idle thoughts of an idle fellow-第3章

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pless　stump。

My　fair　friends　will　deem　all　this　rank　heresy；　I　know。　　So　far　from　a　man's　not　loving　after　he　has　passed　boyhood；　it　is　not　till　there　is　a　good　deal　of　gray　in　his　hair　that　they　think　his　protestations　at　all　worthy　of　attention。　　Young　ladies　take　their　notions　of　our　sex　from　the　novels　written　by　their　own；　and　compared　with　the　monstrosities　that　masquerade　for　men　in　the　pages　of　that　nightmare　literature；　Pythagoras'　plucked　bird　and　Frankenstein's　demon　were　fair　average　specimens　of　humanity。

In　these　so…called　books；　the　chief　lover；　or　Greek　god；　as　he　is　admiringly　referred　toby　the　way；　they　do　not　say　which　〃Greek　god〃　it　is　that　the　gentleman　bears　such　a　striking　likeness　to；　it　might　be　hump…backed　Vulcan；　or　double…faced　Janus；　or　even　driveling　Silenus；　the　god　of　abstruse　mysteries。　　He　resembles　the　whole　family　of　them；　however；　in　being　a　blackguard；　and　perhaps　this　is　what　is　meant。　　To　even　the　little　manliness　his　classical　prototypes　possessed；　though；　he　can　lay　no　claim　whatever；　being　a　listless　effeminate　noodle；　on　the　shady　side　of　forty。　　But　oh！　the　depth　and　strength　of　this　elderly　party's　emotion　for　some　bread…and…butter　school…girl！　　Hide　your　heads；　ye　young　Romeos　and　Leanders！　this　_blase_　old　beau　loves　with　an　hysterical　fervor　that　requires　four　adjectives　to　every　noun　to　properly　describe。

It　is　well；　dear　ladies；　for　us　old　sinners　that　you　study　only　books。　Did　you　read　mankind；　you　would　know　that　the　lad's　shy　stammering　tells　a　truer　tale　than　our　bold　eloquence。　　A　boy's　love　comes　from　a　full　heart；　a　man's　is　more　often　the　result　of　a　full　stomach。　Indeed；　a　man's　sluggish　current　may　not　be　called　love；　compared　with　the　rushing　fountain　that　wells　up　when　a　boy's　heart　is　struck　with　the　heavenly　rod。　　If　you　would　taste　love；　drink　of　the　pure　stream　that　youth　pours　out　at　your　feet。　　Do　not　wait　till　it　has　become　a　muddy　river　before　you　stoop　to　catch　its　waves。

Or　is　it　that　you　like　its　bitter　flavorthat　the　clear；　limpid　water　is　insipid　to　your　palate　and　that　the　pollution　of　its　after…course　gives　it　a　relish　to　your　lips？　　Must　we　believe　those　who　tell　us　that　a　hand　foul　with　the　filth　of　a　shameful　life　is　the　only　one　a　young　girl　cares　to　be　caressed　by？

That　is　the　teaching　that　is　bawled　out　day　by　day　from　between　those　yellow　covers。　　Do　they　ever　pause　to　think；　I　wonder；　those　devil's　ladyhelps；　what　mischief　they　are　doing　crawling　about　God's　garden；　and　telling　childish　Eves　and　silly　Adams　that　sin　is　sweet　and　that　decency　is　ridiculous　and　vulgar？　　How　many　an　innocent　girl　do　they　not　degrade　into　an　evil…minded　woman？　　To　how　many　a　weak　lad　do　they　not　point　out　the　dirty　by…path　as　the　shortest　cut　to　a　maiden's　heart？　　It　is　not　as　if　they　wrote　of　life　as　it　really　is。　　Speak　truth；　and　right　will　take　care　of　itself。　　But　their　pictures　are　coarse　daubs　painted　from　the　sickly　fancies　of　their　own　diseased　imagination。

We　want　to　think　of　women　notas　their　own　sex　would　show　themas　Lorleis　luring　us　to　destruction；　but　as　good　angels　beckoning　us　upward。　　They　have　more　power　for　good　or　evil　than　they　dream　of。　　It　is　just　at　the　very　age　when　a　man's　character　is　forming　that　he　tumbles　into　love；　and　then　the　lass　he　loves　has　the　making　or　marring　of　him。　　Unconsciously　he　molds　himself　to　what　she　would　have　him；　good　or　bad。　　I　am　sorry　to　have　to　be　ungallant　enough　to　say　that　I　do　not　think　they　always　use　their　influence　for　the　best。　　Too　often　the　female　world　is　bounded　hard　and　fast　within　the　limits　of　the　commonplace。　　Their　ideal　hero　is　a　prince　of　littleness；　and　to　become　that　many　a　powerful　mind；　enchanted　by　love；　is　〃lost　to　life　and　use　and　name　and　fame。〃

