"Xwr - LIBRARY UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA SAN DIEGO \n Al Eurocrat THE COMPLETE WRITINGS OF OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES WITH PORTRAITS, ILLUSTRATIONS, AND FACSIMILES IN THIRTEEN VOLUMES VOLUME II Dr. Holmes in 1859 THE PROFESSOR AT THE BREAKFAST TABLE WITH THE STORY OF IRIS BY OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES BOSTON AND NEW YORK HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY Etoermfce 1904 Copyright, 1859, 1887, and 1891, Bv OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. Copyright, 1892, BY HOUGHTON, MIFFL1N & CO. All rights reserved. Tkt Riverside Press, Cambridge, Mass., U. S. A. Electrotyped and Printed by H. O. Houghton & Company. PREFACE TO REVISED EDITION. THE reader of to-day will not forget, I trust, that it is nearly a quarter of a century since these papers were written. Statements which were true then are not necessarily true now. Thus, the speed of the trot ting horse has been so much developed that the record of the year when the fastest time to that dAte was given must be very considerably altered, as may be seen by referring to a note on page 49 of the "Auto crat."' No doubt many other statements and opinions might be more or less modified if I were writing to day instead of having written before the war, when the world and I were both more than a score of years younger. These papers followed close upon the track of the "Autocrat." They had to endure the trial to which all second comers are subjected, which is a formidable ordeal for the least as well as the greatest. Paradise Regained and the Second Part of Faust are examples which are enough to warn every one who has made a single fair hit with his arrow of the danger of missing when he looses "his fellow of the selfsame flight." There is good reason why it should be so. The first juice that runs of itself from the grapes comes from the heart of the fruit, and tastes of the pulp only; when the grapes are squeezed in the press the flow be trays the flavor of the skin. If there is any freshness vi PREFACE TO REVISED EDITION. in the original idea of the work, if there is any indi viduality in the method or style of a new author, or of an old author on a new track, it will have lost much of its first effect when repeated. Still, there have not been wanting readers who have preferred this second series of papers to the first. The new pa pers were more aggressive than the earlier ones, and for that reason found a heartier welcome in some quarters, and met with a sharper antagonism in oth ers. It amuses me to look back on some of the at tacks they called forth. Opinions which do not ex- cite the faintest show of temper at this time from those who do not accept them were treated as if they were Ae utterances of a nihilist incendiary. It re quired the exercise of some forbearance not to recrim inate. How a stray sentence, a popular saying, the maxim of some wise man, a line accidentally fallen upon and remembered, will sometimes help one when he is all ready to be vexed or indignant! One day, in the time when I was young or youngish, I happened to open a small copy of "Tom Jones," and glance at the title-page. There was one of those little engravings opposite, which bore the familiar name of "T. Uwins," as I remember it, and under it the words " Mr. Par tridge bore all this patiently." How many times, when, after rough usage from ill-mannered critics, my own vocabulary of vituperation was simmering in such a lively way that it threatened to boil and lift its lid and so boil over, those words have calmed the small internal effervescence ! There is very little in them and very little of them ; and so there is not much in a linchpin considered by itself, but it often keeps a wheel from coming off and prevents what might be a PREFACE TO REVISED EDITION. Vll catastrophe. The chief trouble in offering such pa pers as these to the readers of to-day is that their her esies have become so familiar among intelligent people that they have too commonplace an aspect. All the light-houses and land-marks of belief bear so differ ently from the way in which they presented them selves when these papers were written that it is hard to recognize that we and our fellow-passengers are still in the same old vessel sailing the same unfathom able sea and bound to the same as yet unseen harbor. But after all, there is not enough theology, good or bad, in these papers to cause them to be inscribed on the protestant Index Expurgatorius ; and if they are medicated with a few questionable dogmas or anti- dogmas, the public has become used to so much rougher treatment that what was once an irritant may now act as an anodyne, and the reader may nod over pages which, when they were first written, would have waked him into a paroxysm of protest and denuncia tion. November, 1882. PREFACE TO THE NEW EDITION. THIS book is one of those which, if it lives for a number of decades, and if it requires any Preface at all, wants a new one every ten years. The first Pre face to a book is apt to be explanatory, perhaps apol ogetic, in the expectation of attacks from various quarters. If the book is in some points in advance of public opinion, it is natural that the writer should try to smooth the way to the reception of his more or less aggressive ideas. He wishes to convince, not to offend, to obtain a hearing for his thought, not to stir up angry opposition in those who do not accept it. There is commonly an anxious look about a first Pre face. The author thinks he shall be misapprehended about this or that matter, that his well-meant expres sions will probably be invidiously interpreted by those whom he looks upon as prejudiced critics, and if he deals with living questions that he will be attacked as a destructive by the conservatives and reproached for his timidity by the noisier radicals. The first Pre face, therefore, is likely to be the weakest part of a work containing the thoughts of an honest writer. After a time the writer has cooled down from his ex citement, has got over his apprehensions, is pleased to find that his book is still read, and that he must write a new Preface. He comes smiling to his task. How many things have explained themselves in the ten or PREFACE TO THE NEW EDITION. IX twenty or thirty years since he came before his untried public in those almost plaintive paragraphs in which he introduced himself to his readers, for the Pre face writer, no matter how fierce a combatant he may prove, comes on to the stage with his shield on his right arm and his sword in his left hand. The Professor at the Breakfast-Table came out in the "Atlantic Monthly " and introduced itself without any formal Preface. A quarter of a century later the Preface of 1882, which the reader has just had laid before him, was written. There is no mark of worry, I think, in that. Old opponents had come up and shaken hands with the author they had attacked or denounced. Newspapers which had warned their sub scribers against him were glad to get him as a con tributor to their columns. A great change had come over the community with reference to their beliefs. Christian believers were united as never before in the feeling that, after all, their common object was to elevate the moral and religious standard of humanity. But within the special compartments of the great Christian fold the marks of division have pronounced themselves in the most unmistakable manner. As an example we may take the lines of cleavage which have shown themselves in the two great churches, the Con gregational and the Presbyterian, and the very distinct fissure which is manifest in the transplanted Angli can church of this country. Recent circumstances have brought out the fact of the great change in the dogmatic communities which has been going on silently but surely. The licensing of a missionary, the transfer of a Professor from one department to another, the election of a Bishop, each of these movements furnishes evidence that there is no such thing as a.n air-tight reservoir of doctrinal finalities. X PREFACE TO THE NEW EDITION. The folding-doors are wide open to every Protestant to enter all the privileged precincts and private apart ments of the various exclusive religious organizations. We may demand the credentials of every creed and catechise all the catechisms. So we may discuss the gravest questions unblamed over our morning coffee- cups or our evening tea-cups. There is no rest for the Protestant until he gives up his legendary anthro pology and all its dogmatic dependencies. It is only incidentally, however, that the Professor at the Breakfast-Table handles matters which are the subjects of religious controversy. The reader who is sensitive about having his fixed beliefs dealt with as if they were open to question had better skip the pages which look as if they would disturb his complacency. "Faith" is the most precious of possessions, and it dislikes being meddled with. It means, of course, self -trust, that is, a belief in the value of our own opinion of a doctrine, of a church, of a religion, of a Being, a belief quite independent of any evidence that we can bring to convince a jury of our fellow beings. Its roots are thus inextricably entangled with those of self-love and bleed as mandrakes were said to, when pulled up as weeds. Some persons may even at this late day take offence at a few opinions expressed in the following pages, but most of these passages will be read without loss of temper by those who disagree with them, and by-and-by they may be found too timid and conservative for intelligent readers, if they are still read by any. O. W. H. BEVERLY FAUMS, MASS., June IS, 1891. LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS PAGE OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES AT THE AGE- OF 50. FROM A PHOTOGRAPH BY WARREN Frontispiece " IN WHICH THEY USED TO LOOK AT THEIR RED COATS " . 188 "As THEY RUSTLED IN THROUGH THE AISLES " 232 " IT WAS IRIS " 266 " DAY AFTER DAY SHE KEPT HER PLACE BY THE PILLOW " 274 The above illustrations are by H. M. Brock. THE PROFESSOR AT THE BREAKFAST-TABLE. What he said, what he heard, and what he saw. I. I INTENDED to have signalized my first appearance by a certain large statement, which I flatter myself is the nearest approach to a universal formula of life yet promulgated at this breakfast-table. It would have had a grand effect. For this purpose I fixed my eyes on a certain divinity-student, with the intention of exchanging a few phrases, and then forcing my court-card, namely, .The great end of being. I will thank you for the sugar, I said. Man is a de pendent creature. It is a small favor to ask, said the divinity- stu dent, and passed the sugar to me. Life is a great bundle of little things, I said. The divinity-student smiled, as if that were the con cluding epigram of the sugar question. You smile, I said. Perhaps life seems to you a little bundle of great things? The divinity-student started a laugh, but suddenly reined it back with a pull, as one throws a horse on 2 THE PROFESSOR AT THE BREAKFAST-TABLE. his haunches. Life is a great bundle of great things, he said. (Now, then /) The great end of being, after all, is Hold on ! said my neighbor, a young fellow whose name seems to be John, and nothing else, for that is what they all call him, hold on ! the Sculpin is go'n' to say somethin'. Now the Sculpin (Cottus Virginianus) is a little water-beast which pretends to consider itself a fish, and, under that pretext, hangs about the piles upon which West-Boston Bridge is built, swallowing the bait and hook intended for flounders. On being drawn from the water, it exposes an immense head, a diminutive bony carcass, and a surface so full of spines, ridges, ruffles, and frills, that the naturalists have not been able to count them without quarrelling about the number, and that the colored youth, whose sport they spoil, do not like to touch them, and espe cially to tread on them, unless they happen to have shoes on, to cover the thick white soles of their broad black feet. When, therefore, I heard the young fellow's ex clamation, I looked round the table with curiosity to see what it meant. At the further end of it I saw a head, and a small portion of a little deformed body, mounted on a high chair, which brought the occupant up to a fair level enough for him to get at his food. His whole appearance was so grotesque, I felt for a minute as if there was a showman behind him who would pull him down presently and put up Judy, or the hangman, or the Devil, or some other wooden per sonage of the famous spectacle. I contrived to lose the first of his sentence, but what I heard began so -. THE PROFESSOR AT THE BREAKFAST-TABLE. 3 by the Frog - Pond, when there were frogs in it, and the folks used to come down from the tents on 'Lection and Independence days with their pails to get water to make egg- pop with. Born in Boston; went to school in Boston as long as the boys would let me. The little man groaned, turned, as if to look round, and went on. Ran away from school one day to see Phillips hung for killing Denegri with a logger head. That was in flip days, when there were always two or^three loggerheads in the fire. I 'm a Boston boy, I tell you, born at North End, and mean to be buried 6n Copp's Hill, with the good old underground people, the Worthylakes, and the rest of 'em. Yes, Sir, up on the old hill, where they buried Captain Daniel Malcolm in a stone grave, ten feet deep, to keep him safe from the red-coats, in those old times when the world was frozen up tight and there wasn't but one spot open, and that was right over Faneuil Hall, and black enough it looked, I tell you ! There 's where my bones shall lie, Sir, and rattle away when the big guns go off at the Navy Yard opposite ! You can't make me ashamed of the old place ! Full of crooked little streets ; I was born and used to run round in one of 'em I should think so, said that young man whom I hear them call "John," softly, not meaning to be heard, nor to be cruel, but thinking in a half- whisper, evidently. I should think so ; and got kinked up, turnin' so many corners. The little man did not hear what was said, but went on, full of crooked little streets ; but I tell you Boston has opened, and kept open, more turnpikes that lead straight to free thought and free speech and free deeds than any other city of live men or dead 4 THE PROFESSOR AT THE BREAKFAST-TABLE. men, I don't care how broad their streets are, nor how high their steeples ! How high is Bosting meet'n'-house? said a person with black whiskers and imperial, a velvet waistcoat, a guard-chain rather too massive, and a diamond pin so very large that the most trusting na ture might confess an inward suggestion, of course, nothing amounting to a suspicion. For this is a gen tleman from a great city, and sits next to the land lady's daughter, who evidently believes in him, and is the object of his especial attention. How high? said the little man. As high as the first step of the stairs that lead to the New Jerusalem, Is n't that high enough? It is, I said. The great end of being is to har monize man with the order of things, and the church has been a good pitch-pipe, and may be so still. But who shall tune the pitch-pipe? Quis cus (On the whole, as this quotation was not entirely new, and, being in a foreign language, might not be familiar to all the boarders, I thought I would not finish it.) Go to the Bible ! said a sharp voice from a sharp-faced, sharp-eyed, sharp-elbowed, strenuous- looking woman in a black dress, appearing as if it be gan as a piece of mourning and perpetuated itself as a bit of economy. You speak well, Madam, I said; yet there is room for a gloss or commentary on what you say. "He who would bring back the wealth of the Indies must carry out the wealth of the Indies." What you bring away from the Bible depends to some extent on what you carry to it. Benjamin Franklin ! Be so good as to step up to my chamber and bring me down the small uncovered pamphlet of twenty pages which THE PROFESSOR AT THE BREAKFAST-TABLE. 5 you will find lying under the "Cruden's Concordance." [The boy took a large bite, which left a very perfect crescent in the slice of bread-and-butter he held, and departed on his errand, with the portable fraction of his breakfast to sustain him on the way.] Here it is. "Go to the Bible. A Dissertation, etc., etc. By J. J. Flournoy. Athens, Georgia, 1858." Mr. Flournoy, Madam, has obeyed the precept which you have judiciously delivered. You may be interested, Madam, to know what are the conclusions at which Mr. J. J. Flournoy of Athens, Georgia, has arrived. You shall hear, Madam. He has gone to the Bible, and he has come back from the Bible, bringing a remedy for existing social evils, which, if it is the real specific, as it professes to be, is of great interest to humanity, and to the female part of hu manity in particular. It is what he calls trigamy, Madam, or the marrying of three wives, so that "good old men" may be solaced at once by the com panionship of the wisdom of maturity, and of those less perfected but hardly less engaging qualities which are found at an earlier period of life. He has fol lowed your precept, Madam; I hope you accept his conclusions. The female boarder in black attire looked so puz zled, and, in fact, "all abroad," after the delivery of this "counter" of mine, that I left her to recover her wits, and went on with the conversation, which I was beginning to get pretty well in hand. But in the mean time I kept my eye on the female boarder to see what effect I had produced. First, she was a little stuimed at having her argument knocked over. Secondly, she was a little shocked at 6 THE PROFESSOR AT THE BREAKFAST-TABLE. the tremendous character of the triple matrimonial suggestion. Thirdly. I don't like to say what I thought. Something seemed to have pleased her fancy. Whether it was, that, if trigamy should come into fashion, there would be three times as many chances to enjoy the luxury of saying, "No! " is more than I can tell you. I may as well mention that B. F. came to me after breakfast to borrow the pamphlet for "a lady," one of the boarders, he said, look ing as if he had a secret he wished to be relieved of. I continued. If a human soul is necessarily to be trained up in the faith of those from whom it inherits its body, why, there is the end of all reason. If, sooner or later, every soul is to look for truth with its own eyes, the first thing is to recognize that no presumption in favor of any particular belief arises from the fact of our inheriting it. Otherwise you would not give the Mahometan a fair chance to be come a convert to a better religion. The second thing would be to depolarize every fixed religious idea in the mind by changing the word which stands for it. I don't know what you mean by "depolarizing" an idea, said the divinity-student. I will tell you, I said. When a given symbol which represents a thought has lain for a certain length of time in the mind, it undergoes a change like that which rest in a certain position gives to iron. It becomes magnetic in its relations, it is traversed by strange forces which did not belong to it. The word, and consequently the idea it represents, is polarized. The religious currency of mankind, in thought, in speech, and in print, consists entirely of polarized words. Borrow one of these from another language THE PROFESSOR AT THE BREAKFAST-TABLE. 7 and religion, and you will find it leaves all its mag- netism behind it. Take that famous word, O'm, of the Hindoo mythology. Even a priest cannot pro nounce it without sin ; and a holy Pundit would shut his ears and run away from you in horror, if you should say it aloud. What do you care for O'm? If you wanted to get the Pundit to look at his religion fairly, you must first depolarize this and all similar words for him. The argument for and against new translations of the Bible really turns on this. Skep ticism is afraid to trust its truths in depolarized words, and so cries out against a new translation. I think, myself, if every idea our Book contains could be shelled out of its old symbol and put into a new, clean, unmagnetic word, we should have some chance of reading it as philosophers, or wisdom-lovers, ought to read it, which we do not and cannot now any more than a Hindoo can read the "Gayatri " as a fair man and lover of truth should do. When society has once fairly dissolved the New Testament, which it never has done yet, it will perhaps crystallize it over again in new forms of language. I did n't know you was a settled minister over this parish, said the young fellow near me. A sermon by a lay-preacher may be worth listening to, I replied, calmly. It gives the parallax of thought and feeling as they appear to the observers from two very different points of view. If you wish to get the distance of a heavenly body, you know that you must take two observations from remote points of the earth's orbit, in midsummer and midwinter, for instance. To get the parallax of heavenly truths, you must take an observation from the position of the laity as well as of the clergy. Teachers and students of 8 THE PROFESSOR AT THE BREAKFAST-TABLE. theology get a certain look, certain conventional tones of voice, a clerical gait, a professional neckcloth, and habits of mind as professional as their externals. They are scholarly men and read Bacon, and know well enough what the "idols of the tribe" are. Of course they have their false gods, as all men that fol low one exclusive calling are prone to do. The clergy have played the part of the fly-wheel in our modern civilization. They have never suffered it to stop. They have often carried on its movement, when other moving powers failed, by the momentum stored in their vast body. Sometimes, too, they have kept it back by their vis inertice, when its wheels were like to grind the bones of some old canonized error into fer tilizers for the soil that yields the bread of life. But the mainspring of the world's onward religious move ment is not in them, nor in any one body of men, let me tell you. It is the people that makes the clergy, and not the clergy that makes the people. Of course, the profession reacts on its source with variable energy. But there never was a guild of dealers or a com pany of craftsmen that did not need sharp looking after. Our old friend, Dr. Holyoke, whom we gave the dinner to some time since, must have known many people that saw the great bonfire in Harvard College yard. Bonfire? shrieked the little man. The bon fire when Eobert Calef's book was burned? The same, I said, when Robert Calef the Bos ton merchant's book was burned in the yard of Har vard College, by order of Increase Mather, President of the College and Minister of the Gospel. You remember the old witchcraft revival of '92, and how THE PROFESSOR AT THE BREAKFAST-TABLE. 9 stout Master Robert Calef, trader of Boston, had the pluck to tell the ministers and judges what a set of fools and worse than fools they were Remember it? said the little man. I don't think I shall forget it, as long as I can stretch this forefinger to point with, and see what it wears. There was a ring on it. May I look at it? I said. Where it is, said the little man ; it will never come off, till it falls off from the bone in the darkness and in the dust. He pushed the high chair on which he sat slightly back from the table, and dropped himself, standing, to the floor, his head being only a little above the level of the table, as he stood. With pain and labor, lifting one foot over the other, as a drummer handles his sticks, he took a few steps from t his place, his motions and the deadbeat of the misshapen boots announcing to my practised eye and ear the malfor mation which is called in learned language talipes varus, or inverted club-foot. Stop ! stop ! I said, let me come to you. The little man hobbled back, and lifted himself by the left arm, with an ease approaching to grace which surprised me, into his high chair. I walked to his side, and he stretched out the forefinger of his right hand, with the ring upon it. The ring had been put on long ago, and could not pass the misshapen joint. It was one of those funeral rings which used to be given to relatives and friends after the decease of persons of any note or importance. Beneath a round bit of glass was a death's head. Engraved on one side of this, "L. B. Mi. 22," on the other, "Ob. 1692." 