merely a dribbling into words of casual thoughts. To do it well
implies a certain deliberate intention, a certain unselfishness, a
certain zest. The difficulty is that it demands a catholicity of
interests, a full mind. Yet it does not do to have a subject on the
brain, and to introduce it into all companies. The pity is that
conversation is not more recognized as a definite accomplishment.
People who care about the success of social gatherings are apt to
invite an instrumentalist or a singer, or a man with what may be
called parlour tricks; but few people are equally careful to plant
out two or three conversationalists among their parties, or to take
care that their conversationalists are provided with a sympathetic
background.

For the fact remains that conversation is a real art, and depends
like all other arts upon congenial circumstances and suitable
surroundings. People are too apt to believe that, because they have
interests in their minds and can put those interests into words,
they are equipped for the pretty and delicate game of talk. But a
rare admixture of qualities is needed, and a subtle conversational
effect, a sudden fancy, that throws a charming or a bizarre light
on a subject, a power of pleasing metaphorical expression, the
communication of an imaginative interest to a familiar topic--all
these things are of the nature of instinctive art. I have heard
well-informed and sensible people talk of a subject in a way that
made me feel that I desired never to hear it mentioned again; but I
have heard, on the other hand, people talk of matters which I had
believed to be worn threadbare by use, and yet communicate a rich
colour, a fragrant sentiment to them, which made me feel that I had
never thought adequately on the topic before. One should be
careful, I think, to express to such persons one's appreciation and