Good conversation is one of the highest attainments of civilized
society. It is the readiest way in which gifted minds exert their
influence, and, as such, is worthy of all consideration and cultivation.
I remember hearing an English traveler say, many years ago, on being
asked how the conversational powers of the Americans compared with those
of the English--"Your fluency rather exceeds that of the old world, but
conversation here is not cultivated as an art." The idea of its being so
considered any where was new to the company; and much discussion
followed the departure of the stranger, as to the desirableness of
making conversation an art. Some thought the more natural and
spontaneous it was, the better; some confounded art with artifice, and
hoped their countrymen would never leave their own plain, honest way of
talking, to become adepts in hypocrisy and affectation. At last one, a
little wiser than the rest, explained the difference between art and
artifice; asked the cavilers if they had never heard of the art of
writing, or the art of thinking? and said he presumed the art of
conversing was of the same nature. And so it is. By this art, persons
are taught to arrange their ideas methodically, and to express them with
clearness and force; thus saving much precious time, and avoiding those
tedious narrations which interest no one but the speaker. It enforces
the necessity of observing the effect of what is said, and leads a
talker to stop when she finds that she has ceased to fix the attention
of her audience.
Some persons seem to forget that mere talking is not conversing; that it
requires two to make a conversation, and that each must be in turn a
listener; but no one can be an agreeable companion who is not as willing
to listen as to talk. Selfishness shows itself in this, as in a thousand
other ways. One who is always full of herself, and who thinks nothing so
important as what she thinks, and says, and does, will be apt to engross
more than her share of the talk, even when in the company of those she
loves.
There are situations, however, wherein it is a kindness to be the chief
talker: as when a young lady is the eldest of the party, and has seen
something, or been in some place, the description of which is desired by
all around her. If your mind is alive to the wishes and claims of
others, you will easily perceive when it is a virtue to talk and when to
be silent. It is undue pre-occupation with self which blinds people, and
prevents their seeing what the occasion requires.
Sometimes the most kind and sympathizing person will not do justice to
her nature, but will appear to be cold and inattentive, because she
does not know that it is necessary to give some sign that she is
attending to what is addressed to her. She averts her eye from the
speaker, and listens in such profound silence, and with a countenance so
immovable, that no one could suppose her to be at all interested by what
she is hearing. This is very discouraging to the speaker and very
impolite. Good manners require that you should look at the person who
speaks to you, and that you should put in a word, or a look, from time
to time, that will indicate your interest in the narrative. A few
interjections, happily thrown in by the hearer, are a great comfort and
stimulus to the speaker; and one who has always been accustomed to this
evidence of sympathy, or comprehension, in their friends, feels, when
listened to without it, as if she were talking to a dead wall.
For the encouragement of those who feel themselves deficient in
conversational powers, we will subjoin a notice of the lately-deceased
wife of a clergyman in this state:
"I saw and felt, when with her, as few others have ever made me feel,
the power and uses of conversation. With her it was always promotive of
intellectual and moral life. And here let me inform you, for the
encouragement of those who may be thinking they would gladly do as she
did in society, if they were able, that when I first knew Mrs. B., her
powers of conversation were very small. She was embarrassed whenever she
attempted to convey her thoughts to others. She labored for expression
so much, that it was sometimes painful to hear her. Still, her social,
affectionate nature longed for communion with other minds and hearts, on
all subjects of deepest import. Her persevering efforts at length
prevailed, and her ardent love of truth gave her utterance: yes, an
utterance that often delighted, and sometimes surprised, those who heard
her; a readiness and fluency that are seldom equalled. Learn, then, from
her, my friends, to _exercise_ your faculties, whatever they may be. In
this way only can you improve, or even retain them. If you have but one
talent of any sort, it may not, with impunity to itself--it may not,
without sin to you--be wrapped in a napkin. And sigh not for higher
powers or opportunities, until you have fully and faithfully exercised
and improved such as you have. Nor can you know what you possess until
you have called them into action."