You may try all you want to, to keep other subjects before the house, and we may all join in and help, but there can be but one result: the most random topic would load every man up with war reminiscences, and shut him up, too; and talk would be likely to stop presently, because you can't talk pale inconsequentialities when you've got a crimson fact or fancy in your head that you are burning to fetch out.' The poet was sitting some little distance away; and presently he began to speak--about the moon.
The gentleman who had been talking to me remarked in an 'aside:' 'There, the moon is far enough from the seat of war, but you will see that it will suggest something to somebody about the war; in ten minutes from now the moon, as a topic, will be shelved.' The poet was saying he had noticed something which was a surprise to him; had had the impression that down here, toward the equator, the moonlight was much stronger and brighter than up North; had had the impression that when he visited New Orleans, many years ago, the moon-- Interruption from the other end of the room-- 'Let me explain that.

Reminds me of an anecdote.

Everything is changed since the war, for better or for worse; but you'll find people down here born grumblers, who see no change except the change for the worse.
There was an old negro woman of this sort.

A young New-Yorker said in her presence, "What a wonderful moon you have down here!" She sighed and said, "Ah, bless yo' heart, honey, you ought to seen dat moon befo' de waw!"' The new topic was dead already.

But the poet resurrected it, and gave it a new start.
A brief dispute followed, as to whether the difference between Northern and Southern moonlight really existed or was only imagined.