a mortal antipathy-第17章

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！



calm　sheet　that　lay　before　him　as　he　wrote；the　stainless　and　sleepy

Windermere。



〃The　dwellers　by　Cedar　Lake　may　find　it　an　amusement　to　compare　their

own　feelings　with　those　of　one　who　has　lived　by　the　Atlantic　and　the

Mediterranean；　by　the　Nile　and　the　Tiber；　by　Lake　Leman　and　by　one　of

the　fairest　sheets　of　water　that　our　own　North　America　embosoms　in

its　forests。〃





Miss　Lurida　Vincent；　Secretary　of　the　Pansophian　Society；　read　this

paper；　and　pondered　long　upon　it。　　She　was　thinking　very　seriously　of

studying　medicine；　and　had　been　for　some　time　in　frequent

communication　with　Dr。　Butts；　under　whose　direction　she　had　begun

reading　certain　treatises；　which　added　to　such　knowledge　of　the　laws

of　life　in　health　and　in　disease　as　she　had　brought　with　her　from　the

Corinna　Institute。　　Naturally　enough；　she　carried　the　anonymous　paper

to　the　doctor；　to　get　his　opinion　about　it；　and　compare　it　with　her

own。　　They　both　agreed　that　it　was　probably；　they　would　not　say

certainly；　the　work　of　the　solitary　visitor。　　There　was　room　for

doubt；　for　there　were　visitors　who　might　well　have　travelled　to　all

the　places　mentioned；　and　resided　long　enough　on　the　shores　of　the

waters　the　writer　spoke　of　to　have　had　all　the　experiences　mentioned

in　the　paper。　　The　Terror　remembered　a　young　lady；　a　former

schoolmate；　who　belonged　to　one　of　those　nomadic　families　common　in

this　generation；　the　heads　of　which；　especially　the　female　heads；　can

never　be　easy　where　they　are；　but　keep　going　between　America　and

Europe；　like　so　many　pith…balls　in　the　electrical　experiment；

alternately　attracted　and　repelled；　never　in　contented　equilibrium。

Every　few　years　they　pull　their　families　up　by　the　roots；　and　by　the

time　they　have　begun　to　take　hold　a　little　with　their　radicles　in　the

spots　to　which　they　have　been　successively　transplanted　up　they　come

again；　so　that　they　never　get　a　tap…root　anywhere。　　The　Terror

suspected　the　daughter　of　one　of　these　families　of　sending　certain

anonymous　articles　of　not　dissimilar　character　to　the　one　she　had

just　received。　　But　she　knew　the　style　of　composition　common　among

the　young　girls；　and　she　could　hardly　believe　that　it　was　one　of　them

who　had　sent　this　paper。　　Could　a　brother　of　this　young　lady　have

written　it？　　Possibly；　she　knew　nothing　more　than　that　the　young　lady

had　a　brother；　then　a　student　at　the　University。　　All　the　chances

were　that　Mr。　Maurice　Kirkwood　was　the　author。　　So　thought　Lurida；

and　so　thought　Dr。　Butts。



Whatever　faults　there　were　in　this　essay；　it　interested　them　both。

There　was　nothing　which　gave　the　least　reason　to　suspect　insanity　on

the　part　of　the　writer；　whoever　he　or　she　might　be。　　There　were

references　to　suicide；　it　is　true；　but　they　were　of　a　purely

speculative　nature；　and　did　not　look　to　any　practical　purpose　in　that

direction。　　Besides；　if　the　stranger　were　the　author　of　the　paper；　he

certainly　would　not　choose　a　sheet　of　water　like　Cedar　Lake　to

perform　the　last　offices　for　him；　in　case　he　seriously　meditated

taking　unceremonious　leave　of　life　and　its　accidents。　　He　could　find

a　river　easily　enough；　to　say　nothing　of　other　methods　of　effecting

his　purpose；　but　he　had　committed　himself　as　to　the　impropriety　of

selecting　a　lake；　so　they　need　not　be　anxious　about　the　white　canoe

and　its　occupant；　as　they　watched　it　skimming　the　surface　of　the　deep

waters。



The　holder　of　the　Portfolio　would　never　have　ventured　to　come　before

the　public　if　he　had　not　counted　among　his　resources　certain　papers

belonging　to　the　records　of　the　Pansophian　Society；　which　he　can　make

free　use　of；　either　for　the　illustration　of　the　narrative；　or　for　a

diversion　during　those　intervals　in　which　the　flow　of　events　is

languid；　or　even　ceases　for　the　time　to　manifest　any　progress。　　The

