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Talkers: With Illustrations
He is hard to cure, but worse to endure. Sunshine has no brightness for him. Love has no charms. Beauty has no smiles. Flowers have no fragrance. All is desert to him; and alas! he is desert to all.
II. The Story-Teller. – He is ever and anon telling his anecdotes and stories, until they become as dull as an old newspaper handled for days together. He seldom enters your house or forms one of a company but you hear from him the same oft-repeated tales. He may sometimes begin on a new track, but he soon merges into the old. You are inclined to say, “You have told me that before;” but respect to the person who speaks, or a sense of good manners, restrains, so you are under the necessity of enduring the unwelcome repetition.
I have known this talker, again and again, rise from his seat with an intention of going because of a “pressing engagement,” and yet he has stood, with hat in hand, for a further half-hour, telling the same stories which on similar occasions he had told before. I knew what was coming, and wished that he had left when he rose at first to do so, rather than afflict me with the same worn-out threadbare tales of three-times-three repetition in my ears.
I have thought, Whence this failing? Whether from loss of memory or from the fact that these things have been so often repeated that, when once begun, they instinctively and in the very order in which they are laid in the mind find an irresistible outlet from the mouth: like a musical-box, when wound up and set a-going, goes on and on, playing the same old tunes which one has heard a hundred times, and which it has played ever since a musical-box it has been.
I am inclined to think, however uncharitable my thinking may seem, that this is the chief cause of his fault. I think so because I have frequently noticed him saying as soon as he has begun, “Have not I told you this before?” and I have answered, “Yes, you have;” still he has gone on with the old yarn, telling it precisely in the same way as before; as the aforesaid instrument plays its old tunes without variation right through to the end.
The affliction would not be so bad to bear if he cut his stories short; but, unfortunately, he does not, and I verily believe cannot, any more than the parson who has repeated his sermons a hundred times can curtail, or leave out some of the old to substitute new. Not only so; another addition to the burden one has to endure is, that he always repeats his stories with such apparent self-satisfaction – a smile here, a laugh there, a “ha-ha-ha” in another place; at the same time you feel he is a bore, and wish his old saws were a hundred miles away.
One has been reminded, in hearing him talk, of what Menander says about the Dodonian brass, that if a man touched it only once it would continue ringing the whole day in the same monotonous tone. Thus this talker, touch him on the story-key, and he plays away until you are jaded in listening.
“His copious stories, oftentimes begun,End without audience, and are never done.”Is there a remedy for this talker? I fear not. He has practised so long – for he generally is sixty or seventy years old – that little hope can be entertained of his cure. He will have to wear out. This, however, you can do for yourself; only go into his company once, and you will not be afflicted with his repetition; and if he would go into the same company only once, it would secure to him a more enduring reputation.
Cowper, in his day, it would seem, met with such a talker as I have been describing. He thus refers to him: —
“Sedentary weavers of long talesGive me the fidgets, and my patience fails.’Tis the most asinine employ on earth,To hear them tell of parentage and birth,And echo conversation dull and dry,Embellished, with, He said and so said I.At every interview their route the same,The repetition makes attention lame;We bustle up with unsuccessful speed,And in the saddest part cry, Droll indeed!”After thus expressing his own experience under the rod of this talker, he suggests the way in which he should exercise himself in his vocation: —
“A tale should be judicious, clear, succinct;The language plain, and incidents well linked;Tell not as new what everybody knows,And new or old still hasten to a close;There centring in a focus round and neat,Let all your rays of information meet.What neither yields us profit nor delightIs like a nurse’s lullaby at night;Guy Earl of Warwick and fair Elenore,Or giant-killing Jack would please me more.”III. The Careless. – This talker is heedless of what, and how, and to whom he talks. He consults no propriety of speech; he has no respect of persons. He never asks, “Will it be wise to speak thus at this time? Is this the proper person to whom I should say it? Shall I give offence or deceive by speaking in this way? What will be the consequence to the absent of my making this statement concerning them? Is Tittle-Tattle, or Rumour, or Mischief Maker, or Slanderer, or Blabber in this company, who will make capital out of what I say?”
