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 t