over the teacups-第3章

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mostly　negative；　and　in　one　sense　a　disappointment。　　A　single　case；

related　by　Professor　Royce；　attracted　a　good　deal　of　attention。　　It

was　reported　in　the　next　morning's　newspapers；　and　will　be　given　at

full　length；　doubtless；　in　the　next　number　of　the　Psychological

Journal。　　The　leading　facts　were；　briefly；　these：　A　lady　in　Hamburg；

Germany；　wrote；　on　the　22d　of　June　last；　that　she　had　what　she

supposed　to　be　nightmare　on　the　night　of　the　17th；　five　days　before。

〃It　seemed；〃　she　wrote；　〃to　belong　to　you；　to　be　a　horrid　pain　in

your　head；　as　if　it　were　being　forcibly　jammed　into　an　iron　casque；

or　some　such　pleasant　instrument　of　torture。〃　　It　proved　that　on　that

same　17th　of　June　her　sister　was　undergoing　a　painful　operation　at

the　hands　of　a　dentist。　　〃No　single　case；〃　adds　Professor　Royce；

〃proves；　or　even　makes　probable；　the　existence　of　telepathic

toothaches；　but　if　there　are　any　more　cases　of　this　sort；　we　want　to

hear　of　them；　and　that　all　the　more　because　no　folk…lore　and　no

supernatural　horrors　have　as　yet　mingled　with　the　natural　and　well…

known　impressions　that　people　associate　with　the　dentist's　chair。〃



The　case　I　have　given　is；　I　am　confident；　absolutely　free　from　every

source　of　error。　　I　do　not　remember　that　Mr。　Rathbone　had

communicated　with　me　since　he　sent　me　a　plentiful　supply　of　mistletoe

a　year　ago　last　Christmas。　　The　account　I　received　from　him　was　cut

out　of　〃The　Sporting　Times〃　of　March　5；　1887。　　My　own　knowledge　of

the　case　came　from　〃Kirby's　Wonderful　Museum；〃　a　work　presented　to　me

at　least　thirty　years　ago。　　I　had　not　looked　at　the　account；　spoken

of　it；　nor　thought　of　it　for　a　long　time；　when　it　came　to　me　by　a

kind　of　spontaneous　generation；　as　it　seemed；　having　no　connection

with　any　previous　train　of　thought　that　I　was　aware　of。　　I　consider

the　evidence　of　entire　independence；　apart　from　possible　〃telepathic〃

causation；　completely　water…proof；　airtight；　incombustible；　and

unassailable。



I　referred；　when　first　reporting　this　curious　case　of　coincidence；

with　suggestive　circumstances；　to　two　others；　one　of　which　I　said　was

the　most　picturesque　and　the　other　the　most　unlikely；　as　it　would

seem；　to　happen。　　This　is　the　first　of　those　two　cases：



Grenville　Tudor　Phillips　was　a　younger　brother　of　George　Phillips；　my

college　classmate；　and　of　Wendell　Phillips；　the　great　orator。　　He

lived　in　Europe　a　large　part　of　his　life；　but　at　last　returned；　and；

in　the　year　1863；　died　at　the　house　of　his　brother　George。　　I　read

his　death　in　the　paper；　but；　having　seen　and　heard　very　little　of　him

during　his　life；　should　not　have　been　much　impressed　by　the　fact；　but

for　the　following　occurrence：　between　the　time　of　Grenville

Phillips's　death　and　his　burial；　I　was　looking　in　upon　my　brother；

then　living　in　the　house　in　which　we　were　both　born。　　Some　books

which　had　been　my　father's　were　stored　in　shelves　in　the　room　I　used

to　occupy　when　at　Cambridge。　　Passing　my　eye　over　them；　an　old　dark

quarto　attracted　my　attention。　　It　must　be　a　Bible；　I　said　to　myself；

perhaps　a　rare　one；the　〃Breeches〃　Bible　or　some　other　interesting

specimen。　　I　took　it　from　the　shelves；　and；　as　I　did　so；　an　old　slip

of　paper　fell　out　and　fluttered　to　the　floor。　　On　lifting　it　I　read

these　words：



The　name　is　Grenville　Tudor。



What　was　the　meaning　of　this　slip　of　paper　coming　to　light　at　this

time；　after　reposing　undisturbed　so　long？　　There　was　only　one　way　of

explaining　its　presence　in　my　father's　old　Bible；a　copy　of　the

Scriptures　which　I　did　not　remember　ever　having　handled　or　looked

