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Updated: June 16, 2025
They were pleased with everything; they extolled things English. Helena's stout neighbour, who, it seemed, was from Dresden, began to tell anecdotes. He was a raconteur of the naive type: he talked with face, hands, with his whole body. Now and again he would give little spurts in his seat.
Neither shall I emulate the grandiose volubility and self-complacent posing of Metternich and Talleyrand, whose pretentious volumes rest for the most part unopened upon dusty shelves. I aspire to none of the honors of the historian. It shall be my aim as far as may be to avoid the garrulity of the raconteur and to restrain the exaggerations of the ego.
Eeon-a, Ha-hoo-jah!" punctuated the impressive dramatic tones of the raconteur.
The Mess perforce had to possess its soul in patience while the raconteur swiftly disposed of the bloater. "So I sniffed too, and I could smell it quite plain. We were lying stern to the wind; 'sides it wasn't decent baccy like ours, but sort of Scorp stuff, so we knew it wasn't one of our fellows smoking. Hashed mutton, please; and another cup of coffee.
I had been accustomed as a boy to hear the best type of what I may call old-fashioned after-dinner English conversation, from the mouth of a master, Abraham Hayward. Hayward was an excellent example of the special type of raconteur who first became famous in the Regency period.
He told himself wonderful stories in which the "buful faiwry" and "hollible" giant of the story-books figured largely. I am almost ashamed to acknowledge that I would hold my breath and strain my ear at times to listen to these murmured stories, self-addressed, as I have never done to receive the finest ebullitions of eloquence or the veriest marvels of the raconteur.
Good clowning, or even bad clowning, or what people call the appalling, or melancholy, or "cut- throat," jokes in a comic paper I always find captivating. Of good stories and laughable stories Townsend was in many ways an admirable raconteur. Many people would say that cannot be true. On your own confession he was too much of an exaggerator. I don't agree.
The low monotony of a continued discourse pervaded the voice, the manner of the speaker, the thread of whose story was no longer interrupted, as before, by the comments or questions of his companion, intent upon the vital interest of the tale. "So I turned back at Panama," said the raconteur, probably, of a series of adventures, "and abandoned my project altogether.
Mark heard compliments and thanks with much the annoyance a practised raconteur must feel with the feeble listener who laughs heartily, while the point of the story he is being told is still in perspective. And soon he wished heartily that the halo he felt was burning round his undeserving head could be moderated or put out, like a lamp it was such an inconvenience.
Meanderin' round her grave on the hill, yander, in course." "It's suthin bigger nor thet, pard," said Dick confidently; "no ghost kin rake down the pot ag'in the keerds I've got here. This ain't no bluff!" "Well, go on!" said a dozen excited voices. Dick paused a moment, diffidently, with the hesitation of an artistic raconteur. "Well," he said, with affected deliberation, "let's see!
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