Conversation

Don't start political or religious arguments in mixed company. Hartley doesn't ban the topics. They belong in small groups that met to discuss them, or one-on-one with someone who listens. At a dinner table they mostly produce heat.

If you get pulled in anyway, keep your temper. His line is blunt: "A man in a passion ceases to be a gentleman." Even when you're sure you're right, give way gracefully, stop arguing, or steer the talk elsewhere. If two other people are fighting and you can't make peace, step back. Take either side and you make one enemy, maybe two. If you feel yourself getting angry, change the subject or go quiet.

Hartley describes a type you'll recognize. This man doesn't offer opinions. He hands down laws. "Well, if I were president, I would…" And he argues with rising heat.

Wit is a gift and a weapon. The person who throws out puns and jokes all evening becomes "as tiresome as a comic newspaper," and laughs loudest at his own lines. Real wit is rare and well-timed, and it never lands on a person. Use it too often and you'll wound someone you meant to amuse.

Hartley also warns against the other extreme. If people around you are joking, join in. Don't chill a happy table with a grave topic or a cold face.

The longest passage in the chapter is quoted from an unnamed "English writer." His point: good conversation needs education, and the most important part is comprehension. A newcomer explains a scientific discovery, or a court case, or a book you haven't read. You should be able to follow along without staring in silence.

Know enough about music and art to keep up. If you can't pronounce a famous name, don't use it. But never show off your knowledge in a way that makes others feel ignorant. Having one or two topics and lecturing on them is bad form, he says, "whether the theme be literature or horseflesh."

Have reasons for your opinions. Answering everything with "Yes, just so" kills a conversation. So does "I liked the book, but I don't know why." And read to think, not to swallow. A person who reads one newspaper and thinks about it is better company than one who reads everything and digests nothing.

The writer imagines a horse-mad "gentleman jockey" who calls all this talk of books a bore, and the writer a pedant.

This is the heart of the chapter. Hartley quotes the French writer Jean de La Bruyère. The charm of conversation, La Bruyère says, lies less in showing your own wit than in drawing out other people's.

Then come the listening rules. Don't interrupt. Don't supply the name or date someone is searching for, unless they ask. Don't jump to the end of someone's story, or take it over because you'd tell it better. Don't look bored. Don't look at your watch, read a letter, or flip through a book while someone talks.

Don't talk over people or raise your voice to win the floor. Don't pull one person out of a group conversation into a private chat. If two people step aside to talk, don't listen in. Keep your own turns short. If someone, especially an older person, tells a long story you've heard before, let them finish.

One rule is a mistake today. Hartley says never ask anyone to repeat themselves, because it shows your attention wandered. Part 4 has the honest version.

Speak of yourself rarely. Your friends will find your virtues without your help. They'll find your faults too, so don't volunteer those either.

Don't talk about your work unless someone asks. If you're a specialist, avoid technical terms. If one slips out, Hartley says, don't explain it, because explaining implies the listener is ignorant.

Never boast about your money, your connections, or the luxuries you own. Don't name-drop. "My friend Governor C—" and "my intimate friend, the president" are, in his words, pompous. If you've traveled, don't start every sentence with "When I was in Paris." Skip set phrases and constant quotations. Never quote in a foreign language to a general group.

Avoid flattery. A small, well-placed compliment is fine. Broad flattery backfires: people above you will wonder what you want.

No gossip, no slander, and don't sit and listen to it either. Avoid topics that might touch a sore spot. Hartley quotes a proverb he admits is vulgar: "Never talk of ropes to a man whose father was hanged." If someone shows you a family secret, keep it.

Never correct someone's grammar, by word or by look. If someone speaks your language imperfectly, listen closely, don't supply the word they're hunting for, and never show impatience. No swearing, no slang, no double meanings. No ridicule, no practical jokes. Don't hand out advice nobody asked for. And however absurd a story sounds, don't show disbelief.

Hartley gives one example of how fast this goes wrong. A man at a party points across the room and asks a lady standing near him: "Who is that awkward, ugly girl?"

The chapter ends in a different voice. It's a list of everyday exaggerations, each one mocked. The rain came down "in torrents." "Wet to the skin." "Ran like lightning." "Crowded to suffocation." "I've told him fifty times." Five, he says, is probably closer.

The point is serious. Careless overstatement is a small lie. It bends what you describe. It makes you look better and other people look worse. "There is an uprightness in speech as well as in action."