into　before。　　In　christening　a　child　the　minister　is　liable　to　forget

the　name；　just　at　the　moment　when　he　ought　to　remember　it。　　My　father

preached　occasionally　at　the　Brattle　Street　Church。　　I　take　this　for

granted；　for　I　remember　going　with　him　on　one　occasion　when　he　did

so。　　Nothing　was　more　likely　than　that　he　should　be　asked　to

officiate　at　the　baptism　of　the　younger　son　of　his　wife's　first

cousin；　Judge　Phillips。　　This　slip　was　handed　him　to　remind　him　of

the　name：　He　brought　it　home；　put　it　in　that　old　Bible；　and　there　it

lay　quietly　for　nearly　half　a　century；　when；　as　if　it　had　just　heard

of　Mr。　Phillips's　decease；　it　flew　from　its　hiding…place　and　startled

the　eyes　of　those　who　had　just　read　his　name　in　the　daily　column　of

deaths。　　It　would　be　hard　to　find　anything　more　than　a　mere

coincidence　here；　but　it　seems　curious　enough　to　be　worth　telling。



The　second　of　these　two　last　stories　must　be　told　in　prosaic　detail

to　show　its　whole　value　as　a　coincidence。



One　evening　while　I　was　living　in　Charles　Street；　I　received　a　call

from　Dr。　S。；　a　well…known　and　highly　respected　Boston　physician；　a

particular　friend　of　the　late　Alexander　H。　Stephens；　vice…president

of　the　Southern　Confederacy。　　It　was　with　reference　to　a　work　which

Mr。　Stephens　was　about　to　publish　that　Dr。　S。　called　upon　me。　　After

talking　that　matter　over　we　got　conversing　on　other　subjects；　among

the　rest　a　family　relationship　existing　between　us；not　a　very　near

one；　but　one　which　I　think　I　had　seen　mentioned　in　genealogical

accounts。　　Mary　S。　（the　last　name　being　the　same　as　that　of　my

visitant）；　it　appeared；　was　the　great…great…grandmother　of　Mrs。　H。

and　myself。　　After　cordially　recognizing　our　forgotten　relationship；

now　for　the　first　time　called　to　mind；　we　parted；　my　guest　leaving　me

for　his　own　home。　　We　had　been　sitting　in　my　library　on　the　lower

floor。　　On　going　up…stairs　where　Mrs。　H。　was　sitting　alone；　just　as　I

entered　the　room　she　pushed　a　paper　across　the　table　towards　me；

saying　that　perhaps　it　might　interest　me。　　It　was　one　of　a　number　of

old　family　papers　which　she　had　brought　from　the　house　of　her　mother；

recently　deceased。



I　opened　the　paper；　which　was　an　old…looking　document；　and　found　that

it　was　a　copy；　perhaps　made　in　this　century；　of　the　will　of　that　same

Mary　S。　about　whom　we　had　been　talking　down…stairs。



If　there　is　such　a　thing　as　a　purely　accidental　coincidence　this　must

be　considered　an　instance　of　it。



All　one　can　say　about　it　is　that　it　seems　very　unlikely　that　such　a

coincidence　should　occur；　but　it　did。



I　have　not　tried　to　keep　my　own　personality　out　of　these　stories。

But　after　all；　how　little　difference　it　makes　whether　or　not　a　writer

appears　with　a　mask　on　which　everybody　can　take　off；whether　he

bolts　his　door　or　not；　when　everybody　can　look　in　at　his　windows；　and

all　his　entrances　are　at　the　mercy　of　the　critic's　skeleton　key　and

the　jimmy　of　any　ill…disposed　assailant！



The　company　have　been　silent　listeners　for　the　most　part；　but　the

reader　will　have　a　chance　to　become　better　acquainted　with　some　cf

them　by　and　by。









II



TO　THE　READER。



I　know　that　it　is　a　hazardous　experiment　to　address　myself　again　to　a

public　which　in　days　long　past　has　given　me　a　generous　welcome。　　But

my　readers　have　been；　and　are；　a　very　faithful　constituency。　　I　think

there　are　many　among　them　who　would　rather　listen　to　an　old　voice

they　are　used　to　than　to　a　new　one　of　better　quality；　even　if　the

〃childish　treble〃　should　betray　itself　now　and　then　in　the　tones　of

the　overtired　organ。　　But　there　must　be　others；I　am　afraid　many

others；who　will　exclaim：　〃He　has　had　his　day；　and　why　can't　he　be