10 THE PROFESSOR AT THE BREAKFAST-TABLE. My grandmother's grandmother, said the little man. Hanged for a witch. It does n't seem a great while ago. I knew my grandmother, and loved her. Her mother was daughter to the witcn that Chief Justice Sewall hanged and Cotton Mather delivered over to the Devil. That was Salem, though, and not Boston. No, not Boston. Robert Calef, the Boston merchant, it was that blew them all to Never mind where he blew them to, I said ; for the little man was getting red in the face, and I did n't know what might come next. This episode broke me up, as the jockeys say, out of my square conversational trot; but I settled down to it again. A man that knows men, in the street, at their work, human nature in its shirt- sleeves, who makes bargains with deacons, instead of talking over texts with them, a man who has found out that there are plenty of praying rogues and swearing saints in the world, above all, who has found out, by living into the pith and core of life, that all of the Deity which can be folded up between the sheets of any human book is to the Deity of the firmament, of the strata, of the hot aortic flood of throbbing human life, of this infinite, instantaneous consciousness in which the soul's being consists, an incandescent point in the filament connecting the negative pole of a past eter nity with the positive pole of an eternity that is to come, that all of the Deity which any human book can hold is to this larger Deity of the working battery of the universe only as the films in a book of gold-leaf are to the broad seams and curdled lumps of ore that lie in unsunned mines and virgin placers, Oh ! I was saying that a man who lives out-of-doors, among THE PROFESSOR AT THE BREAKFAST-TABLE. 11 live people, gets some things into his head he might not find in the index of his "Body of Divinity." I tell you what, the idea of the professions' dig ging a moat round their close corporations, like that Japanese one at Jeddo, on the bottom of which, if travellers do not lie, you could put Park Street Church and look over the vane from its side, and try to stretch another such spire across it without span ning the chasm, that idea, I say, is pretty nearly worn out. Now when a civilization or a civilized cus tom falls into senile dementia, there is commonly a judgment ripe for it, and it comes as plagues come, from a breath, as fires come, from a spark. Here, look at medicine. Big wigs, gold-headed canes, Latin prescriptions, shops full of abominations, recipes a yard long, "curing" patients by drugging as sailors bring a wind by whistling, selling lies at a guinea apiece, a routine, in short, of giving unfor tunate sick people a mess of things either too odious to swallow or too acrid to hold, or, if that were possi ble, both at once. You don't know what I mean, indignant and not unintelligent country-practitioner? Then you don't know the history of medicine, and that is not my fault. But don't expose yourself in any outbreak of eloquence; for, by the mortar in which Anaxarchus was pounded! I did not bring home Schenckius and Forestus and Hildanus, and all the old folios in calf and vellum I will show you, to be bullied by the pro prietor of a "Wood and Bache," and a shelf of pep pered sheepskin reprints by Philadelphia Editors. Besides, many of the profession and I know a little something of each other, and you don't think I am such a simpleton as to lose their good opinion by say- 12 THE PROFESSOR AT THE BREAKFAST-TABLE. ing what the better heads among them would condemn as unfair and untrue? Now mark how the great plague came on the generation of drugging doctors, and in what form it fell. A scheming drug-vender, (inventive genius,) an ut terly untrustworthy and incompetent observer, (pro found searcher of Nature,) a shallow dabbler in eru dition, (sagacious scholar,) started the monstrous fiction (founded the immortal system) of Homoeopathy. I am very fair, you see, you can help yourself to either of these sets of phrases. All the reason in the world would not have had so rapid and general an effect on the public mind to disabuse it of the idea that a drug is a good thing in itself, instead of being, as it is, a bad thing, as was produced by the trick (system) of this German char latan (theorist). Not that the wiser part of the pro fession needed him to teach them; but the routinists and their employers, the "general practitioners," who lived by selling pills and mixtures, and their drug-consuming customers, had to recognize that peo ple could get well, unpoisoned. These dumb cattle would not learn it of themselves, and so the murrain of Homoeopathy fell on them. You don't know what plague has fallen on the practitioners of theology? I will tell you, then. It is Spiritualism. While some are crying out against it as a delusion of the Devil, and some are laughing at it as an hysteric folly, and some are getting angry with it as a mere trick of interested or mischievous persons, Spiritualism is quietly undermining the tra ditional ideas of the future state which have been and are still accepted, not merely in those who believe in it, but in the general sentiment of the community, THE PROFESSOR AT THE BREAKFAST-TABLE. 13 to a larger extent than most good people seem to be aware of. It need n't be true, to do this, any more than Homosopathy need, to do its work. The Spirit ualists have some pretty strong instincts to pry over, which no doubt have been roughly handled by theolo gians at different times. And the Nemesis of the pul pit comes, in a shape it little thought of, beginning with the snap of a toe- joint, and ending with such a crack of old beliefs that the roar of it is heard in all the ministers' studies of Christendom! Sir, you can not have people of cultivation, of pure character, sen sible enough in common things, large-hearted women, grave judges, shrewd business-men, men of science, professing to be in communication with the spiritual world and keeping up constant intercourse with it, without its gradually reacting on the whole conception of that other life. It is the folly of the world, con stantly, which confounds its wisdom. Not only out of the mouths of babes and sucklings, but out of the mouths of fools and cheats, we may often get our tru est lessons. For the fool's judgment is a dog-vane that turns with a breath, and the cheat watches the clouds and sets his weathercock by them, so that one shall often see by their pointing which way the winds of heaven are blowing, when the slow-wheeling arrows and feathers of what we call the Temples of Wisdom are turning to all points of the compass. Amen! said the young fellow called John Ten minutes by the watch. Those that are unani mous will please to signify by holding up their left foot! I looked this young man steadily in the face for about thirty second*, His countenance was as calm as that of a reposing infant. I think it was simpli- 14 THE PEOFES8OR AT THE BREAKFAST-TABLE. city, rather than mischief, with perhaps a youthful playfulness, that led him to this outbreak. I have often noticed that even quiet horses, on a sharp No vember morning, when their coats are beginning to get the winter roughness, will give little sportive demi- kicks, with slight sudden elevation of the subsequent region of the body, and a sharp short whinny, by EO means intending to put their heels through the dasher, or to address the driver rudely, but feeling, to use a familiar word, frisky. This, I think, is the physiolo gical condition of the young person, John. I noticed, however, what I should call a palpebral spasm, affect ing the eyelid and muscles of one side, which, if it were intended for the facial gesture called a wink, might lead me to suspect a disposition to be satirical on his part. Resuming the conversation, I remarked, I am, ex officio, as a Professor, a conservative. For I don't know any fruit that clings to its tree so faith fully, not even a "froze-'n'-thaw" winter-apple, as a Professor to the bough of which his chair is made. You can't shake him off, and it is as much as you can do to pull him off. Hence, by a chain of induction I need not unwind, he tends to conservatism generally. But then, you know, if you are sailing the Atlantic, and all at once find yourself in a current, and the sea covered with weeds, and drop your Fahrenheit over the side and find it eight or ten degrees higher than in the ocean generally, there is no use in flying in the face of facts and swearing there is no such thing as a Gulf -Stream, when you are in it. You can't keep gas in a bladder, and you can't keep knowledge tight in a profession. Hydrogen will leak out, and air will leak in, through India-rubber; THE PROFESSOR AT THE BREAKFAST-TABLE. 15 and special knowledge will leak out, and general knowledge will leak in, though a profession were cov ered with twenty thicknesses of sheepskin diplomas. By Jove, Sir, till common sense is well mixed up with medicine, and common manhood with theology, and common honesty with law, We the people, Sir, some of us with nut-crackers, and some of us with trip-hammers, and some of us with pile-drivers, and some of us coming with a whish ! like air-stones out of a lunar volcano, will crash down on the lumps of nonsense in all of them till we have made powder of them like Aaron's calf ! If to be a conservative is to let all the drains of thought choke up and keep all the soul's windows down, to shut out the sun from the east and the wind from the west, to let the rats run free in the cellar, and the moths feed their fill in the chambers, and the spiders weave their lace before the mirrors, till the soul's typhus is bred out of our neglect, and we begin to snore in its coma or rave in its delirium, I, Sir, am a bonnet-rouge, a red cap of the barri cades, my friends, rather than a conservative. Were you born in Boston, Sir? said the little man, looking eager and excited. I was not, I replied. It 's a pity, it 's a pity, said the little man ; - it 's the place to be born in. But if you can't fix it so as to be born here, you can come and live here. Old Ben Franklin, the father of American science and the American Union, was n't ashamed to be born here. Jim Otis, the father of American Indepen dence, bothered about in the Cape Cod marshes awhile, but he came to Boston as soon as he got big enough. Joe Warren, the first bloody ruffled-shirt of 16 THE PROFESSOR AT THE BREAKFAST-TABLE. the Revolution, was as good as born here. Parson Channing strolled along this way from Newport, and stayed here. Pity old Sam Hopkins hadn't come, too; we 'd have made a man of him, poor, dear, good old Christian heathen I There he lies, as peace ful as a young baby, in the old burying-ground ! I 've stood on the slab many a time. Meant well, meant well. Juggernaut. Parson Channing put a little oil on one linchpin, and slipped it out so softly, the first thing they knew about it was the wheel of that side was down. T' other fellow 's at work now, but he makes more noise about it. When the linchpin comes out on his side, there '11 be a jerk, I tell you! Some think it will spoil the old cart, and they pretend to say that there are valuable things in it which may get hurt. Hope not, hope not. But this is the great Macadamizing place, always cracking up something. Cracking up Boston folks, said the gentleman with the diamond-yin, whom, for convenience' sake, I shall hereafter call the Koh-i-noor. The little man turned round mechanically towards him, as Maelzel's Turk used to turn, carrying his head slowly and horizontally, as if it went by cog wheels. Cracking up all sorts of things, native and foreign vermin included, said the little man. This remark was thought by some of us to have a hidden personal application, and to afford a fair open ing for a lively rejoinder, if the Koh-i-noor had been so disposed. The little man uttered it with the dis tinct wooden calmness with which the ingenious Turk used to exclaim, JK-chec I so that it must have been heard. The party supposed to be interested in the remark was, however, carrying a large knife-blade- THE PROFESSOR AT THE BREAKFAST-TABLE. 17 ful of something to his month just then, which, no doubt, interfered with the reply he would have made. My friend who used to board here was accus tomed 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 refrac tory subject, if I undertake to use the sceptre my friend meant to bequeath 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 usur pation which my friend openly justified. But I main tain, 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 Jer emiah," 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 sugges tive, acute, illuminating, informing talker, I enjoy the luxury of sitting still for a while as much as another. 18 THE PROFESSOR AT THE BREAKFAST-TABLE. Nobody talks much that does n'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 in stant 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" mono logues is over. My friend, said I to the young fellow whom, as 1 have said, the boarders .call "John," My friend, I said, one morning, after breakfast, can you give me any information respecting the deformed person who sits at the other end of the table? What! the Sculpin? said the young fellow. The diminutive person, with angular curvature of the spine, I said, and double talipes varus, I beg your pardon, with two club-feet. Is that long word what you call it when a fellah walks so? said the young man, making his fists re volve round an imaginary axis, as you may have seen youth of tender age and limited pugilistic knowledge, when they show how they would punish an adversary, themselves protected by this rotating guard, the middle knuckle, meantime, thumb-supported, fiercely prominent, death-threatening. It is, said I. But would you have the kindness to tell me if you know anything about this deformed person? THE PROFESSOR AT THE BREAKFAST-TABLE. 19 About the Sculpin ? said the young fellow. My good friend, said I, I am sure, by your countenance, you would not hurt the feelings of one who has been hardly enough treated by Nature to be spared by his fellows. Even in speaking of him to others, I could wish that you might not employ a term which implies contempt for what should inspire only pity. A fellah 's no business to be so crooked, said the young man called John. Yes, yes, I said, thoughtfully, the strong hate the weak. It 's all right. The arrangement has reference to the race, and not to the individual. In firmity must be kicked out, or the stock run down. Wholesale moral arrangements are so different from retail ! I understand the instinct, my friend, it is cosmic, it is planetary, it is a conservative prin ciple in creation. The young fellow's face gradually lost its expres sion as I was speaking, until it became as blank of vivid significance as the countenance of a gingerbread rabbit with two currants in the place of eyes. He had not taken my meaning. Presently the intelligence came back with a snap that made him wink, as he answered, Jest so. All right. A 1. Put her through. That 's the way to talk. Did you speak tome, Sir? Here the young man struck up that well-known song which I think they used to sing at Masonic festivals, beginning, "Aldiborontiphoscophornio, Where left you Chro- nonhotonthologos? " I beg your pardon, I said ; all I meant was, that men, as temporary occupants of a permanent abode called human life, which is improved or injured 20 THE PROFESSOR AT THE BREAKFAST-TABLE. by occupancy, according to the style of tenant, have a natural dislike to those who, if they live the life of the race as well as of the individual, will leave lasting injurious effects upon the abode spoken of, which is to be occupied by countless future generations. This is the final cause of the underlying brute instinct which we have in common with the herds. The gingerbread-rabbit expression was coming on so fast, that I thought I must try again. It 's a pity that families are kept up, where there are such hereditary infirmities. Still, let us treat this poor man fairly, and not call him names. Do you know what his name is? I know what the rest of 'em call him, said the young fellow. They call him Little Boston. There 's no harm in that, is there? It is an honorable term, I replied. But why Little Boston, in a place where most are Bostonians? Because nobody else is quite so Boston all over as he is, said the young fellow. "L. B. Ob. 1692." Little Boston let him be, when we talk about him. The ring he wears labels him well enough. There is stuff in the little man, or he would n't stick so manfully by this crooked, crotch ety old town. Give him a chance. You will drop the Sculpin, won't you? I said to the young fellow. Drop him? he answered, I ha'n't took him up yet. No, no, the term, I said, the term. Don't call him so any more, if you please. Call him Little Boston, if you like. All right, said the young fellow. I would n't be hard on the poor little The word he used was objectionable in point of sig- THE PROFESSOR AT THE BREAKFAST-TABLE. 21 nificance and of grammar. It was a frequent termina tion of certain adjectives among the Romans, as of those designating a person following the sea, or given to rural pursuits. It is classed by custom among the profane words ; why, it is hard to say, but it is largely used in the street by those who speak of their fellows in pity or in wrath. I never heard the young fellow apply the name of the odious pretended fish to the little man from that day forward. Here we are, then, at our boarding - house. First, myself, the Professor, a little way from the head of the table, on the right, looking down, where the "Autocrat" used to sit. At the further end sits the Landlady. At the head of the table, just now, the Koh-i-noor, or the gentleman with the diamond. Op posite me is a Venerable Gentleman with a bland coun tenance, who as yet has spoken little. The Divinity Student is my neighbor on the right, and further down, that Young Fellow of whom I have repeatedly spoken. The Landlady's Daughter sits near the Koh-i-noor, as I said. The Poor Relation near the Landlady. At the right upper corner is a fresh-look ing youth of whose name and history I have as yet learned nothing. Next the further left-hand corner, near the lower end of the table, sits the deformed per son. The chair at his side, occupying that corner, is empty. I need not specially mention the other boarders, with the exception of Benjamin Franklin, the landlady's son, who sits near his mother. We aro a tolerably assorted set, difference enough and like ness enough; but still it seems to me there is some thing wanting. The Landlady's Daughter is the prima donna in the way of feminine attractions. I 22 THE PROFESSOR AT THE BREAKFAST-TABLE. am not quite satisfied with this young lady. She wears more "jewelry," as certain young ladies call their trinkets, than I care to see on a person in her position. Her voice is strident, her laugh too much like a giggle, and she has that foolish way of dancing and bobbing like a quill-float with a "minnum" biting the hook below it, which one sees and weeps over sometimes in persons of more pretensions. I can't help hoping we shall put something into that empty chair yet which will add the missing string to our social harp. I hear talk of a rare Miss who is ex pected. Something in the schoolgirl way, I believe. We shall see. My friend who calls himself The Autocrat has given me a caution which I am going to repeat, with my comment upon it, for the benefit of all concerned. Professor, said he, one day, don't you think your brain will run dry before a year 's out, if you don't get the pump to help the cow? Let me tell you what happened to me once. I put a little money into a bank, and bought a check-book, so that I might draw it as I wanted, in sums to suit. Things went on nicely for a time ; scratching with a pen was as easy as rubbing Aladdin's Lamp; and my blank check-book seemed to be a dictionary of possibilities, in which I could find all the synonymes of happiness, and realize any one of them on the spot. A check came back to me at last with these two words on it, No funds. My check-book was a volume of waste-paper. Now, Professor, said he, I have drawn some thing out of your bank, you know ; and just so sure as you keep drawing out your soul's currency without making new deposits, the next thing will be, No THE PROFESSOR AT THE BREAKFAST-TABLE. 23 funds, and then where will you be, my boy? These little bits of paper mean your gold and your silver and your copper, Professor ; and you will certainly break up and go to pieces, if you don't hold on to your me tallic basis. There is something in that, said I. Only I rather think life can coin thought somewhat faster than I can count it off in words. What if one shall go round and dry up with soft napkins all the dew that falls of a June evening on the leaves of his gar den? Shall there be no more dew on those leaves thereafter? Marry, yea, many drops, large and round and full of moonlight as those thou shalt have absterged I Here am I, the Professor, a man who has lived long enough to have plucked the flowers of life and come to the berries, which are not always sad-col ored, but sometimes golden-hued as the crocus of April, or rosy-cheeked as the damask of June ; a man who staggered against books as a baby, and will totter against them, if he lives to decrepitude ; with a brain as full of tingling thoughts, such as they are, as a limb which we call "asleep," because it is so particu larly awake, is of pricking points ; presenting a key board of nerve-pulps, not as yet tanned or ossified, to the finger-touch of all outward agencies; knowing something of the filmy threads of this web of life in which we insects buzz awhile, waiting for the gray old spider to come along; contented enough with daily realities, but twirling on his finger the key of a pri vate Bedlam of ideals ; in knowledge feeding with the fox of tener than with the stork, loving better the breadth of a fertilizing inundation than the depth of a narrow artesian well ; finding nothing too small for 24 THE PROFESSOR AT THE BREAKFAST-TABLE. his contemplation in the markings of the grammato- pkora subtilissima, and nothing too large in the move ment of the solar system towards the star Lambda of the constellation Hercules ; and the question is, whether there is anything left for me, the Professor, to suck out of creation, after my lively friend has had his straw in the bung-hole of the Universe ! A man's mental reactions with the atmosphere of life must go on, whether he will or no, as between his blood and the air he breathes. As to catching the re siduum of the process, or what we call thought, the gaseous ashes of burned-out thinking, the excretion of mental respiration, that will depend on many things, as, on having a favorable intellectual tempera ture about one, and a fitting receptacle. I sow more thought-seeds in twenty-four hours' travel over the desert- sand along which my lonely consciousness paces day and night, than I shall throw into soil where it will germinate, in a year. All sorts of bodily and mental perturbations come between us and the due projection of our thought. The pulse-like "fits of easy and difficult transmission " seem to reach even the transparent medium through which our souls are seen. We know our humanity by its often inter cepted rays, as we tell a revolving light from a star or meteor by its constantly recurring obscuration. An illustrious scholar once told me, that, in the first lecture he ever delivered, he spoke but half his allotted time, and felt as if he had told all he knew. Braham came forward once to sing one of his most famous and familiar songs, and for his life could not recall the first line of it ; he told his mishap to the audience, and they screamed it at him in a chorus of a thousand voices. Milton could not write to suit himself, except THE PROFESSOR AT THE BREAKFAST-TABLE. 