The mental distilling process sets in later, and then you have irony instead of eloquence.

From brooding on my father, and not daring to mention his name lest I should hear evil of it, my thoughts were a proud family, proud of their origin, proud of their isolation,--and not to be able to divine them was for the world to confess itself basely beneath their level.

But, when they did pour out, they were tremendous, as Temple found.

This oratorical display of mine gave me an ascendancy over him.

He adored eloquence, not to say grandiloquence: he was the son of a barrister.