over the teacups-第13节
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legal gentleman who has lately joined us。 This gentleman thought it
well…intended； but that it would take one constable to every three
inhabitants to enforce its provisions。
I said the dream could do no harm； it was too outrageously improbable
to come home to anybody's feelings。 Dreams were like broken
mosaics；the separated stones might here and there make parts of
pictures。 If one found a caricature of himself made out of the
pieces which had accidentally come together； he would smile at it；
knowing that it was an accidental effect with no malice in it。 If
any of you really believe in a working Utopia； why not join the
Shakers； and convert the world to this mode of life？ Celibacy alone
would cure a great many of the evils you complain of。
I thought this suggestion seemed to act rather unfavorably upon the
ladies of our circle。 The two Annexes looked inquiringly at each
other。 Number Five looked smilingly at them。 She evidently thought
it was time to change the subject of conversation； for she turned to
me and said； 〃You promised to read us the poem you read before your
old classmates the other evening。〃
I will fulfill my promise； I said。 We felt that this might probably
be our last meeting as a Class。 The personal reference is to our
greatly beloved and honored classmate； James Freeman Clarke。
AFTER THE CURFEW。
The Play is over。 While the light
Yet lingers in the darkening hall；
I come to say a last Good…night
Before the final Exeunt all。
We gathered once； a joyous throng：
The jovial toasts went gayly round；
With jest； and laugh； and shout； and song
we made the floors and walls resound。
We come with feeble steps and slow；
A little band of four or five；
Left from the wrecks of long ago；
Still pleased to find ourselves alive。
Alive！ How living； too； are they
whose memories it is ours to share！
Spread the long table's full array；
There sits a ghost in every chair！
One breathing form no more； alas！
Amid our slender group we see；
With him we still remained 〃The Class；〃
without his presence what are we？
The hand we ever loved to clasp；
That tireless hand which knew no rest；
Loosed from affection's clinging grasp；
Lies nerveless on the peaceful breast。
The beaming eye； the cheering voice；
That lent to life a generous glow；
whose every meaning said 〃Rejoice；〃
we see； we hear； no more below。
The air seems darkened by his loss；
Earth's shadowed features look less fair；
And heavier weighs the daily cross
His willing shoulders helped as bear。
Why mourn that we； the favored few
Whom grasping Time so long has spared
Life's sweet illusions to pursue；
The common lot of age have shared？
In every pulse of Friendship's heart
There breeds unfelt a throb of pain；
One hour must rend its links apart；
Though years on years have forged the chain。
So ends 〃The Boys；〃a lifelong play。
We too must hear the Prompter's call
To fairer scenes and brighter day
Farewell！ I let the curtain fall。
IV
If the reader thinks that all these talking Teacups came together by
mere accident； as people meet at a boarding…house； I may as well tell
him at once that he is mistaken。 If he thinks I am going to explain
how it is that he finds them thus brought together； whether they form
a secret association； whether they are the editors of this or that
periodical； whether they are connected with some institution； and so
on；I must disappoint him。 It is enough that he finds them in each
other's company； a very mixed assembly； of different sexes； ages； and
pursuits； and if there is a certain mystery surrounds their meetings；
he must not be surprised。 Does he suppose we want to be known and
talked about in public as 〃Teacups〃？ No； so far as we give to the
community some records of the talks at our table our thoughts become
public property； but the sacred personality of every Teacup must be
properly respected。 If any wonder at the presence of one of our
number； whose eccentricities might seem to render him an undesirable
associate of the company； he should remember that some people may
have relatives whom they feel bound to keep their eye on； besides the
cracked Teacup brings out the ring of the sound ones as nothing else
does。 Remember also that soundest teacup does not always hold the
best tea； or the cracked teacup the worst。
This is a hint to the reader； who is not expected to be too curious
about the individual Teacups constituting our unorganized
association。
The Dictator Discourses。
I have been reading Balzac's Peau de Chagrin。 You have all read the
story； I hope； for it is the first of his wonderful romances which
fixed the eyes of the reading world upon him； and is a most
fascinating if somewhat fantastic tale。 A young man becomes the
possessor of a certain magic skin； the peculiarity of which is that；
while it gratifies every wish formed by its possessor； it shrinks in
all its dimensions each time that a wish is gratified。 The young man
makes every effort to ascertain the cause of its shrinking； invokes
the aid of the physicist； the chemist； the student of natural
history； but all in vain。 He draws a red line around it。 That same
day he indulges a longing for a certain object。 The next morning
there is a little interval between the red line and the skin； close
to which it was traced。 So always； so inevitably。 As he lives on；
satisfying one desire； one passion； after another； the process of
shrinking continues。 A mortal disease sets in； which keeps pace with
the shrinking skin； and his life and his talisman come to an end
together。
One would say that such a piece of integument was hardly a desirable
possession。 And yet； how many of us have at this very moment a peau
de chagrin of our own； diminishing with every costly wish indulged；
and incapable； like the magical one of the story； of being arrested
in its progress
Need I say that I refer to those coupon bonds； issued in the days of
eight and ten per cent interest； and gradually narrowing as they drop
their semiannual slips of paper； which represent wishes to be
realized； as the roses let fall their leaves in July； as the icicles
melt away in the thaw of January？
How beautiful was the coupon bond； arrayed in its golden raiment of
promises to pay at certain stated intervals； for a goodly number of
coming years！ What annual the horticulturist can show will bear
comparison with this product of auricultural industry； which has
flowered in midsummer and midwinter for twenty successive seasons？
And now the last of its blossoms is to be plucked； and the bare stem；
stripped of its ever maturing and always welcome appendages； is
reduced to the narrowest conditions of reproductive existence。 Such
is the fate of the financial peau de chagrin。 Pity the poor
fractional capitalist； who has just managed to live on the eight per
cent of his coupon bonds。 The shears of Atropos were not more fatal
to human life than the long scissors which cut the last coupon to the
lean proprietor； whose slice of dry toast it served to flatter with
oleomargarine。 Do you wonder that my thoughts took the poetical
form； in the contemplation of these changes and their melancholy
consequences？ If the entire poem； of several hundred lines； was
〃declined with thanks〃 by an unfeeling editor； that is no reason why
you should not hear a verse or two of it。
THE PEAU DE CHAGRIN OF STATE STREET。
How beauteous is the bond
In the manifold array
Of its promises to pay；
While the eight per cent it gives
And the rate at which one lives
Correspond！
But at last the bough is bare
Where the coupons one by one
Through their ripening days have run；
And the bond； a beggar now；
Seeks investment anyhow；
Anywhere！
The Mistress commonly contents herself with the general supervision
of the company； only now and then taking an active part in the
conversation。 She started a question the other evening which set
some of us thinking。
〃Why is it；〃 she said； 〃that there is so common and so intense a
desire for poetical reputation？ It seems to me that； if I were a
man； I had rather have done something worth telling of than make
verses about what other people had done。〃
〃You agree with Alexander the Great；〃 said the Professor。 〃You would
prefer the fame of Achilles to that of Homer； who told the story of
his wrath and its direful consequences。 I am afraid that I should
hardly agree with you。 Achilles was little better than a Choctaw
brave。 I won't quote Horace's line which characterizes him so
admirably； for I will take it for granted that you all
