we are simpler, cleverer, and less provincial than we had believed ourselves to be. In a similar way, under the influence of mutuality gifts become transformed. Condescension disappears. The favor is on both sides. A giver has enjoyed something so much that he wants his pleasure shared. Will we take part with him? There is no stooping, no handing down to one below. The two parties are on a level, joined in a mutual act. “Will you do me the favor to accept this?” is both the language and the feeling of the giver. Matters of every-day life, so familiar that we seldom reflect on them, I have attempted in the preceding chapters to analyze with something like scientific precision. By so doing I have turned them into almost unrecognizable abstractions. In closing, I should like to restore them to their rightful color, and I have searched for a passage which might present the approach of man to man just as we daily see it, with an intimate blending of all three varieties of altruism--pure manners, giving, and mutuality. In a passage from the Eighth Discourse of Cardinal Newman’s _Idea of a University_ I find what I want, expressed in language of extraordinary refinement and accuracy. It will be noticed what prominence he gives to the negative function of manners, how in depicting generosity he sees the danger of condescension, and how he finds the crowning excellence of manners in that self-forgetting mutuality which sets all at their ease. “The true gentleman carefully avoids whatever may cause a jar or a jolt in the minds of those with whom he is cast: all clashing of opinion, or collision of feeling, all restraint or suspicion or gloom or resentment; his great concern being to make every one at their ease and at home. He has his eyes on all his company: he is tender toward the bashful, gentle toward the distant, and merciful toward the absurd. He can recollect to whom he is speaking. He guards against unseasonable allusions or topics which may irritate. He is seldom prominent in conversation and never wearisome. He makes fight of favors while he does them and seems to be receiving when he is conferring. He never speaks of himself except when compelled, never defends himself by a mere retort; he has no ears for slander or gossip, is scrupulous in imputing motives to those who interfere with him, and interprets everything for the best. He is never mean or little in his disputes, never takes unfair advantage, never mistakes personalities or sharp sayings for arguments, or insinuates evil which he dare not say out. From a long-sighted prudence he observes the maxim of the ancient sage, that we should ever conduct ourselves toward our enemy as if he were one day to be our friend. He has too much sense to be affronted at insults, he is too well employed to remember injuries, and too indolent to bear malice. He is patient, forbearing, and resigned on philosophical principles: he submits to pain because it is inevitable,