word, but for the position of every word." A word is the incarnation of a thought and possesses the magic power to send a great idea leaping from soul to soul in the circle of those who know its meaning. This is the might of the pulpit-Thought agitation through the power of fitly chosen words. The "foolishness" of preaching is the apparent weakness of the instrument in comparison with the results achieved. A single striking thought on the lips of an untutored Galilean fisherman has potency sufficient to revolutionize an empire, hoary with age and world-wide in its dominion. Oh, young preacher, what is your message? Have you a message? Are you a voice or an echo? A sounding board or a personified principle? Emerson affirmed that the philosophy of Margaret Fuller might be expressed in nine words: "I don't know where I am goingfollow me." Conviction is the hidden dynamo of every species of genuine eloquence. Frederick Douglass, the coloured orator, whose experiences as a slave were written on his back in the red scars which registered the impact of the slave-driver's lash, used to say: "I never rise to speak before an American audience that I do not feel that my success or failure will seriously affect the future of the black race." Words winged with profound conviction will arouse the most indifferent audience.

But in the special message of this chapter we are to deal with the possibilities—the upward and downward possibilities—of ordinary conversation. It was Gregory of Armenia, called the "Illuminator." an

early apostle of Christianity, who asserted that "if you divide the sins of men into two parts, one-half will be the sins of the tongue." The "sins of the tongue" centre about personalities. Recall the

words of Pascal: "If we all knew what one said of another, there would not be four friends in the world"; and Thackeray, too, remarks: "Have you not entered a room when the sudden hush in the conversation seemed to say, 'We have been talking about you'?"

Mark you! It is not wrong to talk about people if you talk about them in the right way. But let me warn you-Words have wings! The Persians have a proverb to this effect: "The unspoken word is your slave-the spoken word is your master." There is nothing so swift as slander. It is social blood-poisoning. A friend of mine, a Toronto physician of great skill and popularity, one day, during a surgical operation, scratched his finger with a tainted instrument. In less than two weeks he was in his grave. But slander travels faster than that! They have just discovered a branch of the "Black Hand" society in the United States, but there are social mischief makers who belong to a blacker society than the one indicated. In a recent novel a certain Dr. Packthread is thus described: "He could whisper away a character by an innocent interrogation-he could destroy a high reputation by a shrug of the shouldershe could assassinate a soul by silence, when silence became the strongest instrument." What a garland to weave for the brow of fiendishness!

"Only a faint suggestion, only a doubtful hint,
Only a leading question with a special tone or tint,
Only a low I wonder,' nothing unfair at all;

But the whisper grows to thunder, and a scathing bolt may fall,

And a good ship be dismasted, and hearts are like to break, And a Christian life is blasted for a scarcely guessed mistake.'

Friend, don't believe all you hear concerning your neighbour. Remember the "four discounts recommended by Dr. T. DeWitt Talmage. First, a discount of twenty-five per cent. for exaggeration. Second, a discount of twenty-five per cent. for the spirit of gossip. Third, a discount of twenty-five per cent. for the pressure of overpowering temptation. Fourth, a discount of twenty-five per cent. to cover your ignorance of the facts on the other side of the case. Richard Baxter wrote these words in his advanced years: "I see that good men are not so good as I once thought they were, nor bad men as bad as I once imagined." They said concerning Stephen Girard that he was mean, close, shrewd, and exceedingly economical, but this same strange and eccentric captain of industry was planning a great college for the youth of America.

And finally, in this connection, let it be distinctly understood that conversation is a test of character. Goethe said concerning Schiller: "I never heard him utter an insignificant word." The painting reveals the artist, the book reveals the writer, the poem reveals the thinker, the building reveals the architect, the machine reveals the inventor, and conversation reveals the individual. Remember that words are

the best remembered symbols in use. Charles M. Alexander, sitting in the office of William T. Stead, exclaimed: "I have often wondered how you interviewed people!" But he, himself, was being “interviewed" at that very moment. One of the greatest journalistic artists in the world was focusing his camera on the renowned singer. In two weeks every reader of the Review of Reviews would be scanning Stead's description of the co-labourer and companion of Tory and Chapman. Every man is being "interviewed" every day by somebody.

A young and rising politician asked me to accompany him to the office of a member of parliament in one of our Canadian provinces. The young politician was engaged in a fiercely contested struggle which involved the possible unseating of the old, wise and foxy statesman, who regarded the youthful aspirant as almost beneath his attention or consideration. I had no personal interest in the questions involved and no political preference one way or the other. My friend imagined that my presence would guarantee a certain measure of respect and courtesy which might otherwise be withheld. What Canadian politician or statesman would treat a preacher of the Gospel, Protestant or Catholic, with disrespect? So I appeared on the scene as "a mutual friend" and became the disinterested witness of a political discussion, the details of which were afterwards handed about in the liveliest fashion by platform orators, stump speakers and newspaper reporters. I imagined that there were only three persons in the room of the Minister

of the Crown when on that memorable night we sat and reviewed the points in dispute; but a month afterwards I learned that, seated behind an innocentlooking screen, which seemed to occupy a spare corner as an added touch of beauty, thrown in to soften the severities of legislative affairs, there sat a stenographer, pad in hand, recording every word, tone and emphasis. We were being We were being "taken down," “taken in” and gathered up in a fashion most businesslike and scientific. Such is life. There is a stenographer behind every screen. Every paragraph is transcribed, every sentence recorded, and every word weighed and: "By thy words thou shalt be justified and by thy words thou shalt be condemned."

Yes, yes, conversation is a sure revelation of character. Everything depends on the selection of suitable subjects and proper themes. Beware of the curse of littleness. Little people, little minds and little souls dealing with little subjects, little themes and little topics. What the world needs is a generation of great conversationalists. We have not yet learned how to talk, much less to think. Read James Boswell's life of Dr. Johnson and note how men who had achieved fame in a score of different professions, came together, from time to time, to cross swords in intellectual contests and conversational tilts. Oh, for a generation of souls who would dare to be serious in conversation. Find me, if you can, a joke in the great speeches of the great orators-words uttered simply to provoke laughter. Ingersoll knew the power of wit, humour and sarcasm, but he dealt with great sub