Be a good listener. He.—And here we are again in your bower—your bower of roses and carnations. It is always summer here, for there are always flowers. You wear them, too, as another would wear her jewels. THE WOMAN WITH THE ROSE "She went by dale, and she went by down, With a single rose in her hair." She.—This is as I like my flowers—around me and about me. Conservatories have no charm for me, for one cannot live in a conservatory. I like my roses, where, as I sit and write, I can inhale their fragrance, and see their wondrous beauty. What is more beautiful than a rose? He.—Wouldn't "The Woman with the Rose" make a nice title for a poem? She.—You are really lacking in originality. You never would have thought of it in the world He.—Oh! I agree with you that I am not original, and that the title was suggested; but not, as you think, by "The Man with the Hoe." She.—Aren't we wasting valuable time? You know we were going to discuss Golden Rule Number VIII., and we haven't even decided what it shall be. He.—Be a good listener! Wasn't it Addison who said that the most skillful flattery was to let a person talk on, and be a good listener? But somehow, this has such a ring of insincerity. Now, I am sure that I should not wish to be beguiled into thinking that I was entertaining my friend when, in reality, I was boring him. She.—Yes; but a person who observes all our golden rules will not "talk on." You know, there are few persons who can "talk on," and not bore their listeners. Of course, if people were tactful and would observe Golden Rule Number VII.—Choose topics in which all are interested—it would not be necessary for the listener to "feign an interest if he has it not." He.—But what are we going to do when we are in the society of those who do not observe this rule? She.—Sometimes, we can enjoy the conversation of others for reasons opposite to what might be expected. For example, a few days since, I was one of several guests at a luncheon, and I was very much amused in noting how subjects, which in themselves seemed very prosaic, could elicit so much enthusiasm in their discussion. For example, the guests discussed the making of salads, and much enthusiasm was expended over a mixture of fruit, nuts, and olive oil. The subject was certainly highly relevant, as the very kind of salad in question was in evidence, calling forth enthusiastic encomiums from all. He.—I suppose you are often amused at the amount of interest shown in trivial subjects. She.—No; I, too, at times, like to relax, and to talk about subjects that would seem frivolous to many. While much of my time and close attention must necessarily be given to study, for this reason, when there is any diverting influence, I prefer, occasionally, to forget everything of a serious nature; and, like the bee that goes from flower to flower to sip of each its sweetness, so I enjoy passing from one subject to another, discussing only lightly, each in turn. So you see whether it is salads or pates; Mrs. He.—But when a person is deeply interested in some special study that counts, I can not see how he can find much satisfaction in the discussion of topics so very foreign to his specialty. She.—As I have just implied, the specialist finds it necessary to relax. I have in mind a noted physician who spends many of his waking hours, and hours when he should be sleeping, either in his laboratory or with his patients; but immediately when he enters his drawing-room to greet a friend, he forgets his work utterly, for the time being, and before many minutes have passed, his listener is convulsed with laughter over some new story—the latest acquisition to the Doctor's stock. He.—Do you know, I often wonder why people do not cultivate the art of story-telling. It seems to me that if one would entertain one's friends now and then with a good story, it would enliven what would otherwise be a very dull occasion. She.—Story-tellers—good story-tellers—are probably born, not made; and yet, the person who is not especially gifted in this art, may He.—Occasionally, I hear a good story, and one that I wish to remember, but I can never trust myself to repeat it for fear that I shall commit the flagrant sin of missing the "point"; and that omission would, of course, be unpardonable. She.—I think you might become a very successful reconteur, if you would give some attention to the art in question. Of course, the important thing to remember is, what are the essentials, to omit all unnecessary details, to keep the listener in suspense and, above all, not to omit the point. We can not all be Charles Lambs nor Sydney Smiths, but we can each have our little store of "funnycisms" from which to draw when the occasion is opportune, or the story relevant. He.—Well, I suppose we must decide that one must be a good listener at all hazards, and that one must find something of interest in the conversation of others even though the subject may be "salads" when it should be "suffrage," for She.—Yes, I suppose so; but if we could all remember and practice our other golden rules, we should not need to add this one to the list. He.—Let me see whether I can enumerate them.
She.—You have done remarkably well to remember all these rules. He.—Haven't I earned a reward? She.—What shall it be? He.—The rose in your hair. |