, a higher power of silence, the quiet of the
evening shared by ruminating friends. There is something, aside from
personal preference, to be alleged in support of this omission. Those
who are no chimney-cornerers, who rejoice in the social thunderstorm,
have a ground in reason for their choice. They get little rest indeed;
but restfulness is a quality for cattle; the virtues are all active,
life is alert, and it is in repose that men prepare themselves for evil.
On the other hand, they are bruised into a knowledge of themselves and
others; they have in a high degree the fencer's pleasure in dexterity
displayed and proved; what they get they get upon life's terms, paying
for it as they go; and once the talk is launched, they are assured of
honest dealing from an adversary eager like themselves. The aboriginal
man within us, the cave-dweller, still lusty as when he fought tooth and
nail for roots and berries, scents this kind of equal battle from afar;
it is like his old primeval days upon the crags, a return to the
sincerity of savage life from the comfortable fictions of the civilised.
And if it be delightful to the Old Man, it is none the less profitable
to his younger brother, the conscientious gentleman. I feel never quite
sure of your urbane and smiling coteries; I fear they indulge a man's
vanities in silence, suffer him to encroach, encourage him on to be an
ass, and send him forth again, not merely contemned for the moment, but
radically more contemptible than when he entered. But if I have a
flushed, blustering fellow for my opposite, bent on carrying a point, my
vanity is sure to have its ears rubbed, once at least, in the course of
the debate. He will not spare me when we differ; he will not fear to
demonstrate my folly to my face.

For many natures there is not much charm in the still, chambered
society, the circle of bland countenances, the digestive silence, the
admired remark, the flutter of affectionate approval. They demand more
atmosphere and exercise; "a gale upon their spirits," as our pious
ancestors would phrase it; to have their wits well breathed in an
uproarious Valhalla. And I suspect that the choice, given their
character and faults, is one to be defended. The purely wise are
silenced by facts; they talk in a clear atmosphere, problems lying
around them like a view in nature; if they can be shown to be somewhat
in the wrong, they digest the reproof like a thrashing, and make better
intellectua