Our type of civilization, according to Mr. Mill, tends to the suppression of individuality; and nowhere is it more evident than in conversation. What Defoe said of the English—“Generally, whate’er they know they speak”—is true neither of them nor of us. Men jostle one another in the cars, and make no sign. They elbow each other in hotels and halls, and look their dissatisfaction. With ears and eyes perpetually on the alert, and minds intensely wide-awake, a few monosyllables suffice for expression. This habit of reticence follows men to their homes, and becomes contagious there.—Family conversation is apt to confine itself to the narrow circuit of domestic incident and the barest prose of daily life, with only an occasional flash of genial wit or hearty fun. In promiscuous society it is not much better. Count Smalltork figures prominently in the drawing-rooms of the beau monde; and fashionable society displays its rows of pollards, instead of Nature’s “grand democracy of forest-trees.” A narrow etiquette excludes the more robust themes and withers the originality of intercourse. We miss the glorious talk that wakes the soul and inspires the face when minds scintillate on the earnest themes of life and work. And so we pacify ourselves with unceasing newspapers. We rush to the artificial stimulus of vivacious writing to supply the lack of sparkling talk. The result is a threefold loss. Men fall below themselves in personal influence. Men that are giants in enterprise are pigmies at home. They “write like angels, and talk like poor Poll.” Good conversationists are as rare as poets. But talk is the ground form of all good speech. Webster said the secret of oratory was talk. The reciprocity helps to clear thought, and makes the first element of a good style, perspicuity—and so an increase of power. We lose by our habit of reticence a vast amount of rational enjoyment. We are a nation of omnivorous readers, and pay our millions freely for the gratification; but it is as true here as elsewhere that it is more blessed to give than to receive. Genial conversation is the characteristic enjoyment of the species. It is the happy play of the varied powers of the mind and heart without conscious effort. But, worst of all, the habit of repressing thought is demoralizing. Every idea is a soul that wants to make itself perfect in a body. The effect of suppression is to dwarf the heart as well as the brain, for the spring is in the heart. There follows not only poverty of ideas, but heartlessness and sham, as the natural fruitage; just as the stiff neckties of the clergyman, constraining the tones, result in sore-throat and European travel. There must be expiration as well as inspiration. It will not do to hold one’s breath too long. We plead, then, for freedom in conversation. We want simple, untrammeled nature. Our instinct furnishes material for the most foodful intercourse. They are the Urim and Thummim of our humanity. They constitute the oracle within us. Through them we get our best, our divinest ideas. There is no reason why we should wait for a vote of the majority before giving utterance to our own fresh impressions. With an oracle within, why ask the crowd what to say? “Is it because there is not a God in Israel that ye go to inquire of Beelzebub, the god of Ekron?” There should be the habit of open, unaffected expression, without bias from received standards. Let children be encouraged to tell frankly their own opinions. Accord to their thoughts their full value, and draw them out by frequent courteous intercourse. The abandon of the family is the best arena for cultivating true eloquence. The sympathy, charity, and freedom of home atmosphere are adapted to elicit the best powers of expression. Let them have full glory. It is ruinous to friendly conversation to demand large ground for reserve. Individual views must be set side by side, allowing honest dissent. There will be no invention, no advance, without it. Sincere conviction must not fear brow-beating, nor heretical doubts dread ostracism from good-fellowship. It is sometimes necessary to talk about persons as well as things, for justice to one is often kindness to others. “Go and tell that fox,” said our Saviour, in speaking of the crafty Herod; and it was no uncommon thing to hear him address his auditors as hypocrites and fools. Plainness of characterization is not necessarily calumny. It is rather a sign of untruthfulness, and not necessarily an advance in culture, when the sly innuendo takes the place of open condemnation! Popularity and truth-telling can hardly be expected to go together till the millennium; but geniality is the daysman that lays his hand upon them both. Our Saviour promulgated his gospel in conversations. He talked with truth and sympathy on all subjects. He taught us the sublime art of reaching souls through the common-places of life. A request for drink of a woman at Jacob’s well became a text to preach salvation to her soul. The evening conversation with Nicodemus revealed the unutterable love of God to that timid spirit. So, everywhere and always, domestic histories, questions of government, national customs or ecclesiastical traditions, men’s employments and festivals, sins and sorrows, hopes and fears, were the emblems of eternal truth. By conversation, Jesus chose to preach his gospel to the world. Let our conversation be as becometh the gospel of Christ.—Independent.