over the teacups-第38部分

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　　　　　　　　　　Ah；　say　not　so！

　　　　　Tell　reddening　rose…buds　not　to　blow！

　　　　　Wait　not　for　spring　to　pass　away；

　　　　　Love's　summer　months　begin　with　May！

　　　　　　　　　　Too　young　for　love？

　　　　　　　　　　Ah；　say　not　so！

　　　　　　　　　　Too　young？　　Too　young？

　　　　　　　　　　Ah；　no！　　no！　　no！



　　　　　　　　　　Too　young　for　love？

　　　　　　　　　　Ah；　say　not　so；

　　　　　While　daisies　bloom　and　tulips　glow！

　　　　　June　soon　will　come　with　lengthened　day

　　　　　To　practise　all　love　learned　in　May。

　　　　　　　　　　Too　young　for　love？

　　　　　　　　　　Ah；　say　not　so！

　　　　　　　　　　Too　young？　　Too　young？

　　　　　　　　　　Ah；　no！　　no！　　no！









IX



I　often　wish　that　our　Number　Seven　could　have　known　and　corresponded

with　the　author　of　〃The　Budget　of　Paradoxes。〃　　I　think　Mr。　De　Morgan

would　have　found　some　of　his　vagaries　and　fancies　not　undeserving　of

a　place　in　his　wonderful　collection　of　eccentricities；　absurdities；

ingenuities；mental　freaks　of　all　sorts。　　But　I　think　he　would　have

now　and　then　recognized　a　sound　idea；　a　just　comparison；　a　suggestive

hint；　a　practical　notion；　which　redeemed　a　page　of　extravagances　and

crotchety　whims。　　I　confess　that　I　am　often　pleased　with　fancies　of

his；　and　should　be　willing　to　adopt　them　as　my　own。　　I　think　he　has；

in　the　midst　of　his　erratic　and　tangled　conceptions；　some　perfectly

clear　and　consistent　trains　of　thought。



So　when　Number　Seven　spoke　of　sending　us　a　paper；　I　welcomed　the

suggestion。　　I　asked　him　whether　he　had　any　objection　to　my　looking

it　over　before　he　read　it。　　My　proposal　rather　pleased　him；　I

thought；　for；　as　was　observed　on　a　former　occasion；　he　has　in

connection　with　a　belief　in　himself　another　side；a　curious　self…

distrust。　　I　have　no　question　that　he　has　an　obscure　sense　of　some

mental　deficiency。　　Thus　you　may　expect　from　him　first　a　dogma；　and

presently　a　doubt。　　If　you　fight　his　dogma；　he　will　do　battle　for　it

stoutly；　if　you　let　him　alone；　he　will　very　probably　explain　its

extravagances；　if　it　has　any；　and　tame　it　into　reasonable　limits。

Sometimes　he　is　in　one　mood；　sometimes　in　another。



The　first　portion　of　what　we　listened　to　shows　him　at　his　best；　in

the　latter　part　I　am　afraid　you　will　think　he　gets　a　little　wild。



I　proceed　to　lay　before　you　the　paper　which　Number　Seven　read　to　The

Teacups。　　There　was　something　very　pleasing　in　the　deference　which

was　shown　him。　　We　all　feel　that　there　is　a　crack　in　the　teacup；　and

are　disposed　to　handle　it　carefully。　　I　have　left　out　a　few　things

which　he　said；　feeling　that　they　might　give　offence　to　some　of　the

company。　　There　were　sentences　so　involved　and　obscure　that　I　was

sure　they　would　not　be　understood；　if　indeed　he　understood　them

himself。　　But　there　are　other　passages　so　entirely　sane；　and　as　it

seems　to　me　so　just；　that　if　any　reader　attributes　them　to　me　I　shall

not　think　myself　wronged　by　the　supposition。　　You　must　remember　that

Number　Seven　has　had　a　fair　education；　that　he　has　been　a　wide　reader

in　many　directions；　and　that　he　belongs　to　a　family　of　remarkable

intellectual　gifts。　　So　it　was　not　surprising　that　he　said　some

things　which　pleased　the　company；　as　in　fact　they　did。　　The　reader

will　not　be　startled　to　see　a　certain　abruptness　in　the　transition

from　one　subject　to　another；it　is　a　characteristic　of　the　squinting

brain　wherever　you　find　it。　　Another　curious　mark　rarely　wanting　in

the　subjects　of　mental　strabismus　is　an　irregular　and　often　sprawling

and　deformed　handwriting。　　Many　and　many　a　time　I　have　said；　after

glancing　at　the　back　of　a　letter；　〃This　comes　from　an　insane　asylum；

or　from　an　eccentric　who　might　well　be　a　candidate　for　such　an

institution。〃　　Number　Seven's　manuscript；　which　showed　marks　of　my

corrections　here　and　there；　furnished　good　examples　of　the

chirography　of　persons　with　ill…mated　cerebral　hemispheres。　　But　the

earlier　portions　of　the　manuscript　are　of　perfectly　normal

appearance。



Conticuere　omnes；　as　Virgil　says。　　We　were　all　silent　as　Number　Seven

began　the　reading　of　his　paper。





　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　Number　Seven　reads。



I　am　the　seventh　son　of　a　seventh　son；　as　I　suppose　you　all　know。　　It

is　commonly　believed　that　some　extraordinary　gifts　belong　to　the

fortunate　individuals　born　under　these　exceptional　conditions。

However　this　may　be；　a　peculiar　virtue　was　supposed　to　dwell　in　me

from　my　earliest　years。　　My　touch　was　believed　to　have　the　influence

formerly　attributed　to　that　of　the　kings　and　queens　of　England。　　You

