"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 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.
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
_quantity_ of it I will not now stop to state--'No one is free who is
enslaved by his appetites: a sensualist is enslaved by his appetites,
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 constitution 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 assuming his former logical attitude, 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 class 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,--
"But this juggler
Would think to chain my judgment, as mine eyes,
Obtruding false rules pranked in reason's garb."
Another species of this talker is thus described by Butler, in
"Hudibras":--
"He'd undertake to prove, by force
Of argument, a man's a horse;
He'd prove a buzzard is no fowl,
And that a lord may be an owl;
A calf an alderman, a goose a justice,
And rooks committee men and trustees."
Another kind may be noticed: the one whose arguments are generally of a
class which, when seen through and used by sound wit, rebound upon
himself. Trumball, in his "M'Fingal," thus describes him:--
"But as some muskets do contrive it,
As oft to miss the mark they drive at,
And though well aimed at duck or plover,
Bear wide, and kick their owners over,--
So fared our squire, whose reas'ning toil
Would often on himself recoil,
And so much injured more his side,
The stronger arguments he apply'd."
One more of this class of talkers may be mentioned, viz., the man who
forces his logic upon you in such a dogmatic manner as leaves you
without any hope of reply. You give him all the glory of victory. For
the sake of peace and safety you remain passive, and think this the best
valour for the occasion. Cowper refers to him in the following lines:--
"Vociferated logic kills me quite,
A noisy man is always in the right;
I twirl my thumbs, fall back into my chair,
Fix on the wainscot a distressful stare;
And when I hope his blunders are all out,
Reply discreetly, To be sure--no doubt!"
XIV. THE RELIGIOUS.--He is one that obtrudes his views and experience
upon others in ways, times, and places which are far from prudent and
commendable. Between his talk and his conduct there is a wide disparity.
From his words you would judge him a saint: from his conduct a sinner.
Abroad he is a Christian: at home he is an infidel.
Bunyan describes this character in his own simple and forcible way: "I
have been in his family, and have observed him both at home and abroad;
and I know what I say of him is the truth. His house is as empty of
religion as the white of an egg is of savour. There is neither prayer
nor sign of repentance for sin; yea, the brute, in his kind, serves God
far better than he. He is the very stain, reproach, and shame of
religion to all that know him: it can hardly have a good word in that
end of the town where he dwells, through him--a saint abroad, and a
devil at home! His poor family find it so. He is such a churl; such a
railer at and so unreasonable with his servants, that they neither know
how to do for him nor speak of him. Men that have any dealings with him
say it is better to deal with a Turk than with him, for fairer dealings
they shall have at his hands. This Talkative, if it be possible, will go
beyond them, defraud, beguile, and overreach them. Besides, he brings up
his sons to follow in his steps; and if he finds in any of them a
'foolish timorousness' (for so he calls the first appearance of a tender
conscience), he calls them fools and blockheads, and by no means will
employ them in much, or speak to their commendation before others. For
my part, I am of opinion that he has, by his wicked life, caused many to
stumble and fall, and will be, if God prevent not, the ruin of many
more."
The Apostle James in his epistle refers to this talker: "If any man
among you seem to be religious, and bridleth not his tongue, but
deceiveth his own heart, this man's religion is vain." And how is he to
bridle his tongue? Why, not only from slander and profanity, but from
_saying_, "When he is tempted, I am tempted of God; for God cannot tempt
to evil; neither tempteth He any man." Also, from making empty and
pharisaic pretensions to a high state of piety, while there are glaring
contradictions in the life: "What doth it profit, if a man say that he
hath faith, and have not works? Can faith save him?" As though the
Apostle should say, "You talkers about religion are not always the most
practical exemplifiers of it. Not he who _says_ he is religious, but he
who _lives_ religious is the justified one before God and man. Enough of
talk, talk, talk: let us have the _reality_ in heart experience and in
life deeds."
"'Say well' from 'do well' differs in letter;
'Say well' is good, but 'do well' is better.
'Say well' says godly, and helps to please;
But 'do well' lives godly, and gives the world ease.
'Say well' in danger of death is cold;
'Do well' is harnessed, and wondrous bold.
'Say well' to silence sometimes is bound;
But 'do well' is free for every stound.
'Say well' has friends, some here some there;
But 'do well' is welcome everywhere.
By 'say well' many a one to God's Word cleaves;
But for lack of 'do well' it quickly leaves.
If 'say well' and 'do well' were joined in one frame,
Then all were done, all were won, and gotten were the game."
XV. THE PREJUDICED.--Rumour and ignorance form the foundation of
prejudice.
"That is an injurious book for your children to read," said Mr. Rust one
day to Mr. Moon, concerning a volume of the "Primrose Series," which he
was looking at in Smith's library.
All Mr. Rust knew about the volume was something which had casually
dropped in conversation the day before, in the house of a friend where
he was visiting; but that was sufficient to prejudice him against the
book.
"I hear you have invited the Rev. Jonas Winkle to be the pastor of your
church," said the Rev. T. Little to Deacon Bunsen.
"Yes, we have," the deacon replied.
