dispute。 He has given me a copy of a work of his which seems to me
not wanting in suggestiveness； and which I hope I shall be able to
make some use of in my records by and by。 I said the other day that
he had good solid prejudices； which is true； and I like him none the
worse for it； but he has also opinions more or less original；
valuable； probable； fanciful； fantastic； or whimsical； perhaps； now
and then； which he promulgates at table somewhat in the tone of
imperial edicts。 Another thing I like about him is； that he takes a
certain intelligent interest in pretty much everything that interests
other people。 I asked him the other day what he thought most about
in his wide range of studies。
Sir；said he；I take stock in everything that concerns anybody。
Humani nihil；you know the rest。 But if you ask me what is my
specialty； I should say； I applied myself more particularly to the
contemplation of the Order of Things。
A pretty wide subject；I ventured to suggest。
Not wide enough； sir；not wide enough to satisfy the desire of a
mind which wants to get at absolute truth； without reference to the
empirical arrangements of our particular planet and its environments。
I want to subject the formal conditions of space and time to a new
analysis； and project a possible universe outside of the Order of
Things。 But I have narrowed myself by studying the actual facts of
being。 By and byby and byperhapsperhaps。 I hope to do some
sound thinking in heavenif I ever get there；he said seriously；
and it seemed to me not irreverently。
I rather like that；I said。 I think your telescopic people are；
on the whole； more satisfactory than your microscopic ones。
My left…hand neighbor fidgeted about a little in his chair as I
said this。 But the young man sitting not far from the Landlady； to
whom my attention had been attracted by the expression of his eyes；
which seemed as if they saw nothing before him； but looked beyond
everything； smiled a sort of faint starlight smile； that touched me
strangely； for until that moment he had appeared as if his thoughts
were far away； and I had been questioning whether he had lost friends
lately； or perhaps had never had them； he seemed so remote from our
boarding…house life。 I will inquire about him； for he interests me；
and I thought he seemed interested as I went on talking。
No；I continued；I don't want to have the territory of a man's
mind fenced in。 I don't want to shut out the mystery of the stars
and the awful hollow that holds them。 We have done with those
hypaethral temples； that were open above to the heavens； but we can
have attics and skylights to them。 Minds with skylights；yes；
stop； let us see if we can't get something out of that。
One…story intellects； twostory intellects； three story intellects
with skylights。 All factcollectors； who have no aim beyond their
facts； are one…story men。 Two…story men compare； reason； generalize；
using the labors of the fact…collectors as well as their own。 Three…
story men idealize； imagine； predict； their best illumination comes
from above； through the skylight。 There are minds with large ground
floors； that can store an infinite amount of knowledge； some
librarians； for instance； who know enough of books to help other
people； without being able to make much other use of their knowledge；
have intellects of this class。 Your great working lawyer has two
spacious stories； his mind is clear； because his mental floors are
large； and he has room to arrange his thoughts so that he can get at
them；facts below； principles above； and all in ordered series；
poets are often narrow below； incapable of clear statement； and with
small power of consecutive reasoning； but full of light； if sometimes
rather bare of furniture； in the attics。
The old Master smiled。 I think he suspects himself of a three…
story intellect； and I don't feel sure that he is n't right。
Is it dark meat or white meat you will be helped to？said the
Landlady； addressing the Master。
Dark meat for me； always；he answered。 Then turning to me； he
began one of those monologues of his； such as that which put the
Member of the Haouse asleep the other day。
It 's pretty much the same in men and women and in books and
everything； that it is in turkeys and chickens。 Why； take your
poets； now； say Browning and Tennyson。 Don't you think you can say
which is the dark…meat and which is the white…meat poet？ And so of
the people you know； can't you pick out the full…flavored； coarse…
fibred characters from the delicate； fine…fibred ones？ And in the