I do not mean that one should be always so precise in speaking, that what he says should be as nicely measured and formed as a new-made pin. This, however, is one thing, and to speak without thought or consideration is another.
The careless talker would save others as well as himself from frequent difficulties if he would get into the way of pondering, at least somewhat, the things which he has to say, so as to be sure that what he says will not injure another more than he would like to be injured himself.
I will give one illustration of this careless and thoughtless way of talking.
In a gathering of friends belonging to a certain church in N – the minister’s name came up as the subject of conversation. Many eulogiums were passed upon his character, among others one expressive of his high temperance principles, and the service he was rendering to the temperance cause in the town.
There happened to be present in the company a young gentleman of rather convivial habits, who assented to their compliments of the minister. He thought he was a very excellent man and a pleasant companion. “In fact,” he said, “it was only the other day when he and I drank brandy and water together.”
What a compliment this to give to a minister and a teetotaller! Of course the particulars were not inquired into there and then; but Miss Rumour, who was present, made a note of it in her mind, and as soon as she left the company she spread it abroad until the statement of the thoughtless young gentleman came to the ears of the deacons of the church, who solemnly arraigned the minister before them, and summoned the accuser into their presence.
He declared that what he had said was positively true, but had evidently been misunderstood. “Your excellent minister,” he said, “and I have drunk brandy and water together; but then I drank the brandy, and he drank the water.”
IV. The Equivocator. – He speaks in such a way as to convey the impression that he means what he says and at the same time leaves himself in his own mind at liberty to go contrary to what he says, without considering himself guilty of breach of truth should he do so. He speaks so as to give you reason for believing him; and then, if he fail to verify your faith, he tells you he did not say so positively. Hence his chief phrases of speech are, “May be so;” “It is more than likely I shall;” “There is little doubt upon the question;” “It is more than probable it will be so.” He means these phrases to have the same effect upon you as the positive or imperative mood; and yet if you take them in this sense, and he does not act up to them, he says, “O, I did not say I would.”
Much evil has been done by this way of talking in business, in families, in the social circle. How many a tradesman has lost valuable hours in waiting and expecting some one who has promised him by, “It is more than probable,” that he would meet him at such an hour. And when reminded of his failure, he said, “I did not promise.”
With a similar understanding based on a promise of the same kind, how frequently has the housewife made ready her person, her children, her rooms, and her larder, to receive guests on a day’s visit! Disappointment has been the result; perhaps hard thoughts, if not harder feelings, have been felt, and it has been a long time ere any preparation has been made for the same guests again.
A mother in a family says to her little son, “Now, John, you be a very good boy, and give your sister Betsy no trouble while I am gone to see your Aunt Charlotte, and may be I will bring you back a Noah’s ark.”
The mother goes to see Aunt Charlotte; meanwhile John is trying in all his strength to be a “good boy, and to give his sister Betsy no trouble.”
Little Johnny is wishing his mother would return. The hour is getting late. He is becoming heavy with sleep. He says to his sister, —
“I am so tired. I do want mother to come home and bring me the nice present she promised. O how glad I shall be to have a Noah’s ark!”
At last mother enters the house, and her little boy rushes to meet her, asking as the first thing, —
“Mother, have you brought the present you promised?”
“What present, my boy?” the mother asks.
“Noah’s ark, mother.”
“Did I promise to buy you Noah’s ark? Are you not mistaken?”
“You said may be you would do it; and I expected you would.”
“But may be, my dear, is not a promise.”
With these words the little boy set on crying at his great disappointment, and could not be comforted.
Now this way of talking to children is calculated to give them wrong views of truthfulness, and to cherish within them a similar way of equivocation. It creates hopes and blights them. It gives ground for expectation, and then destroys it. “Let your communication be, Yea, yea; Nay, nay; for whatsoever is more than this cometh of evil.” “The promises of God are all Yea.”
