over the teacups-第2节

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but　as　he　reproduced　it　with　his　lively　embellishments　and　fresh

versions　and　artful　circumlocutions；　not　one　person　in　ten　remembered

that　he　had　listened　to　those　same　words　in　those　same　accents　only　a

twelvemonth　ago。　　The　poor　deluded　creatures　who　take　it　for　granted

that　all　the　world　remembers　what　they　have　said；　and　laugh　at　them

when　they　say　it　over　again；　may　profit　by　this　recollection。　　But

what　if　one　does　say　the　same　things；of　course　in　a　little

different　form　each　time；over　her？　　If　he　has　anything　to　say　worth

saying；　that　is　just　what　be　ought　to　do。　　Whether　he　ought　to　or

not；　it　is　very　certain　that　this　is　what　all　who　write　much　or　speak

much　necessarily　must　and　will　do。　　Think　of　the　clergyman　who

preaches　fifty　or　a　hundred　or　more　sermons　every　year　for　fifty

years！　　Think　of　the　stump　speaker　who　shouts　before　a　hundred

audiences　during　the　same　political　campaign；　always　using　the　same

arguments；　illustrations；　and　catchwords！　　Think　of　the　editor；　as

Carlyle　has　pictured　him；　threshing　the　same　straw　every　morning；

until　we　know　what　is　coming　when　we　see　the　first　line；　as　we　do

when　we　read　the　large　capitals　at　the　head　of　a　thrilling　story；

which　ends　in　an　advertisement　of　an　all…cleansing　soap　or　an　all…

curing　remedy！



The　latch…key　which　opens　into　the　inner　chambers　of　my　consciousness

fits；　as　I　have　sufficient　reason　to　believe；　the　private　apartments

of　a　good　many　other　people's　thoughts。　　The　longer　we　live；　the　more

we　find　we　are　like　other　persons。　　When　I　meet　with　any　facts　in　my

own　mental　experience；　I　feel　almost　sure　that　I　shall　find　them

repeated　or　anticipated　in　the　writings　or　the　conversation　of

others。　　This　feeling　gives　one　a　freedom　in　telling　his　own　personal

history　he　could　not　have　enjoyed　without　it。　　My　story　belongs　to

you　as　much　as　to　me。　　De　te　fabula　narratur。　　Change　the　personal

pronoun；that　is　all。　　It　gives　many　readers　a　singular　pleasure　to

find　a　writer　telling　them　something　they　have　long　known　or　felt；

but　which　they　have　never　before　found　any　one　to　put　in　words　for

them。　　An　author　does　not　always　know　when　he　is　doing　the　service　of

the　angel　who　stirred　the　waters　of　the　pool　of　Bethesda。　　Many　a

reader　is　delighted　to　find　his　solitary　thought　has　a　companion；　and

is　grateful　to　the　benefactor　who　has　strengthened　him。　　This　is　the

advantage　of　the　humble　reader　over　the　ambitious　and　self…

worshipping　writer。　　It　is　not　with　him　pereant　illi；　but　beati　sunt

illi　qui　pro　nobis　nostra　dixerunt；　　…Blessed　are　those　who　have　said

our　good　things　for　us。



What　I　have　been　saying　of　repetitions　leads　me　into　a　train　of

reflections　like　which　I　think　many　readers　will　find　something　in

their　own　mental　history。　　The　area　of　consciousness　is　covered　by

layers　of　habitual　thoughts；　as　a　sea…beach　is　covered　with　wave…

worn；　rounded　pebbles；　shaped；　smoothed；　and　polished　by　long

attrition　against　each　other。　　These　thoughts　remain　very　much　the

same　from　day　to　day；　from　week　to　week；　and　as　we　grow　older；　from

month　to　month；　and　from　year　to　year。　　The　tides　of　wakening

consciousness　roll　in　upon　them　daily　as　we　unclose　our　eyelids；　and

keep　up　the　gentle　movement　and　murmur　of　ordinary　mental　respiration

until　we　close　them　again　in　slumber。　　When　we　think　we　are　thinking；

we　are　for　the　most　part　only　listening　to　sound　of　attrition　between

these　inert　elements　of　intelligence。　　They　shift　their　places　a

little；　they　change　their　relations　to　each　other；　they　roll　over　and

turn　up　new　surfaces。　　Now　and　then　a　new　fragment　is　cast　in　among

them；　to　be　worn　and　rounded　and　takes　its　place　with　the　others；　but

the　pebbled　floor　of　consciousness　is　almost　as　stationary　as　the

pavement　of　a　city　thoroughfare。



It　so　happens　that　at　this　particular　tine　I　have　something　to　tell

which　I　am　quite　sure　is　not　one　of　rolled　pebbles　which　my　reader

has　seen　before　in　any　of　my　pages；　or；　as　I　feel　confident；　in　those

of　any　other　writer。



If　my　reader　asks　why　I　do　not　send　the　statement　I　am　going　to　make

to　some　one　of　the　special　periodicals　that　deal　with　such　subjects；

my　answer　is；　that　I　like　to　tell　my　own　stories　at　my　own　time；　in

own　chosen　columns；　where　they　will　be　read　by　a　class　of　readers

with　whom　I　like　to　talk。



All　men　of　letters　or　of　science；　all　writers　well　known　to　the

public；　are　constantly　tampered　with；　in　these　days；　by　a　class　of

