And in that book of books there are four short but most mighty narratives. And each of those narratives contains the one most important record which ever had to be told upon this earth. Each of them gives one concurrent history; namely, that of the life of our Lord Jesus Christ, with his sayings and his deeds. And of conversation these holy narratives are full. God has chosen this mode of reaching our minds and influencing our hearts, by large—very large—portions of them written after this fashion. Cowper felt this so deeply, that, in his poem on our present subject, he has beautifully told and paraphrased all that went on when Jesus met and talked with the two disciples on the way to Emmaus. Moreover, in those gospels, there is one, penned by that "disciple whom Jesus loved;" and if there is much conversation in all four of them, in it especially—in the gospel of St. John—conversation appears in all its full and continued glory. Take one or two examples. Mankind, all mankind, had to be taught about the complete atonement for our sins made by our Saviour on the cross. Where is it more clearly, more mightily told than in the third chapter of St. John's gospel? But what is that chapter? Is it a law prescribed in set terms?—No. Is it a sermon?—No. Is it a mere address?—No. You will all remember it is a conversation,—Christ's conversation with Nicodemus by night. And so it is again in the very next chapter, where a subject of no less importance—I say it advisedly, no less importance—is set forth, viz. the work of the Holy Spirit in man's heart; and that is portrayed for us in a conversation with the woman of Samaria, at Sychar's well. What striking instances are these! And many others might be added to them. And thus we have before us even the sanction and proof from the Word of God, that the most mighty and transcendent truth can reach us in no better form than that which conversation gives, and also that Jesus Christ put his own royal stamp of glory on it, by employing it Himself continually, when upon the earth among men, though he was their Lord and their God.
Having thus been led on,—I think very naturally, and, as I think, quite appropriately, too, for one of my office and position, at any time or place, or on any subject,—I will not return to any lighter theme. I do not in the least regret that I have selected my present topic out of very many which suggested themselves to my mind, when I was asked to exercise the privilege of thus addressing you, as I have now done for these four years. I might have chosen others far more entertaining, and, no doubt, some far more kindling and exciting at this present time,[C] when our thoughts and our feelings are all so concentrated on one distant spot of strife and of contest, and of danger, and of bravery, and wounds, and deaths, and bereavements,—and amidst all, of honor unexampled to our brave brethren in arms. But, for many reasons, I have done otherwise. I have chosen, as usual, a subject of general, of national, of wide-world, of never-failing interest, from day to day, from week to week, from month to month, from year to year, among the vast race of our fellows,—born social creatures, born for mutual sympathy, with interchanged utterance, speech, and conversation. Strongly do I feel its importance, and I cannot help expressing my surprise that so little, so very little, has systematically been written or said upon it. I have found it no ordinary theme, I assure you; and, though it is one on which we all instinctively are interested in any circle, or with whomsoever we may at any time be, still it is not one on which the arrangement and classification of thought is an easy thing. I therefore shall not feel disappointed, nor, do I trust, will you be disappointed either, in that good employment of your time which you have a right to expect from me, as your lecturer to-night here, if I shall have set before you any thoughts, for your attention, which may improve, in the least degree, the course and the current of ordinary conversation. When we remember how much of our innocent gratification,—how much of our daily harmony one with another,—how much of our mutual improvement,—depends on the right exercise of this goodly gift,—then, I am sure, you will not consider that the subject is one to be neglected or ignored. I verily believe that I do not over-state the fact, in asserting that for one time when we are liable to hurt, or distress, or offend another by our acts and deeds, there are fifty or an hundred, or perhaps more, occasions, when we are liable to do so by our words, and demeanor, and utterance. And again, for once that we can do kind and profitable actions to those around us, and associating with us, there are fifty or an hundred,—perhaps more occasions still,—when we can please or profit another by our words. I ask you, as those who can judge in this matter for yourselves, "Is it not so? Is it not so most undeniably?" Well, then, if I have been successful in laying down any right principles, in exposing anything disadvantageous, or in presenting any available means for rendering your daily intercourse more evidently kind, more evidently sympathizing, more evidently, in a word, such as that which every good man would wish to exhibit, and which must render him not only welcome and not only useful, but a real and true ornament of society in the best sense of the word; if I have shown you anything whatever available to this end, whether for your use at home or abroad, in the cottage or the shop, in the humblest abode or in the noblest and in the wealthiest, then surely I shall not have spoken in vain. I speak on no narrow topic, and I speak for all. Truly it is one which touches all; and in this lies its strength and its interest. There is no one, I believe, who does not intuitively and instinctively feel either his gain or his loss in conversation,—the effect of it on his own mind and on his own feelings at the time and afterwards,—either its harms or its charms. All must feel this, though unable perhaps to classify their thoughts or express them on it, and perhaps they have never thought of so doing. And I, for one, will not hesitate to say that, it having been my lot to mix much, and willingly, in all the various classes of society,—and having endeavored, so far as in my power has been, to cultivate and show a true brotherly and friendly spirit, both to high and low,—I have met nothing to confer more pleasure and more advantage in daily life than fit conversation. I have found it from the poorest. I have found it from those of middle station. I have found it among the noble and the rich. And, while without it the hours of social and of family life may drag on heavily, and in a wearisome and worthless way, under the roofs of splendor and magnificence, and in the midst of feasts, and pomp, and parade, with it, freely interchanged from well-informed heads and cordial hearts, expressing what they know and telling what they feel, without any restraint except that of love, and tact, and propriety,—with it, I say, the simplest home may be one of enjoyment and improvement every recurring day, and each coming guest will share its attractions,—and therefore I say to every one present, "Despise not this gift, and try to improve it; and seek Divine help for its right regulation, as well as for its use; and be well assured that, under God's blessing, in its direction you will gain for yourself, and promote for your fellow-creatures, no slight share of true enjoyment, no slight benefits both for this world and for the world to come."
PART III.
A WORD TO THE WISE;
BY
PARRY GWYNNE.