25 from the autumnal to the vernal equinox. One in the clothing-business, who, there is reason to suspect, may have inherited, by descent, the great poet's impressi ble temperament, let a customer slip through his fin gers one day without fitting him with a new garment. "Ah! " said he to a friend of mine, who was standing by, " if it had n't been for that confounded headache of mine this morning, I 'd have had a coat on that man, in spite of himself, before he left the store." A passing throb, only, but it deranged the nice mechanism required to persuade the accidental hu man being, #, into a given piece of broadcloth, a. We must take care not to confound this frequent difficulty of transmission of our ideas with want of ideas. I suppose that a man's mind does in time form a neutral salt with the elements in the universe for which it has special elective affinities. In fact, I look upon a library as a kind of mental chemist's shop, filled with the crystals of all forms and hues which have come from the union of individual thought with local circumstances or universal principles. When a man has worked out his special affinities in this way, there is an end of his genius as a real solvent. No more effervescence and hissing tumult as he pours his sharp thought on the world's biting alkaline unbeliefs! No more corrosion of the old monumental tablets covered with lies! No more taking up of dull earths, and turning them, first into clear solutions, and then into lustrous prisms ! I, the Professor, am very much like other men. I shall not find out when I have used up my affinities. What a blessed thing it is, that Nature, when she in vented, manufactured, and patented her authors, con trived to make critics out of the chips that were left I .26 THE PROFESSOR AT THE BREAKFAST-TABLE. Painful as the task is, they never fail to warn tho author, in the most impressive manner, of the proba bilities of failure in what he has undertaken. Sad as the necessity is to their delicate sensibilities, they never hesitate to advertise him of the decline of his powers, and to press upon him the propriety of retir ing before he sinks into imbecility. Trusting to their kind offices, I shall endeavor to fulfil Bridget enters and begins clearing the table. The following poem is my (The Professor's) only contribution to the great department of Ocean- Cable literature. As all the poets of this country will be engaged for the next six weeks in writing for the premium offered lay the Crystal-Palace Company for the Burns Centenary, (so called, according to our Benjamin Franklin, because there will be na'ry a cent for any of us,) poetry will be very scarce and dear. Consumers may, consequently, be glad to take the present .article, which, by the aid of a Latin tutor -and a Professor of Chemistry, will be found intelligible to the educated classes. DE SAUTY. AX ELECTRO-CHEMICAL ECLOGUE. Professor. Blue-Nose. PROFESSOR. Tell me, O Provincial ! speak, Ceruleo-Nasal ! Lives there one De Sauty extant now among you, Whispering Boanerges, son of silent thunder, Holding talk with nations ? THE PROFESSOR AT THE BREAKFAST-TABLE. 27 Is there a De Sauty, ambulant on Tellus, Bifid-cleft like mortals, dormient in night-cap, Having sight, smell, hearing, food-receiving feature Three times daily patent ? Breathes there such a being, O Ceruleo-Nasal ? Or is he a mythus, ancient word for " humbug," Such as Livy told about the wolf that wet-nursed Romulus and Remus ? Was he born of woman, this alleged De Sauty ? Or a living product of galvanic action, Like the acarus bred in Crosse's flint-solution ? Speak, thou Cyano-Rhiual ! BLUE-NOSE. Many things thou askest, jackknife-bearing stranger, Much-conjecturing mortal, pork-and-treacle-waster I Pretermit thy whittling, wheel thine ear-flap toward me, Thou shalt hear them answered. When the charge galvanic tingled through the cable, At the polar focus of the wire electric Suddenly appeared a white-faced man among us : Called himself "Ds SAUTY." As the small opossum held in pouch maternal Grasps the nutrient organ whence the term mammalia, So the unknown stranger held the wire electric, Sucking in the current. When the current strengthened, bloomed the pale-faced stranger, Took no drink nor victual, yet grew fat and rosy, And from time to time, in sharp articulation, Said, " AU right I DE SAUTY." From the lonely station passed the utterance, spreading Through the pines and hemlocks to the groves of steeples 28 THE PROFESSOR AT THE BREAKFAST-TABLE. Till the land was filled with loud reverberations Of " All right ! DE SAUTY." When the current slackened, drooped the mystic stranger, - Faded, faded, faded, as the stream grew weaker, Wasted to a shadow, with a hartshorn odor Of disintegration. Drops of deliquescence glistened on his forehead, Whitened round his feet the dust of efflorescence, Till one Monday morning, when the flow suspended, There was no De Sauty. Nothing but a cloud of elements organic, C. O. H. N. Ferrum, Chor. Flu. Sil. Potassa, Calc. Sod. Phosph. Mag. Sulphur, Mang. (?) Alumin. (?) Cu prum, (?) Such as man is made of. Born of stream galvanic, with it he had perished ! There is no De Sauty now there is no current ! Give us a new cable, then again we '11 hear him Cry, " All right 1 DE SAUTY.' ' n. Back again ! A turtle which means a tortoise is fond of his shell; but if you put a live coal on his back, he crawls out of it. So the boys say. It is a libel on the turtle. He grows to his shell, and his shell is in his body as much as his body is in his shell. I don't think there is one of our boarders quite so testudineous as I am. Nothing but a combi nation of motives, more peremptory than the coal on the turtle's back, could have got me to leave the shel ter of my carapace ; and after memorable interviews, and kindest hospitalities, and grand sights, and huge THE PROFESSOR AT THE BREAKFAST-TABLE. 29 influx of patriotic pride, for every American owns all America, " Creation's heir, the world, the world is " his, if anybody's, I come back with the feeling which a boned turkey might experience, if, retaining his consciousness, he were allowed to resume his skel eton. Welcome, O Fighting Gladiator, and Recumbent Cleopatra, and Dying Warrior, whose classic outlines (reproduced in the calcined mineral of Lutetia) crown my loaded shelves! Welcome, ye triumphs of pic torial art (repeated by the magic graver) that look down upon me from the walls of my sacred cell ! Ve- salius, as Titian drew him, high-fronted, still-eyed, thick-bearded, with signet-ring, as beseems a gentle man, with book and carelessly-held eyeglass, marking him a scholar; thou, too, Jan Kuyper, commonly called Jan Praktiseer, old man of a century and seven years besides, father of twenty sons and two daugh ters, cut in copper by Houbraken, bought from a port folio on one of the Paris quais ; and ye Three Trees of Rembrandt, black in shadow against the blaze of sunlight ; and thou Rosy Cottager of Sir Joshua, thy roses hinted by the peppery burin of Bartolozzi ; ye, too, of lower grades in nature, yet not unlovely nor unrenowned, Young Bull of Paulus Potter, and Sleeping Cat of Cornelius Visscher; welcome once more to my eyes ! The old books look out from the shelves, and I seem to read on their backs something besides their titles, a kind of solemn greeting. The crimson carpet flushes warm under my feet. The arm-chair hugs me ; the swivel-chair spins round with me, as if it were giddy with pleasure; the vast recum- 30 THE PROFESSOR AT THE BREAKFAST-TABLE. bent fauteuil stretches itself out under my weight, as one joyous with food and wine stretches in after- dinner laughter. The boarders were pleased to say that they were glad to get me back. One of them ventured a com pliment, namely, that I talked as if I believed what I said. This was apparently considered something unusual, by its being mentioned. One who means to talk with entire sincerity, I said, always feels himself in danger of two things, namely, an affectation of bluntness, like that of which Cornwall accuses Kent in "Lear," and actual rudeness. What a man wants to do, in talking with a stranger, is to get and to give as much of the best and most real life that belongs to the two talkers as the time will let him. Life is short, and conversation apt to run to mere words. Mr. Hue I think it is, who tells us some very good stories about the way in which two Chinese gentlemen contrive to keep up a long talk without saying a word which has any meaning in it. Something like this is occasionally heard on this side of the Great Wall. The best Chinese talkers I know are some pretty women whom I meet from time to time. Pleasant, airy, complimentary, the little flakes of flattery glimmering in their talk like the bits of gold-leaf in eau-de-vie de Dantzic; their accents flow ing on in a soft ripple, never a wave, and never a calm ; words nicely fitted, but never a colored phrase or a highly -flavored epithet ; they turn air into sylla bles so gracefully, that we find meaning for the music they make as we find faces in the coals and fairy pal aces in the clouds. There is something very odd, though, about this mechanical talk. You have sometimes been in a train on the railroad THE PROFESSOR AT THE BREAKFAST-TABLE. 31 when the engine was detached a long way from the station you were approaching? Well, you have no ticed how quietly and rapidly the cars kept on, just as if the locomotive were drawing them? Indeed, you would not have suspected that you were travelling on the strength of a dead fact, if you had not seen the engine running away from you on a side-track. Upon my conscience, I believe some of these pretty women detach their minds entirely, sometimes, from their talk, and, what is more, that we never know the difference. Their lips let off the fluty syllables just as their fingers would sprinkle the music-drops from their pianos; unconscious habit turns the phrase of thought into words just as it does that of music into notes. Well, they govern the world for all that, these sweet-lipped women, because beauty is the index of a larger fact than wisdom. The Bombazine wanted an explanation. Madam, said I, wisdom is the abstract of the past, but beauty is the promise of the future. All this, however, is not what I was going to say. Here am I, suppose, seated we will say at a dinner-table alongside of an intelligent Englishman. We look in each other's faces, we exchange a dozen words. One thing is settled : we mean not to offend each other, to be perfectly courteous, more than courteous; for we are the entertainer and the enter tained, and cherish particularly amiable feelings to each other. The claret is good ; and if our blood red dens a little with its warm crimson, we are none the less kind for it. I don't think people that talk over their victuals are like to say anything very great, especially if they get their heads muddled with strong drink before they begin jabberin'. 32 THE PROFESSOR AT THE BREAKFAST-TABLE. The Bombazine uttered this with a sugary sourness, as if the words had been steeped in a solution of acetate, of lead. The boys of my time used to call a hit like this a "side-winder." I must finish this woman. Madam, I said, the Great Teacher seems to have been fond of talking as he sat at meat. Because this was a good while ago, in a far-off place, you for get what the true fact of it was, that those were real dinners, where people were hungry and thirsty, and where you met a very miscellaneous company. Probably there was a great deal of loose talk among the guests; at any rate, there was always wine, we may believe. Whatever may be the hygienic advantages or disad vantages of wine, and I for one, except for certain particular ends, believe in water, and, I blush to say it, in black tea, there is no doubt about its being the grand specific against dull dinners. A score of people come together in all moods of mind and body. The problem is, in the space of one hour, more or less, to bring them all into the same condition of slightly exalted life. Food alone is enough for one person, per haps, talk, alone, for another ; but the grand equal izer and fraternizer, which works up the radiators to their maximum radiation, and the absorbents to their maximum receptivity, is now just where it was when The conscious water saw its Lord and blushed, when six great vessels containing water, the whole amounting to more than a hogshead-full, were changed into the best of wine. I once wrote a song about wine, in which I spoke so warmly of it, that I was afraid some would think it was written inter pocula ; THE PROFESSOR AT THE BREAKFAST-TABLE. 33 whereas it was composed in the bosom of my family, under the most tranquillizing domestic influences. The divinity-student turned towards me, looking mischievous. Can you tell me, he said, who wrote a song for a temperance celebration once, of which the following is a verse ? Alas for the loved one, too gentle and fair The joys of the banquet to chasten and share ! Her eye lost its light that his goblet might shine, And the rose of her cheek was dissolved hi his wine f /did, I answered. What are you going to do about it? I will tell you another line I wrote long ago: Don't be "consistent," but be simply true. The longer I live, the more I am satisfied of two things : first, that the truest lives are those that are cut rose-diamond-fashion, with many facets answering to the many- planed aspects of the world about them; secondly, that society is always trying in some way or other to grind us down to a single flat surface. It is hard work to resist this grinding-down action. Now give me a chance. Better eternal and universal ab stinence than the brutalities of those days that made wives and mothers and daughters and sisters blush for those whom they should have honored, as they came reeling home from their debauches ! Yet better even excess than lying and hypocrisy; and if wine is upon all our tables, let us praise it for its color and fra grance and social tendency, so far as it deserves, and not hug a bottle in the closet and pretend not to know the use of a wine-glass at a public dinner! I think you will find that people who honestly mean to be true really contradict themselves much more rarely 34 THE PROFESSOR AT THE BREAKFAST-TABLE. than those who try to be "consistent." But a great many things we say can be made to appear contradic tory, simply because they are partial views of a truth, and may often look unlike at first, as a front view of a face and its profile often do. Here is a distinguished divine, for whom I have great respect, for I owe him a charming hour at one of our literary anniversaries, and he has often spoken noble words; but he holds up a remark of my friend the "Autocrat," which I grieve to say he twice misquotes, by omitting the very word which gives it its significance, the word fluid, intended to typify the mobility of the restricted will, holds it up, I say, as if it attacked the reality of the self -determining principle, instead of illustrating its limitations by an image. Now I will not explain any farther, still less defend, and least of all attack, but simply quote a few lines from one of my friend's poems, printed more than ten years ago, and ask the distinguished gentle man where he has ever asserted more strongly or abso lutely the independent will of the "subcreative centre," as my heretical friend has elsewhere called man. Thought, conscience, will, to make them all thy own He rent a pillar from the eternal throne ! Made in His image, thou must nobly dare The thorny crown of sovereignty to share. Think not too meanly of thy low estate ; Thou hast a choice ; to choose is to create ! If he will look a little closely, he will see that the profile and the full-face views of the will are both true and perfectly consistent. 1 1 The more I have observed and reflected, the more limited seems to me the field of action of the human will. Every act of choice involves a special relation between the ego and the con- THE PROFESSOR AT THE BREAKFAST-TABLE. 35 Now let us come back, after this long digression, to the conversation with the intelligent Englishman. We begin skirmishing with a few light ideas, test ing for thoughts, as our electro -chemical friend, De Sauty, if there were such a person, would test for his current; trying a little litmus-paper for acids, and then a slip of turmeric-paper for alkalies, as chemists do with unknown compounds ; flinging the lead, and looking at the shells and sands it brings up to find out whether we are like to keep in shallow water, or shall have to drop the deep-sea line ; in short, seeing what we have to deal with. If the Englishman gets his H's pretty well placed, he comes from one of the higher grades of the British social order, and we shall find him a good companion. But, after all, here is a great fact between us. We belong to two different civilizations, and, until we recognize what separates us, we are talking like Pyra- mus and Thisbe, without any hole in the wall to talk through. Therefore, on the whole, if he were a su perior fellow, incapable of mistaking it for personal conceit, I think I would let out the fact of the real American feeling about Old- World folks. They are children to us in certain points of view. They are playing with toys we have done with for whole-genera- ditions before it. But no man knows what forces are at work in the determination of his ego. The bias which decides his choice between two or more motives may come from some un suspected ancestral source, of which he knows nothing at all. He is automatic in virtue of that hidden spring of reflex action, all the time having the feeling that he is self-determining. The story of Elsie Venner, written soon after this book was pub lished, illustrates the direction in which my thought was moving. The imaginary subject of the story obeyed her will, but her will obeyed the mysterious ante-natal poisoning influence. 36 THE PROFESSOR AT THE BREAKFAST-TABLE. tions. That silly little dram they are always beating on, and the trumpet and the feather they make so much noise and cut such a figure with, we have not quite outgrown, but play with much less seriously and constantly than they do. Then there is a whole mu seum of wigs, and masks, and lace-coats, and gold- sticks, and grimaces, and phrases, which we laugh at honestly, without affectation, that are still used in the Old- World puppet-shows. I don't think we on our part ever understand the Englishman's concentrated loyalty and specialized reverence. But then we do think more of a man, as such, (barring some little dif ficulties about race and complexion which the Eng lishman will touch us on presently,) than any people that ever lived did think of him. Our reverence is a great deal wider, if it is less intense. We have caste among us, to some extent, it is true ; but there is never a collar on the American wolf-dog snch as you often see on the English mastiff, notwithstanding his robust, hearty individuality. This confronting of two civilizations is always a grand sensation to me ; it is like cutting through the isthmus and letting the two oceans swim into each oth er's laps. The trouble is, it is so difficult to let out the whole American nature without its self-assertion seeming to take a personal character. But I never enjoy the Englishman so much as when he talks of church and king like Manco Capac among the Peru vians. Then you get the real British flavor, which the cosmopolite Englishman loses. How much better this thorough interpenetration of ideas than a barren interchange of courtesies, or a bush-fighting argument, in which each man tries to cover as much of himself and expose as much of his THE PROFESSOR AT THE BREAKFAST-TABLE. 37 opponent as the tangled thicket of the disputed ground will let him ! My thoughts flow in layers or strata, at least three deep. I follow a slow person's talk, and keep a perfectly clear under-current of my own beneath it. Under both runs obscurely a consciousness belonging to a third train of reflections, independent of the two others. I will try to write out a Mental movement in three parts. A. First voice, or Mental Soprano, thought follows a woman talking. B. Second voice, or Mental Barytone, my run ning accompaniment. C. Third voice, or Mental Basso, low grumble of an importunate self -repeating idea. A. White lace, three skirts, looped with flowers, wreath of apple-blossoms, gold bracelets, diamond pin and ear-rings, the most delicious berthe you ever saw, white satin slippers - B. Deuse take her ! What a fool she is I Hear her chatter I (Look out of window just here. Two pages and a half of description, if it were all written out, in one tenth of a second.) Go ahead, old lady! (Eye catches picture over fireplace.) There 's that in fernal family nose! Came over in the "Mayflower" on the first old fool's face. Why don't they wear a ring in it? C. You '11 be late at lecture, late at lecture, late, late, late I observe that a deep layer of thought sometimes makes itself felt through the superincumbent strata, 38 THE PROFESSOR AT THE BREAKFAST-TABLE. thus : The usual single or double currents shall flow on, but there shall be an influence blending with them, disturbing them in an obscure way, until all at once I say, Oh, there ! I knew there was something trou bling me, and the thought which had been working through comes up to the surface clear, definite, and articulates itself, a disagreeable duty, perhaps, or an unpleasant recollection. The inner world of thought and the outer world of events are alike in this, that they are both brimful. There is no space between consecutive thoughts, or between the never-ending series of actions. All pack tight, and mould their surfaces against each other, so that in the long run there is a wonderful average uni formity in the forms of both thoughts and actions, just as you find that cylinders crowded all become hexagonal prisms, and spheres pressed together are formed into regular polyhedra. Every event that a man would master must be mounted on the run, and no man ever caught the reins of a thought except as it galloped by him. So, to carry out, with another comparison, my remark about the layers of thought, we may consider the mind as it moves among thoughts or events, like a circus-rider whirling round with a great troop of horses. He can mount a fact or an idea, and guide it more or less completely, but he cannot stop it. So, as I said in another way at the beginning, he can stride two or three thoughts at once, but not break their steady walk, trot, or gallop. He can only take his foot from the saddle of one thought and put it on that of an other. What is the saddle of a thought? Why, a word, of course Twenty years after you have dis- THE PROFESSOR AT THE BREAKFAST-TABLE. 