And　yet；　women；　you　could　make　us　so　much　better　if　you　only　would。　It　rests　with　you；　more　than　with　all　the　preachers；　to　roll　this　world　a　little　nearer　heaven。　　Chivalry　is　not　dead：　it　only　sleeps　for　want　of　work　to　do。　　It　is　you　who　must　wake　it　to　noble　deeds。　You　must　be　worthy　of　knightly　worship。

You　must　be　higher　than　ourselves。　　It　was　for　Una　that　the　Red　Cross　Knight　did　war。　　For　no　painted；　mincing　court　dame　could　the　dragon　have　been　slain。　　Oh；　ladies　fair；　be　fair　in　mind　and　soul　as　well　as　face；　so　that　brave　knights　may　win　glory　in　your　service！　　Oh；　woman；　throw　off　your　disguising　cloaks　of　selfishness；　effrontery；　and　affectation！　　Stand　forth　once　more　a　queen　in　your　royal　robe　of　simple　purity。　　A　thousand　swords；　now　rusting　in　ignoble　sloth；　shall　leap　from　their　scabbards　to　do　battle　for　your　honor　against　wrong。　A　thousand　Sir　Rolands　shall　lay　lance　in　rest；　and　Fear；　Avarice；　Pleasure；　and　Ambition　shall　go　down　in　the　dust　before　your　colors。

What　noble　deeds　were　we　not　ripe　for　in　the　days　when　we　loved？　　What　noble　lives　could　we　not　have　lived　for　her　sake？　　Our　love　was　a　religion　we　could　have　died　for。　　It　was　no　mere　human　creature　like　ourselves　that　we　adored。　　It　was　a　queen　that　we　paid　homage　to；　a　goddess　that　we　worshiped。

And　how　madly　we　did　worship！　　And　how　sweet　it　was　to　worship！　　Ah；　lad；　cherish　love's　young　dream　while　it　lasts！　　You　will　know　too　soon　how　truly　little　Tom　Moore　sang　when　he　said　that　there　was　nothing　half　so　sweet　in　life。　　Even　when　it　brings　misery　it　is　a　wild；　romantic　misery；　all　unlike　the　dull；　worldly　pain　of　after…sorrows。　　When　you　have　lost　herwhen　the　light　is　gone　out　from　your　life　and　the　world　stretches　before　you　a　long；　dark　horror；　even　then　a　half…enchantment　mingles　with　your　despair。

And　who　would　not　risk　its　terrors　to　gain　its　raptures？　　Ah；　what　raptures　they　were！　　The　mere　recollection　thrills　you。　　How　delicious　it　was　to　tell　her　that　you　loved　her；　that　you　lived　for　her；　that　you　would　die　for　her！　　How　you　did　rave；　to　be　sure；　what　floods　of　extravagant　nonsense　you　poured　forth；　and　oh；　how　cruel　it　was　of　her　to　pretend　not　to　believe　you！　　In　what　awe　you　stood　of　her！　　How　miserable　you　were　when　you　had　offended　her！　　And　yet；　how　pleasant　to　be　bullied　by　her　and　to　sue　for　pardon　without　having　the　slightest　notion　of　what　your　fault　was！　　How　dark　the　world　was　when　she　snubbed　you；　as　she　often　did；　the　little　rogue；　just　to　see　you　look　wretched；　how　sunny　when　she　smiled！　　　How　jealous　you　were　of　every　one　about　her！　　How　you　hated　every　man　she　shook　hands　with；　every　woman　she　kissedthe　maid　that　did　her　hair；　the　boy　that　cleaned　her　shoes；　the　dog　she　nursedthough　you　had　to　be　respectful　to　the　last…named！　　How　you　looked　forward　to　seeing　her；　how　stupid　you　were　when　you　did　see　her；　staring　at　her　without　saying　a　word！　How　impossible　it　was　for　you　to　go　out　at　any　time　of　the　day　or　night　without　finding　yourself　eventually　opposite　her　windows！　　You　hadn't　pluck　enough　to　go　in；　but　you　hung　about　the　corner　and　gazed　at　the　outside。　　Oh；　if　the　house　had　only　caught　fireit　was　insured；　so　it　wouldn't　have　matteredand　you　could　have　rushed　in　and　saved　her　at　the　risk　of　your　life；　and　have　been　terribly　burned　and　injured！　　Anything　to　serve　her。　　Even　in　little　things　that　was　so　sweet。　　How　you　would　watch　her；　spaniel…like；　to　anticipate　her　slightest　wish！　　How　proud　you　were　to　do　her　bidding！　　How　delightful　it　was　to　be　ordered　about　by　her！　　To　devote　your　whole　life　to　her　and　to　never　think　of　yourself　seemed　such　a　simple　thing。　　You　would　go　without　a　holiday　to　lay　a　humble　offering　at　her　shrine；　and　felt　more　than　repaid　if　she　only　deigned　to　accept　it。　　How　precious　to　you　was　everything　that　she　had　hallowed　by　her　touchher　little　glove；　the　ribbon　she　had　worn；　the　rose　that　had　nestled　in　her　hair　and　whose　withered　leaves　still　mark　the　poems　you　never　care　to　look　at　now。

