Many of his shrewdest sayings concern social intercourse. Thus he observes that there are excellent people who have never done any wrong to their neighbours, and who cannot understand why they are not more popular; the reason being, as he puts it, that "they neglect all those arts by which men are endeared to one another." "They wrap themselves up in their innocence, and enjoy the congratulations of their own hearts, without knowing or suspecting that they are every day deservedly incurring resentments by withholding from those with whom they converse that regard, or appearance of regard, to which every one is entitled by the customs of the world." Observe his phrase; it reminds us of another saying of his, that "politeness is fictitious benevolence." Nor has he failed to observe that his countrymen sometimes forget this principle. "Sir," he says, "two men of any other nation who are shown into a room together at a house where they are both visitors will immediately find some conversation. But two Englishmen will probably go each to a different window, and remain in obstinate silence. Sir, we as yet do not enough understand the common rights of humanity." Is it not sad to think that this was said a century and a quarter ago, and that it is generally as true—by the consent of all foreigners—to-day, as it was then? After this reproof, let us take a little crumb of comfort: Johnson defends—magnificently defends—our good old custom of talking about the weather; a custom which may languish, but which, we must earnestly hope, will never disappear. After pointing out the interesting uncertainty of our climate, and referring to some other available topics, such as gossip, the state of the stock-market, and continental wars, Johnson concludes:—"The weather is a nobler and more interesting subject; it is the present state of the skies and of the earth, on which plenty and famine are suspended, on which millions depend for the necessaries of life."—For persons who affect singularity of behaviour, Johnson has a useful hint: "Singularity, as it implies a contempt of the general practice, is a kind of defiance which justly provokes the hostility of ridicule; he therefore who indulges peculiar habits is worse than others if he be not better." And how admirably does Johnson demolish that fallacy to which English people are peculiarly prone—that a person of rough manners is therefore more likely to be honest—in this terse sentence:—"Honesty is not greater where elegance is less." "The difference between a well-bred and ill-bred man," he says, "is this; one immediately attracts your liking, the other your aversion.