XVI. The Garrulous Man

Garrulity is incessant heedless talk. Your garrulous man is one, for instance, who sits down beside a stranger, and after recounting the virtues of his wife tells the dream he had last night, and everything he ate for supper. Then, if his efforts seem to meet with favor, he goes on to declare that the present age is sadly degenerate, says wheat is selling very low, that hosts of strangers are in town, and that since the Dionysia the weather is good again for shipping; and that, if Zeus would only send more rain, the crops would be much heavier, and that he’s proposing to have a farm himself next year; and that life’s a constant struggle, and that at the Mysteries Damippus set up an enormous torch; and tells how many columns the Odeon has, and “Yesterday,” says he, “I had an awful turn with my stomach,” and “What day’s to-day?” and “In Boëdromion come the Mysteries, and in Pyanopsion the Apaturia, and in Poseideon the country Dionysia,” and so on; for, unless you refuse to listen, he never stops.