and sympathy that they are always in readiness for use. These
qualities are essential to agreeable and profitable intercourse, though
comparatively few people possess them.

Burke considered manners of more importance than laws. Sidney Smith
described manners as the shadows of virtues. Dean Swift defined manners
as the art of putting at ease the people with whom we converse.
Chesterfield said manners should adorn knowledge in order to smooth its
way through the world. Emerson spoke of manners as composed of petty
sacrifices.

We all recognize that a winning manner is made up of seemingly
insignificant courtesies, and of constant little attentions. A person of
charming manner is usually free from resentments, inquisitiveness, and
moods.

Personality plays a large part in interesting conversation. Precisely
the same phraseology expressed by two different persons may make two
wholly different impressions, and all because of the difference in the
personalities of the speakers.

The daily mental life of a man indelibly impresses itself upon his face,
where it can be unmistakably read by others. What a person is, innately
and habitually, unconsciously discloses itself in voice, manner, and
bearing. The world ultimately appraises a man at his true value.

The best type of talker is slow to express positive opinions, is sparing
in criticism, and studiously avoids a tone or word of finality. It has
been well said that "A talker who monopolizes the conversation is by
common consent insufferable, and a man who regulates his choice of
topics by reference to what interests not his hearers but himself has
yet to learn the alphabet of the art. Conversation is like lawn-tennis,
and requires alacrity in return at least as much as vigor in service. A
happy phrase, an unexpected collocation of words, a habitual precision
in the choice of terms, are rare and shining ornaments of conversation,
but they do not for an instant supply the place of lively and
interesting matter, and an excessive care for them is apt to tell
unfavorably on the substance of discourse."

When Lord Beaconsfield was talking his way into social fame, someone
said of him, "I might as well attempt to gather up the foam of the sea
as to convey an idea of the extraordinary language in which he clothed
his description. There were at least five words in every sentence that
must have been very much astonished at the use they were put to, and yet
no others apparently