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 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?