39 missed a thought, it suddenly wedges up to you through the press, as if it had been steadily galloping round and round all that time without a rider. The will does not act in the interspaces of thought, for there are no such interspaces, but simply steps from the back of one moving thought upon that of another. I should like to ask, said the divinity-student, since we are getting into metaphysics, how you can admit space, if all things are in contact, and how you can admit time, if it is always now to something? I thought it best not to hear this question. I wonder if you know this class of philosophers in books or elsewhere. One of them makes his bow to the public, and exhibits an unfortunate truth ban daged up so that it cannot stir hand or foot, as help less, apparently, and unable to take care of itself, as an Egyptian mummy. He then proceeds, with the air and method of a master, to take off the bandages. Nothing can be neater than the way in which he does it. But as he takes off layer after layer, the truth seems to grow smaller and smaller, and some of its outlines begin to look like something we have seen be fore. At last, when he has got them all off, and the truth struts out naked, we recognize it as a diminutive and familiar acquaintance whom we have known in the streets all our lives. The fact is, the philosopher has coaxed the truth into his study and put all those ban dages on; of course it is not very hard for him to take them off. Still, a great many people like to watch the process, he does it so neatly ! Dear ! dear 1 I am ashamed to write and talk, some times, when I see how those functions of the large- brained, thumb-opposing plantigrade are abused by 40 THE PROFESSOR AT THE BREAKFAST-TABLE. my fellow -vertebrates, perhaps by myself. How they spar for wind, instead of hitting from the shoul der ! The young fellow called John arose and placed himself in a neat fighting attitude. Fetch on the fellah that makes them long words ! he said, and planted a straight hit with the right fist in the con cave palm of the left hand with a click like a cup and ball. You small boy there, hurry up that " Web ster's Unabridged ! " The little gentleman with the malformation, before described, shocked the propriety of the breakfast-table by a loud utterance of three words, of which the two last were "Webster's Unabridged," and the first was an emphatic monosyllable. Beg pardon, he added, forgot myself. But let us have an English diction ary, if we are to have any. I don't believe in clip ping the coin of the realm, Sir ! If I put a weather cock on my house, Sir, I want it to tell which way the wind blows up aloft, off from the prairies to the ocean, or off from the ocean to the prairies, or any way it wants to blow ! I don't want a weather cock with a winch in an old gentleman's study that he can take hold of and turn, so that the vane shall point west when the great wind overhead is blowing east with all its might, Sir ! Wait till we give you a dictionary, Sir ! It takes Boston to do that thing, Sir! Some folks think water can't run down-hill any where out of Boston, remarked the Koh-i-noor. I don't know what some folks think so well as I know what some fools say, rejoined the Little Gentleman. If importing most dry goods made the best scholars, I dare say you would know where to THE PROFESSOR AT THE BREAKFAST-TABLE. 41 look for 'em. Mr. Webster could n't spell, Sir, or would n't spell, Sir, at any rate, he did n't spell; and the end of it was a fight between the owners of some copyrights and the dignity of this noble lan guage which we have inherited from our English fa thers. Language ! the blood of the soul, Sir ! into which our thoughts run and out of which they grow ! We know what a word is worth here in Boston. Young Sam Adams got up on the stage at Commence ment, out at Cambridge there, with his gown on, the Governor and Council looking on in the name of his Majesty, King George the Second, and the girls look ing down out of the galleries, and taught people how to spell a word that was n't in the Colonial dictiona ries ! J?-e, re, s-i-s, sis, t-a-n-c-e, tance, Resistance I That was in '43, and it was a good many years before the Boston boys began spelling it with their muskets ; but when they did begin, they spelt it so loud that the old bedridden women in the English almshouses heard every syllable ! Yes, yes, yes, it was a good while before those other two Boston boys got the class so far along that it could spell those two hard words, Independence and Union 1 I tell you what, Sir, there are a thousand lives, aye, sometimes a million, go to get a new word into a language that is worth speaking. We know what language means too well here in Bos ton to play tricks with it. We never make a new word till we have made a new thing or a new thought, Sir I When we shaped the new mould of this continent, we had to make a few. When, by God's permission, we abrogated the primal curse of maternity, we had to make a word or two. The cutwater of this great Le* viathan clipper, the OCCIDENTAL, this thirty-masted wind-and-steam wave-crusher, must throw a little 42 THE PROFESSOR AT THE BREAKFAST-TABLE. spray over the human vocabulary as it splits the wa ters of a new world's destiny ! He rose as he spoke, until his stature seemed to swell into the fair human proportions. His feet must have been on the upper round of his high chair ; that was the only way I could account for it. Puts her through fust-rate, said the young fellow whom the boarders call John. The venerable and kind-looking old gentleman who sits opposite said he remembered Sam Adams as Gov ernor. An old man in a brown coat. Saw him take the Chair on Boston Common. Was a boy then, and remembers sitting on the fence in front of the old Hancock house. Recollects he had a glazed 'lection- bun, and sat eating it and looking down on to the Common. Lalocks flowered late that year, and he got a great bunch off from the bushes in the Hancock front-yard. Them 'lection-buns are no go, said the young man John, so called. I know the trick. Give a fellah a fo'penny bun in the mornin', an' he downs the whole of it. In about an hour it swells up in his stomach as big as a football, and his feedin' 's sp'ilt for that day. That 's the way to stop off a young one from eatin' up all the 'lection dinner. Salem ! Salem ! not Boston, shouted the little man. But the Koh-i-noor laughed a great rasping laugh, and the boy Benjamin Franklin looked sharp at his mother, as if he remembered the bun-experiment as a part of his past personal history. The Little Gentleman was holding a fork in his left hand. He stabbed a boulder of home-made bread with it, mechanically, and looked at it as if it ought THE PROFESSOR AT THE BREAKFAST-TABLE. 43 to shriek. It did not, but he sat as if watch ing it. Language is a solemn thing, I said. It grows out of life, out of its agonies and ecstasies, its wants and its weariness. Every language is a temple, in which the soul of those who speak it is enshrined,, Because time softens its outlines and rounds the sharp angles of its cornices, shall a fellow take a pickaxe to help time? Let me tell you what comes of meddling with things that can take care of themselves. A friend of mine had a watch given him, when he was a boy, a "bull's eye," with a loose silver case that came off like an oyster-shell from its contents; you know them, the cases that you hang on your thumb, while the core, or the real watch, lies in your hand as naked as a peeled apple. Well, he began with taking off the case, and so on from one liberty to another, until he got it fairly open, and there were the works, as good as if they were alive, crown-wheel, balance- wheel, and all the rest. All right except one thing, there was a confounded little hair had got tangled round the balance-wheel. So my young Solomon got a pair of tweezers, and caught hold of the hair very nicely, and pulled it right out, without touching any of the wheels, when, buzzzZZZ ! and the watch had done up twenty -four hours in double magnetic- telegraph time ! The English language was wound up to run some thousands of years, I trust; but if everybody is to be pulling at everything he thinks is a hair, our grandchildren will have to make the dis covery that it is a hair-spring, and the old Anglo- Norman soul's-timekeeper will run down, as so many other dialects have done before it. I can't stand this meddling any better than you, Sir. But we have a 44 THE PROFESSOR AT THE BREAKTAST-TABLE. great deal to be proud of in the lifelong labors of that old lexicographer, and we must n't be ungrateful. Besides, don't let us deceive ourselves, the war of the dictionaries is only a disguised rivalry of cities, colleges, and especially of publishers. After all, it is likely that the language will shape itself by larger forces than phonography and dictionary-making. You may spade up the ocean as much as you like, and har row it afterwards, if you can, but the moon will still lead the tides, and the winds will form their surface. Do you know Richardson's Dictionary? I said to my neighbor the divinity-student. Haow? said the divinity-student. He colored, as he noticed on my face a twitch in one of the mus cles which tuck up the corner of the mouth, (zygoma- ileus major,') and which I could not hold back from making a little movement on its own account. It was too late. A country-boy, lassoed when he was a half -grown colt. Just as good as a city-boy, and in some ways, perhaps, better, but caught a little too old not to carry some marks of his earlier ways of life. Foreigners, who have talked a strange tongue half their lives, return to the language of their childhood in their dying hours. Gentlemen in fine linen, and scholars in large libraries, taken by sur prise, or in a careless moment, will sometimes let slip a word they knew as boys in homespun and have not spoken since that time, but it lay there under all their culture. That is one way you may know the country-boys after they have grown rich or cele brated ; another is by the odd old family names, par ticularly those of the Hebrew prophets, which the good old people have saddled them with. THE PROFESSOR AT THE BREAKFAST-TABLE. 45 Boston has enough of England about it to make a good English dictionary, said that fresh- looking youth whom I have mentioned as sitting at the right upper corner of the table. I turned and looked him full in the face, for the pure, manly intonations arrested me. The voice was youthful, but full of character. I suppose some persons have a peculiar susceptibility in the matter of voice. Hear this. Not long after the American Revolution, a young lady was sitting in her father's chaise in a street of this town of Boston. She overheard a little girl talk ing or singing, and was mightily taken with the tones of her voice. Nothing would satisfy her but she must have that little girl come and live in her father's house. So the child came, being then nine years old. Until her marriage she remained under the same roof with the young lady. Her children became succes sively inmates of the lady's dwelling; and now, sev enty years, or thereabouts, since the young lady heard the child singing, one of that child's children and one of her grandchildren are with her in that home, where she, no longer young, except in heart, passes her peaceful days. Three generations linked together by so light a breath of accident ! I liked the sound of this youth's voice, I said, and his look when I came to observe him a little more closely. His complexion had something better than the bloom and freshness which had first attracted me ; it had that diffused tone which is a sure index of wholesome, lusty life. A fine liberal style of nature it seemed to be: hair crisped, moustache springing thick and dark, head firmly planted, lips finished, as one commonly sees them in gentlemen's families, a 46 THE PROFESSOR AT THE BREAKFAST-TABLE. pupil well contracted, and a mouth that opened frankly with a white flash of teeth that looked as if they could serve him as they say Ethan Allen's used to serve their owner, to draw nails with. This is the kind of fellow to walk a frigate's deck and bowl his broadsides into the "Gadlant Thudnder-bomb," or any forty - portholed adventurer who would like to exchange a few tons of iron compliments. I don't know what put this into my head, for it was not till some time afterward I learned the young fellow had been in the naval school at Annapolis. Something had happened to change his plan of life, and he was now studying engineering and architecture in Boston. When the youth made the short remark which drew my attention to him, the little deformed gentleman turned round and took a long look at him. Good for the Boston boy ! he said. I am not a Boston boy, said the youth, smiling, . I am a Marylander. I don't care where you come from, we '11 make a Boston man of you, said the little gentleman. Pray, what part of Maryland did you come from, and how shall I call you? The poor youth had to speak pretty loud, as he was at the right upper corner of the table, and the little gentleman next the lower left-hand corner. His face flushed a little, but he answered pleasantly, telling who he was, as if the little man's infirmity gave him a right to ask any questions he wanted to. Here is the place for you to sit, said the little gentleman, pointing to the vacant chair next his own, at the corner. You 're go'n' to have a young lady next you, if you wait till to-morrow, said the landlady to him. THE PROFESSOR AT THE BREAKFAST-TABLE. 47 He did not reply, but I had a fancy that he changed color. It can't be that he has susceptibilities with reference to a contingent young lady! It can't be that he has had experiences which make him sensitive ! Nature could not be quite so cruel as to set a heart throbbing in that poor little cage of ribs ! There is no use in wasting notes of admiration. I must ask the landlady about him. These are some of the facts she furnished. Has not been long with her. Brought a sight of furniture, could n't hardly get some of it upstairs. Hasn't seemed particularly attentive to the ladies. The Bom bazine (whom she calls Cousin something or other) has tried to enter into conversation with him, but retired with the impression that he was indifferent to ladies' society. Paid his bill the other day without saying a word about it. Paid it in gold, had a great heap of twenty-dollar pieces. Hires her best room. Thinks he is a very nice little man, but lives dreadful lonely up in his chamber. Wants the care of some capable nuss. Never pitied anybody more in her life never see a more interestin' person. My intention was, when I began making these notes, to let them consist principally of conversations between myself and the other boarders. So they will, very probably ; but my curiosity is excited about this little boarder of ours, and my reader must not be dis appointed, if I sometimes interrupt a discussion to give an account of whatever fact or traits I may dis cover about him. It so happens that his room is next to mine, and I have the opportunity of observing many of his ways without any active movements of cu riosity. That his room contains heavy furniture, that he is a restless little body and is apt to be up late, 48 THE PROFESSOR AT THE BREAKFAST-TABLE. that he talks to himself, and keeps mainly to himself, is nearly all I have yet found out. One curious circumstance happened lately which I mention without drawing an absolute inference. Being at the studio of a sculptor with whom I am acquainted, the other day, I saw a remarkable cast of a left arm. On my asking where the model came from, he said it was taken direct from the arm of a deformed person, who had employed one of the Italian moulders to make the cast. It was a curious case, it should seem, of one beautiful limb upon a frame oth erwise singularly imperfect I have repeatedly no ticed this little gentleman's use of his left arm. Can he have furnished the model I saw at the sculptor's? So we are to have a new boarder to-morrow. I hope there will be something pretty and pleasing about her. A woman with a creamy voice, and fin ished in alto rilievo, would be a variety in the board ing-house, a little more marrow and a little less sinew than our landlady and her daughter and the bombazine-clad female, all of whom are of the turkey- drumstick style of organization. I don't mean that these are our only female companions; but the rest being conversational non-combatants, mostly still, sad feeders, who take in their food as locomotives take in wood and water, and then wither away from the table like blossoms that never come to fruit, I have not yet referred to them as individuals. I wonder what kind of young person we shall see in that empty chair to-morrow! I read this song to the boarders after breakfast the other morning. It was written for our fellows ; you know who they are, of course. THE PROFESSOR AT THE BREAKFAST-TABLE. 49 THE BOYS. Has there any old fellow got mixed with the boys ? If there has, take him out, without making a noise ! Hang the Almanac's cheat and the Catalogue's spite t Old Time is a liar ! We 're twenty to-night ! We 're twenty ! We 're twenty ! Who says we are more ? He 's tipsy, .young jackanapes ! show him the door ! " Gray temples at twenty ? " Yes ! white, if we please ; Where the snow-flakes fall thickest there 's nothing can freeze ! Was it snowing I spoke of ? Excuse the mistake ! Look close, you will see not a sign of a flake ; We want some new garlands for those we have shed, And these are white roses in place of the red ! We 've a trick, we young fellows, you may have been told, Of talking (in public) as if we were old ; That boy we call " Doctor," 1 and this we call " Judge ; 2 It 's a neat little fiction, of course it 's all fudge. That fellow 's the " Speaker," 8 the one on the right ; " Mr. Mayor," * my young one, how are you to-night ? That 's our " Member of Congress," 6 we say when we chaff ; There 's the " Reverend " 6 What 's his name ? don't make me laugh ! That boy with the grave mathematical look 7 Made believe he had written a wonderful book, And the ROYAL SOCIETY thought it was true I So they chose him right in ; a good joke it was, too. There 's a boy, we pretend, with a three-decker-brain, That could harness a team with a logical chain ; 1 Francis Thomas. 3 George Tyler Bigelow. 8 Francis Boardman Crowninshield. * G. W. Richardson. 6 George Thomas Davis.. 8 James Freeman Clarke. * Benjamin Peirce. 50 THE PROFESSOR AT THE BREAKFAST-TABLE. When he spoke for our manhood in syllabled fire, We called him " The Justice," but now he 's " The Squire." ' And there 's a nice youngster of excellent pith, 2 Fate tried to conceal him by naming him Smith, But he shouted a song for the brave and the free, Just read on his medal, " My country, of thee ! " You hear that boy laughing ? you think he 's all fun, But the angels laugh, too, at the good he has done ; The children laugh loud as they troop to his call, And the poor man that knows him laughs loudest of all ! * Yes, we 're boys, always playing with tongue or with pen, And I sometimes have asked, Shall we ever be men ? Shall we always be youthful and laughing and gay, Till the last dear companion drops smiling away ? Then here 's to our boyhood, its gold and its gray ! The stars of its Winter, the dews of its May ! And when we have done with our life-lasting toys, Dear Father, take care of thy children, the Boys ! m. [The Professor talks with the Reader. He tells a Young Girl's Story.~\ When the elements that went to the making of the first man, father of mankind, had been withdrawn from the world of unconscious matter, the balance of creation was disturbed. The materials that go to the making of one woman were set free by the abstraction from inanimate nature of one man's-worth of mascu line constituents. These combined to make our first mother, by a logical necessity involved in the previous 1 Benjamin Bobbins Curtis. * Samuel Francis Smith. 8 Slat nominis umbra. THE PROFESSOR AT THE BREAKFAST-TABLE. 51 creation of our common father. All this, mythically, illustratively, and by no means doctrinally or polemi cally. The man implies the woman, you will understand. The excellent gentleman whom I had the pleasure of setting right in a trifling matter a few weeks ago be lieves in the frequent occurrence of miracles at the present day. So do I. I believe, if you could find an uninhabited coral-reef island, in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, with plenty of cocoa-palms and bread fruit on it, and put a handsome young fellow, like our Marylander, ashore upon it, if you touched there a year afterwards, you would find him walking under the palm-trees arm in arm with a pretty woman. Where would she come from? Oh, that 's the miracle ! I was just as certain, when I saw that fine, high-colored youth at the upper right-hand corner of our table, that there would appear some fitting feminine counterpart to him, as if I had been a clair voyant, seeing it all beforehand. I have a fancy that those Marylanders are just about near enough to the sun to ripen well. How some of us fellows remember Joe and Harry, Baltimo- reans, both! Joe, with his cheeks like lady-apples, and his eyes like black-heart cherries, and his teeth like the whiteness of the flesh of cocoanuts, and his laugh that set the chandelier-drops rattling overhead, as we sat at our sparkling banquets in those gay times ! Harry, champion, by acclamation, of the col lege heavy-weights, broad-shouldered, bull-necked, square- jawed, six feet and trimmings, a little science, lots of pluck, good-natured as a steer in peace, formid able as a red-eyed bison in the crack of hand-to-hand 52 THE PROFESSOR AT THE BREAKFAST-TABLE. battle! Who forgets the great muster-day, and the collision of the classic with the democratic forces? The huge butcher, fifteen stone, two hundred and ten pounds, good weight, steps out like Telamo nian Ajax, defiant. No words from Harry, the BaL timorean, one of the quiet sort, who strike first, and do the talking, if there is any, afterwards. No words, but, in the place thereof, a clean, straight, hard hit, which took effect with a spank like the ex plosion of a percussion-cap, knocking the slayer of beeves down a sand-bank, followed, alas ! by the too impetuous youth, so that both rolled down together, and the conflict terminated in one of those inglorious and inevitable Yankee clinches, followed by a general melee, which make our native fistic encounters so dif ferent from such admirably-ordered contests as that which I once saw at an English fair, where everything was done decently and in order, and the fight began and ended with such grave propriety, that a sporting parson need hardly have hesitated to open it with a devout petition, and, after it was over, dismiss the ring with a benediction. I can't help telling one more story about this great field-day, though it is the most wanton and irrelevant digression. But all of us have a little speck of fight underneath our peace and good-will to men, just a speck, for revolutions and great emergencies, you know, so that we should not submit to be trodden quite flat by the first heavy -heeled aggressor that came along. You can tell a portrait from an ideal head, I suppose, and a true story from one spun out of the writer's invention. See whether this sounds true or not. Admiral Sir Isaac Coffin sent out two fine blood* THE PROFESSOR AT THE BREAKFAST-TABLE. 53 horses, Barefoot and Serab by name, to Massachu setts, something before the time I am talking of. With them came a Yorkshire groom, a stocky little fellow, in velvet breeches, who made that mysterious hissing noise, traditionary in English stables, when he rubbed down the silken-skinned racers, in great per fection. After the soldiers had come from the muster field, and some of the companies were on the village- common, there was still some skirmishing between a few individuals who had not had the fight taken out of them. The little Yorkshire groom thought he must serve out somebody. So he threw himself into an approved scientific attitude, and, in brief, emphatic language, expressed his urgent anxiety to accommo date any classical young gentleman who chose to con sider himself a candidate for his attentions. I don't suppose there were many of the college boys that would have been a match for him in the art which Englishmen know so much more of than Americans, for the most part. However, one of the Sophomores, a very quiet, peaceable fellow, just stepped out of the crowd, and, running straight at the groom, as he stood there, sparring away, struck him with the sole of his foot, a straight blow, as if it had been with his fist, and knocked him heels over head and senseless, so that he had to be carried off from the field. This ugly way of hitting is the great trick of the French savate, which is not commonly thought able to stand its ground against English pugilistic science. 