Talkers Part 30

"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 att.i.tude 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 weatherc.o.c.k, 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 att.i.tude 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 _s.h.i.+ndy_ 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, f.a.n.n.y; you know it is not, and why do you say so?" said Fred, warmly.

"I say it is," replied f.a.n.n.y; "and I am surprised that you should contradict me."

"It is just like you, f.a.n.n.y, 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 "s.h.i.+fts the venue" of the pa.s.sing 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, b.u.t.tons 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 talk With 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 circ.u.mstances, 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.

So far, then, from snubbing curing faults of character, it will be found to be a frightful source of evil: it renders a timid child reserved, and it may be deemed fortunate if the conscientious principle is strong enough to preserve him from direct deceit. Indecision of character, too, is a common result of snubbing; for there can be no self-reliance when the mind is wondering within itself whether such or such an action will be snubbed. Some dispositions may in time become tolerably callous to reproof; but it rarely happens that even those most seasoned by incessant rebukes ever entirely lose the uncomfortable feeling which snubbing occasions. It is, in fact, a perpetual mental blister; and it is grievous to see how blindly people exercise it on those they dearly love. It may occur to some, who can think as well as snub, that the benefit to be derived from anything calculated to wound sensitive feelings must be very questionable; but the plain fact is, that nine times out of ten it is done unthinkingly, and from the impulse of the moment. It may be but a small unkindness at the time, the words forgotten as soon as uttered; but in many instances the effects of a snubbed childhood last a lifetime.

These remarks are offered in the hope that they may be useful in pointing out the evil of this very prevalent habit. It is most certainly a violation of the holy commandment of doing to others as we would be done by, and requires to be diligently watched against. There is no one addicted to the practice of snubbing others who likes to be snubbed himself. The law of love should not only dwell in the heart, but should also baptize the lips.

XIII. THE ARGUMENTATIVE.--This talker has so fully studied Whateley and Mill, and his mind is so naturally constructed, that he must have every thought syllogistically placed, and logically wrought out to demonstration, beyond the shadow of a shade of doubt. With countenance grave he approaches close to your person, and with the tip of one forefinger on the tip of the other forefinger, he begins, "Now mark, sir, this is the proposition which I lay down--the _quality_ and _quant.i.ty_ of it I will not now stop to state--'No one is free who is enslaved by his appet.i.tes: a sensualist is enslaved by his appet.i.tes, therefore a sensualist is not free.' Now, sir, there is no escape from this conclusion, if you admit the _premise_, the _major_ and the _minor_ of my argument."

"It is most conclusive and demonstrative," observed Mr. Allgood. "What have you to say, Mr. Goose, about the propriety of enforcing the penal laws against the Papists, who, as you know, are in the heart of their religion so opposed to the Protestant laws and const.i.tution of this country?"

Again placing the tip of his forefinger on his right hand upon the tip of his forefinger on his left hand, he said, "If penal laws against Papists were enforced, they would have cause of grievance; but penal laws against them are not enforced, therefore they have no such cause."

"That is very clear and convincing," observed Mr. Allgood again. "Do you think, Mr. Goose," again asked Mr. Allgood--he could not argue, but only ask questions--"that the practice of oath-taking is in any way beneficial and to be commended?"

Once more a.s.suming his former logical att.i.tude, with additional signs of thought and gravity, as though the question demanded great consideration, Mr. Goose at length said,--

"Mr. Allgood, if men are not likely to be influenced in the performance of a known duty by taking an oath to perform it, the oaths commonly administered are superfluous; if they are likely to be so influenced, every one should be made to take an oath to behave rightly throughout his life; but one or the other of these must be the case; therefore, either the oaths commonly administered are superfluous, or every man should be made to take an oath to behave rightly throughout his life."

"Thank you, Mr. Goose, thank you, for placing the thing in such a lucid and irrefutable light," answered Mr. Allgood, who seemed to be in mist all the time Mr. Goose was laying down his argument.

Had Mr. Allgood gone on with his questions up to the thousandth, each one being distinct from the other, Mr. Goose would have answered him, as far as he could, in the same formal, argumentative manner. But Mr.

Allgood was getting jaded; the stretch of attention required by the reasoning of Mr. Goose was telling upon his patience; so he slided away to talk with one who spoke in less categorical style: not so propositional, syllogistic, and demonstrative.

And, as a rule, who does not sympathise with Mr. Allgood, as against Mr.

Goose, in his method of talk? Syllogisms, propositions, predicates, majors, minors, sorites, enthymeme, copula, concrete, and such-like logical terms are all very well from a professor to his students in a lecture room, but introduced into ordinary conversation in company they are altogether out of place. No one with good taste, unless he has fearfully forgotten it, will disfigure his talk with them, however pure and efficient a logician he may be in reality.

Some of this cla.s.s of talkers are nothing but mere shams in their art.

They affect a knowledge of argumentative processes, and obtrude upon your attention by false reasoning conclusions which perhaps _appear_ as legitimate as possible. You cannot deny, yet you cannot believe. You cannot refute by your logic, neither can you admit by your faith. Such are most of the sceptical talkers on the Bible, Christianity, etc.

Milton speaks of this argumentative talker when he says,--