V. The Absent-Minded. – It is far from being pleasant to meet in conversation a talker of this class. To ask a question of importance or to give a reply to one whose mind is wandering in an opposite direction is anything but complimentary and assuring. How mortifying to be speaking to a person who you think is sweetly taking in all you say, and when finished you find you have been talking to one whose mind was as absent from what you said as a man living in America or New Zealand! He wakes up, perhaps, to consciousness, some time after you have done speaking, with the provoking interrogatory, “I beg pardon, sir; but pray what were you speaking about just now?”
He has been known at the dinner-table to ask a blessing at least three times.
He has been seen in company to make one of his best bows in reply to what he supposed was a compliment paid him, when it was intended for some other person.
He has been heard try to give a narrative of great interest; but before he had got half-way through he lost his mind in the story, and ran two or three into one.
He has been known almost to rave with self-indignation while calling back some one to whom he had forgotten to state the object of meeting, although they had been together some time in promiscuous talk.
He has been seen at the tea-table in a heated discussion, thinking of his brightest idea just as he was in the act of swallowing his tea, and by the time the tea was gone his idea was gone, and of course he lost the day.
One has heard of an eminent minister so absent-minded in talk at the tea-table that he has taken about twenty cups of tea, and has not only exhausted the supply of tea, but after using the teaspoon in each cup has thrown it behind him on the sofa, until all the spoons have been gone as well as all the tea; and only when he has been told that there was no more of either has he woke up to know how much tea he had drunk, and what had become of the spoons.
One of these talkers, in the midst of conversation in a large circle of friends, tried to quote the lines following: —
“I never had a dear gazelle,To glad me with its soft black eye,But when it came to know me well,And love me, it was sure to die.”But, instead of repeating them correctly, his mind became absent, and thought of a parody on the lines, which ran as follows: —
“I never had a piece of bread,Particularly long and wide,But fell upon the sanded floor,And always on the buttered side.”So in his attempt to render the first correctly he mingled the beauties of both as follows: —
“I never had a dear gazelle,Particularly long and wide,But when it came to know me well,And always on the buttered side.”A story is told of a clergyman who went a walk into the country. Coming to a toll-bar, he stopped, and shouted to the man, “Here! what’s to pay?”
“Pay for what?” asked the man.
“For my horse.”
“What horse? You have no horse, sir!”
“Bless me!” exclaimed the clergyman, looking between his legs. “I thought I was on horseback.”
He had fallen into a thoughtful mood in his walk, and being more accustomed to riding than walking, in his absence of mind he made the blunder.
VI. The Bustling. – This talker you will generally find to be a man rather small in stature, with quick eye, sharp nose, nervous expression of face, and limbs ever ready for prompt action. He has little patience with other people’s slowness, and wastes more time and temper in repeating his own love of despatch than would be required to do a great deal of work.
His tongue is as restless as his hands and feet, both of which are in unceasing motion. He asks questions in such rapidity that it is difficult for the ear to catch them. He is always in a hurly-burly. He has more business to attend to than he knows how. His engagements are so numerous that many of them must be broken. If he call to see you, he is always in a hurry; he cannot sit down; he must be off in a minute. He often rushes into your room so suddenly that you wonder what is the matter, throws down his hat and gloves as though he had no time to place them anywhere, and, taking out his watch, he regrets that he can only spare you two minutes; and you would not have been sorry if it had been only one. He leaves you much in the same manner as he came, with a slam of the door which goes through you, and steps back two or three times to say something which he had forgotten.
“If you go to see him,” says one, “on business, he places you a chair with ostentatious haste; begs you will excuse him while he despatches two or three messengers on most urgent business; calls each of them back once or twice to give fresh instalments of his defective instructions; and having at last dismissed them, regrets as usual that he has only five minutes to spare, whereof he spends half in telling you the distracting number and importance of his engagements. If he have to consult a ledger, the book is thrown on the desk with a thump as if he wished to break its back, and the leaves rustle to and fro like a wood in a storm. Meanwhile he overlooks, while he gabbles on, the very entries he wants to find, and spends twice the time he would if he had proceeded more leisurely. In a word, everything is done with a bounce, and a thump, and an air, and a flourish, and sharp and eager motions, and perpetual volubility of tongue. His image is that of a blind beetle in the twilight, which, with incessant hum and drone and buzz, flies blundering into the face of every one it chances to meet.”