1 These are old recollections, with not much to recommend them, except, perhaps, a dash of life, which may be worth a little something. 1 There are two sides to this question. See Larousse, Grand Dictionnaire Universel du XIX Siecle, article " Boxe." 54 THE PROFESSOR AT THE BREAKFAST-TABLE. The young Marylander brought them all up, you may remember. He recalled to my mind those two splendid pieces of vitality I told you of. Both have been long dead. How often we see these great red flaring flambeaux of life blown out, as it were, by a puff of wind, and the little, single-wicked night- lamp of being, which some white-faced and attenuated invalid shades with trembling fingers, flickering on while they go out one after another, until its glimmer is all that is left to us of the generation to which it belonged ! I told you that I was perfectly sure, beforehand, we should find some pleasing girlish or womanly shape to fill the blank at our table and match the dark-haired youth at the upper corner. There she sits, at the very opposite corner, just as far off as accident could put her from this handsome fellow, by whose side she ought, of course, to be sit ting. One of the "positive" blondes, as my friend, you may remember, used to call them. Tawny -haired, amber-eyed, full-throated, skin as white as a blanched almond. Looks dreamy to me, not self-conscious, though a black ribbon round her neck sets it off as a Marie- Antoinette's diamond-necklace could not do. So in her dress, there is a harmony of tints that looks as if an artist had run his eye over her and given a hint or two like the finishing touch to a picture. I can't help being struck with her, for she is at once rounded and fine in feature, looks calm, as blondes are apt to, and as if she might run wild, if she were trifled with. It is just as I knew it would be, and any body can see that our young Marylander will be dead in love with her in a week. Then if that little man Would only turn out im- THE PROFESSOR AT THE BREAKFAST-TABLE. 55 mensely rich and have the good-nature to die and leave them all his money, it would be as nice as a three-vol ume novel. The Little Gentleman is in a flurry, I suspect, with the excitement of having such a charming neighbor next him. I judge so mainly by his silence and by a certain rapt and serious look on his face, as if he were thinking of something that had happened, or that might happen, or that ought to happen, or how beautiful her young life looked, or how hardly Nature had dealt with him, or something which struck him silent, at any rate. I made several conversational openings for him, but he did not fire up as he often does. I even went so far as to indulge in a fling at the State House, which, as we all know, is in truth a very imposing structure, covering less ground than St. Peter's, but of similar general effect. The little man looked up, but did not reply to my taunt. He said to the young lady, however, that the State House was the Parthenon 'of our Acropolis, which seemed to please her, for she smiled, and he reddened a little, so I thought. I don't think it right to watch persons who are the subjects of special infirmity, but we all do it. I see that they have crowded the chairs a little at that end of the table, to make room for another new comer of the lady sort. A well-mounted, middle-aged preparation, wearing her hair without a cap, pretty wide in the parting, though, contours vaguely hinted, features very quiet, says little as yet, but seems to keep her eye on the young lady, as if having some responsibility for her - My record is a blank for some days after this. In the mean tune I have contrived to make out the per- 56 THE PROFESSOR AT THE BREAKFAST-TABLE. son and the story of our young lady, who, according to appearances, ought to furnish us a heroine for a boarding-house romance before a year is out. It is very curious that she should prove connected with a person many of us have heard of. Yet, curious as it is, I have been a hundred times struck with the cir= cumstance that the most remote facts are constantly striking each other ; just as vessels starting from ports thousands of miles apart pass close to each other in the naked breadth of the ocean, nay, sometimes even touch, in the dark, with a crack of timbers, a gurgling of water, a cry of startled sleepers, a cry mysteri ously echoed in warning dreams, as the wife of some Gloucester fisherman, some coasting skipper, wakes with a shriek, calls the name of her husband, and sinks back to uneasy slumbers upon her lonely pillow, a widow. Oh, these mysterious meetings! Leaving all the vague, waste, endless spaces of the washing desert, the ocean-steamer and the fishing-smack sail straight towards each other as if they ran in grooves ploughed for them in the waters from the beginning of creation ! Not only things and events, but our own thoughts, are so full of these surprises, that, if there were a reader in my parish who did not recognize the familiar occur rence of what I am now going to mention, I should think it a case for the missionaries of the Society for the Propagation of Intelligence among the Comfortable Classes. There are about as many twins in the births of thought as of children. For the first time in your lives you learn some fact or come across some idea. Within an hour, a day, a week, that same fact or idea strikes you from another quarter. It seems as if it THE PROFESSOR AT THE BREAKFAST-TABLE. 57 had passed into space and bounded back upon you as an echo from the blank wall that shuts in the world of thought. Yet no possible connection exists between the two channels by which the thought or the fact arrived. Let me give an infinitesimal illustration. One of the Boys mentioned, the other evening, in the course of a very pleasant poem he read us, a little trick of the Commons-table boarders, which I, nour ished at the parental board, had never heard of. Young fellows being always hungry Allow me to stop dead-short, in order to utter an aphorism which has been forming itself in one of the blank interior spaces of my intelligence, like a crystal in the cavity of a geode. Aphorism by the Professor. In order to know whether a human being is young or old, offer it food of different kinds at short intervals. If young, it will eat anything at any hour of the day or night. If old, it observes stated periods, and you might as well attempt to regulate the time of high- water to suit a fishing-party as to change these periods. The crucial experiment is this. Offer a bulky and boggy bun to the suspected individual just ten minutes before dinner. If this is eagerly accepted and de voured, the fact of youth is established. If the sub ject of the question starts back and expresses surprise and incredulity, as if you could not possibly be in earnest, the fact of maturity is no less clear. Excuse me, I return to my story of the Com mons-table. Young fellows being always hungry, and tea and dry toast being the meagre fare of the evening meal, it was a trick of some of the Boys to 58 THE PROFESSOR AT THE BREAKFAST-TABLE. impale a slice of meat upon a fork, at dinner-time, and stick the fork holding it beneath the table, so that they could get it at tea-time. The dragons that guarded this table of the Hesperides found out the trick at last, and kept a sharp look-out for missing forks ; they knew where to find one, if it was not in its place. Now the odd thing was, that, after wait ing so many years to hear of this college trick, I should hear it mentioned a second time within the same twenty -four hours by a college youth of the pres ent generation. Strange, but true. And so it has happened to me and to every person, often and often, to be hit in rapid succession by these twinned facts or thoughts, as if they were linked like chain-shot. I was going to leave the simple reader to wonder over this, taking it as an unexplained marvel. I think, however, I will turn over a furrow of subsoil in it. The explanation is, of course, that in a great many thoughts there must be a few coincidences, and these instantly arrest our attention. Now we shall probably never have the least idea of the enormous number of impressions which pass through our con sciousness, until in some future life we see the photo graphic record of our thoughts and the stereoscopic picture of our actions. There go more pieces to make up a conscious life or a living body than yon think for. Why, some of you were surprised when a friend of mine told you there were fifty-eight sep arate pieces in a fiddle. How many "swimming glands " solid, organized, regularly formed, rounded disks taking an active part in all your vital processes, part and parcel, each one of them, of your corporeal being do you suppose are whirled along, like peb bles in a stream, with the blood which warms your THE PROFESSOR AT THE BREAKFAST-TABLE. 59 frame and colors your cheeks? A noted German physiologist spread out a minute drop of blood, under the microscope, in narrow streaks, and counted the globules, and then made a calculation. The counting by the micrometer took him a week. You have, my full-grown friend, of these little couriers in crimson or scarlet livery, running on your vital errands day and night as long as you live, sixty-five billions, five hundred and seventy thousand millions. Errors ex- cepted. Did I hear some gentleman say, "Doubt ed?" I am the Professor. I sit in my chair with a petard under it that will blow me through the sky light of my lecture-room, if I do not know what I am talking about and whom I am quoting. Now, my dear friends, who are putting your hands to your foreheads, and saying to yourselves that you feel a little confused, as if you had been waltzing un til things began to whirl slightly round you, is it pos sible that you do not clearly apprehend the exact con nection of all that I have been saying, and its bearing on what is now to come? Listen, then. The number of these living elements in our bodies illustrates the incalculable multitude of our thoughts ; the number of our thoughts accounts for those frequent coincidences spoken of; these coincidences in the world of thought illustrate those which we constantly observe in the world of outward events, of which the presence of the young girl now at our table, and proving to be the daughter of an old acquaintance some of us may re member, is the special example which led me through this labyrinth of reflections, and finally lands me at the commencement of this young girl's story, which, as I said, I have found the time and felt the interest to learn something of, and which I think I can tell 60 THE PROFESSOR AT THE BREAKFAST-TABLE. without wronging the unconscious subject of my brief delineation. IRIS. You remember, perhaps, in some papers published awhile ago, an odd poem written by an old Latin tutor? He brought up at the verb amo, I love, as all of us do, and by and by Nature opened her great liv= ing dictionary for him at the word filia, a daughter. The poor man was greatly perplexed in choosing a name for her. Lucretia and Virginia were the first that he thought of; but then came up those pictured stories of Titus Livius, which he could never read without crying, though he had read them a hundred times. Lucretia sending for her husband and her father, each to bring one friend with him, and awaiting them in her chamber. To them her wrongs briefly. Let them see to the wretch, she will take care of herself. Then the hidden knife flashes out and sinks into her heart. She slides from her seat, and falls dying. "Her husband and her father cry aloud." No, not Lucretia. Virginius, a brown old soldier, father of a nice girl. She engaged to a very promising young man. Decemvir Appius takes a violent fancy to her, must have her at any rate. Hires a lawyer to present the arguments in favor of the view that she was another man's daughter. There used to be lawyers in Kome that would do such things. All right. There are two sides to everything. Audi alteram partem. The legal gentleman has no opinion, he only states the evidence. A doubtful case. Let the young lady be under the protection of the Honorable Decemvir THE PROFESSOR AT THE BREAKFAST-TABLE. 61 until it can be looked up thoroughly. Father thinks it best, on the whole, to give in. Will explain the matter, if the young lady and her maid will step this way. That is the explanation, a stab with a butch er's knife, snatched from a stall, meant for other lambs than this poor bleeding Virginia ! The old man thought over the story. Then he must have one look at the original. So he took down the first volume and read it over. When he came to that part where it tells how the young gentleman she was engaged to and a friend of his took up the poor girl's bloodless shape and carried it through the street, and how all the women followed, wailing, and asking if that was what their daughters were coming to, if that was what they were to get for being good girls, he melted down into his accustomed tears of pity and grief, and, through them all, of delight at the charm ing Latin of the narrative. But it was impossible to call his child Virginia. He could never look at her without thinking she had a knife sticking in her bosom. Dido would be a good name, and a fresh one. She was a queen, and the founder of a great city. Her story had been immortalized by the greatest of poets, for the old Latin tutor clove to "Virgilius Maro," as he called him, as closely as ever Dante did in his memorable journey. So he took down his Virgil, it was the smooth-leafed, open-lettered quarto of Bas- kerville, and began reading the loves and mishaps .of Dido. It would n't do. A lady who had not learned discretion by experience, and came to an evil end. He shook his head, as he sadly repeated, " misera ante diem, subitoque accensa furore ; " but when he came to the lines. 62 THE PROFESSOR AT THE BREAKFAST-TABLE. " Ergo Iris croceis per ccelum roscida pennis Mille trahens varies adverse Sole colores," he jumped up with a great exclamation, which the particular recording angel who heard it pretended not to understand, or it might have gone hard with the Latin tutor some tune or other. "Iris shall be her name!" he said. So her name was Iris. The natural end of a tutor is to perish by star vation. It is only a question of time, just as with the burning of college libraries. These all burn up sooner or later, provided they are not housed in brick or stone and iron. I don't mean that you will see in the registry of deaths that this or that particular tutor died of well-marked, uncomplicated starvation. They may, even, in extreme cases, be carried off by a thin, watery kind of apoplexy, which sounds very well in the returns, but means little to those who know that it is only debility settling on the head. Generally, how ever, they fade and waste away under various pre texts, calling it dyspepsia, consumption, and so on, to put a decent appearance upon the case and keep up the credit of the family and the institution where they have passed through the successive stages of inanition. In some cases it takes a great many years to kill a tutor by the process in question. You see they do get food and clothes and fuel, in appreciable quanti ties, such as they are. You will even notice rows of books in their rooms, and a picture or two, things that look as if they had surplus money ; but these su perfluities are the water of crystallization to scholars, and you can never get them away till the poor fellows effloresce into dust. Do not be deceived. The tutor breakfasts on coffee made of beans, edulcorated with THE PROFESSOR AT THE BREAKFAST-TABLE. 63 milk watered to the verge of transparency ; his mutton is tough and elastic, up to the moment when it becomes tired out and tasteless ; his coal is a sullen, sulphurous anthracite, which rusts into ashes, rather than burns, in the shallow grate ; his flimsy broadcloth is too thin for winter and too thick for summer: The greedy lungs of fifty hot-blooded boys suck the oxygen from the air he breathes in his recitation-room. In short, he undergoes a process of gentle and gradual starva tion. The mother of little Iris was not called Elec- tra, like hers of the old story, neither was her grand father Oceanus. Her blood-name, which she gave away with her heart to the Latin tutor, was a plain old English one, and her water-name was Hannah, beautiful as recalling the mother of Samuel, and ad mirable as reading equally well from the initial let ter forwards and from the terminal letter backwards. The poor lady, seated with her companion at the chess board of matrimony, had but just pushed forward her one little white pawn upon an empty square, when the Black Knight, that cares nothing for castles or kings or queens, swooped down upon her and swept her from the larger board of life. The old Latin tutor put a modest blue stone at the head of his late companion, with her name and age and Eheu ! upon it, a smaller one at her feet, with initials; and left her by herself, to be rained and snowed on, which is a hard thing to do for those whom we have cherished tenderly. About the time that the lichens, falling on the stone, like drops of water, had spread into fair, round rosettes, the tutor had starved into a slight cough. Then he began to draw the buckle of his black trou- 64 THE PROFESSOR AT THE BREAKFAST-TABLE. sers a little tighter, and took in another reef in his never-ample waistcoat. His temples got a little hol low, and the contrasts of color in his cheeks more vivid than of old. After a while his walks fatigued him, and he was tired, and breathed hard after going up a flight or two of stairs. Then came on other marks of inward trouble and general waste, which he spoke of to his' physician as peculiar, and doubtless owing to accidental causes; to all which the doctor listened with deference, as if it had not been the old story that one in five or six of mankind in temperate climates tells, or has told for him, as if it were some thing new. As the doctor went out, he said to him self, " On the rail at last. Accommodation train. A good many stops, but will get to the station by and by." So the doctor wrote a recipe with the astrologi cal sign of Jupiter before it, (just as your own physi cian does, inestimable reader, as you will see, if you look at his next prescription,) and departed, saying he would look in occasionally. After this, the Latin tutor began the usual course of "getting better," until he got so much better that his face was very sharp, and when he smiled, three crescent lines showed at each side of his lips, and when he spoke, it was in a muffled whisper, and the white of his eye glistened as pearly as the purest porcelain, so much better, that he hoped by spring he might be able to attend to his class again. But he was recommended not to expose himself, and so kept his chamber, and occasionally, not having anything to do, his bed. The unmarried sister with whom he lived took care of him ; and the child, now old enough to be manageable and even useful in trifling offices, sat in the chamber, or played about. THE PROFESSOR AT THE BREAKFAST-TABLE. 65 Things could not go on so forever, of course. One morning his face was sunken and his hands were very, very cold. He was "better," he whispered, but sadly and faintly. After a while he grew restless and seemed a little wandering. His mind ran on his clas sics, and fell back on the Latin grammar. "Iris!" he said, "filiola meaf" The child knew this meant my dear little daughter as well as if it had been English. "Rainbow! " for he would translate her name at times, "come to me, veni " and his lips went on automatically, and mur mured, " vel venito / " The child came and sat by his bedside and took his hand, which she could not warm, but which shot its rays of cold all through her slender frame. But there she sat, looking steadily at him. Presently he opened his lips feebly, and whispered, " Moribundus." She did not know what that meant, but she saw that there was something new and sad. So she began to cry; but presently remembering an old book that seemed to comfort him at times, got up and brought a Bible in the Latin version, called the Vulgate. "Open it," he said, "I will read, segnius irritant, don't put the light out, ah ! Jweret lateri, I am going, vale, vale, vale, good bye, good-bye, the Lord take care of my child ! Domine, audi vel audito!" His face whitened suddenly, and he lay still, with open eyes and mouth. He had taken his last degree. Little Miss Iris could not be said to begin life with a very brilliant rainbow over her, in a worldly point of view. A limited wardrobe of man's attire, such as poor tutors wear, a few good books, princi pally classics, a print or two, and a plaster model of the Pantheon, with some pieces of furniture which 66 THE PROFESSOR AT THE BREAKFAST-TABLE. had seen service, these, and a child's heart full of tearful recollections and strange doubts and questions, alternating with the cheap pleasures which are the anodynes of childish grief; such were the treasures she inherited. No, I forgot. With that kindly sentiment which all of us feel for old men's first chil dren, frost-flowers of the early winter season, the old tutor's students had remembered him at a time when he was laughing and crying with his new paren tal emotions, and running to the side of the plain crib in which his alter ego, as he used to say, was swing ing, to hang over the little heap of stirring clothes, from which looked the minute, red, downy, still, round face, with unfixed eyes and working lips, in that unearthly gravity which has never yet been broken by a smile, and which gives to the earliest moon-year or two of an infant's life the character of a first old age, to counterpoise that second childhood which there is one chance in a dozen it may reach by and by. The boys had remembered the old man and young fa ther at that tender period of his hard, dry life. There came to him a fair, silver goblet, embossed with clas sical figures, and bearing on a shield the graver words, Ex dono pupillorum. The handle on its side showed what use the boys had meant it for; and a kind letter -in it, written with the best of feeling, in the worst of Latin, pointed delicately to its destination. Out of this silver vessel, after a long, desperate, strangling cry, which marked her first great lesson in the reali ties of life, the child took the blue milk, such as poor tutors and their children get, tempered with water, and sweetened a little, so as to bring it nearer the standard established by the touching indulgence and partiality of Nature, who has mingled an extra THE PROFESSOR AT THE BREAKFAST-TABLE. 