"I am sorry to hear it; for if all that is said about him is true, you
have made a mistake."
And what did this Reverend brother know of the other Reverend brother to
justify him in speaking thus? Why, just nothing at all. True, he had
heard a rumour, but personal knowledge he had none. However, what he
said so influenced the mind of Deacon Bunsen, that he did all he could
to have the invitation withdrawn; which being done, the Rev. Mr. Little,
by certain "wire pulling" on his part, and a good word spoken for him by
a layman of wealth on his part, managed to secure the pastorate of the
said church for himself.
"I hear that young Bush is coming into your bank as cashier," observed
Mr. Young to Mr. Monk, the manager.
"Yes; he enters upon his duties next week."
"But have you not heard what is afloat about him?"
"No. I have heard nothing."
"Then the less said the soonest mended," answered Young.
Now this Mr. Young knew nothing personally against young Bush, but had
heard a rumour which prejudiced him to speak in this way of him; the
result of which was that the manager evinced suspicion of the young man
until he had been in the bank some time, and by his unquestionable
conduct had proved that Mr. Young's insinuation was nothing but
prejudice grounded upon rumour and ignorance of him.
Thus it is that the prejudiced talker may do a great deal of mischief
against persons of the most innocent character.
Prejudice has nothing to justify it, but everything to condemn it. The
person subject to it evinces a mind devoid of the breadth, strength, and
independence characteristic of true manhood; and the sooner he disposes
of rumour and ignorance as the creator of words on his tongue, the
better for his reputation. Before he speaks of persons or things he will
act wisely to "come and see" by personal interview and experience.
XVI. THE BOASTER.--This talker is somewhat akin to the _Egotist_;
nevertheless there is a distinction and difference. What he is, what he
has done, where he has been, his acquaintances, his intentions, his
prospects, his capabilities, his possessions, are the subjects of his
talk in such a braggadocio spirit and style as disgusts the intelligent,
and imposes upon the simple.
Has he done you a charitable deed? has he been heroic in an act of
mercy? has he given a contribution to an object of beneficence? has he
performed some feat of gymnastics? has he made a good bargain in
business? has he said or done something which has elicited the faintest
praise from an observer?--with what a flourish he brags of each in its
turn! Everybody and everything must stand aside while he and his doings
are exhibited in full glory before the company.
It is well when these mountebanks meet with treatment such as they
deserve. A honest word or two spoken by a fearless hearer of their loud
talking will soon cause their balloon to collapse, or bring their
exhibition to a sudden end. And then how pitiable they do look! Where is
boasting then? Alas, it is excluded; and their glory is turned into
shame.
A young man who in his travels had visited the isle of Rhodes was once
boasting in company of how he had out-jumped all the men there, and all
the Rhodians could bear witness of it. One of the company replied, "If
you speak the truth, think this place to be Rhodes, and jump here;" when
it turned out that he could do nothing, and was glad to make his exit.
The English proverb, "Great boast and small roast," is applicable to
such.
It is said in history that a friend of Caesar's had preserved a certain
man from the tyranny of the triumvirate proscription; but he so
frequently talked about it in a boasting manner, that the poor man
ultimately exclaimed, "Pray thee, restore me to Caesar again! I had
rather undergo a thousand deaths than to be thus continually upbraided
by thee with what thou hast done for me."
And who does not sympathise with this feeling when any one who has in a
way been a friend is ever and anon boasting of it in conversation?
"We must not," as one says, "make ourselves the trumpet of our
benevolence in liberalities and good deeds, but let them, like John the
Baptist, be the speaking son of a dumb parent--speak to the necessity of
our brother, but dumb in the relation of it to others. It is for
worthless empirics to stage themselves in the market and recount their
cures, and for all good Christians to be silent in their charitable
transactions."
"The highest looks have not the highest mind,
Nor haughty words most full of highest thought;
But are like bladders blown up with the wind,
That being pricked, evanish into nought."
"Who knows himself a braggart,
Let him fear this; for it will come to pass
That every braggart shall be found an ass."
XVII. THE QUARRELSOME.--What is said of the Irishman may be said of this
talker, "He is only in peace when he is in a quarrel." His flowers are
thistles, and his sweets bitters. The more you study to be quiet, the
more he aims to make a noise. The least imaginable thing in word, look,
or act he takes as a cause for bickering and contention. As a neighbour,
as a fellow member in a family, as a fellow workman, as a fellow
traveller, he is disagreeable and annoying. He quarrels with you alike
for things you do to please him or things you do to displease him. When
two such persons meet, peace takes to her wings and flies away, leaving
war of words, if not of weapons, in her room.
Benvolio in _Romeo and Juliet_ was one of this steel. Mercutio
addressing him says, "Thou! why thou wilt quarrel with a man that hath a
hair more or less in his beard than thou hast. Thou wilt quarrel with a
man for cracking nuts, having no other reason but because thou hast
hazel eyes. What eye but such eye would spy out such a quarrel? Thy head
is as full of quarrels as an egg is full of meat; and yet thy head hath
been beaten as addle as an egg for quarrelling. Thou hast quarrelled
with a man for coughing in the street, because he hath wakened thy dog
that hath lain asleep in the sun. Didst thou not fall out with a man for
wearing his new doublet before Easter? with another, for tying his new
shoes with old ribbons? and yet thou wilt tutor me from quarrelling!"
