the poet at the breakfast table-第30节

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board　or　his　lapstone。　　I　have　advised　the　dilettanti；　whose　foolish
friends　praised　their　verses　or　their　stories；　to　give　up　all　their
deceptive　dreams　of　making　a　name　by　their　genius；　and　go　to　work　in
the　study　of　a　profession　which　asked　only　for　the　diligent　use　of
average；　ordinary　talents。　　It　is　a　very　grave　responsibility　which
these　unknown　correspondents　throw　upon　their　chosen　counsellors。
One　whom　you　have　never　seen；　who　lives　in　a　community　of　which　you
know　nothing；　sends　you　specimens　more　or　less　painfully　voluminous
of　his　writings；　which　he　asks　you　to　read　over；　think　over；　and　pray
over；　and　send　back　an　answer　informing　him　whether　fame　and　fortune
are　awaiting　him　as　the　possessor　of　the　wonderful　gifts　his　writings
manifest；　and　whether　you　advise　him　to　leave　all；the　shop　he
sweeps　out　every　morning；　the　ledger　he　posts；　the　mortar　in　which　he
pounds；　the　bench　at　which　he　urges　the　reluctant　plane；and　follow
his　genius　whithersoever　it　may　lead　him。　　The　next　correspondent
wants　you　to　mark　out　a　whole　course　of　life　for　him；　and　the　means
of　judgment　he　gives　you　are　about　as　adequate　as　the　brick　which　the
simpleton　of　old　carried　round　as　an　advertisement　of　the　house　he
had　to　sell。　　My　advice　to　all　the　young　men　that　write　to　me　depends
somewhat　on　the　handwriting　and　spelling。　　If　these　are　of　a　certain
character；　and　they　have　reached　a　mature　age；　I　recommend　some
honest　manual　calling；　such　as　they　have　very　probably　been　bred　to；
and　which　will；　at　least；　give　them　a　chance　of　becoming　President　of
the　United　States　by　and　by；　if　that　is　any　object　to　them。　　What
would　you　have　done　with　the　young　person　who　called　on　me　a　good
many　years　ago；　so　many　that　he　has　probably　forgotten　his　literary
effort；and　read　as　specimens　of　his　literary　workmanship　lines　like
those　which　I　will　favor　you　with　presently？　　He　was　an　able…bodied；
grown…up　young　person；　whose　ingenuousness　interested　me；　and　I　am
sure　if　I　thought　he　would　ever　be　pained　to　see　his　maiden　effort　in
print；　I　would　deny　myself　the　pleasure　of　submitting　it　to　the
reader。　　The　following　is　an　exact　transcript　of　the　lines　he　showed
me；　and　which　I　took　down　on　the　spot：

　　　　〃Are　you　in　the　vein　for　cider？
　　　　　Are　you　in　the　tune　for　pork　？
　　　　　Hist！　　for　Betty's　cleared　the　larder
　　　　　And　turned　the　pork　to　soap。〃

Do　not　judge　too　hastily　this　sincere　effort　of　a　maiden　muse。　　Here
was　a　sense　of　rhythm；　and　an　effort　in　the　direction　of　rhyme；　here
was　an　honest　transcript　of　an　occurrence　of　daily　life；　told　with　a
certain　idealizing　expression；　recognizing　the　existence　of　impulses；
mysterious　instincts；　impelling　us　even　in　the　selection　of　our
bodily　sustenance。　　But　I　had　to　tell　him　that　it　wanted　dignity　of
incident　and　grace　of　narrative；　that　there　was　no　atmosphere　to　it；
nothing　of　the　light　that　never　was　and　so　forth。　　I　did　not　say　this
in　these　very　words；　but　I　gave　him　to　understand；　without　being　too
hard　upon　him；　that　he　had　better　not　desert　his　honest　toil　in
pursuit　of　the　poet's　bays。　　This；　it　must　be　confessed；　was　a　rather
discouraging　case。　　A　young　person　like　this　may　pierce；　as　the
Frenchmen　say；　by　and　by；　but　the　chances　are　all　the　other　way。

I　advise　aimless　young　men　to　choose　some　profession　without　needless
delay；　and　so　get　into　a　good　strong　current　of　human　affairs；　and
find　themselves　bound　up　in　interests　with　a　compact　body　of　their
fellow…men。

I　advise　young　women　who　write　to　me　for　counsel；perhaps　I　do　not
advise　them　at　all；　only　sympathize　a　little　with　them；　and　listen　to
what　they　have　to　say　（eight　closely　written　pages　on　the　average；
which　I　always　read　from　beginning　to　end；　thinking　of　the　widow's
cruse　and　myself　in　the　character　of　Elijah）　andandcome　now；　I
don't　believe　Methuselah　would　tell　you　what　he　said　in　his　letters
to　young　ladies；　written　when　he　was　in　his　nine　hundred　and　sixty…
ninth　year。