67 allowance of sugar in the blameless food of the child at its mother's breast, as compared with that of its infant brothers and sisters of the bovine race. But a willow will grow in baked sand wet with rain water. An air-plant will grow by feeding on the winds. Nay, those huge forests that overspread great continents have built themselves up mainly from the air-currents with which they are always battling. The oak is but a foliated atmospheric crystal deposited from the aerial ocean that holds the future vegetable world in solution. The storm that tears its leaves has paid tribute to its strength, and it breasts the tornado clad in the spoils of a hundred hurricanes. Poor little Iris! What had she in common with the great oak in the shadow of which we are losing sight of her? She lived and grew like that, this was all. The blue milk ran into her veins and filled them with thin, pure blood. Her skin was fair, with a faint tinge, such as the white rosebud shows before it opens. The doctor who had attended her father was afraid her aunt would hardly be able to "raise " her, "delicate child," hoped she was not consumptive, thought there was a fair chance she would take after her father. A very forlorn -looking person, dressed in black, with a white neckcloth, sent her a memoir of a child who died. at the age of two years and eleven months, after having fully indorsed all the doctrines of the particular persuasion to which he not only belonged himself, but thought it very shameful that everybody else did not belong. What with foreboding looks and dreary death-bed stories, it was a wonder the child made out to live through it. It saddened her early years, of course, - it distressed her tender soul with 68 THE PROFESSOR AT THE BREAKFAST-TABLE. thoughts which, as they cannot be fully taken in, should be sparingly used as instruments of torture to break down the natural cheerfulness of a healthy child, or, what is infinitely worse, to cheat a dying one out of the kind illusions with which the Father of All has strewed its downward path. The child would have died, no doubt, and, if prop erly managed, might have added another to the long catalogue of wasting children who have been as cruelly played upon by spiritual physiologists, often with the best intentions, as ever the subject of a rare disease by the curious students of science. Fortunately for her, however, a wise instinct had guided the late Latin tutor in the selection of the part ner of his life, and the future mother of his child. The deceased tutoress was a tranquil, smooth woman, easily nourished, as such people are, a quality which is inestimable in a tutor's wife, and so it happened that the daughter inherited enough vitality from the mother to live through childhood and infancy and fight her way towards womanhood, in spite of the ten dencies she derived from her other parent. Two and two do not always make four, in this matter of hereditary descent of qualities. Sometimes they make three, and sometimes five. It seems as if the parental traits at one time showed separate, at another blended, that occasionally the force of two natures is represented in the derivative one by a diagonal of greater value than either original line of living movement, that sometimes there is a loss of vitality hardly to be accounted for, and again a for ward impulse of variable intensity in some new and unforeseen direction. So it was with this child. She had glanced off from THE PROFESSOR AT THE BREAKFAST-TABLE. 69 her parental probabilities at an unexpected angle. Instead of taking to classical learning like her father, or sliding quietly into household duties like her mother, she broke out early in efforts that pointed in the direc tion of Art. As soon as she could hold a pencil she began to sketch outlines of objects round her with a cert '.in air and spirit. Very extraordinary horses, but their legs looked as if they could move. Birds un known to Audubon, yet flying, as it were, with a rush. Men with impossible legs, which did yet seem to have a vital connection with their most improbable bodies. By-and-by the doctor, on his beast, an old man with a face looking as if Time had kneaded it like dough with his knuckles, with a rhubarb tint and flavor pervading himself and his sorrel horse and all their appurtenances. A dreadful old man ! Be sure she did not forget those saddle-bags that held the detestable bottles out of which he used to shake those loathsome powders which, to virgin childish palates that find heaven in strawberries and peaches, are Well, I suppose I had better stop. Only she wished she was dead sometimes when she heard him coming. On the next leaf would figure the gentleman with the black coat and white cravat, as he looked when he came and entertained her with stories concerning the death of various little children about her age, to encourage her, as that wicked Mr. Arouet said about shooting Admiral Byng. Then she would take her pencil, and with a few scratches there would be the outline of a child, in which you might notice how one sudden sweep gave the chubby cheek, and two dots darted at the paper looked like real eyes. By-and-by she went to school, and caricatured the schoolmaster on the leaves of her grammars and geo- 70 THE PROFESSOR AT THE BREAKFAST-TABLE. graphies, and drew the faces of her companions, and, from time to time, heads and figures from her fancy, with large eyes, far apart, like those of Raffaelle's mothers and children, sometimes with wild floating hair, and then with wings and heads thrown back in ecstasy. This was at about twelve years old, as the dates of these drawings show, and, therefore, three or four years before she came among us. Soon after this time, the ideal figures began to take the place of por traits and caricatures, and a new feature appeared in her drawing-books in the form of fragments of verse and short poems. It was dull work, of course, for such a young girl to live with an old spinster and go to a village school. Her books bore testimony to this ; for there was a look of sadness in the faces she drew, and a sense of weari ness and longing for some imaginary conditions of blessedness or other, which began to be painful. She might have gone through this flowering of the soul, and, casting her petals, subsided into a sober, human berry, but for the intervention of friendly assistance and counsel. In the town where she lived was a lady of honorable condition, somewhat past middle age, who was pos sessed of pretty ample means, of cultivated tastes, of excellent principles, of exemplary character, and of more than common accomplishments. The gentleman in black broadcloth and white neckerchief only echoed the common voice about her, when he called her, after enjoying, beneath her hospitable roof, an excellent cup of tea, with certain elegancies and luxuries he was unaccustomed to, "The Model of all the Virtues." She deserved this title as well as almost any woman. She did really bristle with moral excellences. Men- THE PKOFESSOR AT THE BREAKFAST-TABLE. 71 tion any good thing she had not done ; I should like to see you try ! There was no handle of weakness to take hold of her by; she was as unseizable, except in her totality, as a billiard-ball; and on the broad, green, terrestrial table, where she had been knocked about, like all of us, by the cue of Fortune, she glanced from every human contact, and "caromed" from one rela- .tion to another, and rebounded from the stuffed cush= ion of temptation, with such exact and perfect angular movements, that the Enemy's corps of Reporters had long given up taking notes of her conduct, as there was no chance for their master. What an admirable person for the patroness and directress of a slightly self-willed child, with the light ning zigzag line of genius running like a glittering vein through the marble whiteness of her virgin na ture! One of the lady-patroness's peculiar virtues was calmness. She was resolute and strenuous, but still. You could depend on her for every duty ; she was as true as steel. She was kind-hearted and ser viceable in all the relations of life. She had more sense, more knowledge, more conversation, as well as Tnore goodness, than all the partners you have waltzed Jtdth this winter put together. Yet no man was known to have loved her, or even to have offered himself to her in marriage. It was a great wonder. I am very anxious to vindicate my character as a philosopher and an observer of Nature by accounting for this apparently extraordinary fact. You may remember certain persons who have the misfortune of presenting to the friends whom they meet a cold, damp hand. There are states of mind in which a contact of this kind has a depressing effect on the vital powers that makes us insensible to all the 72 THE PROFESSOR AT THE BREAKFAST-TABLE. virtues and graces of thp proprietor of one of these life- absorbing organs. When they touch us, virtue passes out of us, and we feel as if our electricity had been drained by a powerful negative battery, carried about by an overgrown human torpedo. "The Model of all the Virtues" had a pair of searching eyes as clear as Wenham ice ; but they were slower to melt than that fickle jewelry. Her features disordered themselves slightly at times in a surface- smile, but never broke loose from their corners and indulged in the riotous tumult of a laugh, which, I take it, is the mob-law of the features, and pro priety the magistrate who reads the riot-act. She carried the brimming cup of her inestimable virtues with a cautious, steady hand, and an eye always on them, to see that they did not spill. Then she was an admirable judge of character. Her mind was a per fect laboratory of tests and reagents ; every syllable you put into breath went into her intellectual eudiom eter, and all your thoughts were recorded on litmus- paper. I think there has rarely been a more admi rable woman. Of course, Miss Iris was immensely and passionately attached to her. Well, these are two highly oxygenated adverbs, grateful, suppose we say, yes, grateful, dutiful, obedient to her wishes for the most part, perhaps not quite up to the con cert pitch of such a perfect orchestra of the virtues. We must have a weak spot or two in a character before we can love it much. People that do not laugh or cry, or take more of anything than is good for them, or use anything but dictionary-words, are admirable subjects for biographies. But we don't always care most for those flat-pattern flowers that press best in the herbarium. THE PROFESSOR AT THE BREAKFAST-TABLE. 73 This immaculate woman, why could n't she have a fault or two? Is n't there any old whisper which will tarnish that wearisome aureole of saintly perfec tion? Does n't she carry a lump of opium in her pocket? Is n't her cologne -bottle replenished oftener than its legitimate use would require? It would be such a comfort! Not for the world would a young creature like Iris have let such words escape her, or such thoughts pass through her mind. Whether at the bottom of her soul lies any uneasy consciousness of an oppres sive presence, it is hard to say, until we know more about her. Iris sits between the Little Gentleman and the "Model of all the Virtues," as the black- coated personage called her. I will watch them all. Here I stop for the present. What the Pro fessor said has had to make way this time for what he saw and heard. And now you may read these lines, which were written for gentle souls who love music, and read in even tones, and, perhaps, with something like a smile upon the reader's lips, at a meeting where these musi cal friends had gathered. Whether they were written with smiles or not, you can guess better after you have read them. THE OPENING OF THE PIANO. In the little southern parlor of the house you may have seen With the gambrel-roof, and the gable looking westward to the green, At the side toward the sunset, with the window on its right, Stood the London-made piano I tim dreaming of to-night. 74 THE PROFESSOR AT THE BREAKFAST-TABLE. Ah me ! how I remember the evening when it came ! What a cry of eager voices, what a group of cheeks in flame, When the wondrous box was opened that had come from over seas, With its smell of mastic-varnish and its flash of ivory keys ! Then the children all grew fretful in the restlessness of joy, For the boy would push his sister, and the sister crowd the boy, Till the father asked for quiet in his grave paternal way, But the mother hushed the tumult with the words, " Now, Mary, play." For the dear soul knew that music was a very sovereign balm ; She had sprinkled it over Sorrow and seen its brow grow calm, In the days of slender harpsichords with tapping tinkling quills, Or carolling to her spinet with its thin metallic thrills. So Mary, the household minstrel, who always loved to please, Sat down to the new " dementi," and struck the glittering keys. Hushed were the children's voices, and every eye grew dim, As, floating from lip and finger, arose the " Vesper Hymn." Catharine, child of a neighbor, curly and rosy-red, (Wedded since, and a widow, something like ten years dead,) Hearing a gush of music such as none before, Steals from her mother's chamber and peeps at the open door. Just as the " Jubilate " in threaded whisper dies, " Open it ! open it, lady ! " the little maiden cries, (For she thought 't was a singing creature caged in a box she heard,) " Open it ! open it, ladj ! and let me see the bird I " IT. I don't know whether our literary or professional people are more amiable than they are in other places, but certainly quarrelling is out of fashion among them. This could never be, if they were in the habit of secret THE PROFESSOR AT THE BREAKFAST-TABLE. 75 anonymous puffing of each other. That is the kind of underground machinery which manufactures false reputations and genuine hatreds. On the other hand, I should like to know if we are not at liberty to have a good time together, and say the pleasantest things we can think of to each other, when any of us reaches his thirtieth or fortieth or fiftieth or eightieth birthday. We don't have "scenes," I warrant you, on these occasions. No "surprise" parties! You understand these, of course. In the rural districts, where scenic tragedy and melodrama cannot be had, as in the city, at the expense of a quarter and a white pocket-hand kerchief, emotional excitement has to be sought in the dramas of real life. Christenings, weddings, and funerals, especially the latter, are the main depen dence; but babies, brides, and deceased citizens can not be had at a day's notice. Now, then, for a sur prise-party! A bag of flour, a barrel of potatoes, some strings of onions, a basket of apples, a big cake and many little cakes, a jug of lemonade, a purse stuffed with bills of the more modest denominations, may, perhaps, do well enough for the properties in one of these pri vate theatrical exhibitions. The minister of the par ish, a tender-hearted, quiet, hard-working man, living on a small salary, with many children, sometimes pinched to feed and clothe them, praying fervently every day to be blest in his "basket and store," but sometimes fearing he asks amiss, to judge by the small returns, has the first role, not, however, by his own choice, but forced upon him. The minister's wife, a sharp-eyed, unsentimental body, is first lady; the remaining parts by the rest of the family. If only had a playbill, it would run thus : 76 THE PROFESSOR AT THE BREAKFAST-TABLE. ON TUESDAY NEXT WILL BE PRESENTED THE AFFECTING SCENE CALLED THE SURPRISE-PARTY, OB THE OVERCOME FAMILY; WITH THE FOLLOWING STRONG CAST OF CHARACTERS. The Rev. Mr. Overcome, by the Clergyman of this Parish. Mrs. Overcome, by his estimable lady. Masters Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John Over come, Misses Dorcas, Tabitha, Rachel, and Hannah Overcome, by their interesting children. Peggy, by the female help. The poor man is really grateful ; it is a most wel come and unexpected relief. He tries to express his thanks, his voice falters, he chokes, and bursts into tears. That is the great effect of the evening. The sharp-sighted lady cries a little with one eye, and counts the strings of onions, and the rest of the things, with the other. The children stand ready for a spring at the apples. The female help weeps after the noisy fashion of untutored handmaids. Now this is all very well as charity, but do let the kind visitors remember they get their money's worth. If you pay a quarter for dry crying, done by a second- rate actor, how much ought you to pay for real hot, wet tears, out of the honest eyes of a gentleman who is not acting, but sobbing in earnest? THE PROFESSOR AT THE BREAKFAST-TABLE. 77 All I meant to say, when I began, was, that this was not a surprise-party where I read these few lines that follow : We will not speak of years to-night ; For what have years to bring, But larger floods of love and light And sweeter songs to sing ? We will not drown in wordy praise The kindly thoughts that rise ; If friendship owns one tender phrase, He reads it in our eyes. We need not waste our schoolboy art To gild this notch of time ; Forgive me, if my wayward heart Has throbbed in artless rhyme. Enough for him the silent grasp That knits us hand in hand, And he the bracelet's radiant clasp That locks our circling band. Strength to his hours of manly toil ! Peace to his starlit dreams ! Who loves alike the furrowed soil, The music-haunted streams 1 Sweet smiles to keep forever bright The sunshine on his lips, And faith, that sees the ring of light Round Nature's last eclipse ! One of our boarders has been talking in such strong language that I am almost afraid to report it. However, as he seems to be really honest and is so very sincere in his local prejudices, I don't believe anybody will be very angry with him. 78 THE PROFESSOR AT THE BREAKFAST-TABLE. It is here, Sir ! right here ! said the little deformed gentleman, in this old new city of Boston, this remote provincial corner of a provincial nation, that the Battle of the Standard is fighting, and was fight ing before we were born, and will be fighting when we are dead and gone, please God ! The battle goes on everywhere throughout civilization ; but here, here, here is the broad white flag flying which proclaims, first of all, peace and good-will to men, and, next to that, the absolute, unconditional spiritual liberty of each individual immortal soul ! The three -hilled city against the seven -hilled city ! That is it, Sir, no thing less than that ; and if you know what that means, I don't think you '11 ask for anything more. I swear to you, Sir, I believe that these two centres of civili zation are just exactly the two points that close the circuit in the battery of our planetary intelligence ! And I believe there are spiritual eyes looking out from Uranus and unseen Neptune, ay, Sir, from the sys tems of Sirius and Arcturus and Aldebaran, and as far as that faint stain of sprinkled worlds confluent in the distance that we call the nebula of Orion, look ing on, Sir, with what organs I know not, to see which are going to melt in that fiery fusion, the acci dents and hindrances of humanity or man himself, Sir, the stupendous abortion, the illustrious failure that he is, if the three-hilled city does not ride down and trample out the seven -hilled city ! Steam's up! said the young man John, so called, in a low tone. Three hundred and sixty -five tons to the square inch. Let him blow her off, or he '11 bu'st his b'iler. The divinity-student took it calmly, only whisper ing that he thought there was a little confusion of THE PROFESSOR AT THE BREAKFAST-TABLE. 79 images between a galvanic battery and a charge of cavalry. But the Koh-i-noor the gentleman, you remem ber, with a very large diamond in his shirt-front laughed his scornful laugh, and made as if to speak. Sail in, Metropolis ! said that same young man John, by name. And then, in a lower lone, not meaning to be heard, Now, then, Ma'am Allen ! But he was heard, and the Koh-i-noor's face turned so white with rage, that his blue-black mous tache and beard looked fearful, seen against it. He grinned with wrath, and caught at a tumbler, as if he would have thrown it or its contents at the speaker. The young Marylander fixed his clear, steady eye upon him, and laid his hand on his arm, carelessly almost, but the Jewel found it was held so that he could not move it. It was of no use. The youth was his mas ter in muscle, and in that deadly Indian hug in which men wrestle with their eyes; over in five seconds, but breaks one of their two backs, and is good for threescore years and ten ; one trial enough, set tles the whole matter, just as when two feathered songsters of the barnyard, game and dunghill, come together, after a jump or two at each other, and a few sharp kicks, there is the end of it ; and it is, Apres vous, Monsieur, with the beaten party in all the social relations for all the rest of his days. I cannot philosophically account for the Koh-i- noor's wrath. For though a cosmetic is sold, bearing the name of the lady to whom reference was made by the young person John, yet, as it is publicly asserted in respectable prints that this cosmetic is not a dye, I see no reason why he should have felt offended by any suggestion that he was indebted to it or its authoress. 80 THE PROFESSOR AT THE BREAKFAST-TABLE. I have no doubt that there are certain exceptional com plexions to which the purple tinge, above alluded to, is natural. Nature is fertile in variety. I saw an albiness in London once, for sixpence, (including the inspection of a stuffed boa-constrictor,) who looked as if she had been boiled in milk. A young Hottentot of my acquaintance had his hair all in little pellets of the size of marrowfat peas. One of my own class mates has undergone a singular change of late years, his hair losing its original tint, and getting a re markable discolored look; and another has. ceased to cultivate any hair at all over the vertex or crown of the head. So I am perfectly willing to believe that the purple-black of the Koh-i-noor's moustache and whiskers is constitutional and not pigmentary. But I can't think why he got so angry. The intelligent reader will understand that all this pantomime of the threatened onslaught and its sup pression passed so quickly that it was all over by the time the other end of the table found out there was a disturbance ; just as a man chopping wood half a mile off may be seen resting on his axe at the instant you hear the last blow he struck. So you will please to observe that the Little Gentleman was not interrupted during the time implied by these ex-post-facto remarks of mine, but for some ten or fifteen seconds only. He did not seem to mind the interruption at all, for he started again. The " Sir " of his harangue was no doubt addressed to myself more than anybody else, but he often uses it in discourse as if he were talking with some imaginary opponent. America, Sir, he exclaimed, is the only place where man is full-grown ! He straightened himself up, as he spoke, standing THE PROFESSOR AT THE BREAKFAST-TABLE. 81 on the top round of his high chair, I suppose, and so presented the larger part of his little figure to the view of the boarders. It was next to impossible to keep from laughing. The commentary was so strange an illustration of the text ! I thought it was time to put in a word ; for I have lived in foreign parts, and am more or less cos mopolitan. I doubt if we have more practical freedom in Amer ica than they have in England, I said. An Eng lishman thinks as he likes in religion and politics. Mr. Martineau speculates as freely as ever Dr. Chan- ning did, and Mr. Bright is as independent as Mr. Seward. Sir, said he, it isn't what a man thinks or says, but when and where and to whom he thinks and says it. A man with a flint and steel striking sparks over a wet blanket is one thing, and striking them over a tinder-box is another. The free Englishman is born under protest ; he lives and dies under protest, a tolerated, but not a welcome fact. Is nok freethinker a term of reproach in England? The same idea in the soul of an Englishman who struggled up to it and still holds it antagonistically, and in the soul of an Amer ican to whom it is congenital and spontaneous, and often unrecognized, 'except as an element blended with all his thoughts, a natural movement, like the drawing of his breath or the beating of his heart, is a very dif ferent thing. You may teach a quadruped to walk on his hind legs, but he is always wanting to be on all- fours. Nothing that can be taught a growing youth is like the atmospheric knowledge he breathes from his infancy upwards. The American baby sucks in free dom with the milk of the breast at which he hangs. 