is not, as an attraction, equal to the easy garrulity for which it affords an occasion of display. His skepticism is not exuberant, like that of Rabelais; nor sneering, like that of Voltaire; nor despairing, like that of Pascal; nor merely inquisitive and scholarly, like that of Bayle. There is no reason for disbelieving Montaigne's sincere and conscious orthodoxy in the ecclesiastical sense.-SAINTS

BURY.

V.

He did not aim at the distinction of being a great writer, still less of being a great man. Yet he unquestionably takes a high place among the representative men of humanity. But it is not as Montaigne the skeptic that he should be known, nor Montaigne the egotist, nor Montaigne the epicurean, but as Montaigne the sincere.-FERDINAND BOCHER.

ILLUSTRATIVE SELECTION FROM MONTAIGNE

ON CONVERSATION.*

From "The Essays."

"The essay which has generally been considered as Montaigne's masterpiece is that on The Art of Conversation,' which was one of his last written, and stands eighth in the Third Book. Pascal has called it incomparable,' and his judgment of Montaigne is, to say the least, not partial. The chapter is discursive, like nearly all the rest; if it teaches the art of conversation at all, it is by the example of how a good talker may handle, with a light and sparkling touch, a dozen subjects strung together by the very slenderest thread of connection. But it is not really what we call conversation' which he here discusses, though in that art we may be sure that Montaigne was a proficient. The essay is rather the laying down of certain rules and principles on which an intellectual argument or discussion (which Montaigne declares he loved) should be conducted in order to secure at once free expression of opinion and command of temper, to show how gentlemen may dispute without thinking it necessary to quarrel."-REV. W. LUCAS COLLINS.

The most fruitful and natural exercise of the mind, to my thinking is converse with others; I find the practice more delightful than any other action of our life; and it is the reason why, if at this moment I were forced to make the choice, I would rather consent, I do believe, to lose my sight, than to lose my power of hearing and speaking. The Athenians, and yet more the Romans, held this exercise in high honor in their schools; in our own times, the Italians retain some traces of it, to their

*Of course only a portion of the essay is given here. The translation is by the Rev. W. Lucas Collins, M.A., in "Montaigne," in the excellent "Foreign Classics for English Readers" series. The translation is an admirable one.

great advantage, as one may see if one compares their conversation with ours. The study of books is but a weak and languishing excitement, which fails to warm us, while conversation teaches us and exercises us both at once. If I converse with a man of vigorous intellect and an able fencer, he thrusts me in the sides, he gives me point right and left; his thoughts draw out mine; jealousy, glory, antagonism urge and rouse me to something above myself; unanimity is a quality altogether tiresome in conference. But inasmuch as our minds are strengthened by collision with other vigorous and well-regulated minds, so 'tis not to be expressed how much they lose and degenerate by the perpetual contact and association with minds that are frivolous and weak; no contagion spreads like that; I know by long experience how much it is all worth a yard. I love disputation and argument; but it is only with a few persons, and for my own entertainment only; for to serve as a spectacle to the great, and to make a parade of one's wit and fluency and powers of conversation, I hold to be a very unbecoming part for a man of honor.

I engage in argument and discussion with great ease and freedom, since opinions find in me a very bad soil to strike deep into or take firm root. No propositions astonish me, and no belief offends me, however opposite it may be to my own. There is no fancy so frivolous or extravagant as not to seem to me a natural product of the human mind. . . Contradiction of my opinion, therefore, neither offends me nor puts me out; it only rouses me and puts me on my mettle. We shrink from having our judgment challenged; we ought rather to court and lay ourselves out for it, especially when it comes in the form of argument and not dictation. Whenever we are contradicted we are apt to consider not whether the contradiction be just, but how we are to get the better of it, right or wrong; instead of opening our arms to it, we thrust out our claws. I could bear to be even roughly handled by my friends—“ You are an ass— you are dreaming." I love plain and bold speech between gallant men, and that our words should go along with our thoughts; we must harden our ears and steel ourselves against that over-tenderness as to ceremonious language. I like a companionship and converse that are vigorous and manly, a friendship that prides itself on the keenness and vigor of its intercourse, even by biting and scratching, as in love: it is not

strong and generous enough if it be civilized and formal, if it fears all rough shocks, and walks with mincing steps. When a man opposes me he awakes my attention, not my anger. I approach him that contradicts me as him that instructs me; the cause of truth ought to be the common cause of both of us. But how will he answer? The passion of anger will have already marred his judgment; wrath has taken possession of him instead of reason. It would be a very good thing to refer the decision of such disputes to a wager; that there should be some material evidence of our defects to the end that we might the better remember them; and that my servant might be able to say to me:" Your ignorance and obstinacy have cost you in this last year, on twenty several occasions, a hundred crowns." For my part, I welcome and embrace truth in whosesoever hands I find it, and submit to it cheerfully, nay, hold out my arms to it in token of submission, as soon as I see it approaching in the distance; and, provided always it does not take an imperious and dictatorial tone, I take pleasure in being set right, often rather on grounds of civility and conviction, because I love to gratify and encourage the liberty of admonition by my readiness to give way, even to my own cost.

It is very difficult, nevertheless, to win the men of my day to this way of thinking. They have not the courage to correct, because they have not the courage to bear to be corrected; and they always speak with insincerity in each other's presence. I take such pleasure in being judged and criticised, that I am indifferent in which of the two fashions it be done. My own fancies contradict and refute themselves so often, that it is all the same to me if some one else does it, especially as I concede to his authority only just so much as I please. But I fall out at once with any who deal in such high-handed fashion (as I know some who do) as to resent their assertions not being implicitly believed, and take it as an affront if one makes any difficulty in accepting them. . . . In truth, I prefer meeting in discussion with those who hit me hard, than with those who are afraid of me. It is a poor and unwholesome satisfaction to have to deal with those who admire us and pay us deference. . I feel much prouder of the victory I gain over myself, when in the very heat of the dispute I make myself bend to the force of my opponent's reasoning, than of any victory I may gain over him through his weakness. In short, I can receive and bear

any kind of attack that is made directly and fairly, however weak it be; but I am too impatient of those which are made in irregular fashion. I never heat myself as to the matter of the argument; to me all opinions are the same, and I am almost indifferent to victory on any question. I can argue with good temper for a day together, provided the argument be conducted in a regular way; it is not ability or cleverness I look for so much as orderly and pertinent discussion. I mean that kind of pertinency which we always see in the disputes of country people and shop boys, never amongst ourselves; if they get violent, that is only rudeness-so do we, too; but their noise and impatience never turns them from their subject, their assertions keep to the point; if they interrupt each other, if they will not listen, at any rate they understand each other. A man always answers me well enough, if he does but answer what I say; but when the dispute becomes disorderly and confused, I leave the thing; and I insist upon observance of form with some degree of anger and impatience, and so fall into a stubborn, bitter, and masterful style of disputing, which I have to blush for afterward. It is impossible to deal fairly with a fool. It is not only my judgment which gets warped in contest with such an irrational opponent, but my conscience, too.

Our disputes ought to be put under restrictions and penalties, like other offenses of the tongue; what mischief do they not breed and encourage, governed and directed as they always are by passion! We quarrel first with the arguments and then with the men. We learn to argue only that we may contradict; and every one contradicting and being contradicted, it follows therefrom that the result of argument is the loss and annihilation of truth.