content？　　We　don't　want　literary　revenants；　superfluous　veterans；

writers　who　have　worn　out　their　welcome　and　still　insist　on　being

attended　to。　　Give　us　something　fresh；　something　that　belongs　to　our

day　and　generation。　　Your　morning　draught　was　well　enough；　but　we

don't　care　for　your　evening　slip…slop。　　You　are　not　in　relation　with

us；　with　our　time；　our　ideas；　our　aims；　our　aspirations。〃



Alas；　alas！　my　friend；my　young　friend；　for　your　hair　is　not　yet

whitened；I　am　afraid　you　are　too　nearly　right。　　No　doubt；no

doubt。　　Teacups　are　not　coffee…cups。　　They　do　not　hold　so　much。

Their　pallid　infusion　is　but　a　feeble　stimulant　compared　with　the

black　decoction　served　at　the　morning　board。　　And　so；　perhaps；　if

wisdom　like　yours　were　compatible　with　years　like　mine；　I　should　drop

my　pen　and　make　no　further　attempts　upon　your　patience。



But　suppose　that　a　writer　who　has　reached　and　passed　the　natural

limit　of　serviceable　years　feels　that　he　has　some　things　which　be

would　like　to　say；　and　which　may　have　an　interest　for　a　limited　class

of　readers；is　he　not　right　in　trying　his　powers　and　calmly　taking

the　risk　of　failure？　　Does　it　not　seem　rather　lazy　and　cowardly；

because　he　cannot　〃beat　his　record；〃　or　even　come　up　to　the　level　of

what　he　has　done　in　his　prime；　to　shrink　from　exerting　his　talent；

such　as　it　is；　now　that　he　has　outlived　the　period　of　his　greatest

vigor？　　A　singer　who　is　no　longer　equal　to　the　trials　of　opera　on　the

stage　may　yet　please　at　a　chamber　concert　or　in　the　drawing…room。

There　is　one　gratification　an　old　author　can　afford　a　certain　class

of　critics：　that；　namely；　of　comparing　him　as　he　is　with　what　he　was。

It　is　a　pleasure　to　mediocrity　to　have　its　superiors　brought　within

range；　so　to　speak；　and　if　the　ablest　of　them　will　only　live　long

enough；　and　keep　on　writing；　there　is　no　pop…gun　that　cannot　reach

him。　　But　I　fear　that　this　is　an　unamiable　reflection；　and　I　am　at

this　time　in　a　very　amiable　mood。



I　confess　that　there　is　something　agreeable　to　me　in　renewing　my

relations　with　the　reading　public。　　Were　it　but　a　single　appearance；

it　would　give　me　a　pleasant　glimpse　of　the　time　when　I　was　known　as　a

frequent　literary　visitor。　　Many　of　my　readersif　I　can　lure　any

from　the　pages　of　younger　writers　will　prove　to　be　the　children；　or

the　grandchildren；　of　those　whose　acquaintance　I　made　something　more

than　a　whole　generation　ago。　　I　could　depend　on　a　kind　welcome　from

my　contemporaries；my　coevals。　　But　where　are　those　contemporaries？

Ay　de　mi！　as　Carlyle　used　to　exclaim；Ah；　dear　me！　as　our　old　women

say；I　look　round　for　them；　and　see　only　their　vacant　places。　　The

old　vine　cannot　unwind　its　tendrils。　　The　branch　falls　with　the　decay

of　its　support；　and　must　cling　to　the　new　growths　around　it；　if　it

would　not　lie　helpless　in　the　dust。　　This　paper　is　a　new　tendril；

feeling　its　way；　as　it　best　may；　to　whatever　it　can　wind　around。　　The

thought　of　finding　here　and　there　an　old　friend；　and　making；　it　may

be；　once　in　a　while　a　new　one；　is　very　grateful　to　me。　　The　chief

drawback　to　the　pleasure　is　the　feeling　that　I　am　submitting　to　that

inevitable　exposure　which　is　the　penalty　of　authorship　in　every　form。

A　writer　must　make　up　his　mind　to　the　possible　rough　treatment　of　the

critics；　who　swarm　like　bacteria　whenever　there　is　any　literary

material　on　which　they　can　feed。　　I　have　had　as　little　to　complain　of

as　most　writers；　yet　I　think　it　is　always　with　reluctance　that　one

encounters　the　promiscuous　handling　which　the　products　of　the　mind

have　to　put　up　with；　as　much　as　the　fruit　and　provisions　in　the

market…stalls。　　I　had　rather　be　crit