82 THE PROFESSOR AT THE BREAKFAST-TABLE. That 's a good joke, said the young fellow John, consider-in' it commonly belongs to a female Paddy. I thought I will not be certain that the Little Gentleman winked, as if he had been hit somewhere as I have no doubt Dr. Darwin did when the wooden-spoon suggestion upset his theory about why, etc. If he winked, however, he did not dodge. A lively comment ! he said. But Rome, in her great founder, sucked the blood of empire out of the dugs of a brute, Sir ! The Milesian wet-nurse is only a convenient vessel through which the American in fant gets the life-blood of this virgin soil, Sir, that is making man over again, on the sunset pattern ! You don't think what we are doing and going to do here. Why, Sir, while commentators are bothering them selves with interpretation of prophecies, we have got the new heavens and the new earth over us and under us ! Was there ever anything in Italy, I should like to know, like a Boston sunset? This time there was a laugh, and the little man himself almost smiled. Yes, Boston sunsets ; perhaps they 're as good in some other places, but I know 'em best here. Any how, the American skies are different from anything they see in the Old World. Yes, and the rocks are different, and the soil is different, and everything that comes out of the soil, from grass up to Indians, is dif ferent. And now that the provisional races are dying out What do you mean by the provisional races, Sir? said the divinity-student, interrupting him. Why, the aboriginal bipeds, to be sure, he an swered, the red-crayon sketch of humanity laid on THE PROFESSOR AT THE BREAKFAST-TABLE. 83 the canvas before the colors for the real manhood were ready. I hope they will come to something yet, said the divinity-student. Irreclaimable, Sir, irreclaimable ! said the Lit tle Gentleman. Cheaper to breed white men than domesticate a nation of red ones. When you can get the bitter out of the partridge's thigh, you can make an enlightened commonwealth of Indians. A provi sional race, Sir, nothing more. Exhaled carbonic acid for the use of vegetation, kept down the bears and catamounts, enjoyed themselves in scalping and being scalped, and then passed away or are passing away, according to the programme. Well, Sir, these races dying out, the white man has to acclimate himself. It takes him a good while ; but he will come all right by-and-by, Sir, as sound as a woodchuck, as sound as a musquash ! A new nursery, Sir, with Lake Superior and Hu ron and all the rest of 'em for wash-basins ! A new race, and a whole new world for the new-born human soul to work in ! And Boston is the brain of it, and has been any time these hundred years ! That 's all I claim for Boston, that it is the thinking centre of the continent, and therefore of the planet. And the grand emporium of modesty, said the divinity-student, a little mischievously. Oh, don't talk to me of modesty! answered the Little Gentleman, I'm past that! There isn't a thing that was ever said or done in Boston, from pitching the tea overboard to the last ecclesiastical lie it tore into tatters and flung into the dock, that was n't thought very indelicate by some fool or tyrant or bigot, and all the entrails of commercial and spir- 84 THE PROFESSOR AT THE BREAKFAST-TABLE. itual conservatism are twisted into colics as often as this revolutionary brain of ours has a fit of thinking come over it. No, Sir, show me any other place that is, or was since the megalosaurus has died out, where wealth and social influence are so fairly divided be tween the stationary and the progressive classes! Show me any other place where every other drawing- room is not a chamber of the Inquisition, with papas and mammas for inquisitors, and the cold shoulder, instead of the "dry pan and the gradual fire," the punishment of "heresy" ! We think Baltimore is a pretty civilized kind of a village, said the young Marylander, good-na turedly. But I suppose you can't forgive it for always keeping a little ahead of Boston in point of numbers, tell the truth now. Are we not the cen tre of something? Ah, indeed, to be sure you are. You are the gas tronomic metropolis of the Union. Why don't you put a canvas-back duck on the top of the Washington column? Why don't you get that lady off from Bat tle Monument and plant a terrapin in her place? Why will you ask for other glories when you have soft crabs? No, Sir, you live too well to think as hard as we do in Boston. Logic comes to us with the salt-fish of Cape Ann ; rhetoric is born of the beans of Beverly; but you if you open your mouths to speak, Nature stops them with a fat oyster, or offers a slice of the breast of your divine bird, and silences all your aspirations. And what of Philadelphia? said the Marylander. Oh, Philadelphia? Waterworks, killed by the Croton and Cochituate \ Ben Franklin, borrowed from Boston ; David Rittenhouse, made an or- THE PROFESSOR AT THE BREAKFAST-TABLE. 85 rery ; Benjamin Rush, made a medical system ; both interesting to antiquarians ; great Red-river raft of medical students, spontaneous generation of professors to match ; more widely known through the Moyamensing hose-company, and the Wistar par ties; for geological section of social strata, go to The Club. Good place to live in, first-rate mar ket, tip-top peaches. What do we know about Philadelphia, except that the engine-companies are always shooting each other? And what do you say to Ne' York? asked the Koh-i-noor. A great city, Sir, replied the Little Gentleman, a very opulent, splendid city. A point of transit of much that is remarkable, and of permanence for much that is respectable. A great money-centre. San Francisco with the mines above-ground, and some of 'em under the sidewalks. I have seen next to nothing grandiose, out of New York, in all our cities. It makes 'em all look paltry and petty. Has many elements of civilization. May stop where Ven ice did, though, for aught we know. The order of its development is just this : Wealth ; architecture ; upholstery ; painting ; sculpture. Printing, as a me chanical art, just as Nicholas Jenson and the Aldi, who were scholars too, made Venice renowned for it. Journalism, which is the accident of business and crowded populations, in great perfection. Venice got as far as Titian and Paul Veronese and Tintoretto, great colorists, mark you, magnificent on the flesh- and-blood side of Art, but look over to Florence and see who lie in Santa Croce, and ask out of whose loins Dante sprung! Oh, yes, to be sure, Venice built her Ducal Palace, 86 THE PROFESSOR AT THE BREAKFAST-TABLE. and her Church of St. Mark, and her Casa d' Oro, and the rest of her golden houses ; and Venice had great pictures and good music ; and Venice had a Golden Book, in which all the large tax-payers had their names written ; but all that did not make Ven ice the brain of Italy. I tell you what, Sir, with all these magnificent appliances of civilization, it is time we began to heai something from ihejeunesse doree whose names are on the Golden Book of our sumptuous, splendid, marble- palaced Venice, something in the higher walks of literature, something in the councils of the nation. Plenty of Art, I grant you, Sir; now, then, for vast libraries, and for mighty scholars and thinkers and statesmen, five for every Boston one, as the popula tion is to ours, ten to one more properly, in virtue of centralizing attraction as the alleged metropolis, and not call our people provincials, and have to come begging to us to write the lives of Hendrik Hudson and Gouverneur Morris ! The Little Gentleman was on his hobby, exalting his own city at the expense of every other place. I have my doubts if he had been in either of the cities he had been talking about. I was just going to say something to sober him down, if I could, when the young Marylander spoke up. Come, now, he said, what's the use of these comparisons? Did n't I hear this gentleman saying, the other day, that every American owns all Amer ica? If you have really got more brains in Boston than other folks, as you seem to think, who hates you for it, except a pack of scribbling fools? If I like Broadway better than Washington Street, what then ? I own them both, as mucb as anybody owns either. THE PROFESSOR AT THE BREAKFAST-TABLE. 87 I am an American, and wherever I look up and see the stars and stripes overhead, that is home to me ! He spoke, and looked up as if he heard the embla zoned folds crackling over him in the breeze. We all looked up involuntarily, as if we should see the national flag by so doing. The sight of the dingy ceiling and the gas-fixture depending therefrom dis pelled the illusion. Bravo ! bravo ! said the venerable gentleman on the other side of the table. Those are the sentiments of Washington's Farewell Address. Nothing better than that since the last chapter in Revelations. Five- and-forty years ago there used to be Washington soci eties, and little boys used to walk in processions, each little boy having a copy of the Address, bound in red, hung round his neck by a ribbon. Why don't they now? Why don't they now? I saw enough of hat ing each other in the old Federal times; now let's love each other, I say, let 's love each other, and not try to make it out that there is n't any place fit to live in except the one we happen to be born in. It dwarfs the mind, I think, said I, to feed it on any localism. The full stature of manhood is shrivelled The color burst up into my cheeks. What was I saying, I, who would not for the world have pained our unfortunate little boarder by an allusion? I will go, he said, and made a movement with his left arm to let himself down from his high chair. No, no, he doesn't mean it, you must not go, said a kind voice next him ; and a soft, white hand was laid upon his arm. Iris, my dear ! exclaimed another voice, as of a female, in accents that might be considered a strong 88 THE PROFESSOR AT THE BREAKFAST-TABLE. atmospheric solution of duty with very little flavor of grace. She did not move for this address, and there was a tableau that lasted some seconds. For the young girl, in the glory of half -blown womanhood, and the dwarf, the cripple, the misshapen little creature covered with Nature's insults, looked straight into each other's eyes. Perhaps no handsome young woman had ever looked at him so in his life. Certainly the young girl never had looked into eyes that reached into her soul as these did. It was not that they were in them selves supernaturally bright, but there was the sad fire in them that flames up from the soul of one who looks on the beauty of woman without hope, but, alas ! not without emotion. To him it seemed as if those amber gates had been translucent as the brown water of a mountain brook, and through them he had seen dimly into a virgin wilderness, only waiting for the sunrise of a great passion for all its buds to blow and all its bowers to ring with melody. That is my image, of course, not his. It was not a simile that was in his mind, or is in anybody's at such a moment, it was a pang of wordless passion, and then a silent, inward moan. A lady's wish, he said, with a certain gallantry of manner, makes slaves of us all. And Nature, who is kind to all her children, and never leaves the smallest and saddest of all her human failures without one little comfit of self-love at the bottom of his poor ragged pocket, Nature suggested to him that he had turned his sentence well; and he fell into a reverie, in which the old thoughts that were always hovering just outside the doors guarded by Common Sense, and THE PROFESSOR AT THE BREAKFAST-TABLE. 89 watching for a chance to squeeze in, knowing perfectly well they would be ignominiously kicked out again as soon as Common Sense saw them, flocked in pell-mell, misty, fragmentary, vague, half -ashamed of them selves, but still shouldering up against his inner con sciousness till it warmed with their contact : John Wilkes's the ugliest man's in England saying, that with half-an-hour's start he would cut out the handsomest man in all the land in any woman's good graces; Cadenus old and savage leading captive Stella and Vanessa ; and then the stray line of a bal lad, "And a winning tongue had he," as much as to say, it is n't looks, after all, but cunning words, that win our Eves over, just as of old when it was the worst-looking brute of the lot that got our grand mother to listen to his stuff and so did the mischief. Ah, dear me ! We rehearse the part of Hercules with his club, subjugating man and woman in our fancy, the first by the weight of it, and the second by our handling of it, we rehearse it, I say, by our own hearth-stones, with the cold poker as our club, and the exercise is easy. But when we come to real life, the poker is in the fire, and, ten to one, if we would grasp it, we find it too hot to hold; lucky for us, if it is not white-hot, and we do not have to leave the skin of our hands sticking to it when we fling it down or drop it with a loud or silent cry ! I am frightened when I find into what a laby rinth of human character and feeling I am winding. I meant to tell my thoughts, and to throw in a few studies of manner and costume as they pictured them selves for me from day to day. Chance has thrown together at the table with me a number of persons who are worth studying, and I mean not only to look 90 THE PROFESSOR AT THE BREAKFAST-TABLE. on them, but, if I can, through them. You can get any man's or woman's secret, whose sphere is circum scribed by your own, if you will only look patiently on them long enough. Nature is always applying her reagents to character, if you will take the pains to watch her. Our studies of character, to change the image, are very much like the surveyor's triangulation of a geographical province. We get a base-line in organization, always; then we get an angle by sight ing some distant object to which the passions or aspi rations of the subject of our observation are tending; then another ; and so we construct our first triangle. Once fix a man's ideals, and for the most part the rest is easy. A wants to die worth half a million. Good. B (female) wants to catch him, and outlive him. All right. Minor details at our leisure. What is it, of all your experiences, of all your thoughts, of all your misdoings, that lies at the very bottom of the great heap of acts of consciousness which make up your past life? What should you most dislike to tell your nearest friend? Be so good as to pause for a brief space, and shut the volume you hold with your finger between the pages. Oh, that is it! What a confessional I have been sitting at, with the inward ear of my soul open, as the multitudinous whisper of my involuntary confidants came back to me like the reduplicated echo of a cry among the craggy bills! At the house of a friend where I once passed the night was one of those stately upright cabinet desks and cases of drawers which were not rare in prosperous families during the last century. It had held the clothes and the books and the papers of generation THE PROFESSOR AT THE BREAKFAST-TABLE. 91 after generation. The hands that opened its drawers had grown withered, shrivelled, and at last been folded in death. The children that played with the lower handles had got tall enough to open the desk, to reach the upper shelves behind the folding-doors, grown bent after a while, and then followed those who had gone before, and left the old cabinet to be ransacked by a new generation. A boy of ten or twelve was looking at it a few years ago, and, being a quick-witted fellow, saw that all the space was not accounted for by the smaller drawers in the part beneath the lid of the desk. Prying about with busy eyes and fingers, he at length came upon a spring, on pressing which, a secret drawer flew from its hiding-place. It had never been opened but by the maker. The mahogany shavings and dust were lying in it as when the artisan closed it, and when I saw it, it was as fresh as if that day finished. Is there not one little drawer in your soul, my sweet reader, which no hand but yours has ever opened, and which none that have known you seem to have suspected? What does it hold? A sin? I hope not. What a strange thing an old dead sin laid away in a secret drawer of the soul is ! Must it some time or other be moistened with tears, until it comes to life again and begins to stir in our consciousness, as the dry wheel-animalcule, looking like a grain of dust, becomes alive, if it is wet with a drop of water? Or is it a passion? There are plenty of withered men and women walking about the streets who have the secret drawer in their hearts, which, if it were opened, would show as fresh as it was when they were in the flush of youth and its first trembling emotions. 92 THE PROFESSOR AT THE BREAKFAST-TABLE. What it held will, perhaps, never be known, until they are dead and gone, and some curious eye lights on an old yellow letter with the fossil footprints of the extinct passion trodden thick all over it. There is not a boarder at our table, I firmly be lieve, excepting the young girl, who has not a story of the heart to tell, if one could only get the secret drawer open. Even this arid female, whose armor of black bombazine looks stronger against the shafts of love than any cuirass of triple brass, has had her sen timental history, if I am not mistaken. I will tell you my reason for suspecting it. Like many other old women, she shows a great ner vousness and restlessness whenever I venture to ex press any opinion upon a class of subjects which can hardly be said to belong to any man or set of men as their strictly private property, not even to the clergy, or the newspapers commonly called "reli gious." Now, although it would be a great luxury to me to obtain my opinions by contract, ready-made, from a professional man, and although I have a con stitutional kindly feeling to all sorts of good people which would make me happy to agree with all their beliefs, if that were possible, still I must have an idea, now and then, as to the meaning of life ; and though the only condition of peace in this world is to have no ideas, or, at least, not to express them, with reference to such subjects, I can't afford to pay quite so much as that even for peace. I find that there is a very prevalent opinion among the dwellers on the shores of Sir Isaac Newton's Ocean of Truth, that salt fish, which have been taken from it a good while ago, split open, cured and dried, are the only proper and allowable food for reasonable THE PROFESSOR AT THE BREAKFAST-TABLE. 93 people. I maintain, on the other hand, that there are a number of live fish still swimming in it, and that every one of us has a right to see if he cannot catch some of them. Sometimes I please myself with the idea that I have landed an actual living fish, small, perhaps, but with rosy gills and silvery scales. Then I find the consumers of nothing but the salted and dried article insist that it is poisonous, simply because it is alive, and cry out to people not to touch it. I have not found, however, that people mind them much. The poor boarder in bombazine is my dynamome ter. I try every questionable proposition on her. If she winces, I must be prepared for an outcry from the other old women. I frightened her, the other day, by saying thai faith, as an intellectual state, was self- reliance, which, if you have a metaphysical turn, you will find is not so much of a paradox as it sounds at first. So she sent me a book to read which was to cure me of that error. It was an old book, and looked as if it had not been opened for a long time. What should drop out of it, one day, but a small heart- shaped paper, containing a lock "of that straight, coarse, brown hair which sets off the sharp faces of so many thin-flanked, large-handed bumpkins! I read upon the paper the name "Hiram." Love! love! love ! everywhere ! everywhere ! under diamonds and housemaids' "jewelry," lifting the marrowy camel 's-hair, and rustling even the black bombazine! No, no, I think she never was pretty, but she was young once, and wore bright ginghams, and, per haps, gay merinos. We shall find that the poor little crooked man has been in love, or is in love, or will be in love before we have done with him, for aught that I know I 94 THE PROFESSOR AT THE BREAKFAST-TABLE. Romance ! Was there ever a boarding-house in the world where the seemingly prosaic table had not a liv ing fresco for its background, where you could see, if you had eyes, the smoke and fire of some upheaving sentiment, or the dreary craters of smouldering or burnt-out passions? You look on the black bomba zine and high-necked decorum of your neighbor, and no more think of the real life that underlies this de spoiled and dismantled womanhood than you think of a stone trilobite as having once been full of the juices and the nervous thrills of throbbing and self-conscious being. There is a wild creature under that long yel low pin which serves as brooch for the bombazine cuirass, a wild creature, which I venture to say would leap in his cage, if I should stir him, quiet as you think him. A heart which has been domesticated by matrimony and maternity is as tranquil as a tame bulfinch ; but a wild heart which has never been fairly broken in flutters fiercely long after you think time has tamed it down, like that purple finch I had the other day, which could not be approached without such palpitations' and frantic flings against the bars of his cage, that I had to send him back and get a lit tle orthodox canary which had learned to be quiet and never mind the wires or his keeper's handling. I will tell you my wicked, but half involuntary experiment on the wild heart under the faded bombazine. Was there ever a person in the room with you, marked by any special weakness or peculiarity, with whom you could be two hours and not touch the infirm spot? I confess the most frightful tendency to do just this thing. If a man has a brogue, I am sure to catch myself imitating it. If another is lame, I fol low him, or, worse than that, go before him, limping. THE PROFESSOR AT THE BREAKFAST-TABLE. 95 I could never meet an Irish gentleman if it had been the Duke of Wellington himself without stum bling upon the word "Paddy,"- which I use rarely in my common talk. I have been worried to know whether this was ow ing to some innate depravity of disposition on my part, some malignant torturing instinct, which, under different circumstances, might have made a Fijian anthropophagus of me, or to some law of thought for which I was not answerable. It is, I am convinced, a kind of physical fact like endosmosis, with which some of you are acquainted. A thin film of polite ness separates the unspoken and unspeakable current of thought from the stream of conversation. After a time one begins to soak through and mingle with the other. We were talking about names, one day. Was there ever anything, I said, like the Yankee for inventing the most uncouth, pretentious, detestable appellations, inventing or finding them, since the time of Praise-God Barebones? I heard a country- boy once talking of another whom he called Elpit, as I understood him. Elbridge, is common enough, but this sounded oddly. It seems the boy was christened Lord Pitt, and called for convenience, as above. I have heard a charming little girl, belonging to an intelligent family in the country, called Anges inva riably; doubtless intended for Agnes. Names are cheap. How can a man name an innocent new-born child, that never did him any harm, Hiram ? The poor relation, or whatever she is, in bombazine, turned toward me, but I was stupid, and went on. To think of a man going through life saddled with such an abominable name as that ! The poor relation grew 96 THE PROFESSOR AT THE BREAKFAST-TABLE. very uneasy. I continued ; for I never thought of all this till afterwards. I knew one young fellow, a good many years ago, by the name of Hiram What 's got into you, Cousin, said our land lady, to look so ? There ! you 've upset your tea cup! It suddenly occurred to me what I had been doing, and I saw the poor woman had her hand at her throat ; she was half -choking with the "hysteric ball," a very odd symptom, as you know, which nervous women often complain of. What business had I to be trying experiments on this forlorn old soul? I had a great deal better be watching that young girl. Ah, the young girl ! I am sure that she can hide nothing from me. Her skin is so transparent that one can almost count her heart-beats by the flushes they send into her cheeks. She does not seem to be shy, either. I think she does not know enough of danger to be timid. She seems to me like one of those birds that travellers tell of, found in remote, uninhabited islands, who, having never received any wrong at the hand of man, show no alarm at and hardly any partic ular consciousness of his presence. The first thing will be to see how she and our little deformed gentleman get along together ; for, as I have told you, they sit side by side. The next thing will be to keep an eye on the duenna, the "Model " and so forth, as the white-neck-cloth called her. The in tention of that estimable lady is, I understand, to launch her and leave, her. I suppose there is no help for it, and I don't doubt this young lady knows how to take care of herself, but I do not like to see young girls turned loose in boarding-houses. Look here now ! There is that jewel of his race, whom I have THE PROFESSOR AT THE BREAKFAST-TABLE. 