a mortal antipathy-第3节

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will　stand　no　more　wear　and　tear；　close　them；　and　leave　them　to　the

spider　and　the　book…worm。〃



In　the　mean　time　the　nebula　of　the　first　quarter　of　the　century　had

condensed　into　the　constellation　of　the　middle　of　the　same　period。

When；　a　little　while　after　the　establishment　of　the　new　magazine；　the

〃Saturday　Club〃　gathered　about　the　long　table　at　〃Parker's；〃　such　a

representation　of　all　that　was　best　in　American　literature　had　never

been　collected　within　so　small　a　compass。　　Most　of　the　Americans　whom

educated　foreigners　cared　to　see…leaving　out　of　consideration

official　dignitaries；　whose　temporary　importance　makes　them　objects

of　curiositywere　seated　at　that　board。　　But　the　club　did　not　yet

exist；　and　the　〃Atlantic　Monthly〃　was　an　experiment。　　There　had

already　been　several　monthly　periodicals；　more　or　less　successful　and

permanent；　among　which　〃Putnam's　Magazine〃　was　conspicuous；　owing　its

success　largely　to　the　contributions　of　that　very　accomplished　and

delightful　writer；　Mr。　George　William　Curtis。　　That　magazine；　after　a

somewhat　prolonged　and　very　honorable　existence；　had　gone　where　all

periodicals　go　when　they　die；　into　the　archives　of　the　deaf；　dumb；

and　blind　recording　angel　whose　name　is　Oblivion。　　It　had　so　well

deserved　to　live　that　its　death　was　a　surprise　and　a　source　of

regret。　　Could　another　monthly　take　its　place　and　keep　it　when　that；

with　all　its　attractions　and　excellences；　had　died　out；　and　left　a

blank　in　our　periodical　literature　which　it　would　be　very　hard　to

fill　as　well　as　that　had　filled　it？



This　was　the　experiment　which　the　enterprising　publishers　ventured

upon；　and　I；　who　felt　myself　outside　of　the　charmed　circle　drawn

around　the　scholars　and　poets　of　Cambridge　and　Concord；　having　given

myself　to　other　studies　and　duties；　wondered　somewhat　when　Mr。　Lowell

insisted　upon　my　becoming　a　contributor。　　And　so；　yielding　to　a

pressure　which　I　could　not　understand；　and　yet　found　myself　unable　to

resist；　I　promised　to　take　a　part　in　the　new　venture；　as　an

occasional　writer　in　the　columns　of　the　new　magazine。



That　was　the　way　in　which　the　second　Portfolio　found　its　way　to　my

table；　and　was　there　opened　in　the　autumn　of　the　year　1857。　　I　was

already　at　least



　　　　　　　　　　Nel　mezzo　del　cammin　di　mia；　vita；



when　I　risked　myself；　with　many　misgivings；　in　little…tried　paths　of

what　looked　at　first　like　a　wilderness；　a　selva　oscura；　where；　if　I

did　not　meet　the　lion　or　the　wolf；　I　should　be　sure　to　find　the

critic；　the　most　dangerous　of　the　carnivores；　waiting　to　welcome　me

after　his　own　fashion。



The　second　Portfolio　is　closed　and　laid　away。　　Perhaps　it　was　hardly

worth　while　to　provide　and　open　a　new　one；　but　here　it　lies　before

me；　and　I　hope　I　may　find　something　between　its　covers　which　will

justify　me　in　coming　once　more　before　my　old　friends。　　But　before　I

open　it　I　want　to　claim　a　little　further　indulgence。



There　is　a　subject　of　profound　interest　to　almost　every　writer；　I

might　say　to　almost　every　human　being。　　No　matter　what　his　culture　or

ignorance；　no　matter　what　his　pursuit；　no　matter　what　his　character；

the　subject　I　refer　to　is　one　of　which　he　rarely　ceases　to　think；

and；　if　opportunity　is　offered；　to　talk。　　On　this　he　is　eloquent；　if

on　nothing　else。　　The　slow　of　speech　becomes　fluent；　the　torpid

listener　becomes　electric　with　vivacity；　and　alive　all　over　with

interest。



The　sagacious　reader　knows　well　what　is　coming　after　this　prelude。

He　is　accustomed　to　the　phrases　with　which　the　plausible　visitor；　who

has　a　subscription　book　in　his　pocket；　prepares　his　victim　for　the

depressing　disclosure　of　his　real　errand。　　He　is　not　unacquainted

with　the　conversational　amenities　of　the　cordial　and　interesting

stranger；　who；　having　had　the　misfortune　of　leaving　his　carpet…bag　in

the　cars；　or　of　having　his　pocket　picked　at　the　station；　finds

himself　without　the　means　of　reaching　that　distant　home　where

affluence　waits　for　him　with　its　luxurious　welcome；　but　to　whom　for

the　moment　the　loan　of　some　five　and　twenty　dollars　would　be　a

convenience　and　a　favor　for　which　his　heart　would　ache　with　gratitude

during　the　brief　interval　between　the　loan　and　its　repayment。



I　wish　to　say　a　few　words　in　my　own　person　relating　to　some　passages

in　my　own　history；　and　more　especially　to　some　of　the　recent

experiences　through　which　I　have　been　passing。



What　can　justify　one　in　addressing　himself　to　the　general　public　as

