over the teacups-第24章

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photograph　of　a　small　boy；　some　three　or　four　years　old；　who　had　a

very　respectable　little　tail；　which　would　have　passed　muster　on　a

pig；　and　would　have　made　a　frog　or　a　toad　ashamed　of　himself。　　I　have

never　heard　what　became　of　the　little　boy；　nor　have　I　looked　in　the

books　or　journals　to　find　out　if　there　are　similar　cases　on　record；

but　I　have　no　doubt　that　there　are　others。　　And　if　boys　may　have　this

additional　ornament　to　their　vertebral　columns；　why　not　men？　　And　if

men；　why　not　giants？　　So　I　may　not　have　made　a　very　bad　blunder；

after　all；　and　my　reader　has　learned　something　about　the　homo

caudatus　as　spoken　of　by　Linnxus；　and　as　shown　me　in　photograph　by

Dr。　Priestley。　　This　child　is　a　candidate　for　the　vacant　place　of

Missing　Link。



In　accounting　for　the　blunders；　and　even　gross　blunders；　which；

sooner　or　later；　one　who　writes　much　is　pretty　sure　to　commit；　I　must

not　forget　the　part　played　by　the　blind　spot　or　idiotic　area　in　the

brain；　which　I　have　already　described。



The　most　knowing　persons　we　meet　with　are　sometimes　at　fault。　　Nova

onania　possumus　omnes　is　not　a　new　nor　profound　axiom；　but　it　is　well

to　remember　it　as　a　counterpoise　to　that　other　truly　American　saying

of　the　late　Mr。　Samuel　Patch；　〃Some　things　can　be　done　as　well　as

others。〃　　Yes；　some　things；　but　not　all　things。　　We　all　know　men　and

women　who　hate　to　admit　their　ignorance　of　anything。　　Like　Talkative

in　〃Pilgrim's　Progress；〃　they　are　ready　to　converse　of　〃things

heavenly　or　things　earthly；　things　moral　or　things　evangelical；

things　sacred　or　things　profane；　things　past　or　things　to　come；

things　foreign　or　things　at　home；　things　more　essential　or　things

circumstantial。〃



Talkative　is　apt　to　be　a　shallow　fellow；　and　to　say　foolish　things

about　matters　he　only　half　understands；　and　yet　he　has　his　place　in

society。　　The　specialists　would　grow　to　be　intolerable；　were　they　not

counterpoised　to　some　degree　by　the　people　of　general　intelligence。

The　man　who　knows　too　much　about　one　particular　subject　is　liable　to

become　a　terrible　social　infliction。　　Some　of　the　worst　bores　（to　use

plain　language）　we　ever　meet　with　are　recognized　as　experts　of　high

grade　in　their　respective　departments。　　Beware　of　making　so　much　as　a

pinhole　in　the　dam　that　holds　back　their　knowledge。　　They　ride　their

hobbies　without　bit　or　bridle。　　A　poet　on　Pegasus；　reciting　his　own

verses；　is　hardly　more　to　be　dreaded　than　a　mounted　specialist。



One　of　the　best　offices　which　women　perform　for　men　is　that　of

tasting　books　for　them。　　They　may　or　may　not　be　profound　students；

some　of　them　are；　but　we　do　not　expect　to　meet　women　like　Mrs。

Somerville；　or　Caroline　Herschel；　or　Maria　Mitchell　at　every　dinner…

table　or　afternoon　tea。　　But　give　your　elect　lady　a　pile　of　books　to

look　over　for　you；　and　she　will　tell　you　what　they　have　for　her　and

for　you　in　less　time　than　you　would　have　wasted　in　stupefying

yourself　over　a　single　volume。



One　of　the　encouraging　signs　of　the　times　is　the　condensed　and

abbreviated　form　in　which　knowledge　is　presented　to　the　general

reader。　　The　short　biographies　of　historic　personages；　of　which

within　the　past　few　years　many　have　been　published；　have　been　a　great

relief　to　the　large　class　of　readers　who　want　to　know　something；　but

not　too　much；　about　them。



What　refuge　is　there　for　the　victim　who　is　oppressed　with　the　feeling

that　there　are　a　thousand　new　books　he　ought　to　read；　while　life　is

only　long　enough　for　him　to　attempt　to　read　a　hundred？　　Many　readers

remember　what　old　Rogers；　the　poet；

said：