97 called for convenience the Koh-i-noor, (you under stand it is quite out of the question for me to use the family names of our boarders, unless I want to get into trouble,) I say, the gentleman with the dia mond is looking very often and very intently, it seems to me, down toward the farther corner of the table, where sits our amber -eyed blonde. The landlady's daughter does not look pleased, it seems to me, at this, nor at those other attentions which the gentle man referred to has, as I have learned, pressed upon the newly-arrived young person. The landlady made a communication to me, within a few days after the arrival of Miss Iris, which I will repeat to the best of my remembrance. He, (the person I have been speaking of,) she said, seemed to be kinder hankerin' round after that young woman. It had hurt her daughter's feelin's a good deal, that the gentleman she was a-keepin' com pany with should be offerin' tickets and try in' to send presents to them that he 'd never know'd till jest a lit tle spell ago, and he as good as merried, so fur as solemn promises went, to as respectable a young lady, if she did say so, as any there was round, whosomever they might be. Tickets ! presents ! said I. What tickets, what presents has he had the impertinence to bs offering to that young lady ? Tickets to the Museum, said the landlady. There is them that 's glad enough to go to the Mu seum, when tickets is given 'em; but some of 'em ha'n't had a ticket sence Cenderilla was played, and now he must be offerin' 'em to this ridiculous young paintress, or whatever she is, that 's come to make more mischief than her board 's worth. But it 98 THE PROFESSOR AT THE BREAKFAST-TABLE. a'n't her fault, said the landlady, relenting ; and that aunt of hers, or whatever she is, served him right enough. Why, what did she do? Do ? Why, she took it up in the tongs and dropped it out o' winder. Dropped ? dropped what ? I said. Why, the soap, said the landlady. It appeared that the Koh-i-noor, to ingratiate him self, had sent an elegant package of perfumed soap, directed to Miss Iris, as a delicate expression of a lively sentiment of admiration, and that, after having met with the unfortunate treatment referred to, it was picked up by Master Benjamin Franklin, who appro priated it, rejoicing, and indulged in most unheard-of and inordinate ablutions in consequence, so that his hands were a frequent subject of maternal congratu lation, and he smelt like a civet-cat for weeks after his great acquisition. After watching daily for a time, I think I can see clearly into the relation which is growing up between the little gentleman and the young lady. She shows a tenderness to him that I can't help being interested in. If he was her crippled child, instead of being more than old enough to be her father, she could not treat him more kindly. The landlady's daughter said, the other day, she believed that girl was settin' her cap for the Little Gentleman. Some of them young folks is very artful, said her mother, and there is them that would merry Laza rus, if he 'd only picked up crumbs enough. I don't think, though, this is one of that sort; she's kinder childlike, said the landlady, and maybe never had any dolls to play with; for they say her folks was poor THE PROFESSOR AT THE BREAKFAST-TABLE. 99 before Ma'am undertook to see to her teachin' and board her and clothe her. I could not help overhearing this conversation. "Board her and clothe her!" speaking of such a young creature ! Oh, dear ! Yes, she must be fed, just like Bridget, maid-of -all -work at this es tablishment. Somebody must pay for it. Somebody has a right to watch her and see how much it takes to "keep " her, and growl at her, if she has too good an appetite. Somebody has a right to keep an eye on her and take care that she does not dress too prettily. No mother to see her own youth over again in those fresh features and rising reliefs of half-sculptured womanhood, and, seeing its loveliness, forget her les sons of neutral-tinted propriety, and open the cases that hold her own ornaments to find for her a neck lace or a bracelet or a pair of ear-rings, those golden lamps that light up the deep, shadowy dim ples on the cheeks of young beauties, swinging in a semibarbaric splendor that carries the wild fancy to Abyssinian queens and musky Odalisques! I don't believe any woman has utterly given up the great firm of Mundus & Co. , so long as she wears ear-rings. I think Iris loves to hear the Little Gentleman talk. She smiles sometimes at his vehement state ments, but never laughs at him. When he speaks to her, she keeps her eye always steadily upon him. This may be only natural good-breeding, so to speak, but it is worth noticing. I have often observed that vulgar persons, and public audiences of inferior col lective intelligence, have this in common: the least thing draws off their minds, when you are speaking to them. I love this young creature's rapt attention to her diminutive neighbor while he is speaking. 100 THE PROFESSOR AT THE BREAKFAST-TABLE. He is evidently pleased with it. For a day or two after she came, he was silent and seemed nervous and excited. Now he is fond of getting the talk into* his own hands, and is obviously conscious that he has at least one interested listener. Once or twice I have seen marks of special attention to personal adornment, a ruffled shirt-bosom, one day, and a diamond pin in it, not so very large as the Koh-i-noor's, but more lustrous. I mentioned the death's-head ring he wears on his right hand. I was attracted by a very hand some red stone, a ruby or carbuncle or something of the sort, to notice his left hand, the other day. It is a handsome hand, and confirms my suspicion that the cast mentioned was taken from his arm. After all, this is just what I should expect. It is not very uncommon to see the upper limbs, or one of them, running away with the whole strength, and, therefore, with the whole beauty, which we should never have noticed, if it had been divided equally between all four extremities. If it is so, of course he is proud of his one strong and beautiful arm; that is human nature. I am afraid he can hardly help betraying his favorit ism, as people who have any one showy point are apt to do, especially dentists with handsome teeth, who always smile back to their last molars. Sitting, as he does, next to the young girl, and next but one to the calm lady who has her in charge, he cannot help seeing their relations to each other. That is an admirable woman, Sir, he said to me one day, as we sat alone at the table after breakfast, an admirable woman, Sir, and I hate her. Of course, I begged an explanation. An admirable woman, Sir, because she does good things, and even kind things, takes care of this THE PROFESSOR AT THE BREAKFAST-TABLE. 101 this young lady we have here, talks like a sensi ble person, and always looks as if she was doing her duty with all her might. I hate her because her voice sounds as if it never trembled and her eyes look as if she never knew what it was to cry. Besides, she looks at me, Sir, stares at me, as if she wanted to get an image of me for some gallery in her brain, and we don't love to be looked at in this way, we that have I hate her, I hate her, her eyes kill me, it is like being stabbed with icicles to be looked at so, the sooner she goes home, the better. I don't want a woman to weigh me in a balance ; there are men enough for that sort of work. The judicial char acter isn't captivating in females, Sir. A woman fascinates a man quite as often by what she overlooks as by what she sees. Love prefers twilight to day light; and a man doesn't think much of, nor care much for, a woman outside of his household, unless he can couple the idea of love, past, present, or future, with her. I don't believe the Devil would give half as much for the services of a sinner as he would for those of one of these folks that are always doing vir tuous acts in a way to make them unpleasing. That young girl wants a tender nature to cherish her and give her a chance to put out her leaves, sunshine, and not east winds. He was silent, and sat looking at his handsome left hand with the red stone ring upon it. Is he going to fall in love with Iris ? Here are some lines I read to the boarders the other day. 102 THE PROFESSOR AT THE BREAKFAST-TABLE. THE CROOKED FOOTPATH. Ah, here it is ! the sliding rail That marks the old remembered spot, The gap that struck our schoolboy trail, The crooked path across the lot. It left the road by school and church, A pencilled shadow, nothing more, That parted from the silver birch And ended at the farmhouse door. No line or compass traced its plan ; With frequent bends to left or right, In aimless, wayward curves it ran, But always kept the door in sight. The gabled porch, with woodbine green, The broken millstone at the sill, Though many a rood might stretch between, The truant child could see them still. No rocks across the pathway lie, No fallen trunk is o'er it thrown, And yet it winds, we know not why, And turns as if for tree or stone. Perhaps some lover trod the way With shaking knees and leaping heart, And so it often runs astray With sinuous sweep or sudden start. Or one, perchance, with clouded brain From some unholy banquet reeled, And since, our devious steps maintain His track across the trodden field. Nay, deem not thus, no earthborn will Could ever trace a faultless line ; Our truest steps are human still, To walk unswerving were divine 1 THE PROFESSOR AT THE BREAKFAST-TABLE. 103 Truants from love, we dream of wrath ; Oh, rather let us trust the more ! Through all the wanderings of the path, We still can see our Father's door ! V. The Prof essor finds a Fly in his Teacup. I have a long theological talk to relate, which must be dull reading to some of my young and vivacious friends. I don't know, however, that any of them have entered into a contract to read all that I write, or that I have promised always to write to please them. What if I should sometimes write to please myself ? Now you must know that there are a great many things which interest me, to some of which this or that particular class of readers may be totally indifferent. I love Nature, and human nature, its thoughts, affec tions, dreams, aspirations, delusions, Art in all its forms, virtu in all its eccentricities, old stories from black-letter volumes and yellow manuscripts, and new projects out of hot brains not yet imbedded in the snows of age. I love the generous impulses of the reformer; but not less does my imagination feed it self upon the old litanies, so often warmed by the hu man breath upon which they were wafted to Heaven that they glow through our frames like our own heart's blood. I hope I love good men and women ; I know that they never speak a word to me, even if it be of question or blame, that I do not take pleasantly, if it is expressed with a reasonable amount of human kindness. I have before me at this time a beautiful and affect ing letter, which I have hesitated to answer, though 104 THE PROFESSOR AT THE BREAKFAST-TABLE. the postmark upon it gave its direction, and the name is one which is known to all, in some of its represen tatives. It contains no reproach, only a delicately- hinted fear. Speak gently, as this dear lady has spoken, and there is no heart so insensible that it does not answer to the appeal, no intellect so virile that it does not own a certain deference to the claims of age, of childhood, of sensitive and timid natures, when they plead with it not to look at those sacred things by the broad daylight which they see in mystic shadow. How grateful would it be to make perpetual peace with these pleading saints and their confessors, by the simple act that silences all complainings! Sleep, sleep, sleep ! says the Arch-Enchantress of them all, and pours her dark and potent anodyne, distilled over the fires that consumed her foes, its large, round drops changing, as we look, into the beads of her convert's rosary! Silence! the pride of reason! cries another, whose whole life is spent in reasoning down reason. I hope I love good people, not for their sake, but for my own. And most assuredly, if any deed of wrong or word of bitterness led me into an act of dis respect towards that enlightened and excellent class of men who make it their calling to teach goodness and their duty to practise it, I should feel that I had done myself an injury rather than them. Go and talk with any professional man holding any of the mediaeval creeds, choosing one who wears upon his features the mark of inward and outward health, who looks cheer ful, intelligent, and kindly, and see how all your pre judices melt away in his presence ! It is impossible to come into intimate relations with a large, sweet nature, such as you may often find in this class, without THE PROFESSOR AT THE BREAKFAST-TABLE. 105 ing to be at one with it in all its modes of being and believing. But does it not occur to you that one may love truth as he sees it, and his race as he views it, better than even the sympathy and approbation of many good men whom he honors, better than sleep ing to the sound of the Miserere or listening to the repetition of an effete Confession of Faith? The three learned professions have but recently emerged from a state of quasi barbarism. None of them like too well to be told of it, but it must be sounded in their ears whenever they put on airs. When a man has taken an overdose of laudanum, the doctors tell us to place him between two persons who shall make him walk up and down incessantly ; and if he still cannot be kept from going to sleep, they say that a lash or two over his back is of great assistance. So we must keep the doctors awake by telling them that they have not yet shaken off astrology and the doctrine of signatures, as is shown by the form of their prescriptions, and their use of nitrate of silver, which turns epileptics into Ethiopians. If that is not enough, they must be given over to the scourgers, who like their task and get good fees for it. A few score years ago, sick people were made to swallow burnt toads and powdered earthworms and the expressed juice of wood-lice. The physician of Charles I. and II. prescribed, abominations not to be named. Bar barism, as bad as that of Congo or Ashantee. Traces of this barbarism linger even in the greatly improved medical science of our century. So while the solemn farce of over -drugging is going on, the world over, the harlequin pseudo-science jumps on to the stage, whip in hand, with half-a-dozen somersets, and begins laying about him. 106 THE PROFESSOR AT THE BREAKFAST-TABLE. In 1817, perhaps you remember, the law of wager by battle was unrepealed, and the rascally murderous, and worse than murderous, clown, Abraham Thornton, put on his gauntlet in open court and defied the appel lant to lift the other which he threw down. It was not until the reign of George II. that the statutes against witchcraft were repealed. As for the English Court of Chancery, we know that its antiquated abuses form one of the staples of common proverbs and popular literature. So the laws and the lawyers have to be watched perpetually by public opinion as much as the doctors do. I don't think the other profession is an exception. When the Reverend Mr. Cauvin and his associates burned my distinguished scientific brother, he was burned with green fagots, which made it rather slow and painful, it appears to me they were in a state of religious barbarism. The dogmas of such people about the Father of Mankind and his creatures are of no more account in my opinion than those of a council of Aztecs. If a man picks your pocket, do you not consider him thereby disqualified to pronounce any authoritative opinion on matters of ethics ? If a man hangs my ancient female relatives for sorcery, as they did in this neighborhood a little while ago, or burns my instructor for not believing as he does, I care no more for his religious edicts than I should for those of any other barbarian. Of course, a barbarian may hold many true opin ions; but when the ideas of the healing art, of the administration of justice, of Christian love, could not exclude systematic poisoning, judicial duelling, and murder for opinion's sake, I do not see how we can trust the verdict of that time relating to any subject THE PROFESSOR AT THE BREAKFAST-TABLE. 107 which involves the primal instincts violated in these abominations and absurdities. What if we are even now in a state of semi-barbarism? Perhaps some think we ought not to talk at table about such things. I am not so sure of that. Reli gion and government appear to me the two subjects which of all others should belong to the common talk of people who enjoy the blessings of freedom. Think, one moment. The earth is a great factory-wheel, which, at every revolution on its axis, receives fifty thousand raw souls and turns off nearly the same number worked up more or less completely. There must be somewhere a population of two hundred thou sand million, perhaps ten or a hundred times as many, earth-born intelligences. Life, as we call it, is no thing but tho edge of the boundless ocean of existence where it comes on soundings. In this view, I do not see anything so fit to talk about, or half so interesting, as that which relates to the innumerable majority of our fellow-creatures, the dead-living, who are hun dreds of thousands to one of the live -living, and with whom we all potentially belong, though we have got tangled for the present in some parcels of fibrine, al bumen, and phosphates, that keep us on the minority side of the house. In point of fact, it is one of the many results of Spiritualism to make the permanent destiny of the race a matter of common reflection and discourse, and a vehicle for the prevailing disbelief of the Middle- Age doctrines on the subject. I cannot help thinking, when I remember how many conversa tions my friend and myself have reported, that it would be very extraordinary, if there were no mention of that class of subjects which involves all that we have and all that we hope, not merely for ourselves, 108 THE PROFESSOR AT THE BREAKFAST-TABLE. but for the dear people whom we love best, noble men, pure and lovely women, ingenuous children, about the destiny of nine tenths of whom you know the opinions that would have been taught by those old man-roasting, woman-strangling dogmatists. How ever, I fought this matter with one of our boarders the other day, and I am going to report the conversation. The divinity-student came down, one morning, looking rather more serious than usual. He said lit tle at breakfast-time, but lingered after the others, so that I, who am apt to be long at the table, found myself alone with him. When the rest were all gone, he turned his chair round towards mine, and began. I am afraid, he said, you express yourself a little too freely on a most important class of subjects. Is there not danger in introducing discussions or al lusions relating to matters of religion into common discourse ? Danger to what ? I asked. Danger to truth, he replied, after a slight pause. I did n't know Truth was such an invalid, I said. How long is it since she could only take the air in a close carriage, with a gentleman in a black coat on the box? Let me tell you a story, adapted to young persons, but which won't hurt older ones. There was a very little boy who had one of those balloons you may have seen, which are filled with light gas, and are held by a string to keep them from run ning off in aeronautic voyages on their own account. This little boy had a naughty brother, who said to him, one day, Brother, pull down your balloon, so that I can look at it and take hold of it. Then the THE PROFESSOR AT THE BREAKFAST-TABLE. 109 little boy pulled it down. Now the naughty brother had a sharp pin in his hand, and he thrust it into the balloon, and all the gas oozed out, so that there was nothing left but a shrivelled skin. One evening, the .little boy's father called him to the window to see the moon, which pleased him very much ; but presently he said, Father, do not pull the string and bring down the moon, for my naughty brother will prick it, and then it will all shrivel up and we shall not see it any more. Then his father laughed, and told him how the moon had been shining a good while, and would shine a good while longer, and that all we could do was to keep our windows clean, never letting the dust get too thick on them, and especially to keep our eyes open, but that we could not pull the moon down with a string, nor prick it with a pin. Mind you this, too, the moon is no man's private property, but is seen from a good many parlor-windows. Truth is tough. It will not break, like a bub ble, at a touch ; nay, you may kick it about all day, like a football, and it will be round and full at even ing. Does not Mr. Bryant say, that Truth gets well if she is run over by a locomotive, while Error dies of lockjaw if she scratches her finger? I never heard that a mathematician was alarmed for the safety of a demonstrated proposition. I think, generally, that fear of open discussion implies feebleness of inward conviction, and great sensitiveness to the expression of individual opinion is a mark of weakness. I am not so much afraid for truth, said the divinity-student, as for the conceptions of truth in the minds of persons not accustomed to judge wisely the opinions uttered before them. 110 THE PROFESSOR AT THE BREAKFAST-TABLE. Would you, then, banish all allusions to matters of this nature from the society of people who come together habitually ? I would be very careful in introducing them, said the divinity-student. Yes, but friends of yours leave pamphlets in peo- pie's entries, to be picked up by nervous misses and hysteric housemaids, full of doctrines these people do not approve. Some of your friends stop little chil dren in the street, and give them books, which their parents, who have had them baptized into the Chris tian fold and give them what they consider proper religious instruction, do not think fit for them. One would say it was fair enough to talk about matters thus forced upon people's attention. The divinity-student could not deny that this was what might be called opening the subject to the dis cussion of intelligent people. But, he said, the greatest objection is this, that persons who have not made a professional study of theology are not competent to speak on such sub jects. Suppose a minister were to undertake to ex press opinions on medical subjects, for instance, would you not think he was going beyond his province? I laughed, for I remembered John Wesley's