as they betray failure of purpose, and weakness in his own hold, so they must detach and finally destroy ours. And yet how people will hum and ha,—their minds all astray, while they utter conventional or inarticulate sounds,-yet with unprincipled obstinacy refuse to release an attention which they have not vigour to keep in exercise! For, after all, attention is so far subject to the senses that, however profitless, imperfect, and irksome, it cannot be wholly suspended at will.

There can be no doubt that real attention is a great talent and a great power. Indeed, an extreme impatience of attention incapacitates a man for a place in the world. There is a morbid, demoralised state of mind in which men cannot listen. They cannot follow another man's train of thought, for they cannot give their mind into another's custody even for a moment. The very thought of it is an irritation and a bondage. This is a subject for compassion where men recognise their infirmity, and agree neither to give nor take; but we see it often in those who make large demands on the attention of others, and expect to be listened to at any length they choose. Again, there are people whose attention is simply criticism-who are not capable of an instant's suspension of the judgment—who accompany your words with a running commentary of protest or contradiction, showing that they have heard all, and attended to every word, but with none of the deference of a listener. But the mind needs unresisting, merely listening attention for its proper develop

He who

ment; and this is one reason why the young ought to have the companionship of the young. Their elders are in such a relation to them that the mere act of silent attention might imply the sanction of a mature understanding, which of course the attention of equals does not; though impatient minds are too apt to suppose it does, and thus to lose substantial weight by mistimed interference. No man can be really influential who cannot listen as well as talk; and no one can know anything of the mind of others without attending in the simple patient attitude of attention. can do this is, by the very gift, a comfort and stay to anxious, tried, and perplexed spirits, to whom the mere unfolding of their difficulties is often the best remedy. Experience seems to teach men endowed with conscientious attention that all people have something in them worth attending to. Their patience often helps them through a dull stratum into a vein missed by all others, but well worth working. Sir Walter Scott was one of these, and maintained that he learnt something from every one he travelled with. His biographer especially remarks on his serene attention to bores, and how graciously, through interminable prolixities, "the same bland eye watched the lips of the tormentor." To the bystander it was a mere exercise of courtesy and forbearance; but as no person can be charming without the appearance of attention-and as in this case the appearance can scarcely exist without something of the reality—the occasion was probably by no means so great an annoyance to the victim as to a circle assem

bled to hear Sir Walter Scott talk, not to listen to a discussion on the Truck System, or the Greek Epigram, as the case might be.

The mention of the bland eye brings us to the true test and sign of attention. Courtesy can control every other mark of roving thought, but no deception can be practised on the eye. If a man is not really attending, he cannot make his eye look as if he were. Either the iris is restless, or it is perceptible that its repose arises from thought turned inward; or, more hopeless still, the pupil is fixed in a determined unmeaning stare. In any case, we have constantly to talk on. Things have to be said, and we must say them, and infuse into the so-called listener a general sense of our subject. But do not talk for the pleasure of talking-for the mere relief of unburdening the mind to the wandering, the rigid, or the introspective glance. The owner of those eyes is wondering when you will have done, or he is absently occupied with his own affairs. Take the hint in good part, be as concise as you can, and relieve an unwilling, engaged attention. Now the bore is one who is not an observer of signs. He plods on, set on delivering himself of what he has to say, and so bewitched with the sound of his own voice that he does not mark, or, what is worse, is indifferent to, all evidences of fatigue or restlessness. No one need be a bore who notes the eyes and postures of those with whom he converses. No one need force himself habitually on the unwilling notice of others. On the other hand, there are eyes that invite confidence-"bland,"

serene, clear-shining, out-looking eyes, at once patient and intelligent. This is the eye of the good listener. He keeps your pace; he goes with the fluctuations of fact or feeling or argument without effort. You may know you are not wearying him. Not that we would impose either upon a congenial glance or easy repose of attitude any unreasonable burden; but such people are not so common but that we should recognise them, and value them, when we see them. As it is, men constantly think they like and prize people for their talking, when it is in fact for their listening; and every kindly intelligent man who possesses this accomplishment is certain to win himself a great social reputation, and to be a pillar of any cause he takes up.

We have confined ourselves here to social attention, not to the attention men give to books, or pay to young ladies, or bestow on their own business, or on works of benevolence. It is well that people should realise the difficulty of attention in its simplest form. If they do, they will not lay all the blame on their instructors if they find their attention restive and unmanageable under greater trials. That was a candid entry in Dr Johnson's diary where he resolves "to attend the sermon unless attention be more troublesome than useful;" for at any rate it implied that attention was an effort. Most people assume that nothing is easier than to fix the thoughts on transcendent and often too unfamiliar ideas, and that, if their attention flags and wearies, of the two parties implicated in the transaction, it certainly is not themselves that are to blame.

STRONG WILLS.

Ir is the fashion of our day to idolise the will. People good and bad, religious and profane, wise and frivolous, unite to honour persistent resolve. Strength of will is the staple of saints and sinners of any credit, magnitude, or popularity. It really matters very little with a great many people what the object may be, if it only be pursued perseveringly and remorselessly. Sin followed with a force to resist the blandishments of collateral sins becomes a virtue. Whenever a man has a great prevailing paramount desire which sets him above lesser transient desires, be the main desire ever so truculent, mean, or base, he is the mark for some men's admiration and reverence-not, indeed, in respect of the thing desired, but for the strength and persistence of his wish for it. The heroine of Mr Wilkie Collins's No Name' relies for our sympathy on this ground alone. If she were ever to swerve from her horrible and degrading purpose, if her resolve were to relax for a moment under the breath of any good or genial