if　it　were　his　private　correspondent？　　There　are　at　least　three

sufficient　reasons：　first；　if　he　has　a　story　to　tell　that　everybody

wants　to　hear；if　be　has　been　shipwrecked；　or　has　been　in　a　battle；

or　has　witnessed　any　interesting　event；　and　can　tell　anything　new

about　it；　secondly；　if　he　can　put　in　fitting　words　any　common

experiences　not　already　well　told；　so　that　readers　will　say；　〃Why；

yes！　　I　have　had　that　sensation；　thought；　emotion；　a　hundred　times；

but　I　never　heard　it　spoken　of　before；　and　I　never　saw　any　mention　of

it　in　print；〃　and　thirdly；　anything　one　likes；　provided　he　can　so

tell　it　as　to　make　it　interesting。



I　have　no　story　to　tell　in　this　Introduction　which　can　of　itself

claim　any　general　attention。　　My　first　pages　relate　the　effect　of　a

certain　literary　experience　upon　myself；a　series　of　partial

metempsychoses　of　which　I　have　been　the　subject。　　Next　follows　a

brief　tribute　to　the　memory　of　a　very　dear　and　renowned　friend　from

whom　I　have　recently　been　parted。　　The　rest　of　the　Introduction　will

be　consecrated　to　the　memory　of　my　birthplace。



I　have　just　finished　a　Memoir；　which　will　appear　soon　after　this　page

is　written；　and　will　have　been　the　subject　of　criticism　long　before

it　is　in　the　reader's　hands。　　The　experience　of　thinking　another

man's　thoughts　continuously　for　a　long　time；　of　living　one's　self

into　another　man's　life　for　a　month；　or　a　year；　or　more；　is　a　very

curious　one。　　No　matter　how　much　superior　to　the　biographer　his

subject　may　be；　the　man　who　writes　the　life　feels　himself；　in　a

certain　sense；　on　the　level　of　the　person　whose　life　he　is　writing。

One　cannot　fight　over　the　battles　of　Marengo　or　Austerlitz　with

Napoleon　without　feeling　as　if　he　himself　had　a　fractional　claim　to

the　victory；　so　real　seems　the　transfer　of　his　personality　into　that

of　the　conqueror　while　he　reads。　　Still　more　must　this　identification

of　〃subject〃　and　〃object〃　take　place　when　one　is　writing　of　a　person

whose　studies　or　occupations　are　not　unlike　his　own。



Here　are　some　of　my　metempsychoses：

Ten　years　ago　I　wrote　what　I　called　A　Memorial　Outline　of　a

remarkable　student　of　nature。　　He　was　a　born　observer；　and　such　are

far　from　common。　　He　was　also　a　man　of　great　enthusiasm　and

unwearying　industry。　　His　quick　eye　detected　what　others　passed　by

without　notice：　the　Indian　relic；　where　another　would　see　only

pebbles　and　fragments；　the　rare　mollusk；　or　reptile；　which　his

companion　would　poke　with　his　cane；　never　suspecting　that　there　was　a

prize　at　the　end　of　it。　　Getting　his　single　facts　together　with

marvellous　sagacity　and　long…breathed　patience；　he　arranged　them；

classified　them；　described　them；　studied　them　in　their　relations；　and

before　those　around　him　were　aware　of　it　the　collector　was　an

accomplished　naturalist。　　Whenhe　died　his　collections　remained；　and

they　still　remain；　as　his　record　in　the　hieratic　language　of　science。

In　writing　this　memoir　the　spirit　of　his　quiet　pursuits；　the　even

temper　they　bred　in　him；　gained　possession　of　my　own　mind；　so　that　I

seemed　to　look　at　nature　through　his　gold…bowed　spectacles；　and　to

move　about　his　beautifully　ordered　museum　as　if　I　had　myself　prepared

and　arranged　its　specimens。　　I　felt　wise　with　his　wisdom；　fair…minded

with　his　calm　impartiality；　it　seemed　as　if　for　the　time　his　placid；

observant；　inquiring；　keen…sighted　nature　〃slid　into　my　soul；〃　and　if

I　had　looked　at　myself　in　the　glass　I　should　almost　have　expected　to

see　the　image　of　the　Hersey　professor　whose　life　and　character　I　was

sketching。



A　few　years　hater　I　lived　over　the　life　of　another　friend　in　writing

a　Memoir　of　which　he　was　the　subject。　　I　saw　him；　the　beautiful；

bright…eyed　boy；　with　dark；　waving　hair；　the　youthful　scholar；　first

at　Harvard；　then　at　Gottingen　and　Berlin；　the　friend　and　companion　of

Bismarck；　the　young　author；　making　a　dash　for　renown　as　a　novelist；

and　showing　the　elements　which　made　his　failures　the　promise　of

success　in　a　larger　field　of　literary　labor；　the　delving　historian；

burying　his　fresh　young　manhood　in　the　dusty　alcoves　of　silent

libraries；　to　come　forth　in　the　face　of　Europe　and　America　as　one　of

the　leading　historians　of　the　time；　the　diplomatist；　accomplished；　of

captivating　presence　and　manners；　an　ardent　American；　and　in　the　time

of　trial　an　impassioned　and　eloquent　advocate　of　the　cause　of

freedom；　reaching　at　last　the　summit　of　his　ambition　as　minister　at

the　Court　of　Saint　James。　　All　this　I　seemed　to　share　with　h