may　remember　that　the　great　Dr。　Samuel　Johnson；　when　a　child；　was

carried　to　be　touched　by　her　Majesty　Queen　Anne　for　the　〃king's

evil；〃　as　scrofula　used　to　be　called。　　Our　honored　friend　The

Dictator　will　tell　you　that　the　brother　of　one　of　his　Andover

schoolmates　was　taken　to　one　of　these　gifted　persons；　who　touched

him；　and　hung　a　small　bright　silver　coin；　either　a　〃fourpence

ha'penny〃　or　a　〃ninepence；〃　about　his　neck；　which；　strange　to　say；

after　being　worn　a　certain　time；　became　tarnished；　and　finally

black；a　proof　of　the　poisonous　matters　which　had　become　eliminated

from　the　system　and　gathered　upon　the　coin。　　I　remember　that　at　one

time　I　used　to　carry　fourpence　ha'pennies　with　holes　bored　through

them；　which　I　furnished　to　children　or　to　their　mothers；　under

pledges　of　secrecy；receiving　a　piece　of　silver　of　larger　dimensions

in　exchange。　　I　never　felt　quite　sure　about　any　extraordinary

endowment　being　a　part　of　my　inheritance　in　virtue　of　my　special

conditions　of　birth。　　A　phrenologist；　who　examined　my　head　when　I　was

a　boy；　said　the　two　sides　were　unlike。　　My　hatter's　measurement　told

me　the　same　thing；　but　in　looking　over　more　than　a　bushel　of　the

small　cardboard　hat…patterns　which　give　the　exact　shape　of　the　head；

I　have　found　this　is　not　uncommon。　　The　phrenologist　made　all　sorts

of　predictions　of　what　I　should　be　and　do；　which　proved　about　as　near

the　truth　as　those　recorded　in　Miss　Edith　Thomas's　charming　little

poem；　〃Augury；〃　which　some　of　us　were　reading　the　other　day。



I　have　never　been　through　college；　but　I　had　a　relative　who　was

famous　as　a　teacher　of　rhetoric　in　one　of　our　universities；　and

especially　for　taking　the　nonsense　out　of　sophomorical　young　fellows

who　could　not　say　anything　without　rigging　it　up　in　showy　and

sounding　phrases。　　I　think　I　learned　from　him　to　express　myself　in

good　old…fashioned　English；　and　without　making　as　much　fuss　about　it

as　our　Fourth　of　July　orators　and　political　haranguers　were　in　the

habit　of　making。



I　read　a　good　many　stories　during　my　boyhood；　one　of　which　left　a

lasting　impression　upon　me；　and　which　I　have　always　commended　to

young　people。　　It　is　too　late；　generally；　to　try　to　teach　old　people；

yet　one　may　profit　by　it　at　any　period　of　life　before　the　sight　has

become　too　dim　to　be　of　any　use。　　The　story　I　refer　to　is　in

〃Evenings　at　Home；〃　and　is　called　〃Eyes　and　No　Eyes。〃　　I　ought　to

have　it　by　me；　but　it　is　constantly　happening　that　the　best　old

things　get　overlaid　by　the　newest　trash；　and　though　I　have　never　seen

anything　of　the　kind　half　so　good；　my　table　and　shelves　are　cracking

with　the　weight　of　involuntary　accessions　to　my　library。



This　is　the　story　as　I　remember　it：　Two　children　walk　out；　and　are

questioned　when　they　come　home。　　One　has　found　nothing　to　observe；

nothing　to　admire；　nothing　to　describe；　nothing　to　ask　questions

about。　　The　other　has　found　everywhere　objects　of　curiosity　and

interest。　　I　advise　you；　if　you　are　a　child　anywhere　under　forty…

five；　and　do　not　yet　wear　glasses；　to　send　at　once　for　〃Evenings　at

Home〃　and　read　that　story。　　For　myself；　I　am　always　grateful　to　the

writer　of　it　for　calling　my　attention　to　common　things。　　How　many

people　have　been　waked　to　a　quicker　consciousness　of　life　by

Wordsworth's　simple　lines　about　the　daffodils；　and　what　he　says　of

the　thoughts　suggested　to　him　by　〃the　meanest　flower　that　blows〃！



I　was　driving　with　a　friend；　the　other　day；　through　a　somewhat　dreary

stretch　of　country；　where　there　seemed　to　be　very　little　to　attract

notice　or　deserve　remark。　　Still；　the　old　spirit　infused　by　〃Eyes　and

No　Eyes〃　was　upon　me；　and　I　looked　for　something　to　fasten　my　thought

upon；　and　treat　as　an　artist　treats　a　study　for　a　picture。　　The　first

object　to　which　my　eyes　were　drawn　was　an　old…fashioned　well…sweep。

It　did　not　take　much　imaginative　sensibility　to　be　stirred　by　the

sight　of　this　most　useful；　most　ancient；　most　picturesque；　of

domestic　conveniences。　　I　know　something　of　the　shadoof　of　Egypt；

the　same　arrangement　by　which　the　sacred　waters　of　the　Nile　have　been

lifted；　from　the　days　of　the　Pharaohs　to　those　of　the　Khedives。　　That

long　forefinger　pointing　to　heaven　was　a　symbol　which　spoke　to　the

Puritan　exile　as　it　spoke　of　old　to　the　enslaved　Israelite。　　Was

there　ever　any　such　water　as　that　which　we　used　to　draw　from　the

deep；　cold　well；　in　〃the　old　oaken　bucket〃？　　What　memories　gather

about　the　well　in　all　ages！　　What　love…matches　have　been　made　at　i