the professor at the breakfast table-第40章

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the　shade　of　the　elms　and　rooted　in　the　matted　turf。



Our　hearts　are　held　down　to　our　homes　by　innumerable　fibres；　trivial

as　that　I　have　just　recalled；　but　Gulliver　was　fixed　to　the　soil；

you　remember；　by　pinning　his　head　a　hair　at　a　time。　　Even　a　stone

with　a　whitish　band　crossing　it；　belonging　to　the　pavement　of　the

back…yard；　insisted　on　becoming　one　of　the　talismans　of　memory。

This　intussusception　of　the　ideas　of　inanimate　objects；　and　their

faithful　storing　away　among　the　sentiments；　are　curiously　prefigured

in　the　material　structure　of　the　thinking　centre　itself。　　In　the

very　core　of　the　brain；　in　the　part　where　Des　Cartes　placed　the

soul；　is　a　small　mineral　deposit；　consisting；　as　I　have　seen　it　in

the　microscope；　of　grape…like　masses　of　crystalline　matter。



But　the　plants　that　come　up　every　year　in　the　same　place；　like　the

Star…of…Bethlehems；　of　all　the　lesser　objects；　give　me　the　liveliest

home…feeling。　　Close　to　our　ancient　gambrel…roofed　house　is　the

dwelling　of　pleasant　old　Neighbor　Walrus。　　I　remember　the　sweet

honeysuckle　that　I　saw　in　flower　against　the　wall　of　his　house　a　few

months　ago；　as　long　as　I　remember　the　sky　and　stars。　　That　clump　of

peonies；　butting　their　purple　heads　through　the　soil　every　spring　in

just　the　same　circle；　and　by…and…by　unpacking　their　hard　balls　of

buds　in　flowers　big　enough　to　make　a　double　handful　of　leaves；　has

come　up　in　just　that　place；　Neighbor　Walrus　tells　me；　for　more　years

than　I　have　passed　on　this　planet。　　It　is　a　rare　privilege　in　our

nomadic　state　to　find　the　home　of　one's　childhood　and　its　immediate

neighborhood　thus　unchanged。　　Many　born　poets；　I　am　afraid；　flower

poorly　in　song；　or　not　at　all；　because　they　have　been　too　often

transplanted。



Then　a　good　many　of　our　race　are　very　hard　and　unimaginative；their

voices　have　nothing　caressing；　their　movements　are　as　of　machinery

without　elasticity　or　oil。　　I　wish　it　were　fair　to　print　a　letter　a

young　girl；　about　the　age　of　our　Iris；　wrote　a　short　time　since。　　〃I

am　***　***　***；〃　she　says；　and　tells　her　whole　name　outright。　　Ah！

said　I；　when　I　read　that　first　frank　declaration；you　are　one　of

the　right　sort！She　was。　　A　winged　creature　among　close…clipped

barn　door　fowl。　　How　tired　the　poor　girl　was　of　the　dull　life　about

her；the　old　woman's　〃skeleton　hand　〃　at　the　window　opposite；

drawing　her　curtains；〃Ma'am　shooing　away　the　hens；〃the　vacuous

country　eyes　staring　at　her　as　only　country　eyes　can　stare；a

routine　of　mechanical　duties；　and　the　soul's　half…articulated　cry

for　sympathy；　without　an　answer！　Yes；pray　for　her；　and　for　all

such！　　Faith　often　cures　their　longings；　but　it　is　so　hard　to　give　a

soul　to　heaven　that　has　not　first　been　trained　in　the　fullest　and

sweetest　human　affections！　　Too　often　they　fling　their　hearts　away

on　unworthy　objects。　　Too　often　they　pine　in　a　secret　discontent；

which　spreads　its　leaden　cloud　over　the　morning　of　their　youth。　　The

immeasurable　distance　between　one　of　these　delicate　natures　and　the

average　youths　among　whom　is　like　to　be　her　only　choice　makes　one's

heart　ache。　　How　many　women　are　born　too　finely　organized　in　sense

and　soul　for　the　highway　they　must　walk　with　feet　unshod！　　Life　is

adjusted　to　the　wants　of　the　stronger　sex。　　There　are　plenty　of

torrents　to　be　crossed　in　its　journey；　but　their　stepping…stones　are

measured　by　the　stride　of　man；　and　not　of　woman。



Women　are　more　subject　than　men　to　atrophy　of　the　heart。　　So　says

the　great　medical　authority；　Laennec。　　Incurable　cases　of　this　kind