reader　can　hardly　have　failed　to　notice　that　the　old　Anchor　Tavern

had　become　the　focal　point　where　a　good　deal　of　mental　activity

converged。　　There　were　the　village　people；　including　a　number　of

cultivated　families；　there　were　the　visitors；　among　them　many

accomplished　and　widely　travelled　persons；　there　was　the　University；

with　its　learned　teachers　and　aspiring　young　men；　there　was　the

Corinna　Institute；　with　its　eager；　ambitious；　hungry…souled　young

women；　crowding　on；　class　after　class　coming　forward　on　the　broad

stream　of　liberal　culture；　and　rounding　the　point　which；　once　passed；

the　boundless　possibilities　of　womanhood　opened　before　them。　　All

this　furnished　material　enough　and　to　spare　for　the　records　and　the

archives　of　the　society。



The　new　Secretary　infused　fresh　life　into　the　meetings。　　It　may　be

remembered　that　the　girls　had　said　of　her；　when　she　was　The　Terror；

that　〃she　knew　everything　and　didn't　believe　anything。〃　　That　was

just　the　kind　of　person　for　a　secretary　of　such　an　association。

Properly　interpreted；　the　saying　meant　that　she　knew　a　great　deal；

and　wanted　to　know　a　great　deal　more；　and　was　consequently　always　on

the　lookout　for　information；　that　she　believed　nothing　without

sufficient　proof　that　it　was　true；　and　therefore　was　perpetually

asking　for　evidence　where；　others　took　assertions　on　trust。



It　was　astonishing　to　see　what　one　little　creature　like　The　Terror

could　accomplish　in　the　course　of　a　single　season。　　She　found　out

what　each　member　could　do　and　wanted　to　do。　　She　wrote　to　the　outside

visitors　whom　she　suspected　of　capacity；　and　urged　them　to　speak　at

the　meetings；　or　send　written　papers　to　be　read。　　As　an　official；

with　the　printed　title　at　the　head　of　her　notes；　PANSOPHIAN　SOCIETY；

she　was　a　privileged　personage。　　She　begged　the　young　persons　who　had

travelled　to　tell　something　of　their　experiences。　　She　had

contemplated　getting　up　a　discussion　on　the　woman's　rights　question；

but　being　a　wary　little　body；　and　knowing　that　the　debate　would

become　a　dispute　and　divide　the　members　into　two　hostile　camps；　she

deferred　this　project　indefinitely。　　It　would　be　time　enough　after

she　had　her　team　well　in　hand；　she　said　to　herself；had　felt　their

mouths　and　tried　their　paces。　　This　expression；　as　she　used　it　in　her

thoughts；　seems　rather　foreign　to　her　habits；　but　there　was　room　in

her　large　brain　for　a　wide　range　of　illustrations　and　an　ample

vocabulary。　　She　could　not　do　much　with　her　own　muscles；　but　she　had

known　the　passionate　delight　of　being　whirled　furiously　over　the　road

behind　four　scampering　horses；　in　a　rocking　stage…coach；　and　thought

of　herself　in　the　Secretary's　chair　as　not　unlike　the　driver　on　his

box。　　A　few　weeks　of　rest　had　allowed　her　nervous　energy　to　store

itself　up；　and　the　same　powers　which　had　distanced　competition　in　the

classes　of　her　school　had　of　necessity　to　expend　themselves　in

vigorous　action　in　her　new　office。





Her　appeals　had　their　effect。　　A　number　of　papers　were　very　soon　sent

in；　some　with　names；　some　anonymously。　　She　looked　these　papers　over；

and　marked　those　which　she　thought　would　be　worth　reading　and

listening　to　at　the　meetings。　　One　of　them　has　just　been　presented　to

the　reader。　　As　to　the　authorship　of　the　following　one　there　were

many　conjectures。　　A　well…known　writer；　who　had　spent　some　weeks　at

Arrowhead　Village；　was　generally　suspected　of　being　its　author。

Some；　however；　questioned　whether　it　was　not　the　work　of　a　new　hand；

who　wrote；　not　from　experience；　but　from　his　or　her　ideas　of　the

condition　to　which　a　story…teller；　a　novelist；　must　in　all

probability　be　sooner　or　later　reduced。　　The　reader　must　judge　for

himself　whether　this　first　paper　is　the　work　of　an　old　hand　or　a

novice。





　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　SOME　EXPERIENCES　OF　A　NOVELIST。



