One seldom meets with a truer thing than the following observations by a quaint and witty author upon what are termed, less by way of “eminence,” perhaps, rather than “notoriety,” _Great Talkers_:—“Great Talkers not only do the least, but generally _say_ the least, if their words be weighed instead of reckoned.” He who labors under an incontinence of speech seldom gets the better of his complaint; for he must prescribe for himself, and is very sure of having a fool for his physician. Many a chatterbox might pass for a shrewd man, if he would keep his own secret, and put a drag-chain now and then upon his tongue. The largest minds have the smallest opinion of themselves; for their knowledge impresses them with humility, by showing them the extent of their ignorance, and the discovery makes them taciturn. Deep waters are still. Wise men generally talk little, because they think much. Feeling the annoyance of idle loquacity in others, they are cautious of falling into the same error, and keep their mouths shut when they can not open them to the purpose. The smaller the _calibre_ of the mind, the greater the _bore_ of a perpetually open mouth. Human heads are like hogsheads—the emptier they are, the louder report they give of themselves. I know human specimens who never think; they only _think_ they think. The clack of their word-mill is heard, even when there is no wind to set it going, and no grist to come from it. A distinguished Frenchman, of the time of Cardinal Richelieu, being in the antechamber of that wily statesman, on one occasion, at the time that a great talker was loudly and incessantly babbling, entreated him to be silent, lest he might annoy the cardinal. “Why do you wish me not to speak?” asked the chatterbox; “I talk a good deal, certainly, but then I talk well.” “_Half_ of that is true!” retorted the sarcastic Frenchman. ‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐ It is getting to be a rather serious business for a man to stand up, in these modern days, in a court of justice as a witness. What with impertinent questions of all sorts, and the impudent “bullyragging” of counsel, he is a fortunate and self-possessed man if he is not nearly at his wits’ end before he comes off from that place of torture, a witness-stand. “Moreover, and which is more,” as Dogberry would say, when he _comes_ off, he has not escaped; for now the reporters take him up; and in a little paragraph, inclosed in brackets, we hear somewhat of his character, personal appearance, &c., something after the following fashion: