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FORGETTING NAMES.

Our Bad Memories the Result of Meaningless Introductions.

How common it is to forget one's name. We do not mean your own name, although that is sometimes done, but to forget another man's, and this notwithstanding the fact that you are well acquainted with him. A person hesitates in introducing people with whom he is familiar, because he can not think of their names, something to his own mortification and to theirs, for it is hardly agreeable to have one with whom you are daily brought in contact, obliged to say, when the forms of introduction require it: "I beg your pardon, sir, but your name has escaped me." You feel that you have been trifled with, and that the man has been pretending to know you when he did not. One great cause for this forgetfulness of names lies in our senseless system of introductions. The true idea upon which introductions should be based is the natural desire of the parties introduced to become acquainted. Brown may want to know Smith, but if Smith prefers not to know Brown, it is a species of imposition for their mutual acquaintance, Jones, to bring them together. Yet this is continually being done in our every-day life, and it is no wonder that Smith does not remember Brown's name afterward, for he takes no pains to remember it.

How often does an incident like the following occur: Jones and Smith are walking together on the street. They meet a party among which is Brown, with whom Jones stops to exchange a few words on business, merely. Thereupon Brown feels called upon to introduce Jones to his half a-dozen companions, five of whom he has just been introduced to himself, and, consequently, has to ask them their names, and then Jones is irresistibly impelled to introduce Smith to the whole party, getting half their names wrong and muttering unintelligibly over the rest. A day or two after, Jones, who possesses prominence or notoriety that renders him a mark to be remembered, is approached by a stranger, who smiles blandly as he extends his hand and says: "Mr. Jones, how do you do?" Jones stares a little, looks confused, and then makes a lame attempt to appear to know him, although he has not the slightest recollection of ever having seen him before. The man sees he is not recognized, and feels hurt. "You don't recollect me, I see." Says Jones, knowing that he is telling a wretched lie: "Oh, yes, I do. I know your face well enough, but I can't quite call your name. Fact is, I am the worst hand in the world to recollect names." Then Jones learns the cordial fellow's name, and is reminded that their mutual friend, Brown, introduced them on the occasion above alluded to, when they go their ways—cordial fellow thinking Jones is putting on airs, and Jones believing that he is a bore. People go through the farce of introduction so often they come to attach very little importance to it, and you see men pass each other on the sidewalk without any recognition, who, 10 minutes before, were shaking hands with each other in the most cordial manner, in compliance with the popular demand that men accidentally grouped together for a minute or two must all be introduced. No wonder, then, that men forget names. They forget them because they do not care to remember, and this careless indifference assumes the form of a habit at length.