Nothing is more dangerous than to paint men as they are when by chance
they are not as handsome as they would wish to be.

                                                       EDMOND ABOUT.

       *       *       *       *       *

"Borrow trouble if you have not enough already."

       *       *       *       *       *

Refinement creates beauty everywhere.

                                                            HAZLITT.

       *       *       *       *       *

"A lady may always judge of the estimation in which she is held by the
conversation which is addressed to her."

       *       *       *       *       *

Some people cannot drive to happiness with four horses, and others can
reach the goal on foot.

                                                          THACKERAY.

       *       *       *       *       *

"The clown who excites the multitudes to mirth is more a benefactor than
the conqueror who drapes a thousand homes in mourning."

       *       *       *       *       *

"Tact is the art of putting yourself in another's place, and being quick
about it."

       *       *       *       *       *

"It pays 100 per cent. to be polite to everyone, from the garbage
gatherer to the governor."

       *       *       *       *       *

"If you wish that your own merit should be recognized, recognize the
merits of others."

       *       *       *       *       *

"If you cannot be happy in one way, be happy in another; and this
facility of disposition wants but little aid from philosophy, for health
and good humor are almost the whole affair. Many run about after
felicity, like an absent man hunting for his hat while it is on his head
or in his hand. Such persons want nothing to make them the happiest
people in the world but the knowledge that they are so."

       *       *       *       *       *

"An Atchison woman, who three days ago was considered the most popular
woman in town, has not one friend left; instead of sympathizing with her
friends, as she has heretofore, she began telling them her troubles."

                                                   _Atchison Globe._

       *       *       *       *       *

It is the characteristic of folly to discern the faults of others and to
forget one's own.

                                                             CICERO.

       *       *       *       *       *

What is it to be a gentleman? It is to be honest, to be gentle, to be
generous, to be brave, to be wise, and, possessing all these qualities,
to exercise them in the most graceful outward manner.

                                                          THACKERAY.

       *       *       *       *       *

  _Teach me to feel another's woe,
    To hide the fault I see;
  That mercy I to others show,
    That mercy show to me._
                                                               POPE.

       *       *       *       *       *

"The Persians say of noisy, unreasonable talk: 'I hear the noise of the
mill-stone, but I see no meal.'"

       *       *       *       *       *

We give advice by the bucket, but take it by the grain.

                                                              ALGER.

       *       *       *       *       *

It is much easier to be critical than correct.

                                                       BEACONSFIELD.

       *       *       *       *       *

"'I am busy, Johnnie, and can't help it,' said the father, writing away
when the little fellow hurt his finger. 'Yes, you could--you might have
said oh!' sobbed Johnnie. There's a Johnnie in tears inside all of us
upon occasions."

                                                 REV. W. C. GANNETT.

       *       *       *       *       *

"You cannot prevent the birds of sadness from flying over your head, but
you may prevent them from stopping to build their nests there."

       *       *       *       *       *

In general society one should always avoid discussions upon two
subjects--religion and politics. In a discussion upon either of these
subjects you will find very little intellectual honesty, and it will
almost invariably lead to irritating differences of opinion.

       *       *       *       *       *

A gentleman is one who understands and shows every mark of deference to
the claims of self-love in others and exacts it in return from them.

                                                            HAZLITT.

       *       *       *       *       *

"There is no real conflict between truth and politeness; what is
imagined to be such is only the crude mistake of those who fail to
discover their harmony. Politeness, taken in its best sense, is the
graceful expression of respect, kind feeling, and good will."

       *       *       *       *       *

"Beloved among women is she who, having warned a friend of the
consequences to follow rash doings, will, when her prophecies have
come true, withhold the triumphant: I told you so!"

                                                   _Boston Journal._

       *       *       *       *       *

"No one loses by politeness to, or by the trifling exercise of apparent
pleasure in a caller. While I have no wish to counsel insincerity, there
is a wide difference between that offensive veneer and the pure metal of
consideration for the feelings of a stranger within one's gate."



LADY BELLAIR'S ADVICE TO GIRLS.


WHAT TO AVOID.

A loud, weak, affected, whining, harsh or shrill tone of voice.
Extravagances in conversation--such phrases as "Awfully this," "Beastly
that," "Loads of time," "Don't you know," "Hate" for "dislike," etc.

Sudden exclamations of annoyance, surprise and joy,--often dangerously
approaching to "female swearing"--as "Bother!" "Gracious!" "How jolly!"

Yawning when listening to anyone.

Talking on family matters, even to bosom friends.

Attempting any vocal or instrumental piece of music that you cannot
execute with ease.

Crossing your letters.

Making a sharp, short nod with the head, intended to do duty as a bow.


WHAT TO CULTIVATE.

An unaffected, low, distinct, silver-toned voice.

The art of pleasing those around you, and seeming pleased with them and
all they may do for you.

The charm of making little sacrifices quite naturally, as if of no
account to yourself.

The habit of making allowances for the opinions, feelings, or prejudices
of others.

An erect carriage--that is, a sound body.

A good memory for faces, and facts connected with them--thus avoiding
giving offence through not recognizing or bowing to people, or saying to
them what had best been left unsaid.

The art of listening without impatience to prosy talkers, and smiling at
the twice-told tale or joke.

       *       *       *       *       *

"He who would see his sons and daughters thoroughly and truly gentle,
must forbid selfishness of action, rudeness of speech, carelessness of
forms, impoliteness of conduct from the first, and demand that in
childhood and the nursery shall be laid the foundation of that good
breeding which is as a jewel of price to the mature man and woman."

