manifestations of social hypocrisy.  These all pass current at their face value, and yet we all know that nobody is deceived.  Still it is great fun to play make-believe, and the world would have convulsions if we did not indulge in these pleasing deceptions.  In the clever little book “Molly Make-Believe” the girl pretends at first that she loves the man, and later on comes to love him to distraction, and she lived happy ever after, too.  When, in my fever, I would ask about my temperature, the nurse would give a numeral about two degrees below the real record to encourage me, and I can’t think that St. Peter will bar her out just for that.

The psychologists give mild assent to the theory that a physical attitude may generate an emotion.  If I assume a belligerent attitude, they claim that, in time, I shall feel really belligerent; that in a loafing attitude I shall presently be loafing; and that, if I assume the attitude of a listener, I shall soon be listening most intently.  This seems to be justified by the experiences of Edwin Booth on the stage.  He could feign fighting for a time, and then it became real fighting, and great care had to be taken to avert disastrous consequences when his sword fully struck its gait.  I believe the psychologists have never fully agreed on the question whether the man is running from the bear because he is scared or is scared because he is running.

I dare say Mr. Shakespeare was trying to express this theory when he said:  “Assume a virtue, though you have it not.”  That’s exactly what I’m trying to have my pupils do all the while.  I’m trying to have them wear their company manners continually, so that, in good time, they will become their regular working garb.  I’m glad to have them assume the attitudes of diligence and politeness, thinking that their attitudes may generate the corresponding emotions.  It is a severe strain on a boy at times to seem polite when he feels like hurling missiles.  We both know that his politeness is mere make-believe, but we pretend not to know, and so move along our ways of hypocrisy hoping that good may come.

There is a telephone-girl over in the central station, wherever that is, who certainly is beautiful if the voice is a true index.  Her tones are dulcet, and her voice is so mellow and well modulated that I visualize her as another Venus.  I suspect that, when she began her work, some one told her that her tenure of position depended upon the quality of her voice.  So, I imagine, she assumed a tonal quality of voice that was really a sublimated hypocrisy, and persisted in this until now that quality of voice is entirely natural.  I can’t think that Shakespeare had her specially in mind, but, if I ever have the good fortune to meet her, I shall certainly ask her if she reads Shakespeare.  Now that I think of it, I shall try this treatment on my own voice, for it sorely needs treatment.  Possibly I ought to take a course of training at the telephone-station.