account. Would the talk at the theatre have been as impressive as it appears if we could have it reproduced by phonograph? Locke, it is said, once wrote down the actual words of Shaftesbury and some great men of the day, to show them how trivial it looked on paper. The moral was, if I remember rightly, that they ought to talk about the origin of ideas instead of discussing their hands at cards. But I fear that the test, if applied to the very best of talk, would have a depressing effect. The actual words dribbled out at a century's distance would be depressingly flat. The brilliant things, even of the most brilliant talker, are exceptional flashes; they are the few diamonds among a mass of pebbles, and generally want a good deal of polishing before they get moulded into the famous gems which we admire. The actual talk includes all the approximations and the ramblings round about the point. The 'master-bowman,' as Tennyson puts it, may come at last and hit the target in the centre; but even he generally wastes a great many arrows in the process. Then, of course, half the effect of most good talk is dramatic; its success depends not only upon what is said, but upon what is omitted and upon the mental attitude of the moment of
