Conversation without information-The squirrel-Friend meeting friend-The object of all conversation should be to afford pleasure, to do good, to impart information, or to give glory to God-Repeating the same story-The highwayman in Nottingham Forest.

"I FEAR I disturb you, uncle; as I see you are reading a book."

"No, Edmund, come in and sit down; for I want to show you how possible it is for persons to converse by the hour together, without saying anything that will give each other the least information."

"I cannot make out how that can be, uncle."

"What I mean is this, that they leave each other's minds just in the same state as they

found them. You have seen a squirrel run up the side of a cage that turns round: no doubt the lively creature has the feeling of getting on very fast; but neither he nor his cage moves one inch from the place. In like manner, two persons may go on talking, very fast too, without giving each other any more information than if they had remained silent." "This puzzles me."

"We must try to make it clear. Suppose I were to talk to you in this way: 'Edmund, I am older than you are, and you are younger than I. Summer is hotter than winter, and winter is colder than summer. The sun shines by day, and the moon and stars by night. Food is always most welcome when we are hungry, and water most pleasant when we are thirsty. Books are made to be read, chairs to sit on, and candles to give us light.' Now, do you not see, that if I were to talk for an hour in this way, it would give you no more information than if I were silent?"

"That is because you have been telling me nothing but what I knew before."

Exactly so; and, like the squirrel in his cage, I might run on in this way without advancing a single step."

"But people never talk to one another in that way, uncle."

"Do you think so? I am afraid that a great deal of our conversation is of this kind. Young people should be lively and cheerful,

and a pleasant thing it is to see them both merry and wise. To expect them to talk gravely in their seasons of mirth, or wisely beyond their years at other times, would not be reasonable. Their buoyant spirits should have free play, so long as they keep from evil: but as reason and the faculty of speech are gifts of great value, and bestowed by our heavenly Father, in his goodness, for useful purposes; so young people should be taught to prize them. I wish you, Edmund, to be always able to know when conversation is useful, and when it is useless."

"Yes, I ought to know that: but when do people talk in the way that you did?"

"If one friend meets another, and each of them says, 'How do you do?'-which is a common occurrence-here is no information given on either side. If it happens to be fine, the one says, ' It is a fine day; and the other replies, Yes it is, very!' And if it be a rainy day, the remark is, 'It comes down very fast;' and the reply, 'It does indeed!'"

That is just the way in which many people talk."

"But what cause have we to tell one who is wiping the perspiration from his brow that it is very hot?-or another, it rains hard, when we see that he is wet to the skin?—or a third, that it is uncommonly cold, when his teeth are chattering in his head? You say this is just the way that many people talk;

but we all of us talk in this manner, more or less. Is not this, then, just like telling you that summer is hot, and winter is cold?"

"I do think it is: we are almost sure to speak about the weather; when it is hot, and when it is cold; when it is rainy, and when the sun shines."

"Very kind we are, too, in telling each other that time flies very fast;' and that Christmas will soon be here.' We inform those who are half over their shoes in mud, that it is very dirty walking;' and others who are stumbling on the frosty road, that it is very slippery.' If we happen to go out with others at night, when there is neither moon nor star to be seen, we give them the intelligence that 'the sky is as black as pitch;' and if, on the contrary, the moon be shining, we tell them, though they can see as plainly as we can, that 'it is almost as light as day. Now, there is no great harm in all this, and often it leads. the way to more useful conversation; but I draw attention to it, that you may, as I said before, be able to judge between useful and useless conversation."

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"I shall think more about this for the future."

"The object of all conversation should be either to afford pleasure, to do good, to impart information, or to give glory to God. We have no necessity, that I am aware of, to open our lips and utter a single sentence one to

another, unless it be with one or other of these objects. If I tell you of a droll adventure, or relate to you any singular circumstance, this affords us both pleasure; for we all love to relate and to hear an interesting story. If I reprove you for a fault, or praise you for a good quality, or give you good advice; all these things are for your good. If I ask you what o'clock it is, or explain to you anything you do not know, or answer a question you have asked me, we add to each other's information. And if I make known to you the sustaining grace that has helped me through a season of trial, I thereby give glory to God. My reason for dwelling on these points is, that you may not only know what conversation is, but also what it ought to be."

"Yes, I see that, uncle."

"I have, I hope, made it clear to you that both the manner and matter of conversation must be attended to; that good knowledge, good affections, and good principles are necessary to enable us to converse properly; that a love of truth, and a habit of speaking truthfully, must always be preserved; that it is possible to talk by the hour, and yet, as it were, say nothing; and that the end and object of every conversation should be to add either to our amusement, our welfare, or our knowledge. If you can remember these points, they will be great helps in learning to converse. The next time we talk on this