       *       *       *       *       *

"Many persons consider that 'bad temper' is entirely voluntary on the
part of the person who displays it. As a matter of fact it is often, to
a very great extent, involuntary, and no one is more angry at it than
the bad tempered person himself. Of course everyone, whether he is born
with a bad temper or has acquired one from habit, or has been visited
with one as the result of disease or injury, should at least try to
control it. But his friends should also bear in mind that bad temper may
be, and often is, an affliction to be sympathized with, not an offence
to be punished."

                                                      _Once A Week._

       *       *       *       *       *

There are some people so given over to the pettiness of fault-picking,
that if they should suddenly see the handwriting on the wall, they would
disregard its awful warning in their eager haste to point out its
defective penmanship.

                                                   BRANDER MATTHEWS.

       *       *       *       *       *

"We are all dissatisfied. The only difference is that some of us sit
down in the squalor of our dissatisfaction, while others make a ladder
of it."

       *       *       *       *       *

Mrs. Julia Ward Howe said, in speaking of Longfellow, that "his personal
charm was in a delicateness of mind that was truly cosmopolitan; he had
a vivid appreciation of what was beautiful and noble, and he represented
the purest taste and the most perfect feeling." Was there ever given a
finer definition of a gentleman?

       *       *       *       *       *

"Set a watch over thy mouth, and keep the door of thy lips, for a
tale-bearer is worse than a thief."

                                                          THE BIBLE.

       *       *       *       *       *

"He submits to be seen through a microscope who suffers himself to be
caught in a passion."

       *       *       *       *       *

"It isn't what you wear in this life, gentlemen; it is how you wear it.
It isn't so much what you do; it is how you do it. There are people who
do tasteful things vulgarly, and vulgar things tastefully. Who was it
that

  _'Kicked them downstairs with such very fine grace,
   They thought he was handing them up'?_

"A sense of humor is one of the most precious gifts that can be
vouchsafed to a human being. He is not necessarily a better man for
having it, but he is a happier one. It renders him indifferent to good
or bad fortune. It enables him to enjoy his own discomfiture. Blessed
with this sense, he is never unduly elated or cast down. No one can
ruffle his temper. No abuse disturbs his equanimity. Bores do not bore
him. Humbugs do not humbug him. Solemn airs do not impose on him.
Sentimental gush does not influence him. The follies of the moment have
no hold on him."

                                                   _Boston Journal._

       *       *       *       *       *

There is always a best way of doing everything, if it be but to boil an
egg. Manners are the happy way of doing things; each one the stroke of
genius or of love--now repeated and hardened into usage. Your manners
are always under examination, and by committees little suspected--a
police in citizen's clothes--but are awarding or denying you very high
prizes when you least think of it.

                                                            EMERSON.

       *       *       *       *       *

My experience of life makes me sure of one truth, which I do not try to
explain; that the sweetest happiness we ever know, the very wine of
human life, comes not from love, but from sacrifice--from the effort to
make others happy. This is as true to me as that my flesh will burn if I
touch red-hot metal.

                                                JOHN BOYLE O'REILLY.

       *       *       *       *       *

"A wise man will turn adverse criticism and malicious attacks to good
account. He will consider carefully whether there is not in him some
weakness or fault which, although he never discovered, was plain to the
eye of his enemy. Many men profit more by the assaults of foes than by
the kindness of friends."

       *       *       *       *       *

"Politeness is like an air cushion: there may be nothing in it, but it
eases our jolts wonderfully."

       *       *       *       *       *

Don't flatter yourself that friendship authorizes you to say
disagreeable things to your intimates. On the contrary, the nearer you
come into relation with a person the more necessary do tact and courtesy
become. Except in cases of necessity, which are rare, leave your friend
to learn unpleasant truths from his enemies: they are ready enough to
tell them. Good breeding never forgets that _amour-propre_ is universal.

                                                       O. W. HOLMES.

       *       *       *       *       *

Whatever our disbeliefs, most of us profoundly believe in goodness; and
we incline to believe that a man who has practically learned the secret
of noble living has somehow got near the truth of things.

                                                    GEO. S. MERRIAM.

       *       *       *       *       *

"A man's bad temper sometimes does more toward spoiling a dinner than a
woman's bad cooking."

       *       *       *       *       *

  _Her voice was ever soft,
  Gentle and low; an excellent thing in
  Woman._

                                                        SHAKESPEARE.

       *       *       *       *       *

True politeness is perfect ease and freedom. It simply consists in
treating others just as you love to be treated yourself.

                                                       CHESTERFIELD.

       *       *       *       *       *

A man has no more right to say an uncivil thing than to act one, no more
right to say a rude thing to another than to knock him down.

                                                            JOHNSON.

       *       *       *       *       *

  How sweet and gracious, even in common speech,
  Is that fine sense which men call courtesy!
  Wholesome as air and genial as the light,
  Welcome in every clime as breath of flowers,----
  It transmutes aliens into trusting friends,
  And gives its owner passport round the globe.

                                                       J. T. FIELDS.


THE END.



TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES

1. Passages in italics are surrounded by _underscores_.

2. Punctuation errors have been corrected without note.

3. The following misprints have been corrected:
    "repuation" corrected to "reputation" (page 2)
    "sympatheic" corrected to "sympathetic" (page 38)
    "Stael" corrected to "Staël" (page 59)

4. Other than the corrections listed above, printer's inconsistencies
in spelling and hyphenation have been retained.





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