VII. The Contradictory. – The contradictory talker is one who steps into the arena of conversation with an attitude which says in effect, “It matters not what you say, good or bad, wise or foolish, of my opinion or against my opinion, I am here to contradict. It is my mind, my habit, my nature to do it, and do it I will.”
And so he does. His tongue, like the point of a weathercock, veers round to face the sentiment or fact from whatever quarter it may come. You express your views upon some eminent minister of the Gospel. He says, “I do not think with you.” Your friend gives his views upon some theory in science. He says, “I am altogether of another opinion.” Some one else gives his views of a political scheme in contemplation. He says, “I think the very opposite.” A fourth states his views on some doctrine of theology. He says, “They are far from orthodox.” A fifth ventures to give his opinion on a late experiment in natural philosophy. He says, “I think it was entirely a blunder.”
Thus he stands in hostile, pugilistic attitude to every one, as though he had made up his mind to it long ago. He acts upon the principle, “Whatever you say now, I will contradict it, and if you agree with me, I will contradict myself. You shall not say anything that I will not contradict.” Except you should tell him he was a wise man, which of course would be a questionable truth, there is indeed no opinion or proposition in which he would agree with you.
He reminds one of the Irishman who, despairing of a shindy at a fair, everything being so quiet and peaceful, took off his coat, and, trailing it in the mud, said, “And, by St. Patrick, wouldn’t I like to see the boy that would tread on that same!”
You are thus challenged to combat; and you must either be mute or stand the chance of being cudgelled at every position you take. The best way is to be mute rather than be in a constant (for the time being) ferment of strife and conflict.
This quibbling or contradictory talk may sometimes be met with in the family as existing between brothers or sisters. They are continually opposing and contradicting each other in things trifling and indifferent, differing in opinion for no other reason, apparently, than that they have got in the habit of doing so.
“It is not so, Fanny; you know it is not, and why do you say so?” said Fred, warmly.
“I say it is,” replied Fanny; “and I am surprised that you should contradict me.”
“It is just like you, Fanny, to be always opposed to me, and I wonder you should be so.”
This habit of contradiction in a family is anything but pleasant and happy, and should be checked by parents, as well as guarded against by the children themselves.
VIII. The Technicalist. – He is a talker who indulges much in the slang of his calling. The naval cadet, for instance, poetically describes his home as “the mooring where he casts anchor,” or “makes sail down the street,” hails his friend to “heave to,” and makes things as plain as a “pikestaff,” and “as taut as a hawser.” The articled law clerk “shifts the venue” of the passing topic to the other end of the room, and “begs to differ from his learned friend.” The new bachelor from college snuffs the candle at an “angle of forty-five.” The student of surgery descants upon the comparative anatomy of the joint he is carving, and asks whether “a slice of adipose tissue will be acceptable.” The trade apprentice “takes stock” of a dinner party, and endorses the observation of “ditto.” The young chemist gives a “prescription” for the way you should go to town. The student of logic “syllogizes” his statement, and before he draws a conclusion he always lays down his “premise.” The architect gives you a “plan” of his meaning, and “builds” you an argument of thought.
Thus, you may generally infer the profession or occupation of this talker from the technical terms he employs in conversation.
IX. The Liliputian. – I give this designation to him, not because of his physical stature, for he may be of more than ordinary proportions in flesh and blood; and in fact he often is. His talk is small; what some would call “chit-chat.” He deals in pins and needles, buttons and tapes, nutmegs and spices: things of course, in their places, necessary, but out of place when you have plenty of them, and they are being ever and anon pressed on your notice. He has no power of conception or utterance beyond the commonplace currency of the time of day, state of the weather, changes of the moon, who was last married, who is going to be, when dog days begin, what he had for dinner, when he bought his new hat, when he last went to see his mother, when he was last sick, and how he recovered, etc.