same person； don't you know the same two shades in different parts of
the character that you find in the wing and thigh of a partridge？ I
suppose you poets may like white meat best； very probably； you had
rather have a wing than a drumstick； I dare say。
Why； yes；said I；I suppose some of us do。 Perhaps it is because
a bird flies with his white…fleshed limbs and walks with the dark…
fleshed ones。 Besides； the wing…muscles are nearer the heart than
the leg…muscles。
I thought that sounded mighty pretty； and paused a moment to pat
myself on the back； as is my wont when I say something that I think
of superior quality。 So I lost my innings； for the Master is apt to
strike in at the end of a bar； instead of waiting for a rest； if I
may borrow a musical phrase。 No matter； just at this moment； what he
said； but he talked the Member of the Haouse asleep again。
They have a new term nowadays （I am speaking to you； the Reader） for
people that do a good deal of talking； they call them
〃conversationists；〃 or 〃conversationalists 〃； talkists； I suppose；
would do just as well。 It is rather dangerous to get the name of
being one of these phenomenal manifestations； as one is expected to
say something remarkable every time one opens one's mouth in company。
It seems hard not to be able to ask for a piece of bread or a tumbler
of water； without a sensation running round the table； as if one were
an electric eel or a torpedo； and couldn't be touched without giving
a shock。 A fellow is n't all battery； is he？ The idea that a
Gymnotus can't swallow his worm without a coruscation of animal
lightning is hard on that brilliant but sensational being。 Good talk
is not a matter of will at all； it dependsyou know we are all half…
materialists nowadayson a certain amount of active congestion of
the brain； and that comes when it is ready； and not before。 I saw a
man get up the other day in a pleasant company； and talk away for
about five minutes； evidently by a pure effort of will。 His person
was good； his voice was pleasant； but anybody could see that it was
all mechanical labor； he was sparring for wind； as the Hon。 John
Morrissey； M。 C。； would express himself。 Presently；
Do you；Beloved； I am afraid you are not old enough；but do you
remember the days of the tin tinder…box； the flint； and steel？
Click！ click！ click！Al…h…h！ knuckles that time！ click！ click！
CLICK！ a spark has taken； and is eating into the black tinder； as a
six…year…old eats into a sheet of gingerbread。
Presently； after hammering away for his five minutes with mere words；
the spark of a happy expression took somewhere among the mental
combustibles； and then for ten minutes we had a pretty； wandering；
scintillating play of eloquent thought； that enlivened； if it did not
kindle； all around it。 If you want the real philosophy of it； I will
give it to you。 The chance thought or expression struck the nervous
centre of consciousness； as the rowel of a spur stings the flank of a
racer。 Away through all the telegraphic radiations of the nervous
cords flashed the intelligence that the brain was kindling； and must
be fed with something or other； or it would burn itself to ashes。
And all the great hydraulic engines poured in their scarlet blood；
and the fire kindled； and the flame rose； for the blood is a stream
that； like burning rock…oil； at once kindles； and is itself the fuel。
You can't order these organic processes； any more than a milliner can
make a rose。 She can make something that looks like a rose； more or
less； but it takes all the forces of the universe to finish and
sweeten that blossom in your button…hole； and you may be sure that
when the orator's brain is in a flame； when the poet's heart is in a
tumult； it is something mightier than he and his will that is dealing
with him！ As I have looked from one of the northern windows of the
street which commands our noble estuary；the view through which is a
picture on an illimitable canvas and a poem in innumerable cantos；I
have sometimes seen a pleasure…boat drifting along； her sail
flapping； and she seeming as if she had neither will nor aim。 At her
stern a man was laboring to bring her head round with an oar； to
little purpose； as it seemed to those who watched him pulling and
tugging。 But all at once the wind of heaven； which had wandered all
the way from Florida or from Labrador； it may be； struck full upon
the sail； and it swelled and rounded itself； like a white bosom that
had burst its bodice； and
You are right； it is too true！ but how I love these pretty
phrases！ I am afraid I am becoming an