Part 5

She.--Yes, the person who contradicts, frequently restates the matter merely in another way.

GOLDEN RULE NUMBER V

Do not do all the talking; give your tired listener a chance.

He.--You haven't asked me about my golden discovery.

She.--Oh, dear! is there still another rule to learn? You know, we have already had four.

He.--No; this isn't a rule. I have about come to the conclusion that people are charming in proportion as they can rise above the commonplace. Of course they must observe all our golden rules, but this observance alone will not make them interesting in conversation. Last night, for example, I never was so greatly bored as when talking with a young lady to whom I had been recently introduced. She was so well bred that she observed all the golden rules from A to Z, and yet she was tiresome beyond endurance, simply because she hadn't a soul. She was a Philistine of the deepest dye. I must say that I am so conventional, in a way, that I eschew Bohemianism, but an out-and-out Philistine,--give me a Bohemian every time.

She.--Then, I suppose that Golden Rule Number V. would be: "ACQUIRE A SOUL,--AND ASSUME ONE IF YOU HAVE IT NOT."

He.--I suppose it is innate--one's soul, which to me stands for one's love of the beautiful--for the ideal. You see, whatever you speak about, you lift out of the commonplace. Life seems quite "worth the while," when I am with you. All the inspiring things--books, music, painting--take on a new meaning when we talk about them. Last evening my newly-made acquaintance and I discussed these subjects, but they did not interest me. Julia Marlowe, whom she had just seen, was merely a pretty woman who dressed perfectly; the latest book was something that bored, but that had to be read because everybody else was reading it. Music was an unknown quantity. What shall we do with Philistines like this?

She.--Leave them to their idols. They will not be alone, for there are many to keep them company. The trouble with many persons is that they do not cultivate an admiration for the beautiful--beautiful pictures, exquisite music, delightful books. They live in a world of materialism. Handsome houses, exquisite paintings, well-filled libraries are to them mere possessions--valuable because they are the embodied insignia of wealth. The person of high ideals delights in the beautiful, because it brings him into harmony with that perfection for which he strives. In a beautiful painting, he sees the reaching out of the artist to produce not what is, but what should be; in a great literary production, the master intellect that can mold words as wax in the hands of an artisan; in beautiful music, the soul of the composer who can make one feel all that he has felt when under the magic sway of harmony; and, so, beautiful things are loved, not alone for themselves, but for what they represent; for nothing beautiful has ever existed without its master creator--the power behind the throne--where the monarch beauty is at the beck and call of that giant--intellect.

He.--Then, if we are to belong to the class who love the beautiful or what it represents, we are to cultivate our souls--that part of us which brings us en rapport with the divine in the universe. We are not to be sordid; we must not wish simply to possess--we must cultivate a love for the ideal--for what the beautiful represents.

She.--Yes; and this can be done. In our modern schools, the best in literature, in art, in music, is brought to the children. The child of to-day learns of Mozart, of Handel, of Wagner, and hears their music. He sees representations of great masterpieces of art, and learns to love the beautiful Madonnas of Raphael--to know the paintings of Rosa Bonheur--of Jean Francois Millet. This education can not fail to instill in children a love for the beautiful. To them the world takes on a roseate tinge, while their minds eventually become store-houses in which are garnered the treasured thoughts of the ages. Nothing in every-day life can be wholly commonplace; each peculiar incident in life, each peculiar mood of nature brings its accompanying suggestion.

He.--Do you know, you are saying what I should like to say, but what I cannot find words to express. Possibly, that is one reason why I enjoy your society more than that of all others--because you say the things that I would say, if I could but express my thoughts. It is for this reason that we admire an author, because he puts into words what we think; what we feel.

She.--I think we should add Golden Rule Number V. to our list, namely, DO NOT DO ALL THE TALKING; GIVE YOUR TIRED LISTENER AN OPPORTUNITY TO SPEAK.

He.--I am sure that I would rather listen than talk when you are with me.

She.--I am half inclined to believe you, for you are certainly perfect--as a listener.

GOLDEN RULE NUMBER VI

Be not continually the hero of your own story; and, on the other hand, do not leave your story without a hero.

He.--"Ships that pass in the night, and speak each other in passing, Only a signal shown and a distant voice in the darkness; So on the ocean of life, we pass and speak one another, Only a look and a voice, then darkness again and a silence."

She.--And what recalled the poem?

He.--I was thinking of the people whom we meet, and who "speak us in the passing." People whom we may never meet again, but whom we never can forget.

She.--That intangible something which makes us wish to become more closely associated with our newly-made acquaintance,--what is it? It is indefinable. We meet some one at the theater, at the club, at the social function, and there lingers with us for many days, the remembrance of the few brief moments in which we felt that we were as "twin spirits moving musically to a lute's well ordered law." Strange as it may seem, we live in a world of people,--people to the right of us, people to the left of us, everywhere about us, and only here and there a kindred spirit in whose moral and mental atmosphere we bask as in the rays of sunshine. This something that makes us feel that only the element of time is needed to make of our newly-formed acquaintance a friend that shall last through life,--what is it? A warm hand clasp, a friendly word, and in one brief moment that mysterious something that clouds the soul, is thrown aside, and in our sky a new star appears as fixed as Polaris in the heavens.

When we have an experience of this kind, although we may have interchanged but few words with our new friend, we feel intuitively that we could spend many hours together and that we should never tire of exchanging ideas.

He.--Yes; but does this not presuppose a mind stored with those "treasured thoughts" about which we were speaking in our last conversation?

She.--Possibly, in a sense; but first of all, it presupposes harmony of taste, of feeling, of ideas. This does not mean, of course, that each shall agree with the other in all essentials, but that each shall have the same broad and intelligent way of looking at a subject, and a consideration each for the other's opinions.

He.--I think, though, that as a basis for harmonious intercourse, there must be an elimination of self. No one who is thoroughly selfish can interest any one but himself. It seems to me that the ideal relation between friends presupposes an entire elimination of self.

She.--Not necessarily so. One of the most tiresome persons that I know, is a gentleman who never refers to himself, to his aspirations, or to his plans; and for this reason, he fails entirely to awaken in his listener any interest in his personality whatsoever. He is the antipode of the person who talks only of what interests him. The person who uses discretion will not avoid all reference to himself, nor will he continually make himself the hero of his own story. It behooves us all to examine ourselves, and if we have either one of these faults to rid ourselves of it at once. In directing the trend of conversation, the tactful person will choose topics of mutual interest. People are interesting not in proportion as they recount their personal experiences, but as they evince a broad, general interest in what concerns others.

He.--We might add another golden rule to our list,--Golden Rule Number VI: BE NOT CONTINUALLY THE HERO OF YOUR OWN STORY, NOR ON THE OTHER HAND, DO NOT LEAVE YOUR STORY WITHOUT A HERO. In other words, it is fatal to one's success as a conversationalist either to eliminate oneself entirely or to appear self-centered.

She.--You might say to be self-centered. Selfishness is one of the most disagreeable traits that a person can have, and he who has this to a marked degree should try to eradicate it. Some one has said, "If we had to count our ills, we would not choose suspense," we might add, "If we had to choose our faults we should not choose selfishness." A person may observe all the golden rules that we have enumerated, but if he is at heart a selfish person, his conversation will lack the charm that emanates from the whole-souled individual whose first thought is to interest and entertain others. Let us cultivate an unselfish spirit, for without this, our words will be but as "sounding brass and tinkling cymbals."