SOCIAL IMPOSTORS.

Thames Star, Volume VIII, Issue 2817, 23 February 1878, Page 4

SOCIAL IMPOSTORS.

There are, some people we don't care about —people: that society can't get on without, but still we don't like them. They have grown to a certain pilch in their faculties, and the pitch is by no means a high one ; they. don?t mean to be impostors, but they areThere is the man of great vivacity, when first introduced, and he leaves an impression of your own great littleness, and an overwhelming idea of his ; own talents and conversational powers; He heaves his bucketful,' and he throws it over you, and the Grst shower-bath is certainly overpowering. '.: ■ After an acquaintance of a few months, the timidity and diffidence that this great man created wears off; and one .fine day you come to the conclusion that the man is a shallow fool, and jou wonder how you ever could have considered him clever, or even agreeable. This conclusion is- often consummated by hearing him letting off the same squibs at somebody elso with which he first startled you into your brief admiration. This experience of being socially taken in is most unpleasant. You are angry with, yourself; and every--one knows there can be no more unsatisfactory person to be angry with. There is the man of humour, who talks about " bow-wows " when he is eating a sausage, or "frigid cow" when he is carving cold beef, at whom it is pain and grief to contort a grin, but you feel it is a duty to society,, and consequently it is produced. ' *' l The most provoking thing in the man of humour is that he leads the laughter himself, and, as laughter is said to be infectious, there is generally sufficient noise to mate the world believe that the man of huniour has made a joke. What an awful existence must be the life.of a man who has a reputation for making jokes! Oh, the horrible question that is always being asked, " Was that meant for a joke?" His life must be almost as terrible. as (hat of the person who can tell an anecdote, and who is always called upon to tell it when there is a buz of conversation going on. Thus, some one says, "Hush, hush, Mr de Witz is going to tell a story," and every one is silent, and the story is told, and people say, without moving an inch of their risible muscles, " Very good, indeed," " .Excellenl," "Delicious," "Did you hear that Mr Slothe" (who was nslecp), "Yes, yes, capital, capital," nnri he relapses again into the arms of him ho lores so well after dinner.

The next sort of impostors are bad flatterers.' Elattcry is the most danger-* oils weapon there is against a man, if properly handled, There is nothing more delightful than the gentle titillation of our own self-respect and self-love. Thereare no eyes more devoutly willing to be bliniled by a little judicious dose of this intoxicating cordial .than those of the sterner sex. A foolish young,'or a still more foolish old, man has an occasional sly intimation from a woman that she admires him. It is an irresistible arrow, nnd he lies a captive at her feet. But the impostor in flattery betrays himself in a moment. .The thick butter laid on with a trowel is as hard to digest as a stone or a scorpion. The illusion is gone when the bait is visible and tangible. Bo one ought to embark in life as a flatterer without a deep knowledge of human nature and a full experience of the minor details of the business. There must be a mutual pretence on both sides that the buttering process is not going on. Nothing more is necessary for complete success. The fawning, long-tongued parasite is an utter impostor, destitute of every scientific maneeuvre, a man whom society tolerates but despises thoroughly. flhen there is the singing impostor, a man with ear but wiihout voice, whose effect upon the audience is to breed an unconquerable desire to leave the room, or a feverish wish that the song would end incontinently. The only excuse for this specimen of social impostor is his utility in the tearoom ; his epitaph might be thankfully written — he w&s the salvation of his brethren.- But the worst, because the most various, is the literary impostdr. The man who has read every thing. Does he know Swinburne's last poemP Oh, of course, that is quite old now. He is up in Morris's last effort, and knows what Tennyson is actually writing. Every novel 'that has come out during the last ten years he will descant to you learnedly upon.. Does he write himself?. Well, no, not exactly j dashes off a,few things for Punch, that sort of thing, you know ; was correspondent to the Times in Constantinople for a short time, but gave it up. Didn't care for the life. Uf such a kind are his outpourings. A short acquaintance, however, is sufficient to expose the literary impostor. His wares are worthless and soon detected. But the art impostor is almost worst. The man who drivels over Huskin and raves about Copley Fielding. He is full of feel ng for art—especially high art. Perhaps he goes in for the pre-liapbaelite period, and then he is, indeed, insupportable. The only theme for him is the couliuentul galleries, and with these he is warranted to run even his greatest friend to earth. Such are a few, a very few, alas ! of our social impostors.