over the teacups-第48章
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their additional weight on the load which is breaking my back。
The hypocrisy of kind…hearted people is one of the most painful
exhibitions of human weakness。 It has occurred to me that it might
be profitable to reproduce some of my unwritten answers to
correspondents。 If those which were actually written and sent were
to be printed in parallel columns with those mentally formed but not
written out responses and comments； the reader would get some idea of
the internal conflicts an honest and not unamiable person has to go
through； when he finds himself driven to the wall by a correspondence
which is draining his vocabulary to find expressions that sound as
agreeably； and signify as little； as the phrases used by a
diplomatist in closing an official communication。
No。 1。 Want my autograph； do you？ And don't know how to spell my
name。 An a for an e in my middle name。 Leave out the l in my last
name。 Do you know how people hate to have their names misspelled？
What do you suppose are the sentiments entertained by the Thompsons
with a p towards those who address them in writing as Thomson？
No。 2。 Think the lines you mention are by far the best I ever
wrote； hey？ Well； I didn't write those lines。 What is more； I think
they are as detestable a string of rhymes as I could wish my worst
enemy had written。 A very pleasant frame of mind I am in for writing
a letter； after reading yours！
No。 3。 I am glad to hear that my namesake； whom I never saw and
never expect to see； has cut another tooth； but why write four pages
on the strength of that domestic occurrence？
No。 4。 You wish to correct an error in my Broomstick poem； do you？
You give me to understand that Wilmington is not in Essex County； but
in Middlesex。 Very well； but are they separated by running water？
Because if they are not； what could hinder a witch from crossing the
line that separates Wilmington from Andover； I should like to know？
I never meant to imply that the witches made no excursions beyond the
district which was more especially their seat of operations。
As I come towards the end of this task which I had set myself； I
wish； of course； that I could have performed it more to my own
satisfaction and that of my readers。 This is a feeling which almost
every one must have at the conclusion of any work he has undertaken。
A common and very simple reason for this disappointment is that most
of us overrate our capacity。 We expect more of ourselves than we
have any right to； in virtue of our endowments。 The figurative
descriptions of the last Grand Assize must no more be taken literally
than the golden crowns； which we do not expect or want to wear on our
heads； or the golden harps； which we do not want or expect to hold in
our hands。 Is it not too true that many religious sectaries think of
the last tribunal complacently； as the scene in which they are to
have the satisfaction of saying to the believers of a creed different
from their own； 〃I told you so〃？ Are not others oppressed with the
thought of the great returns which will be expected of them as the
product of their great gifts； the very limited amount of which they
do not suspect； and will be very glad to learn； even at the expense
of their self…love； when they are called to their account？ If the
ways of the Supreme Being are ever really to be 〃justified to men；〃
to use Milton's expression； every human being may expect an
exhaustive explanation of himself。 No man is capable of being his
own counsel； and I cannot help hoping that the ablest of the；
archangels will be retained for the defence of the worst of sinners。
He himself is unconscious of the agencies which made him what he is。
Self…determining he may be； if you will； but who determines the self
which is the proximate source of the determination？ Why was the A
self like his good uncle in bodily aspect and mental and moral
qualities； and the B self like the bad uncle in look and character？
Has not a man a right to ask this question in the here or in the
hereafter；in this world or in any world in which he may find
himself？ If the All…wise wishes to satisfy his reasonable and
reasoning creatures； it will not be by a display of elemental
convulsions； but by the still small voice； which treats with him as a
dependent entitled to know the meaning of his existence； and if there
was anything wrong in his adjustment to the moral and spiritual
conditions of the world around him to have full allowance made for
it。 No melodramatic display of warring elements； such as the white…
robed Second Adventist imagines； can meet the need of the human
heart。 The thunders and lightnings of Sinai terrified and impressed
the more timid souls of the idolatrous and rebellious caravan which
the great leader was conducting； but a far nobler manifestation of
divinity was that when 〃the Lord spake unto Moses face to face； as a
man speaketh unto his friend。〃
I find the burden and restrictions of rhyme more and more troublesome
as I grow older。 There are times when it seems natural enough to
employ that form of expression； but it is only occasionally； and the
use of it as the vehicle of the commonplace is so prevalent that one
is not much tempted to select it as the medium for his thoughts and
emotions。 The art of rhyming has almost become a part of a high…
school education； and its practice is far from being an evidence of
intellectual distinction。 Mediocrity is as much forbidden to the
poet in our days as it was in those of Horace； and the immense
majority of the verses written are stamped with hopeless mediocrity。
When one of the ancient poets found he was trying to grind out verses
which came unwillingly； he said he was writing
INVITA MINERVA。
Vex not the Muse with idle prayers；
She will not hear thy call；
She steals upon thee unawares；
Or seeks thee not at all。
Soft as the moonbeams when they sought
Endymion's fragrant bower；
She parts the whispering leaves of thought
To show her full…blown flower。
For thee her wooing hour has passed；
The singing birds have flown；
And winter comes with icy blast
To chill thy buds unblown。
Yet； though the woods no longer thrill
As once their arches rung；
Sweet echoes hover round thee still
Of songs thy summer sung。
Live in thy past； await no more
The rush of heaven…sent wings；
Earth still has music left in store
While Memory sighs and sings。
I hope my special Minerva may not always be unwilling； but she must
not be called upon as she has been in times past。 Now that the
teacups have left the table； an occasional evening call is all that
my readers must look for。 Thanking them for their kind
companionship； and hoping that I may yet meet them in the now and
then in the future； I bid them goodbye for the immediate present。
End
