great talker, who poured forth a continuous flow of jest and
anecdote until the meal was far advanced. Then came a lull; Carlyle
laid down his knife and fork, and looking round with the famous
"crucified" expression on his face, said in a voice of agonized
entreaty, "For God's sake take me away, and put me in a room by
myself, and give me a pipe of tobacco!" He felt, as I have felt on
such occasions, an imperative need of silence and recollection and
repose. Indeed, as he said on another occasion, of one of
Coleridge's harangues, "to sit still and be pumped into is never an
exhilarating process."

That species of talker is, however, practically extinct; though
indeed I have met men whose idea of talk was a string of anecdotes,
and who employed the reluctant intervals of silence imposed upon
them by the desperate attempt of fellow-guests to join in the fun,
in arranging the points of their next anecdote.

What seems to me so odd about a talker of that kind is the lack of
any sense of justice about his talk. He presumably enjoys the
exercise of speech, and it seems to me strange that it should not
occur to him that others may like it too, and that he should not
concede a certain opportunity to others to have their say, if only
in the interests of fair play. It is as though a gourmet's
satisfaction in a good dinner were not complete unless he could
prevent every one else from partaking of the food before them.

What is really most needed in social gatherings is a kind of
moderator of the talk, an informal president. Many people, as I
have said, are quite capable of talking interestingly, if they get
a lead. The perfect moderator should have a large stock of subjects