used　to　find　their　hospitals　in　convents。　　We　have　the　disease　in

New　England；but　not　the　hospitals。　　I　don't　like　to　think　of　it。

I　will　not　believe　our　young　Iris　is　going　to　die　out　in　this　way。

Providence　will　find　her　some　great　happiness；　or　affliction；　or

duty；and　which　would　be　best　for　her；　I　cannot　tell。　　One　thing　is

sure：　the　interest　she　takes　in　her　little　neighbor　is　getting　to　be

more　engrossing　than　ever。　　Something　is　the　matter　with　him；　and

she　knows　it；　and　I　think　worries　herself　about　it。



I　wonder　sometimes　how　so　fragile　and　distorted　a　frame　has　kept　the

fiery　spirit　that　inhabits　it　so　long　its　tenant。　　He　accounts　for

it　in　his　own　way。



The　air　of　the　Old　World　is　good　for　nothing；　he　said；　one　day。　

Used　up；　Sir；breathed　over　and　over　again。　　You　must　come　to　this

side；　Sir；　for　an　atmosphere　fit　to　breathe　nowadays。　　Did　not

worthy　Mr。　Higginson　say　that　a　breath　of　New　England's　air　is

better　than　a　sup　of　Old　England's　ale？　　I　ought　to　have　died　when　I

was　a　boy；　Sir；　but　I　could　n't　die　in　this　Boston　air；and　I　think

I　shall　have　to　go　to　New　York　one　of　these　days；　when　it's　time　for

me　to　drop　this　bundle；or　to　New　Orleans；　where　they　have　the

yellow　fever；or　to　Philadelphia；　where　they　have　so　many　doctors。



This　was　some　time　ago；　but　of　late　he　has　seemed；　as　I　have　before

said；　to　be　ailing。　　An　experienced　eye；　such　as　I　think　I　may　call

mine；　can　tell　commonly　whether　a　man　is　going　to　die；　or　not；　long

before　he　or　his　friends　are　alarmed　about　him。　　I　don't　like　it。



Iris　has　told　me　that　the　Scottish　gift　of　second…sight　runs　in　her

family；　and　that　she　is　afraid　she　has　it。　　Those　who　are　so　endowed

look　upon　a　well　man　and　see　a　shroud　wrapt　about　him。　　According　to

the　degree　to　which　it　covers　him；　his　death　will　be　near　or　more

remote。　　It　is　an　awful　faculty；　but　science　gives　one　too　much　like

it。　　Luckily　for　our　friends；　most　of　us　who　have　the　scientific

second…sight　school　ourselves　not　to　betray　our　knowledge　by　word　or

look。



Day　by　day；　as　the　Little　Gentleman　comes　to　the　table；　it　seems　to

me　that　the　shadow　of　some　approaching　change　falls　darker　and

darker　over　his　countenance。　　Nature　is　struggling　with　something；

and　I　am　afraid　she　is　under　in　the　wrestling…match。　　You　do　not

care　much；　perhaps；　for　my　particular　conjectures　as　to　the　nature

of　his　difficulty。　　I　should　say；　however；　from　the　sudden　flushes

to　which　he　is　subject；　and　certain　other　marks　which；　as　an　expert；

I　know　how　to　interpret；　that　his　heart　was　in　trouble；　but　then　he

presses　his　hand　to　the　right　side；　as　if　there　were　the　centre　of

his　uneasiness。



When　I　say　difficulty　about　the　heart；　I　do　not　mean　any　of　those

sentimental　maladies　of　that　organ　which　figure　more　largely　in

romances　than　on　the　returns　which　furnish　our　Bills　of　Mortality。

I　mean　some　actual　change　in　the　organ　itself；　which　may　carry　him

off　by　slow　and　painful　degrees；　or　strike　him　down　with　one　huge

pang　and　only　time　for　a　single　shriek；as　when　the　shot　broke

through　the　brave　Captain　Nolan's　breast；　at　the　head　of　the　Light

Brigade　at　Balaklava；　and　with　a　loud　cry　he　dropped　dead　from　his

saddle。



I　thought　it　only　fair　to　say　something　of　what　I　apprehended　to

some　who　were　entitled　to　be　warned。　　The　landlady's　face　fell　when

I　mentioned　my　fears。



Poor　man！　she　said。　And　will　leave　the　best　room　empty！　　Has　n't

he　got　any　sisters　or　nieces　or　anybody　to　see　to　his　things；　if　he

should　be　took　away？　　Such　a　sight　of　cases；　full　of　everything！

Never　thought　of　his　failin'　so　suddin。　　A　complication　of　diseases；

she　expected。　　Liver…complaint　one　of　'em？



