s, and feast
with the gods, exulting in Kudos. And when the talk is over, each goes
his way, still flushed with vanity and admiration, still trailing clouds
of glory; each declines from the height of his ideal orgie, not in a
moment, but by slow declension. I remember, in the _entr'acte_ of an
afternoon performance, coming forth into the sunshine in a beautiful
green, gardened corner of a romantic city; and as I sat and smoked, the
music moving in my blood, I seemed to sit there and evaporate _The
Flying Dutchman_ (for it was that I had been hearing) with a wonderful
sense of life, warmth, well-being and pride; and the noises of the city,
voices, bells, and marching feet, fell together in my ears like a
symphonious orchestra. In the same way, the excitement of a good talk
lives for a long while after in the blood, the heart still hot within
you, the brain still simmering, and the physical earth swimming around
you with the colours of the sunset.

Natural talk, like ploughing, should turn up a large surface of life,
rather than dig mines into geological strata. Masses of experience,
anecdote, incident, cross-lights, quotation, historical instances, the
whole flotsam and jetsam of two minds forced in and in upon the matter
in hand from every point of the compass, and from every degree of mental
elevation and abasement--these are the material with which talk is
fortified, the food on which the talkers thrive. Such argument as is
proper to the exercise should still be brief and seizing. Talk should
proceed by instances; by the apposite, not the expository. It should
keep close along the lines of humanity, near the bosoms and businesses
of men, at the level where history, fiction, and experience intersect
and illuminate each other. I am I, and you are you, with all my heart;
but conceive how these lean propositions change and brighten when,
instead of words, the actual you and I sit cheek by jowl, the spirit
housed in the live body, and the very clothes uttering voices to
corroborate the story in the face. Not less surprising is the change
when we leave off to speak of generalities--the bad, the good, the
miser, and all the characters of Theophrastus--and call up other men, by
anecdote or instance, in their very trick and feature; or, trading on a
common knowledge, toss each other famous names, still glowing with the
hues of life. Communication is no longer by words, but by the instancing
of whole biographies, epics, systems