Boldness and impudence are the twin features in the inquisitive talker. Were these counterbalanced by education in the ordinary civilities of life, he would be more worthy a place in the company of those whom now he annoys with his rude and impertinent interrogatories. Few men care to have the secrets of their minds discovered by the probing questions of an intruder. The prudent man has many things, it may be, in his mind, in his family, in his business, which are sacred to him, and to attempt an acquaintance with them by stealth is what no one will do but he who is devoid of good manners, or, if he ever had any, has shamefully forgotten them. There are proper times and places in conversation for questions; but even then they should be put with discretion and frankness. A man should have common sense and civility enough to teach him when and what questions to ask, and how far to go in his questions, so that he may not seem to meddle with matters which do not concern him. XVI. THE PEDANT. "Pedantry, in the common acceptation of the word, means an absurd ostentation of learning, and stiffness of phraseology, proceeding from a misguided knowledge of books, and a total ignorance of men."--MACKENZIE. The Pedant is a talker who makes an ostentatious display of his knowledge. His endeavour is to show those within his hearing that he is a man of study and wisdom. He generally aims higher than he can reach, and makes louder pretensions than his acquirements will justify. He may have gone as far as the articles in English Grammar, and attempts to observe in his speech every rule of syntax, of which he is utterly ignorant; or he may have learned as far as "_hoc--hac--hoc_" in Latin, and affect an acquaintance with Horace, by shameful quotations. He may have reached as far as the multiplication table in arithmetic, and try to solve the problems of Euclid as though he had them at his finger-ends. If he has read the "Child's Astronomy," he will walk with you through the starry heavens and the university of worlds, with as much confidence as though he was a Ross or a Herschel. He labours at the sublime and brings forth the ridiculous. He is a giant according to his own rule of measurement, but a pigmy according to that of other people. He thinks that he makes a deep impression upon the company as to his literary attainments; but the fact is, the impression is made that he knows nothing as he ought to know. He may, perchance, with the lowest of the illiterate, be heard as an oracle, and looked up to as a Solon; but the moment he rises into higher circles he loses caste, and falls down into a rank below that with which he would have stood associated had he not elevated himself on the pedestal of his own folly. He is viewed with disgust in his fall; and becomes the object of ridicule for the display of his contemptible weakness. His silence would have saved him, or an attempt commensurate with his abilities; but his preposterous