ple disagree, if they will only admit in
their minds that every one has a right to a point of view, and that
their own does not necessarily rule out all others. I had two friends
once, a husband and wife, who had strong political views; the wife
believed it probable that all Radicals were either wicked or stupid,
but it was possible to argue the point with her; whereas the husband
KNEW that any person who, however slightly, entertained Liberal views
was a fool or a knave, and thus argument was impossible.

Of course, there are a very few people who have a genius for
conversation. Such persons are not as a rule great talkers themselves,
though they every now and then emit a flash of soft brilliance; but
they are rather the people who send every one else away contented; who
see the possibilities in every remark; who want to know what other
people think; and who can, by some deft sympathetic process which is to
me very mysterious, expand a blunt expression of opinion into an
interesting mental horizon, or fructify some faltering thought into a
suggestive and affecting image. Such people are worth their weight in
gold. Then there is a talker who is worth much silver, a man of
irresistible geniality, who has a fund of pleasant banter for all
present. This is a great art; banter, to be agreeable, must be of a
complimentary kind; it must magnify the object it deals with--a
perverse person may be bantered on his strength of character; a stingy
person may be bantered on his prudence. There is, indeed, a kind of
banter, not unknown in academical circles, which takes the heart out of
every one by displaying them in a ludicrous and depreciating light; a
professor of this art will make out a sensitive person to be a coward,
and a poetical man to be a sentimental fool; and then the conversation,
"like a fountain's sickening pulse, retires."

The talker who is worth much copper is the good, commonplace, courteous
person who keeps up an end and has something to say; and these must be
the basis of most parties--the lettuce, so to speak, of the salad.

The thing to beware of is to assemble a purely youthful party, unless
you know your men well; a shy, awkward young man, or a noisy,
complacent young man, are each in their way distressing. But a mixture
of youth and age will produce the happiest results, if only your luck
does not desert you.

After all, the essence of the thing is to have simple, unaffected
people; the poseur is the r