could be,' said a tired mother one day not long since, if I could not rest myself by an hour now and then at the organ!' Some accomplishment, pursuit or study, as far removed as possible from our accustomed work, is valuable as an adjunct to broad culture, and is beyond price as an assistant to contentment and peace of mind."

After all, the basis of culture is character: "Above all things in the world," lately wrote the editor of one of our leading American magazines, "character has supreme value. A man can never be more than what his character-intellectual, moral, spiritual - makes him. A man can never do more, or better, than deliver, or embody, that which is characteristic of himself. All masquerading and make-believe produce little impression, and, in their products and results, die early. Nothing valuable can come out of a man that is not in him- - embodied in his character. Nothing can be more unphilosophical than the idea that a man who stands upon a low moral and spiritual plane can produce, in literature or art, anything valuable. He may do that which dazzles or excites wonder or admi ration, but he can produce nothing that has genuine value; for, after all, value must be measured by the power to enrich, exalt, and purify life."

GOOD TALKERS AND TALKING.

OME one has said that, "Conversation is the daughter of reasoning, the mother of knowledge, the health of the soul, the com

merce of hearts, the bond of friendship, the nourishment of content, and the occupation of men of wit."

There is no accomplishment more desirable than that of having the ability to express our ideas in an intelligible and agreeable manner, and yet nothing is more neglected than the art of acquiring this most inestimable faculty.

That profound scholar and famous philosopher, Sir William Hamilton, says: "Man, in fact, only attains the use of his faculties in obtaining the use of speech, for language is the indispensable means of the development of his natural powers, whether intellectual or moral."

If, then, the growth of the mind and character depends so largely on our powers of expression, how important that we employ every method of cultivating our natural ability in this direction.

Some one has said, that "the most necessary talent in conversation is good judgment."

"The secret of success lies not so much in knowing

what to say, as in what to avoid saying." There are brilliant talkers of whom we are always in dread, lest they sting us by some careless sarcasm or witty rejoinder. Better an eternal silence than to scatter firebrands and cause heartaches; such conversers bring upon themselves the well-merited contempt and condemnation of mankind.

One of the first requisites of conversation is to have something worth saying. Lowell once said, "Blessed are they who have nothing to say, and cannot be persuaded to say it;" and another remarked, "There are few wild beasts to be dreaded more than a communicative man with nothing to communicate."

Carlyle, in his rugged, vigorous style, expresses himself quite as strongly to the same point: "Thou who wearest that cunning, heaven-made organ, a tongue, think well of this: Speak not, I passionately entreat thee, till thy thought have silently matured itself, till thou have other than mad and mad-making noises to emit; hold thy tongue till some meaning lie behind it to set it wagging. Consider the significance of SILENCE; it is boundless,-never by meditating to be exhausted; unspeakably profitable to thee! Cease that chaotic hub-bub wherein thy own soul runs to waste, to confused suicidal dislocation and stupor; out of silence comes strength."

The ground work of conversation is knowledge of the subject under consideration, and without this, words are but useless twaddle.

Montesquieu said that "a man generally talks in proportion to the small degree of thought which he possesses, but if he does, he is digging the grave of his own reputation." The most brilliant talkers have been invariably those whose thirst for knowledge was unquenchable. Madame de Stael could converse with the most astute diplomat on political affairs in Europe, or meet the most subtle philosopher on his own ground in the realm of metaphysics. Burke, one of the most wonderful talkers of his time, had an appetite for facts and information which was absolutely insatiable. Scarcely anything escaped him, and all his vast knowl edge was at command. He would draw from others their knowledge of the subject with which they were most familiar, and next to his ability for talking himself, was his ability to make others talk. Fox, his friend and contemporary, also one of the best talkers of his day, was equally distinguished in this respect; and it is related that when out once with a hunting party, which became scattered by a shower, he engaged in conversation with a ploughman under a tree, and became an attentive listener to his description of a new method of planting turnips.

Next in importance to knowing what to say, is the ability to say it clearly, forcibly and magnetically. Thousands who have knowledge, have not the power of expression, and thus their wisdom is but of small account to others. Even some of the greatest names in literature were men who were singularly deficient

in conversational powers, and sorely disappointed all who came in contact with them. Addison, whose felicitous style of composition made his writings models of purity and grace, was, notwithstanding, a dull talker. Buffon, the great naturalist; Descartes, the famous philosopher; Gibbon, the famous historian; and a host of other renowned characters, although pos sessed of remarkable genius in their several fields of labor, were nevertheless lacking in conversational powers. Indeed, William Hazlitt, who was gifted with one of the keenest and most critical minds of his day, and who enjoyed extraordinary opportunities for observation, was of the opinion that authors were not fitted, generally speaking, to shine in conversation. It is said that neither Pope nor Dryden were brilliant conversers; and Horace Walpole used to say of Hume, the historian, that he understood nothing until he had written upon it, so much better were his writings than his conversation. Goldsmith, whose sparkling genius made his books so delightful, was such a bungler in speech that one of his friends said of him: "He wrote like an angel, but talked like poor Poll."

Butler, the author of "Hudibras," which charmed all England with its humor, and keen satire, once elicited from a nobleman who sought an interview with him, the remark that he was like a nine-pin, "little at both ends, and great in the middle." It is said that Hogarth and Dean Swift were both absent-minded in company; that even Milton was unsocial, and almost