in
their minds and can put those interests into words, they are equipped
for the pretty and delicate game of talk. But a rare admixture of
qualities is needed, and a subtle conversational effect, a sudden
fancy, that throws a charming or a bizarre light on a subject, a power
of pleasing metaphorical expression, the communication of an
imaginative interest to a familiar topic--all these things are of the
nature of instinctive art. I have heard well-informed and sensible
people talk of a subject in a way that made me feel that I desired
never to hear it mentioned again; but I have heard, on the other hand,
people talk of matters which I had believed to be worn threadbare by
use, and yet communicate a rich colour, a fragrant sentiment to them,
which made me feel that I had never thought adequately on the topic
before. One should be careful, I think, to express to such persons
one's appreciation and admiration of their gifts, for the art is so
rare that we ought to welcome it when we find it; and, like all arts,
it depends to a great extent for its sustenance on the avowed gratitude
of those who enjoy it. It is on these subtle half-toned glimpses of
personality and difference that most of our happy impressions of life
depend; and no one can afford wilfully to neglect sources of innocent
joy, or to lose opportunities of pleasure through a stupid or brutal
contempt for the slender resources out of which these gentle effects
are produced.

VI

BEAUTY

I was visited, as I sate in my room to-day, by one of those sudden
impressions of rare beauty that come and go like flashes, and which
leave one desiring a similar experience. The materials of the
impression were simple and familiar enough. My room looks out into a
little court; there is a plot of grass, and to the right of it an old
stone-built wall, close against which stands a row of aged lime-trees.
Straight opposite, at right angles to the wall, is the east side of the
Hall, with its big plain traceried window enlivened with a few heraldic
shields of stained glass. While I was looking out to-day there came a
flying burst of sun, and the little corner became a sudden feast of
delicate colour; the fresh green of the grass, the foliage of the
lime-trees, their brown wrinkled stems, the pale moss on the walls, the
bright points of colour in the emblazonries of the window, made a
sudden delicate harmony of tints. I had seen the place a hundred times
before without ev