CASUAL COMMENTS

Evening Star, Issue 19918, 14 July 1928, Page 2

CASUAL COMMENTS

CONVERSATION [By Leo'-Fanning.] According to the comments of varims philosophers throughout the centuries, conversation has always been .i lost art. and now, of course, the gramophone, radio, and other things will stop the world as a whole from regaining the soulful chattiness of the ■itono Ago. Yet, wherever else conversation may vanish or loy itself in a medley of ejaculations and interjections, as in big “at homes” and other mcini assemblies, it will • always have '-.tfongholds in men’s dubs and inns. a * • “ This is tho Ago of Interruption,” a philosophic friend remarked sadly to mo the oilier day. Whatever you wish or try to do or say, something or mincbody butts in or cuts in. 1 went uome the other evening,- sober, full oi iiobio thought. My • wile had complained that 1 was too much'wrapped ■ip in myself, too quietly • meditative, not talkative enough. Well, i resolved to make amends, i was speaking fruitily — l knew 1 was — about men and things but in the midst of my most sparkling sentence my wife said prosily; “Yes, yes, hut did you remember to bring home tiie sausages.” That incident gives a reminder of •me of the differences between women and men. Usually the conversation of men has a more or loss definite sublet, and takes a more or less definite course. One person will interrupt another, crudely or oven perhaps insultingly, but the interjection will hear upon the discussion, or upon the speaker, although the bearing may bo unbearable. When the .subject changes it is usually by gradual stages, as a road may imperceptibly wind . from lorth to south. : .

But the conversation ot.women .with women or women witli men is iipt so much remarkable for. interruptions as disruptions. The'train of thought is not only derailed, hut utterly scrapped arid, a. new one thrust in its place without notice-of'motion/"

Women take' one another’s interruptions or disruptions in part; it is a -game of give and take, in 1 which 'each player has a lair share of the giving and taking; but plenty of rnonologucltil men _ have old Dr Samuel Jmmson's dislike of a ' snapping' of their thread of thought by a vandal’s teeth. Regretfully,- 1 once keenly pained a brilliant New Zealander, famed for his prowess in oratory. At a little informal social assembly a few days after the death of Air Massey the talk turned naturally oim the -probable trend of things political. , The philosopher remarked that ho had been consulted by the heads and fronts of diverse, interests and aspirations, and he pictured himself as one called upon to evolve new shapes from old situations. When he was in the midst of a very eloquent passage the' devil lured me to say; “—7, you are acting the part of political midwife.” (Loud laughter.) - The philosopher (a very dear friend), stopped, looked at me sadly as Cie'sar might have looked at Brutus, before I ■ fell at the base of Pompey’o pillar, finished his glass, and silently strode away. « Ik « *‘ ’ Wo all begin life as interesting conversationalists, if. not brilliant ones. Is there anything 'more enchanting than the chatter of toddlers? How direct they are! They do not beat about the bush*. Tljey get into the' bush, and see a' j'airlyland there. Their talk reaches into tho heart of, things—real insight into a real world' (not the phantasmal, nothingness of gog-eyod science/ A mother’s conversation with a baby, although incoherent and. enormously unpractical, can bo also, very delightful;; •. .Yet tbo “ baby talk ” has , one disadvantage with which; reformers-mav be concerned some day. The baby has to learn , two,, . languages-—first, the infantile : jargon ■ of worshipful femininity, and then.- the ordinary- language, of the ; country: Long-ago’one-of .tlio most precise conversationalists of my acquaintance was a threo-year-old girl whoso parents had banned “baby, talk.” .As the .child played her pranks in a fairly grammatical , environment, she echoed the words and phrases of her elders, and .was a accurate speaker until she began going to school. .. *■ * * ' * Do the modern lovers , have the okl- • time ~ prattle or anything like , it? “.L’aihour begaie un . argot charmant” wrote Victor lingo, which, is difficult, to translate, because “argot” may be . rendered. as , “slang,” “gibberish,” and other, things. .A ; near ..enough shot is, “Love babbles in' .sweet nothings.” If any reader can do any better let him. or her rise worthily to the occasion. 'The, romantic young woman likes to' have, plenty of heart-gripping lovers’ talk, in, a story—but that is probably' not the stuff that lovers say in the conservatory or on the chesterfield when tho lights arc burning low. A drawing in Now York ‘Life’ purported to give a more reliable indication of lovers’ conversation. The title of the picture was something like this;—“How a man appears to his best friend when he is talking to his best girl over the telephone.” You can pick it, of course. The human shoulders of, tho lover supported a very long-eared donkey’s head, wearing a most fatuous expression. •. * * « Some of the old-time novels—notably several of Sir Walter Scott—had conversations of lovers which no living men or women over spoke. Take, for example, the hero, Henry Morton, and the heroine, Edith Bolk-ndcn, of ‘ Old Mortality,’ in a scene when. Henry is a prisonei on a capital charge (re

iiellion). How quaintly this passage reads to-day:—

For two or three minutes Edith stood as motionless as the statue of a saint which receives the adoration of a worshipper; and when she recovered herself sufficiently to withdraw her hand from Henry’s grasp . she could at first only faintly articulate, “ I have taken a strange step, Mr Morton—a step,” she continued with more coherence, as her ideas arranged themselves in conse- - queues. of a strong effort, “that perhaps may expose mo to censure m your eves. But I have long permitted you to use the language of friendship—-perhaps I might say .more—too long to leave you when the world seems to have left you. How or why is this imprisonment? ' What can be done? Can my uncle, ..who thinks so highly of yon—can your kinsman,.'Milwood, be ot no use? Are there no means? _ And ■what is likely to be the event?’’ “Be what it will,” answered Henry, contriving to make himself master of the hand that had escaped from him, but which was now again abandoned to his clasp, “be what it will, it ; s to me from this moment the most welcome incident of a weary life. To yon, dearest Edith forgive me, I should have said Miss Bellenden, hut misfortune claims strange privileges—to you I have owed the few happy moments which ■ have gilded a gloomy existence; and if I am now to lay it down, the recollection of this honour will be my happiness in the last hour of suffering.” And so it goes on. u * * • Of course, the art of conversation is .chiefly the art of listening. It is indeed, easier to be a good talker than a good listener—for the listener suffereth in silence. You read occasionally in the women's page of the Press the advice giv£n by one woman to another who may wish to win and hold an eligible bachelor or widower,ot means. The maid or widow is told to draw a man out—get him to talk about himself, his plans,' ideals, ambitions, and so on. Her innings in speech comes Inter on (if one may believe in the standard jests about “ the Inst word ” and other words of wedded life).

r Well, here we are again at the foot of the column, with plenty of conversations not 'mentioned—the grave conversation of the banker_ on the subject of overdraft, the blithe conversation of the curate with members of .the Two Garments League, the conversation of the confident- doctor with the wealthy nervous patient, the brief conversations of pedestrians with motorists, the conversations in the House of Representatives, which Mr Speaker frequently suppresses with bis stern “ Order! Too much loud conversation.” And there aro also those brilliant imaginary conversations which wo construct for contacts with friends and enemies.—Not space.