XVIII. THE PROFOUND.--He leaves you at the edge, but himself plunges
like an expert diver into the vasty deeps; and there in twilight
visible, if not in darkness felt, he converses with you about the
mysterious, the metaphysical, the mystical, the profound. As you gaze
with wondering vision, you hear a voice, but see no man. He invites you
down into his caves of ocean thought; but, as you see not where he is,
and know not the way to follow, nor think it worth while to go at a
venture, you prefer remaining on the shore.
Nor is it always the _depth_ into which this talker delights to go. Were
it this, with _transparency_, there would not be so much objection. He
too frequently plunges into muddled waters, or makes them so by his
movements therein. He persuades himself that he has acquired profound
knowledge of philosophy from the dark and mystical writings of the
Germans translated into English. With this persuasion he courts your
attention, while he discourses to you in terms and phrases of marvellous
vagueness about the Ego within us--the Infinite and the Immense, the
Absolute, the Entity and Nonentity, and such-like subjects, of which you
can make neither "top nor tail," and of which he knows nothing save the
terms and phrases that he strings together with such adept expertness
and palpable absurdity.
"What do you think," asked Mr. Stanley of Professor Rigg, "of Hegel's
paradox, that nothing is equal to being, and that if being and nothing
be conjoined you have existence?"
The Professor answered with his usual gravity and profundity: "Nothing
could be more profound, and as lucid as profound, if Hegel's theory of
the 'evolution of the concrete' was remembered. According to that theory
the concrete is the idea which, as a unity, is variously determined,
having the principle of its activity within itself, while the origin of
the activity, the act itself, and the result, are one, and constitute
the concrete. The innate contradiction of the concrete is the basis of
its development, and though differences arise, they at last vanish into
unity. To use the words of Hegel, there is 'both the movement and repose
in the movement. The difference hardly appears before it disappears,
whereupon there issues from it a full and complete unity.'"
"That is very clear and satisfactory," observed Mr. Stanley, ironically;
not seeing anything but confusion confounded in the whole of it. "What
is your view," he asked again, "of the Hegelian 'Absolute'?"
"This," said the Professor, "is nothing but a continual process of
thinking, without beginning and without end. Now that the evolution of
ideas in the human mind is the process of all existence--the essence of
the Absolute--of a Deity, so that Deity is nothing more than the
Absolute ever striving to realize itself in human consciousness."
Without questioning the truthfulness of such a doctrine, so _plainly
expressed_, Mr. Stanley proceeded to ask, in a way rather beyond
himself, "Whether there was not a little to be said for Schelling's
notion that the rhythmical law of all existence is cognisable at the
same time by the internal consciousness of the subjective self, in the
objective operation of Nature?"
To this question, somewhat mystical it must be confessed, the Professor
replied in his usual style of profundity:--
"I see clearly enough Schelling's great ingenuity; but think his three
movements or potencies--that of 'Reflexion,' whereby the Infinite
strives to realize itself in the Finite--that of 'Subsumption,' which is
the striving of the Absolute to return from the Finite to the
Infinite--and that of the 'Indifference-point,' or point of junction of
the two first--were not to be admitted; for is it not clear as the day
that the poles ever persist in remaining apart, the indifference-point
having never been fixed by Schelling?"
In these ways Mr. Stanley and the Professor kept up the conversation
until I and the rest of the company were perfectly involved in dense
mists and fogs, wishing that the sun of simple truth would shine, to
bring us into clear seeing and firm foot-standing. We longed for the day
without a cloud. At last they ceased, and after a brief interval we
found ourselves where we were before they began, with no more knowledge
of the mystical, and no less love to the simplicity of truth spoken in
words of plain meaning and thoughts of undisguised transparency.
XIX. THE WONDERER.--This is a talker with whom one very often meets in
the walks of life. His peculiarity in conversation is the use of the
word _wonder_ in almost every statement he makes and question he asks.
It is a strange peculiarity, and I _wonder_ that he should so frequently
indulge in its use; I _wonder_ that he does not discover some other mode
of expression.
I once met with him at a railway station, and after wishing him the
compliments of the day, almost his first word was, "I _wonder_ how long
my train will be before it starts?" Scarcely had he time to get his
breath, when he said, "I _wonder_ what o'clock it is." I looked at my
watch and told him. Instantly he said, "I _wonder_ whether it rains; I
hope not." I assured him that it did not when I came on the platform;
then he quickly said, "I _wonder_ whether it will rain to-morrow; I hope
not, for I have a long journey to take by coach."
I remember once travelling with a gentleman in a railway carriage
between London and Bristol. Besides him and me there were three or four
more passengers in the compartment, ladies and gentlemen.
Scarcely had we left the Paddington station ere he began _wondering_.
"I _wonder_," said he, "how fast this train goes."
Oh, about forty miles an hour, I replied.
"I _wonder_, does this train stop at Reading?"