This remark was thought by some of us to have a hidden personal application, and to afford a fair opening for a lively rejoinder, if the Koh-i-noor had been so disposed.  The little man uttered it with the distinct wooden calmness with which the ingenious Turk used to exclaim, E-chec! so that it must have been heard.  The party supposed to be interested in the remark was, however, carrying a large knife-blade-full of something to his mouth just then, which, no doubt, interfered with the reply he would have made.

——­My friend who used to board here was accustomed sometimes, in a pleasant way, to call himself the Autocrat of the table,—­meaning, I suppose, that he had it all his own way among the boarders.  I think our small boarder here is like to prove a refractory subject, if I undertake to use the sceptre my friend meant to bequeathe me, too magisterially.  I won’t deny that sometimes, on rare occasions, when I have been in company with gentlemen who preferred listening, I have been guilty of the same kind of usurpation which my friend openly justified.  But I maintain, that I, the Professor, am a good listener.  If a man can tell me a fact which subtends an appreciable angle in the horizon of thought, I am as receptive as the contribution-box in a congregation of colored brethren.  If, when I am exposing my intellectual dry-goods, a man will begin a good story, I will have them all in, and my shutters up, before he has got to the fifth “says he,” and listen like a three-years’ child, as the author of the “Old Sailor” says.  I had rather hear one of those grand elemental laughs from either of our two Georges, (fictitious names, Sir or Madam,) or listen to one of those old playbills of our College days, in which “Tom and Jerry” ("Thomas and Jeremiah,” as the old Greek Professor was said to call it) was announced to be brought on the stage with the whole force of the Faculty, read by our Frederick, (no such person, of course,) than say the best things I might by any chance find myself capable of saying.  Of course, if I come across a real thinker, a suggestive, acute, illuminating, informing talker, I enjoy the luxury of sitting still for a while as much as another.

Nobody talks much that doesn’t say unwise things,—­things he did not mean to say; as no person plays much without striking a false note sometimes.  Talk, to me, is only spading up the ground for crops of thought.  I can’t answer for what will turn up.  If I could, it wouldn’t be talking, but “speaking my piece.”  Better, I think, the hearty abandonment of one’s self to the suggestions of the moment, at the risk of an occasional slip of the tongue, perceived the instant it escapes, but, just one syllable too late, than the royal reputation of never saying a foolish thing.

——­What shall I do with this little man?—­There is only one thing to do,—­and that is, to let him talk when he will.  The day of the “Autocrat’s” monologues is over.