to
him what articles he takes in exchange, so that they can be disposed of
in private market. Fragments of glass, old rusty nails, rotten rags,
cast-away boots and shoes, and such-like things are received by him,
either for immediate disposal or for manufacture into new commodities to
meet special demands. He is agreeable in his manners, and careful lest
he give offence. He enters with delicate feet into his neighbour's
house. His tongue is smooth as oil, and his words as sweet as honey, by
which he wins the ear of his listener. On his countenance is the smile
of good humour, by which he ingratiates himself into the favour of his
customer. And now you may see him Satan-like, when squatted at the ear
of Eve, pouring in the tales which he has either received from abroad or
manufactured in his own establishment. Whichever they are, he has
labelled them with his own signature under the words, "_Not
transferable, but at the risk of a violation of the most sacred
confidence_." Having found a willing receiver of his goods in this
neighbour, he asks remuneration, not in pounds, shillings, and pence,
but in an equivalent--some fact or fiction, lie or rumour (he is not
particular), which he can turn to account in another market. Having
received payment, he bids adieu to his friend, and passes on to the next
house and does his business there in a similar way.

The tongue of the tale-bearer is like the tail of Samson's foxes, it
carries fire-brands wherever it goes, and is enough to set the whole
field of the world in a blaze. What Bishop Hall says of the busy-body
may be said of the tale-bearer. "He begins table-talk of his neighbour
at another man's board, to whom he tells the first news and advises him
to conceal the reporter; whose angry or envious answer he returns to his
first host, enlarged with a second edition; and as is often done with
unwilling mastiffs to excite them to fight, he claps each on the side
apart, and provokes them to an eager conflict. He labours without
thanks, talks without credit, lives without love, dies without tears and
pity, save that some say it was a pity he died no sooner."

The stories of the tale-bearer never lose in their transmission from
person to person. Their tendency is to accumulate like the boys'
snow-ball rolled about in a field of thawing snow, so that by the time
it has gone its round none of the primary features shall be recognised.
This may be illustrated by the following:--

"A