devoid of elegance of manners, and it is often not found among the so-called better classes, or the affluent or the highly educated. No picture of a gentleman in literature is so convincing as that of Sir Roger de Coverley; but there is also a genuine manifestation of the essential qualities of good breeding in the simple, kindly, genuine and touching letter of his butler, Edward Biscuit, announcing Sir Roger's death to one of his friends. Addison says that no society or conversation can exist without good breeding based on good nature and adds:

"For this reason mankind have been forced to invent a kind of artificial humanity, which is what we express by the word good breeding. For if we examine thoroughly the idea of what we call so, we shall find it to be nothing else but an imitation and mimicry of good nature, or, in other terms, affability, complaisance, and easiness of temper reduced into an art.

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These exterior shows and appearances of humanity render a man wonderfully popular and beloved, when they are founded upon a real good nature; but without it, are like hypocrisy in religion, or a bare form of holi

ness which, when it is discovered, makes a man more detestable than professed impiety."

Where good breeding does not appear in the higher strata of society, snobbishness is apt to occur, that social excrescence compounded of false pride and petty ambition. Groups in a community having reasonable pride in a worthy ancestry and seeking to establish a desire for self-improvement and correct standards of conduct, honor high character and form a real aristocracy; and in a social democracy like that in America they are sure to be welcomed in worth while society.

It is not accidental that I have referred above to a "hostess"; but I would not imply that a man may not be an ideal symposiarch. Even if social customs are in a state of flux, Newman's “gentleman” will still be found in refined circles with "his eyes on all of his company"; and he "is tender towards the bashful, gentle towards the distant, and merciful towards the absurd; he can recollect to whom he is speaking; he guards against unreasonable allusions or topics that may irritate; he is seldom

prominent in conversation and never wearisome." That either a man or a woman with such qualities will make an ideal symposiarch need not be argued. But in addition there is inborn in the gentler sex a desire to please and there is inbred in men a chivalric and deferential disposition toward women. It is quite natural, therefore, where social direction is needed that the woman springs into leadership. If she is “not the queen and victor" at least she is "the law giver"; and because, as the discerning Emerson adds, women are not only wise themselves, they make us wise. No one can be a master in conversation who has not learned much from women; their presence and inspiration are essential to its success." And so in giving to women precedence as social leaders, I am but recognizing what nature itself has endowed them with.

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V

SOME OBSTACLES TO GOOD

W

CONVERSATION

WHEN the Chief Justice accused the evasive Falstaff of being deaf, Sir John said: "Rather, an't please you, it is the disease of not listening, the malady of not marking that I am troubled withal." And listening to judicial utterance is not more important than it is as an aid to good conversation, which depends upon the rapid play of the wits to evoke responses and comments and to present fancies. In the drive (to use a tennis term) and the quick return, thought becomes vibrant, pertinent and concrete. It travels by short cuts and its surprises are frequent. But unless there is concentration, unless there is attentiveness, physical and mental, talk will drift into a stagnant pool of irrelevancies. Rochefoucauld says that a man "thinks more of what he wants to say than of his answer to what is said," and he adds:

"The most clever and polite are content with only seeming attentive, while we perceive in their mind and eyes that at the very time they are wandering from what is said and desire to return to what they want to say; instead of considering that the worst way to persuade or please others is to try thus strongly to please ourselves, and that to listen well and to answer well are some of the greatest charms we can have in conversation."

This remains as true now as it was under the Pre-Revolutionary days in France two hundred years ago; and if inattention is observed by one who is speaking, as it may be from the expression of the eyes, it is sure to detract from the spirit of his utterance. One speaking over the radio encounters a like difficulty; for he must amuse, instruct and interest hundreds of thousands from whom he can obtain no response, no appreciative glance, to awaken his reserve of thought or stir his imagination. How easy for him to picture a tired, hostile or bored audience! Poise in the presence of a mute invisible audience,-how contrary to human experience! To address nothing but the