over the teacups-第29节
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upper Me； the Me of the true thinking…marrow； the convolutions of the
brain； does not know better？ Of course he does； and Me…Number…Two is
a careless servant； who remembers some old direction； and follows
that instead of the one just given。
Number Seven demurred to this； and I am not sure that he is wrong in
so doing。 He maintains that the automatic fellow always does just
what he is told to do。 Number Five is disposed to agree with him。
We will talk over the question。
But come； now； why should not a giant have a tail as well as a
dragon？ Linnaeus admitted the homo caudatus into his anthropological
catalogue。 The human embryo has a very well marked caudal appendage；
that is； the vertebral column appears prolonged； just as it is in a
young quadruped。 During the late session of the Medical Congress at
Washington； my friend Dr。 Priestley； a distinguished London
physician； of the highest character and standing； showed me the
photograph of a small boy； some three or four years old； who had a
very respectable little tail； which would have passed muster on a
pig； and would have made a frog or a toad ashamed of himself。 I have
never heard what became of the little boy； nor have I looked in the
books or journals to find out if there are similar cases on record；
but I have no doubt that there are others。 And if boys may have this
additional ornament to their vertebral columns； why not men？ And if
men； why not giants？ So I may not have made a very bad blunder；
after all； and my reader has learned something about the homo
caudatus as spoken of by Linnxus； and as shown me in photograph by
Dr。 Priestley。 This child is a candidate for the vacant place of
Missing Link。
In accounting for the blunders； and even gross blunders； which；
sooner or later； one who writes much is pretty sure to commit； I must
not forget the part played by the blind spot or idiotic area in the
brain； which I have already described。
The most knowing persons we meet with are sometimes at fault。 Nova
onania possumus omnes is not a new nor profound axiom； but it is well
to remember it as a counterpoise to that other truly American saying
of the late Mr。 Samuel Patch； 〃Some things can be done as well as
others。〃 Yes； some things； but not all things。 We all know men and
women who hate to admit their ignorance of anything。 Like Talkative
in 〃Pilgrim's Progress；〃 they are ready to converse of 〃things
heavenly or things earthly； things moral or things evangelical；
things sacred or things profane； things past or things to come；
things foreign or things at home； things more essential or things
circumstantial。〃
Talkative is apt to be a shallow fellow； and to say foolish things
about matters he only half understands； and yet he has his place in
society。 The specialists would grow to be intolerable； were they not
counterpoised to some degree by the people of general intelligence。
The man who knows too much about one particular subject is liable to
become a terrible social infliction。 Some of the worst bores （to use
plain language） we ever meet with are recognized as experts of high
grade in their respective departments。 Beware of making so much as a
pinhole in the dam that holds back their knowledge。 They ride their
hobbies without bit or bridle。 A poet on Pegasus； reciting his own
verses； is hardly more to be dreaded than a mounted specialist。
One of the best offices which women perform for men is that of
tasting books for them。 They may or may not be profound students；
some of them are； but we do not expect to meet women like Mrs。
Somerville； or Caroline Herschel； or Maria Mitchell at every dinner…
table or afternoon tea。 But give your elect lady a pile of books to
look over for you； and she will tell you what they have for her and
for you in less time than you would have wasted in stupefying
yourself over a single volume。
One of the encouraging signs of the times is the condensed and
abbreviated form in which knowledge is presented to the general
reader。 The short biographies of historic personages； of which
within the past few years many have been published； have been a great
relief to the large class of readers who want to know something； but
not too much； about them。
What refuge is there for the victim who is oppressed with the feeling
that there are a thousand new books he ought to read； while life is
only long enough for him to attempt to read a hundred？ Many readers
remember what old Rogers； the poet；
said：
〃When I hear a new book talked about or have it pressed upon me； I
read an old one。〃
Happy the man who finds his rest in the pages of some favorite
classic！ I know no reader more to be envied than that friend of mine
who for many years has given his days and nights to the loving study
of Horace。 After a certain period in life； it is always with an
effort that we admit a new author into the inner circle of our
intimates。 The Parisian omnibuses； as I remember them half a century
ago；they may still keep to the same habit； for aught that I know；
used to put up the sign 〃Complet〃 as soon as they were full。 Our
public conveyances are never full until the natural atmospheric
pressure of sixteen pounds to the square inch is doubled； in the
close packing of the human sardines that fill the all…accommodating
vehicles。 A new…comer； however well mannered and well dressed； is
not very welcome under these circumstances。 In the same way； our
tables are full of books half…read and books we feel that we must
read。 And here come in two thick volumes； with uncut leaves； in
small type； with many pages； and many lines to a page；a book that
must be read and ought to be read at once。 What a relief to hand it
over to the lovely keeper of your literary conscience； who will tell
you all that you will most care to know about it； and leave you free
to plunge into your beloved volume； in which you are ever finding new
beauties； and from which you rise refreshed； as if you had just come
from the cool waters of Hippocrene！ The stream of modern literature
represented by the books and periodicals on the crowded counters is a
turbulent and clamorous torrent； dashing along among the rocks of
criticism； over the pebbles of the world's daily events； trying to
make itself seen and heard amidst the hoarse cries of the politicians
and the rumbling wheels of traffic。 The classic is a still lakelet；
a mountain tarn； fed by springs that never fail； its surface never
ruffled by storms；always the same； always smiling a welcome to its
visitor。 Such is Horace to my friend。 To his eye 〃Lydia； dic per
omnes〃 is as familiar as 〃Pater noster qui es in caelis〃 to that of a
pious Catholic。 〃Integer vitae；〃 which he has put into manly
English； his Horace opens to as Watt's hymn…book opens to 〃From all
that dwell below the skies。〃 The more he reads； the more he studies
his author； the richer are the treasures he finds。 And what Horace
is to him； Homer； or Virgil； or Dante is to many a quiet reader； sick
to death of the unending train of bookmakers。
I have some curious books in my library； a few of which I should like
to say something about to The Teacups； when they have no more
immediately pressing subjects before them。 A library of a few
thousand volumes ought always to have some books in it which the
owner almost never opens； yet with whose backs he is so well
acquainted that he feels as if he knew something of their contents。
They are like those persons whom we meet in our daily walks； with
whose faces and figures； whose summer and winter garments； whose
walking…sticks and umbrellas even； we feel acquainted； and yet whose
names； whose business； whose residences； we know nothing about。 Some
of these books are so formidable in their dimensions； so rusty and
crabbed in their aspect； that it takes a considerable amount of
courage to attack them。
I will ask Delilah to bring down from my library a very thick； stout
volume； bound in parchment； and standing on the lower shelf； next the
fireplace。 The pretty handmaid knows my books almost as if she were
my librarian； and I don't doubt she would have found it if I had
given only the name on the back。
Delilah returned presently； with the heavy quarto in her arms。 It
was a pleasing sight；the old book in the embrace of the fresh young
damsel。 I felt； on looking at them； as I did when I followed the
slip of a girl who conducted us in the Temple； that ancient building
in the heart of London。 The long…enduring monuments of the dead do
so mock the fleeting presence of the living！
Is n't this book enough to scare any of you？ I said； as Delilah
dumped it down upon the table。 The teacups jumped from their saucers
as it thumped on the board。 Danielis Georgii Morhofii Polyhistor；
Literarius； Philosophicus et Poeticus。 Lubecae MDCCXXXIII。 Perhaps
I should not have ventured to ask you to look
