Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1925-01-08

| can know, leaving out the angels
| and "all other creatures of which
| the saint spoke, man is the only one
that has marshaled his sounds and
| chickering's into order and made them
do his will.
| The dog, with his rough, hoarse
bark, manages to make his meanings
| pretty clear. But by no stretch of
the meaning Of words can he be said
to talk. The cat, meowing, purring.
has no difficulty in securing from a
! household the meat and cream he
| Graves. But the cat does not talk as
we talk.
| Man talks not only because he
loves to talk, but because he ought
to talk, talking being a marvel and
mystery in itself, involving, as it
| does, the deep recesses of our mind,
| that mysterious storehouse of time
and eternity.
So 1T comes that the dumb among
US are looked upon with special pity
and every effort made to teach them
| to talk, or at least to in some way
become acquainted with the ideas of
the brain which jump out at the com
| mand of words.
Words, words, words-we know not
| what they mean-and yet we utter
| them continually, and shall utter
X X n
Yet we talk too much. Who can
| deny 1t? We talk about nothing
| when we can find no real topic of
conversation, thus showing the I'M
conscious regard in which we hold
this ability of ours
Much of our talk is but sound and
fury, as If we realized, in some dumb,
animal way, that talk distinguishes
us, and that under no circumstances
| must we let 1t cease, except during
| those necessary periods when we are
sleeping or eating. And even then
many manage to, talk in their sleep.
And eating, with thousands, is a
| combined rite of taking nourishme nt
| and conversation in equal doses, so
| that dinner is stretched out for
several hours and in reality becomes
as much of conversational as a gus
tatory feat
There are thousands of good women
IN this land whose main duty in life
| seems to be to slay silence. Their
ability to string words on an in
visible thread is marvellous They
| remind you OF those persons who can
write pages upon pages, in letters,
yet could not write decent essay to
save their lives.
These ladies talk about one thing
after another, in a perfect stream,
that seems to flow on forever like
Mr.. Tennyson's brook, only in this
case there is no river for the brook
TO go tot just ambles on, and on.
and on. its own cause of being, and its
own reward.
+ X X X
Still, We talk too much.
The great silent men, of whom Nc
Cauley spoke, have the best of us.
They know when to speak, and
when to keep still. Most of us do
not know when to do either. We
just talk.
We ought not to talk when some
one says something mean to US.
Joseph Conrad has one of his char
acters say, You cannot afford to take
onense, my boy, any more than YOU
can to stand in the sun at midday"
The scene was laid in Africa, but the
thought is good here.
We ought not to talk when we
wound somebody unnecessarily.
We should not speak our minds
at any time just to get it off our
chest" as the popular phrase is, or.
at least, only to those whom We alb
solutely know are word-tight.
We should not use words of dis
praise except when absolutely neces-
sary, for words are things, and are
powerful. Also they are precious.
That, after all. is the best reason
why we should not waste them by
talking too much.