〃I　have　written　a　frightful　number　of　stories；　forty　or　more；　I

think。　　Let　me　see。　　For　twelve　years　two　novels　a　year　regularly：

that　makes　twenty…four。　　In　three　different　years　I　have　written

three　stories　annually：　that　makes　thirty…three。　　In　five　years　one　a

year；thirty…eight。　　That　is　all；　is　n't　it？　　Yes。　　Thirty…eight；

not　forty。　　I　wish　I　could　make　them　all　into　one　composite　story；　as

Mr。　Galton　does　his　faces。



〃Heroheroinemammapapaunclesister；　and　so　on。　　Love

obstaclesmiserytearsdespairglimmer　of　hopeunexpected

solution　of　difficultieshappy　finale。



〃Landscape　for　background　according　to　season。　　Plants　of　each　month

got　up　from　botanical　calendars。





〃I　should　like　much　to　see　the　composite　novel。　　Why　not　apply　Mr。

Galton's　process；　and　get　thirty…eight　stories　all　in　one？　　All　the

Yankees　would　resolve　into　one　Yankee；　all　the　P　West　Britons

into　one　Patrick；　etc。；　what　a　saving　of　time　it　would　be！



〃I　got　along　pretty　well　with　my　first　few　stories。　　I　had　some

characters　around　me　which；　a　little　disguised；　answered　well　enough。

There　was　the　minister　of　the　parish；　and　there　was　an　old

schoolmaster　either　of　them　served　very　satisfactorily　for

grandfathers　and　old　uncles。　　All　I　had　to　do　was　to　shift　some　of

their　leading　peculiarities；　keeping　the　rest。　　The　old　minister　wore

knee…breeches。　　I　clapped　them　on　to　the　schoolmaster。　　The

schoolmaster　carried　a　tall　gold…headed　cane。　　I　put　this　in　the

minister's　hands。　　So　with　other　things；I　shifted　them　round；　and

got　a　set　of　characters　who；　taken　together；　reproduced　the　chief

persons　of　the　village　where　I　lived；　but　did　not　copy　any　individual

exactly。　　Thus　it　went　on　for　a　while；　but　by　and　by　my　stock　company

began　to　be　rather　too　familiarly　known；　in　spite　of　their　change　of

costume；　and　at　last　some　altogether　too　sagacious　person　published

what　he　called　a　'key'　to　several　of　my　earlier　stories；　in　which　I

found　the　names　of　a　number　of　neighbors　attached　to　aliases　of　my

own　invention。　　All　the　'types；'　as　he　called　them；　represented　by

these　personages　of　my　story　had　come　to　be　recognized；　each　as

standing　for　one　and　the　same　individual　of　my　acquaintance。　　It　had

been　of　no　use　to　change　the　costume。　　Even　changing　the　sex　did　no

good。　　I　had　a　famous　old　gossip　in　one　of　my　tales；a　much…babbling

Widow　Sertingly。　　'Sho！'　they　all　said；　that　's　old　Deacon　Spinner；

the　same　he　told　about　in　that　other　story　of　his；only　the　deacon's

got　on　a　petticoat　and　a　mob…cap；but　it's　the　same　old　sixpence。'

So　I　said　to　myself；　I　must　have　some　new　characters。　　I　had　no

trouble　with　young　characters；　they　are　all　pretty　much　alike；dark…

haired　or　light…haired；　with　the　outfits　belonging　to　their

complexion；　respectively。　　I　had　an　old　great…aunt；　who　was　a　tip…top

eccentric。　　I　had　never　seen　anything　just　like　her　in　books。　　So　I

said；　I　will　have　you；　old　lady；　in　one　of　my　stories；　and；　sure

enough；　I　fitted　her　out　with　a　first…rate　odd…sounding　name；　which　I

got　from　the　directory；　and　sent　her　forth　to　the　world；　disguised；

as　I　supposed；　beyond　the　possibility　of　recognition。　　The　book　sold

well；　and　the　eccentric　personage　was　voted　a　novelty。　　A　few　weeks

after　it　was　published　a　lawyer　called　upon　me；　as　the　agent　of　the