And　oh；　how　beautiful　she　was；　how　wondrous　beautiful！　　It　was　as　some　angel　entering　the　room；　and　all　else　became　plain　and　earthly。　　She　was　too　sacred　to　be　touched。　　It　seemed　almost　presumption　to　gaze　at　her。　　You　would　as　soon　have　thought　of　kissing　her　as　of　singing　comic　songs　in　a　cathedral。　　It　was　desecration　enough　to　kneel　and　timidly　raise　the　gracious　little　hand　to　your　lips。

Ah；　those　foolish　days；　those　foolish　days　when　we　were　unselfish　and　pure…minded；　those　foolish　days　when　our　simple　hearts　were　full　of　truth；　and　faith；　and　reverence！　　Ah；　those　foolish　days　of　noble　longings　and　of　noble　strivings！　　And　oh；　these　wise；　clever　days　when　we　know　that　money　is　the　only　prize　worth　striving　for；　when　we　believe　in　nothing　else　but　meanness　and　lies；　when　we　care　for　no　living　creature　but　ourselves！



ON　BEING　IN　THE　BLUES。

I　can　enjoy　feeling　melancholy；　and　there　is　a　good　deal　of　satisfaction　about　being　thoroughly　miserable；　but　nobody　likes　a　fit　of　the　blues。　　Nevertheless；　everybody　has　them；　notwithstanding　which；　nobody　can　tell　why。　　There　is　no　accounting　for　them。　　You　are　just　as　likely　to　have　one　on　the　day　after　you　have　come　into　a　large　fortune　as　on　the　day　after　you　have　left　your　new　silk　umbrella　in　the　train。　　Its　effect　upon　you　is　somewhat　similar　to　what　would　probably　be　produced　by　a　combined　attack　of　toothache；　indigestion；　and　cold　in　the　head。　　You　become　stupid；　restless；　and　irritable；　rude　to　strangers　and　dangerous　toward　your　friends；　clumsy；　maudlin；　and　quarrelsome；　a　nuisance　to　yourself　and　everybody　about　you。

While　it　is　on　you　can　do　nothing　and　think　of　nothing；　though　feeling　at　the　time　bound　to　do　something。　　You　can't　sit　still　so　put　on　your　hat　and　go　for　a　walk；　but　before　you　get　to　the　corner　of　the　street　you　wish　you　hadn't　come　out　and　you　turn　back。　　You　open　a　book　and　try　to　read；　but　you　find　Shakespeare　trite　and　commonplace；　Dickens　is　dull　and　prosy；　Thackeray　a　bore；　and　Carlyle　too　sentimental。　　You　throw　the　book　aside　and　call　the　author　names。　　Then　you　〃shoo〃　the　cat　out　of　the　room　and　kick　the　door　to　after　her。　　You　think　you　will　write　your　letters；　but　after　sticking　at　〃Dearest　Auntie：　I　find　I　have　five　minutes　to　spare；　and　so　hasten　to　write　to　you；〃　for　a　quarter　of　an　hour；　without　being　able　to　think　of　another　sentence；　you　tumble　the　paper　into　the　desk；　fling　the　wet　pen　down　upon　the　table…cloth；　and　start　up　with　the　resolution　of　going　to　see　the　Thompsons。　　While　pulling　on　your　gloves；　however；　it　occurs　to　you　that　the　Thompsons　are　idiots；　that　they　never　have　supper；　and　that　you　will　be　expected　to　jump　the　baby。　　You　curse　the　Thompsons　and　decide　not　to　go。

By　this　time　you　feel　completely　crushed。　　You　bury　your　face　in　your　hands　and　think　you　would　like　to　die　and　go　to　heaven。　　You　picture　to　yourself　your　own　sick…bed；　with　all　your　friends　and　relations　standing　round　you　weeping。　　You　bless　them　all；　especially　the　young　and　pretty　ones。　　They　will　value　you　when　you　are　gone；　so　you　say　to　yourself；　and　learn　too　late　what　they　have　lost；　and　you　bitterly　contrast　their　presumed　regard　for　you　then　with　their　decided　want　of　veneration　now。

These　reflections　make　you　feel　a　little　more　cheerful；　but　only　for　a　brief　period；　for　the　next　moment　you　think　what　a　fool　you　must　be　to　imagine　for　an　instant　that　anybody　would　be　sorry　at　anything　that　might　happen　to　you。　　Who　would　care　two　straws　（whatever　precise　amount　of　care　two　straws　may　represen