nd stare into them. I have a
friend, or rather an acquaintance, whose talk is just as if he opened a
trap-door into his mind: you look into a dark place where something
flows, stream or sewer; sometimes it runs clear and brisk, but at other
times it seems to be charged with dirt and debris; and yet there is no
escape; you have to stand and look, to breathe the very odours of the
mind, until he chooses to close the door.

The mistake that many earnest and persevering talkers make is to
suppose that to be engrossed is the same thing as being engrossing. It
is true of conversation as of many other things, that the half is
better than the whole. People who are fond of talking ought to beware
of being lengthy. How one knows the despair of conversing with a man
who is determined to make a clear and complete statement of everything,
and not to let his hearer off anything! Arguments, questions, views,
rise in the mind in the course of the harangue, and are swept away by
the moving stream. Such talkers suffer from a complacent feeling that
their information is correct and complete, and that their deductions
are necessarily sound. But it is quite possible to form and hold a
strong opinion, and yet to realize that it is after all only one point
of view, and that there is probably much to be said on the other side.
The unhappiest feature of drifting into a habit of positive and
continuous talk is that one has few friends faithful enough to
criticise such a habit and tell one the unvarnished truth; if the habit
is once confirmed, it becomes almost impossible to break it off. I know
of a family conclave that was once summoned, in order, if possible, to
communicate the fact to one of the circle that he was in danger of
becoming a bore; the head of the family was finally deputed to convey
the fact as delicately as possible to the erring brother. He did so,
with much tender circumlocution. The offender was deeply mortified, but
endeavoured to thank his elderly relative for discharging so painful a
task. He promised amendment. He sate glum and tongue-tied for several
weeks in the midst of cheerful gatherings. Very gradually the old habit
prevailed. Within six months he was as tedious as ever; but what is the
saddest part of the whole business is that he has never quite forgiven
the teller of the unwelcome news, while at the same time he labours
under the impression that he has cured himself of the habit.

It is, of course, useless to at