But；　dear　me！　how　much　work　all　this　private　criticism　involves！　　An
editor　has　only　to　say　〃respectfully　declined；〃　and　there　is　the　end
of　it。　　But　the　confidential　adviser　is　expected　to　give　the　reasons
of　his　likes　and　dislikes　in　detail；　and　sometimes　to　enter　into　an
argument　for　their　support。　　That　is　more　than　any　martyr　can　stand；
but　what　trials　he　must　go　through；　as　it　is！　　Great　bundles　of
manuscripts；　verse　or　prose；　which　the　recipient　is　expected　to　read；
perhaps　to　recommend　to　a　publisher；　at　any　rate　to　express　a　well…
digested　and　agreeably　flavored　opinion　about；　which　opinion；　nine
times　out　of　ten；　disguise　it　as　we　may；　has　to　be　a　bitter　draught；
every　form　of　egotism；　conceit；　false　sentiment；　hunger　for
notoriety；　and　eagerness　for　display　of　anserine　plumage　before　the
admiring　public；all　these　come　in　by　mail　or　express；　covered　with
postage…stamps　of　so　much　more　cost　than　the　value　of　the　waste　words
they　overlie；　that　one　comes　at　last　to　groan　and　change　color　at　the
very　sight　of　a　package；　and　to　dread　the　postman's　knock　as　if　it
were　that　of　the　other　visitor　whose　naked　knuckles　rap　at　every
door。

Still　there　are　experiences　which　go　far　towards　repaying　all　these
inflictions。　　My　last　young　man's　case　looked　desperate　enough；　some
of　his　sails　had　blown　from　the　rigging；　some　were　backing　in　the
wind；　and　some　were　flapping　and　shivering；　but　I　told　him　which　way
to　head；　and　to　my　surprise　he　promised　to　do　just　as　I　directed；　and
I　do　not　doubt　is　under　full　sail　at　this　moment。

What　if　I　should　tell　my　last；　my　very　recent　experience　with　the
other　sex？　　I　received　a　paper　containing　the　inner　history　of　a
young　woman's　life；　the　evolution　of　her　consciousness　from　its
earliest　record　of　itself；　written　so　thoughtfully；　so　sincerely；
with　so　much　firmness　and　yet　so　much　delicacy；　with　such　truth　of
detail　and　such　grace　in　the　manner　of　telling；　that　I　finished　the
long　manuscript　almost　at　a　sitting；　with　a　pleasure　rarely；　almost
never　experienced　in　voluminous　communications　which　one　has　to　spell
out　of　handwriting。　　This　was　from　a　correspondent　who　made　my
acquaintance　by　letter　when　she　was　little　more　than　a　child；　some
years　ago。　　How　easy　at　that　early　period　to　have　silenced　her　by
indifference；　to　have　wounded　her　by　a　careless　epithet；　perhaps　even
to　have　crushed　her　as　one　puts　his　heel　on　a　weed！　　A　very　little
encouragement　kept　her　from　despondency；　and　brought　back　one　of
those　overflows　of　gratitude　which　make　one　more　ashamed　of　himself
for　being　so　overpaid　than　he　would　be　for　having　committed　any　of
the　lesser　sins。　　But　what　pleased　me　most　in　the　paper　lately
received　was　to　see　how　far　the　writer　had　outgrown　the　need　of　any
encouragement　of　mine；　that　she　had　strengthened　out　of　her　tremulous
questionings　into　a　self…reliance　and　self…poise　which　I　had　hardly
dared　to　anticipate　for　her。　　Some　of　my　readers　who　are　also　writers
have　very　probably　had　more　numerous　experiences　of　this　kind　than　I
can　lay　claim　to；　self…revelations　from　unknown　and　sometimes
nameless　friends；　who　write　from　strange　corners　where　the　winds　have
wafted　some　stray　words　of　theirs　which　have　lighted　in　the　minds　and
reached　the　hearts　of　those　to　whom　they　were　as　the　angel　that
stirred　the　pool　of　Bethesda。　　Perhaps　this　is　the　best　reward
authorship　brings；　it　may　not　imply　much　talent　or　literary
excellence；　but　it　means　that　your　way　of　thinking　and　feeling　is
just　what　some　one　of　your　fellow…creatures　needed。

I　have　been　putting　into　shape；　according　to　his　request；　some
further　passages　from　the　Young　Astronomer's　manuscript；　some　of
which　the　reader　will　have　a　chance　to　read　if　he　is　so　disposed。
The　conflict　in　the　young　man's　mind　between　the　desire　for　fame　and
the　sense　of　its　emptiness　as　compared　with　nobler　aims　has　set　me
thinking　about　the　subject　from　a　somewhat　humbler　point　of　view。　　As
I　am　in　the　habit　of　telling　you；　Beloved；　many　of　my　thoughts；　as
well　as　of　repeating　what　was　said　at　our　table；　you　may　read　what
follows　as　if　it　were　addressed　to　you　in　the　course　of　an　ordinary
conversation；　where　I　claimed　rather　more　than　my　share；　as　I　am
afraid　I　am　a　little　in　the　habit　of　doing。

I　suppose　we　all；　those　of　us　who　write　in　verse　or　prose；　have　the
habitual　feeling　that　we　should　like　to　be　remembered。　　It　is　to　be
awake　when　all　of　those　who　were　round　us　have　been　long　wrapped　in
slumber。　　It　is　a　pleasant　thought　enough　that　the　name　by　which　we
have　been　called　shall　be　familiar　on　the　lips　of　those　who　come
after　us；　and　the　thoughts　that　wrought　themselves　out　in　our
intelligence；　the　emotions　that　trembled　through　our　frames；　shall
live　themselves　over　again　in　the　minds　and　hearts　of　others。

But　is　there　not　something　of　rest；　of　calm；　in　the　thought　of　gently
and　gradually　fading　away　out　of　human　remembrance？　　What　line　have
we　written　that　was　on　a　level　with　our　conceptions？　　What　page　of
ours　that　does　not　betray　some　weakness　we　would　fain　have　left
unrecorded？　　To　become　a　classic　and　share　the　life　of　a　language　is
to　be　ever　open　to　criticisms；　to　comparisons；　to　the　caprices　of
successive　generations；　to　be　called　into　cour