The oddest criticism that I have ever encountered from a reviewer was the laconic and cynical remark (commenting upon my rather altruistic belief in the duty of giving one's best thought to the conversational circle), that "Nowadays, people don't talk: if they have any good ideas, they save them and write them out and sell them." The critic implied that, otherwise, in this age of universal scribbling, some plagiarist would appropriate these ideas and hurry them to the magazine market before the original thinker had time to fix the jewel in a setting of his own.
Of course, the little brain thief is common enough; but it had never occurred to me to be so wary. It struck me "with the full force of novelty," that any one should be deterred from speech by such a consideration. I have since wondered whether that particular phase of serpent-wisdom accounts for the non-committal silences with which some well-known wits entertain the social circle, the while a despairing hostess is making the best of such help as a few lively chatterboxes can give her. Not that I ever saw any notably superior talkers struck dumb in this way; Richard Brinsley Sheridan never was, if I recall correctly. Why should you be? If your bright idea is stolen, you can spare it; if you are truly bright, you have many more where that one came from.
But beware of forced brightness. Wit is nothing if not spontaneous. If nature has not endowed you with the instantaneous perception of contrasts and incongruities, out of which flashes the swift conceit called wit, do not imagine you are "dull" or uninteresting. There are other gifts and graces less superficial, far more rare, and ultimately more influential, than wit.
And though you are witty, do not talk nonsense over-much. Remember that it is the "little nonsense now and then" that is "relished by the best of men." It is perilously easy to weary people with the "smart" style of talk. But let your cheerful sense, grave or gay, be as good an offering to your friends as you know how to make. Your next special occasion—for which you might have "saved" all these things—will lose nothing of value. It may rather gain fourfold, by the reflex inspiration that replenishes every unselfish outpouring of the nobler social spirit.
ON THE WING
Travelers have certain rights guaranteed by their regularly-purchased tickets. Within such bounds they are privileged to claim all comforts and immunities.
But the mannerly tourist will claim no more. He will not take up more room than he is entitled to while other passengers are discommoded. Nor will he persist in keeping his particular window open when the draught and the cinders therefrom are troublesome or dangerous to other people.
If travelers carry a lunch-basket, they should discuss its contents quietly, and be careful not to litter the floor with crumbs, or the débris of fruits and nuts, nor to leave any trace of its presence after the luncheon is finished.
If a lady is traveling under the escort of a gentleman, she will give him as little trouble as possible. She will amuse herself by reading, or studying the landscape, leaving him at liberty to choose similar diversions when conversation grows tedious. She will carry few parcels, and if possible will have arranged for some one to meet her at her station, so that her obliging guardian need not be taxed to look after her beyond the railway journey's end. If the gentleman has attended to the purchase of tickets, and the paying of dining-car fees, etc., the lady will repay those expenditures, as a matter of course, thanking him for the trouble that he has taken to give her "safe conduct."
A gentleman thus traveling as escort will attend to all matters of tickets, the checking of baggage, etc.; and will see that the lady is comfortably settled for her journey, with some thoughtful provision in the way of magazines, and possibly a basket of fine fruit. He will see that the porter and the maid (if there is one) are attentive to her comfort, and will not relinquish his charge until he leaves her, either at her final destination, or in the care of some one authorized to relieve him of the responsibility. He will perform all these duties cheerfully, and endeavor to convey the idea that it is a pleasure to him; and this will be better shown in his manner than by any conventional protestations.