predaceous　and　hungry　fellow…laborers　who　may　be　collectively　spoken

of　as　the　brain…tappers。　　They　want　an　author's　ideas　on　the　subjects

which　interest　them；　the　inquirers；　from　the　gravest　religious　and

moral　questions　to　the　most　trivial　matters　of　his　habits　and　his

whims　and　fancies。　　Some　of　their　questions　he　cannot　answer；　some　he

does　not　choose　to　answer；　some　he　is　not　yet　ready　to　answer；　and

when　he　is　ready　he　prefers　to　select　his　own　organ　of　publication。

I　do　not　find　fault　with　all　the　brain…tappers。　　Some　of　them　are

doing　excellent　service　by　accumulating　facts　which　could　not

otherwise　be　attained。　　Rut　one　gets　tired　of　the　strings　of

questions　sent　him；　to　which　he　is　expected　to　return　an　answer；

plucked；　ripe　or　unripe；　from　his　private　tree　of　knowledge。　　The

braintappers　are　like　the　owner　of　the　goose　that　laid　the　golden

eggs。　　They　would　have　the　embryos　and　germs　of　one's　thoughts　out　of

the　mental　oviducts；　and　cannot　wait　for　their　spontaneous　evolution

and　extrusion。



The　story　I　have　promised　is；　on　the　whole；　the　most　remarkable　of　a

series　which　I　may　have　told　in　part　at　some　previous　date；　but

which；　if　I　have　not　told；　may　be　worth　recalling　at　a　future　time。



Some　few　of　my　readers　may　remember　that　in　a　former　paper　I

suggested　the　possibility　of　the　existence　of　an　idiotic　area　in　the

human　mind；　corresponding　to　the　blind　spot　in　the　human　retina。　　I

trust　that　I　shall　not　be　thought　to　have　let　my　wits　go　wandering　in

that　region　of　my　own　intellectual　domain；　when　I　relate　a　singular

coincidence　which　very　lately　occurred　in　my　experience；　and　add　a

few　remarks　made　by　one　of　our　company　on　the　delicate　and　difficult

but　fascinating　subject　which　it　forces　upon　our　attention。　　I　will

first　copy　the　memorandum　made　at　the　time：



〃Remarkable　coincidence。　　On　Monday；　April　18th；　being　at　table　from

6。30　P。　　M。　　to　7。30；　with　________and　________　the　two　ladies　of　my

household；　I　told　them　of　the　case　of　'trial　by　battel'　offered　by

Abraham　Thornton　in　1817。　　I　mentioned　his　throwing　down　his　glove；

which　was　not　taken　up　by　the　brother　of　his　victim；　and　so　he　had　to

be　let　off；　for　the　old　law　was　still　in　force。　　I　mentioned　that

Abraham　Thornton　was　said　to　have　come　to　this　country；　'and　＇I　added

he　may　be　living　near　us；　for　aught　that　I　know。'　I　rose　from　the

table；　and　found　an　English　letter　waiting　for　me；　left　while　I　sat

at　dinner。　　d　copy　the　first　portion　of　this　letter：





'20　ALFRED　PLACE；　West　（near　Museum）

South　Kensington；　LONDON；　S。　　W。

April　7；　1887。



DR。　O。　W　。　HOLMES：



DEAR　SIR；In　travelling；　the　other　day；　I　met　with　a　reprint　of　the

very　interesting　case　of　Thornton　for　murder；　1817。　　The　prisoner

pleaded　successfully　the　old　Wager　of　Battel。　　I　thought　you　would

like　to　read　the　account；　and　send　it　with　this。。。。



Yours　faithfully；



FRED。　　RATHBONE。'〃



Mr。　　Rathbone　is　a　well…known　dealer　in　old　Wedgwood　and　eighteenth…

century　art。　　As　a　friend　of　my　hospitable　entertainer；　Mr。　Willett；

he　had　shown　me　many　attentions　in　England；　but　I　was　not　expecting

any　communication　from　him；　and　when；　fresh　from　my　conversation；　I

found　this　letter　just　arrived　by　mail；　and　left　while　I　was　at

table；　and　on　breaking　the　seal　read　what　I　had　a　few　moments　before

been；　telling；　I　was　greatly　surprised；　and　immediately　made　a　note

of　the　occurrence；　as　given　above。



I　had　long　been　familiar　with　all　the　details　of　this　celebrated

case；；　but　had　not　referred　to　it；　so　far　as　I　can　remember；　for

months　or　years。　　I　know　of　no　train　of　thought　which　led　me　to　speak

of　it　on　that　particular　day。　　I　had　never　alluded　to　it　before　in

that　company；　nor　had　I　ever　spoken　of　it　with　Mr。　Rathbone。



I　told　this　story　over　our　teacups。　　Among　the　company　at　the　table

is　a　young　English　girl。　　She　seemed　to　be　amused　by　the　story。

〃Fancy！〃　she　said；〃how　very　very　odd！〃　　〃It　was　a　striking　and

curious　coincidence；〃　said　the　professor　who　was　with　us　at　the

table。　　〃As　remarkable　as　two　teaspoons　in　one　saucer；〃　was　the

comment　of　a　college　youth　who　happened　to　be　one　of　the　company。

But　the　member　of　our　circle　whom　the　reader　will　hereafter　know　as

Number　Seven；　began　stirring　his　tea　in　a　nervous　sort　of　way；　and　I

knew　that　he　was　getting　ready　to　say　something　about　the　case。　　An

ingenious　man　he　is；　with　a　brain　like　a　tinder…box；　its　contents

catching　at　any　spark　that　is　flying　about。　　I　alwa