〃When　I　hear　a　new　book　talked　about　or　have　it　pressed　upon　me；　I

read　an　old　one。〃



Happy　the　man　who　finds　his　rest　in　the　pages　of　some　favorite

classic！　　I　know　no　reader　more　to　be　envied　than　that　friend　of　mine

who　for　many　years　has　given　his　days　and　nights　to　the　loving　study

of　Horace。　　After　a　certain　period　in　life；　it　is　always　with　an

effort　that　we　admit　a　new　author　into　the　inner　circle　of　our

intimates。　　The　Parisian　omnibuses；　as　I　remember　them　half　a　century

ago；they　may　still　keep　to　the　same　habit；　for　aught　that　I　know；

used　to　put　up　the　sign　〃Complet〃　as　soon　as　they　were　full。　　Our

public　conveyances　are　never　full　until　the　natural　atmospheric

pressure　of　sixteen　pounds　to　the　square　inch　is　doubled；　in　the

close　packing　of　the　human　sardines　that　fill　the　all…accommodating

vehicles。　　A　new…comer；　however　well　mannered　and　well　dressed；　is

not　very　welcome　under　these　circumstances。　　In　the　same　way；　our

tables　are　full　of　books　half…read　and　books　we　feel　that　we　must

read。　　And　here　come　in　two　thick　volumes；　with　uncut　leaves；　in

small　type；　with　many　pages；　and　many　lines　to　a　page；a　book　that

must　be　read　and　ought　to　be　read　at　once。　　What　a　relief　to　hand　it

over　to　the　lovely　keeper　of　your　literary　conscience；　who　will　tell

you　all　that　you　will　most　care　to　know　about　it；　and　leave　you　free

to　plunge　into　your　beloved　volume；　in　which　you　are　ever　finding　new

beauties；　and　from　which　you　rise　refreshed；　as　if　you　had　just　come

from　the　cool　waters　of　Hippocrene！　　The　stream　of　modern　literature

represented　by　the　books　and　periodicals　on　the　crowded　counters　is　a

turbulent　and　clamorous　torrent；　dashing　along　among　the　rocks　of

criticism；　over　the　pebbles　of　the　world's　daily　events；　trying　to

make　itself　seen　and　heard　amidst　the　hoarse　cries　of　the　politicians

and　the　rumbling　wheels　of　traffic。　　The　classic　is　a　still　lakelet；

a　mountain　tarn；　fed　by　springs　that　never　fail；　its　surface　never

ruffled　by　storms；always　the　same；　always　smiling　a　welcome　to　its

visitor。　　Such　is　Horace　to　my　friend。　　To　his　eye　〃Lydia；　dic　per

omnes〃　is　as　familiar　as　〃Pater　noster　qui　es　in　caelis〃　to　that　of　a

pious　Catholic。　　〃Integer　vitae；〃　which　he　has　put　into　manly

English；　his　Horace　opens　to　as　Watt's　hymn…book　opens　to　〃From　all

that　dwell　below　the　skies。〃　　The　more　he　reads；　the　more　he　studies

his　author；　the　richer　are　the　treasures　he　finds。　　And　what　Horace

is　to　him；　Homer；　or　Virgil；　or　Dante　is　to　many　a　quiet　reader；　sick

to　death　of　the　unending　train　of　bookmakers。



I　have　some　curious　books　in　my　library；　a　few　of　which　I　should　like

to　say　something　about　to　The　Teacups；　when　they　have　no　more

immediately　pressing　subjects　before　them。　　A　library　of　a　few

thousand　volumes　ought　always　to　have　some　books　in　it　which　the

owner　almost　never　opens；　yet　with　whose　backs　he　is　so　well

acquainted　that　he　feels　as　if　he　knew　something　of　their　contents。

They　are　like　those　persons　whom　we　meet　in　our　daily　walks；　with

whose　faces　and　figures；　whose　summer　and　winter　garments；　whose

walking…sticks　and　umbrellas　even；　we　feel　acquainted；　and　yet　whose

names；　whose　business；　whose　residences；　we　know　nothing　about。　　Some

of　these　books　are　so　formidable　in　their　dimensions；　so　rusty　and

crabbed　in　their　aspect；　that　it　takes　a　considerable　amount　of

courage　to　attack　them。



I　will　ask　Delilah　to　bring　down　from　my　library　a　very　thick；　stout

volume；　bound　in　parchment；　and　standing　on　the　lower　shelf；　next　the

fireplace。　　The　pretty　handmaid　knows　my　books　almost　as　if　she　were

my　librarian；　and　I　don't　doubt　she　would　have　found　it　if　I　had