Cowper pictures this talker in the following lines: —
“His whispered theme, dilated, and at large,Proves after all a wind-gun’s airy charge,An extract of his diary – no more,A tasteless journal of the day before.He walked abroad, o’ertaken in the rain,Called on a friend, drank tea, stepped home again,Resumed his purpose, had a word of talkWith one he stumbled on, and lost his walk.I interrupt him with a sudden bow,Adieu, dear sir! lest you should lose it now.”X. The Envious. – This talker is one much allied to the detractor, whom we have considered at length in a former part of this volume. He cannot hear anything good of another without having something to say to the contrary. If you speak of a friend of yours possessed of more than ordinary gifts or graces, he interjects a “but” and its connections, by which he means to counterbalance what you say. Like his ancestor Cain, he seeks to kill in the estimation of others every one who stands more acceptable to society than himself.
The disposition of the envious is destructive and murderous. Anything that exceeds himself in appearance, in circumstances, in influence, he endeavours to destroy, so that he may stand first in esteem and praiseworthiness.
But he is a deceiver of himself. Others see his motive and aim, and, like Jehovah in the beginning, discover his malicious spirit, and condemn him as a vagabond and fugitive in society. He becomes a marked man, and whoever sees him avoids him as a destroyer of everything amiable and of good report.
It is bad enough to feel envy in the heart; but to bring it forth in words in conversation makes it doubly monstrous and repulsive. Such a talker is revolting to all amiable and justly disposed persons in the social circle.
XI. The Secret Talker. – “Be sure, now, you do not tell any one what I am going to say to you,” is a phrase that one talker often says to another: “Certainly not,” is the ready rejoinder. So the secret is given in charge; and no sooner have the two friends parted than the entrusted fact or rumour is divulged, perhaps, to the very first person with whom he comes in conversation, told of course as a “secret never to be repeated.” He had power to hear it, but not power to retain it. He is a leaky vessel, a sieve-receiver, not able to keep anything put within him.
There is oftentimes deception, if not absolute lying, in this talker. Why does he receive the secret with the strong promise, “I will tell no one, upon my honour,” if he cannot retain it in his own bosom?
Such persons are not to be trusted twice. As soon as you discover your facts given under covenant of secrecy are blabbed to others, you say, “I shall not trust him again:” and very properly too. Of course he tells as a secret what you tell him as a secret; but if he cannot retain it, how can he expect others? It is in this way that a matter, which in the first instance is spoken of under the most strict confidence, becomes a well-known fact, as though the public bellman had been hired to proclaim it in the streets.
XII. The Snubber. – There is a man sometimes met with in society, whose business, when he talks, seems to be the administration of rebuke, in a spirit and with a tone of voice churlish and sarcastic, by which he would stop the increase of knowledge, check the development of mind, and arrest the growth of heroic souls. He is far from amiable in his disposition, or happy in his temper. He is a knotty piece of humanity, which rubs itself against the even surface of other portions, much to its annoyance, and to his own irritability. He is like a frost, nipping the tender blossoms of intellect, and stopping the growth of a youthful branch of promise. He is shunned by the gentle and sensitive. The independent and bold repel him, and pay him back in his own coin, a specie which he does not like, although he does a large business with it himself.
The word itself is banished from polite society; but alas! the custom is by no means proscribed. The sound is, to some extent, significant of the sense. “To snub” is certainly not euphonious, and would sadly offend the ears of many who are addicted to the habit. Snubbing is of various kinds. For instance, there is the snub direct, sharp, and decisive, that knocks the tender, sensitive spirit at once; there is the covert snub, nearly allied to being talked at; the jocose snub, veiling the objectionable form of reproof under an affected pleasantry; and there is also a most unpleasant form of snubbing, frequently used by well-meaning persons to repress forwardness or personal vanity. It is very true that children and young people often exhibit forwardness, vanity, and many other qualities extremely distasteful to their wiser elders; but it is questionable if snubbing was ever found an effectual cure for such faults. It may smother the evil for the time; but in such cases it is better to encourage children to speak their thoughts freely, patiently, gently, to show them where they are wrong, and trust to a kind voice and tender indulgence to win the hearts that snubbing would most certainly, sooner or later, alienate.