After　this　first　involuntary　expression　of　the　too　natural　selfish

feelings；　（which　we　must　not　judge　very　harshly；　unless　we　happen　to

be　poor　widows　ourselves；　with　children　to　keep　filled；　covered；　and

taught；rents　high；beef　eighteen　to　twenty　cents　per　pound；）

after　this　first　squeak　of　selfishness；　followed　by　a　brief　movement

of　curiosity；　so　invariable　in　mature　females；　as　to　the　nature　of

the　complaint　which　threatens　the　life　of　a　friend　or　any　person　who

may　happen　to　be　mentioned　as　ill；the　worthy　soul's　better

feelings　struggled　up　to　the　surface；　and　she　grieved　for　the　doomed

invalid；　until　a　tear　or　two　came　forth　and　found　their　way　down　a

channel　worn　for　them　since　the　early　days　of　her　widowhood。



Oh；　this　dreadful；　dreadful　business　of　being　the　prophet　of　evil！

Of　all　the　trials　which　those　who　take　charge　of　others'　health　and

lives　have　to　undergo；　this　is　the　most　painful。　　It　is　all　so　plain

to　the　practised　eye！and　there　is　the　poor　wife；　the　doting

mother；　who　has　never　suspected　anything；　or　at　least　has　clung

always　to　the　hope　which　you　are　just　going　to　wrench　away　from　her！

I　must　tell　Iris　that　I　think　her　poor　friend　is　in　a　precarious

state。　　She　seems　nearer　to　him　than　anybody。



I　did　tell　her。　　Whatever　emotion　it　produced；　she　kept　a　still

face；　except；　perhaps；　a　little　trembling　of　the　lip。　Could　I　be

certain　that　there　was　any　mortal　complaint？Why；　no；　I　could　not

be　certain；　but　it　looked　alarming　to　me。　He　shall　have　some　of　my

life；she　said。



I　suppose　this　to　have　been　a　fancy　of　hers；　or　a　kind　of　magnetic

power　she　could　give　out；at　any　rate；　I　cannot　help　thinking　she

wills　her　strength　away　from　herself；　for　she　has　lost　vigor　and

color　from　that　day。　　I　have　sometimes　thought　he　gained　the　force

she　lost；　but　this　may　have　been　a　whim；　very　probably。



One　day　she　came　suddenly　to　me；　looking　deadly　pale。　　Her　lips

moved；　as　if　she　were　speaking；　but　I　could　not　at　first　hear　a

word。　　Her　hair　looked　strangely；　as　if　lifting　itself；　and　her　eyes

were　full　of　wild　light。　　She　sunk　upon　a　chair；　and　I　thought　was

falling　into　one　of　her　trances。　　Something　had　frozen　her　blood

with　fear；　I　thought；　from　what　she　said；　half　audibly；　that　she

believed　she　had　seen　a　shrouded　figure。



That　night；　at　about　eleven　o'clock；　I　was　sent　for　to　see　the

Little　Gentleman；　who　was　taken　suddenly　ill。　　Bridget；　the　servant；

went　before　me　with　a　light。　　The　doors　were　both　unfastened；　and　I

found　myself　ushered；　without　hindrance；　into　the　dim　light　of　the

mysterious　apartment　I　had　so　longed　to　enter。



I　found　these　stanzas　in　the　young　girl's　book　among　many　others。　　I

give　them　as　characterizing　the　tone　of　her　sadder　moments。





　　　　　　　　　　UNDER　THE　VIOLETS。



Her　hands　are　cold；　her　face　is　white；

No　more　her　pulses　come　and　go；

Her　eyes　are　shut　to　life　and　light；

Fold　the　white　vesture；　snow　on　snow；

And　lay　her　where　the　violets　blow。



But　not　beneath　a　graven　stone；

To　plead　for　tears　with　alien　eyes；

A　slender　cross　of　wood　alone

Shall　say；　that　here　a　maiden　lies

In　peace　beneath　the　peaceful　skies。



And　gray　old　trees　of　hugest　limb

Shall　wheel　their　circling　shadows　round

To　make　the　scorching　sunlight　dim

That　drinks　the　greenness　from　the　ground；

And　drop　their　dead　leaves　on　her　mound。



When　o'er　their　boughs　the　squirrels　run；

And　through　their　leaves　the　robins　call；

And；　ripening　in　the　autumn　sun；

The　acorns　and　the　chestnuts　fall；

Doubt　not　that　she　will　heed　them　all。



For　her　the　morning　choir　shall　sing

Its　matins　from　the　branches　high；

And　every　minstrel　voice　of　spring；

That　trills　b