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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 

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