The American Gentleman's Guide to Politeness and Fashion / or, Familiar Letters to his Nephews

by Margaret C. Conkling

I will only add that elocutionary skill always affords the possessor the means of promoting social and domestic enjoyment, and that the finest sentiments and the most eloquent language lose half their proper effect when uttered in a mumbling or muttering tone, as well as in too loud or too low a voice.

Closely allied to the accomplishment of which we have been speaking, is that of Conversational ease and elegance, an art in which all other nations are excelled by the French, and in which we, perhaps, most successfully emulate them.

Unfortunately for our social advancement in this respect,

"The well of English undefiled"

is not the only source from which the vehicle of thought is derived. The use of slang phrases, of crack words, even among the better educated classes of society—and that in writing as well as in conversation—is becoming noticeably prevalent. Nothing can be more detrimental to the advancement of those who desire to acquire colloquial polish than the habit of using this inelegant language, and there is nothing into which one may glide more insensibly, when it becomes familiar from association.

You will, perhaps, say that the amusement afforded to others by the occasional adoption of these mirth-provoking vulgarisms affords an apology for their use; and that would be a legitimate excuse, did the matter end there. But who can hope successfully to establish the line of demarcation that shall separate the legitimate sphere of their applicability from that in which they cannot properly claim a place? We know how much we are all under the dominion of habit in regard to the artificial observances of life, and that once established, any practice in which we indulge ourselves may manifest itself unconsciously to us. Hence, then, it is no more safe to acquire the habit of interlarding our discourse with inelegances of expression, ungrammatical language, Yankeeisms, localisms (to coin a word if it be not one, more expressive here than provincialisms) or vulgarisms of any kind, than to permit ourselves the perpetration of other solecisms in good-breeding, with the protection only of a mental limitation to their undue encroachment upon our claims to refined associations.

There is, therefore, no safe rule, except that dictating the unvarying adoption of the purest and most expressive idiomatic English we can command. I remember to have heard it said of a celebrated conversationist, whom I knew in my younger days, that he not only always used a good word to express his meaning, but the very best word afforded by our language.

The habit of thinking clearly might naturally be supposed to produce the power of conveying ideas to others with distinctness, were not the impression controverted by much evidence to the contrary. I must believe, however, that the difference between persons, in this respect, arises more frequently from want of attention to the subject, than from all other causes combined. I know of no other way of sufficiently explaining the awkward, slipshod, unsatisfactory mode of talking so common even among educated people. Were we accustomed to regarding conversational pleasures as among the highest enjoyments of existence, and of making them a part of our daily life—as the French of all ranks do—a vast difference would exist between what is, and what might be. With what intensity of interest, with what vivacity of manner do the polite and cultivated French talk! The salons of the leaders of ton in Paris are nightly filled with the literati, the artists, the soldiers and statesmen concentered in that brilliant capitol. And they assemble not to eat, not even to dance, to the exclusion of all other gratifications, but to talk—to exchange ideas upon topics and incidents of passing interest—to receive and to communicate instruction, as well as enjoyment. And even the common people—whether eating their frugal evening repast at a little table placed in the street, or seated in groups in the garden of the Tuileries—how they talk! with what abandon—to use their own word—with what geniality, with what sprightliness! The very children, sporting like so many birds of gorgeous plumage, and musical tones, in the public gardens and promenades, prattle of matters interesting to them, with a graceful vivacity nowhere else to be seen. All classes give themselves up to it—take time for it, as one of the necessities of daily life! But I should apologize for this digression.

The advantage of habitual practice, then, cannot be too highly commended to those who would acquire colloquial skill. There is, also, no better mode of fastening knowledge in the mind than by accustoming one's self to clothing ideas in spoken language, and the mere attempt to do so, gives distinctness to thought.

But while fluency and ease are the results of practice, the embellishments of conversation require careful culture. Wit, Humor, Repartee, though to some extent natural gifts, may undoubtedly be improved, if not attained, by artificial training.