The temptation to sin against good-nature and good taste in conversation for the sake of raising a laugh and gaining admiration is a very strong one in the case of those who have been gifted with wit and humour. But it is the abuse of these noble gifts rather than their use that leads astray. On this point we may quote the following words: "When wit," says Sydney Smith, "is combined with sense and information; when it is softened by benevolence and restrained by principle; when it is in the hands of a man who can use it and despise it; who can be witty, and something more than witty; who loves honour, justice, decency, good-nature, morality, and religion ten thousand times better than wit-wit is then a beautiful and delightful part of our nature."

If we would be agreeable and improving companions, we must be good listeners as well as good talkers, and carefully observe certain occasions of silence. "The occasions of silence," says Bishop Butler, "are obvious-namely, when a man has nothing to say, or nothing but what is better unsaid; better either in regard to some particular persons he is present with, or from its being an interruption to conversation of a more agreeable kind; or better, lastly, with regard to himself."

Nowhere is there room for the display of good manners so much as in conversation. It is a part of good manners not to talk too much. Remembering that the first syllable of the word conversation is con (with), that it means talking with another, we should abstain from lecturing, and be as ready to listen as to talk. Our anecdote or sharp reply will

keep, or need not find utterance at all; so we are not under the necessity of interrupting our companion, and voting him by our looks a bore, or at least an interruption to our own much better remarks. But besides the rule, that we should not be impatient to get in our word, that a few brilliant flashes of silence should occur in our conversation, another rule is, not to take for our theme-ourselves. We must remember that, as a rule, we and our concerns can be of no more importance to other men than they and their concerns are to us.

Every one will understand from painful experience what is meant by a bore, though it is not very easy to describe the creature. A bore is a heavy, pompous, meddling person who harps on one string, occupies an undue share of conversation, and says things in ten words which required only two; all the time being evidently convinced that he is making a great impression. "It is easy," says Sydney Smith, "to talk of carnivorous animals and beasts of prey; but does such a man, who lays waste a whole party of civilized beings by prosing, reflect upon the joys he spoils and the misery he creates in the course of his life? and that any one who listens to him through politeness, would prefer toothache or earache to his conversation? Does he consider the extreme uneasiness which ensues when the company have discovered a man to be an extremely absurd person, at the same time that it is absolutely impossible to convey to the terrible being, by words or manner, the most distant suspicion of the discovery? And then, who punishes this bore? What sessions and what assizes for him? When the judges have gone their vernal and autumnal rounds, the

sheep-stealer disappears, the swindler has been committed to penal servitude. But after twenty years of crime, the bore is discovered in the same house, in the same attitude, eating the same soup, still untried, unpunished."

A youthful compositor, in setting some "copy," came to the sentence: ". didn't say a word for an hour," the first word having been cut off in clipping from the paper where it first appeared. He took it to the foreman to supply the word. "What shall I put in there?" he asked, when the foreman read it. “Put in 'he,' of course; you don't suppose 'she' would fit in such a sentence as that, do you?" was the

answer.

In all ages, women's conversation has been made a subject for ridicule. They are said to talk too much, to have venomous spiteful tongues, to be addicted to nagging, to disdain argumentation and even sense in their talk. For ourselves we believe that the sins of the tongue are committed about equally by both sexes. Of course women have more talking to do than men have, for social intercourse is mainly indebted to them for its existence. And their desire to please in society may sometimes tempt women to talk too much; if, indeed, there can be too much of conversation so sympathetic, humorous, and full of nice distinctions as is that of women whom all agree to call "charming." Let not the cynic, who, if he has himself never said a foolish thing, has perhaps never done a wise one, quote, in reference to the conversation of such women, Pope's lines:

"Words are like leaves; and where they most abound,
Much fruit of sense beneath is rarely found."

What are and what are not "women's rights," is a point much disputed; but that it is their duty to cultivate the art of conversation, none will question. But as the hearts of women are kind and sympathetic, so have they no excuse for crushing little sensibilities, violating little proprieties, and overlooking little discriminations; in a word, for committing those faults which make the conversation of illnatured people so dispiriting and painful.

The aim of every talker should be never to be long and never to be wrong. And the only way we can approximate to this perfection of sociableness is to cultivate both our heads and hearts. The conversation of really cultured people is never vulgar and never empty; more than this, it is free from envy, hatred, and all uncharitableness.

"The Play's the thing."-Hamlet, Act ii. Sc. 2.
"Well spoken; with good accent, and good discretion."—Ibid.

HE conversation of the society of a provincial town, such as that in which I am now writing, is too often stale, flat, and unprofitable. It is stale and flat because we live in little sets, seeing the same faces every day, and using nearly the same words. And our words are very often unprofitable, and even mischievous, because they are, as a rule, spoken in reference to persons. It is a garrison town, and the writer lives in a military set. anything is talked of except personalities. such a small world, that it is impossible to luxury of privacy. Every one knows too much of every one. The amount of money possessed by each officer, and the last new dress of his wife, are as well known to his companions as the regimental facings. At last we wearied of

Here, scarcely A regiment is indulge in the