given　only　the　name　on　the　back。



Delilah　returned　presently；　with　the　heavy　quarto　in　her　arms。　　It

was　a　pleasing　sight；the　old　book　in　the　embrace　of　the　fresh　young

damsel。　　I　felt；　on　looking　at　them；　as　I　did　when　I　followed　the

slip　of　a　girl　who　conducted　us　in　the　Temple；　that　ancient　building

in　the　heart　of　London。　　The　long…enduring　monuments　of　the　dead　do

so　mock　the　fleeting　presence　of　the　living！



Is　n't　this　book　enough　to　scare　any　of　you？　　I　said；　as　Delilah

dumped　it　down　upon　the　table。　　The　teacups　jumped　from　their　saucers

as　it　thumped　on　the　board。　　Danielis　Georgii　Morhofii　Polyhistor；

Literarius；　Philosophicus　et　Poeticus。　　Lubecae　MDCCXXXIII。　　Perhaps

I　should　not　have　ventured　to　ask　you　to　look　at　this　old　volume；　if

it　had　not　been　for　the　fact　that　Dr。　Johnson　mentions　Morohof　as　the

author　to　whom　he　was　specially　indebted。　more；　I　think；　than　to

any　other。　　It　is　a　grand　old　encyclopaedic　summary　of　all　the　author

knew　about　pretty　nearly　everything；　full　of　curious　interest；　but　so

strangely　mediaeval；　so　utterly　antiquated　in　most　departments　of

knowledge；　that　it　is　hard　to　believe　the　volume　came　from　the　press

at　a　time　when　persons　whom　I　well　remember　were　living。　　Is　it

possible　that　the　books　which　have　been　for　me　what　Morhof　was　for

Dr。　Johnson　can　look　like　that　to　the　student　of　the　year　1990？



Morhof　was　a　believer　in　magic　and　the　transmutation　of　metals。

There　was　always　something　fascinating　to　me　in　the　old　books　of

alchemy。　　I　have　felt　that　the　poetry　of　science　lost　its　wings　when

the　last　powder　of　projection　had　been　cast　into　the　crucible；　and

the　fire　of　the　last　transmutation　furnace　went　out。　　Perhaps　I　am

wrong　in　implying　that　alchemy　is　an　extinct　folly。　　It　existed　in

New　England's　early　days；　as　we　learn　from　the　Winthrop　papers；　and　I

see　no　reason　why　gold…making　should　not　have　its　votaries　as　well　as

other　popular　delusions。



Among　the　essays　of　Morhof　is　one　on　the　〃Paradoxes　of　the　Senses。〃

That　title　brought　to　mind　the　recollection　of　another　work　I　have

been　meaning　to　say　something　about；　at　some　time　when　you　were　in

the　listening　mood。　　The　book　I　refer　to　is　〃A　Budget　of　Paradoxes；〃

by　Augustus　De　Morgan。　　De　Morgan　is　well　remembered　as　a　very

distinguished　mathematician；　whose　works　have　kept　his　name　in　high

honor　to　the　present　time。　　The　book　I　am　speaking　of　was　published

by　his　widow；　and　is　largely　made　up　of　letters　received　by　him　and

his　comments　upon　them。　　Few　persons　ever　read　it　through。　　Few

intelligent　readers　ever　took　it　up　and　laid　it　down　without　taking　a

long　draught　of　its　singular　and　interesting　contents。　　The　letters

are　mostly　from　that　class　of　persons　whom　we　call　〃cranks；〃　in　our

familiar　language。



At　this　point　Number　Seven　interrupted　me　by　calling　out；　〃Give　us

some　of　those　cranks'　letters。　　A　crank　is　a　man　who　does　his　own

thinking。　　I　had　a　relation　who　was　called　a　crank。　　I　believe　I　have

been　spoken　of　as　one　myself。　　That　is　what　you　have　to　expect　if　you

invent　anything　that　puts　an　old　machine　out　of　fashion；　or　solve　a

problem　that　has　puzzled　all　the　world　up　to　your　time。　　There　never

was　a　religion　founded　but　its　Messiah　was　called　a　crank。　　There

never　was　an　idea　started　that　woke　up　men　out　of　their　stupid

indifference　but　its　originator　was　spoken　of　as　a　crank。　　Do　you

want　to　know　why　that　name　is　given　to　the　men　who　do　most　for　the

world's　progress？　　I　will　tell　you。　　It　is　because　cranks　make　all

the　wheels　in　all　the　machinery　of　the　world　go　round。　　What　would　a

steam…engine　be　without　a　crank？　　I　suppose　the　first　fool　that

loo