ponkapog papers-第6节

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THERE　is　a　strain　of　primitive　poetry　running　through　the　entire　Irish　race；　a　fleeting　lyrical　emotion　which　expresses　itself　in　a　flash；　usually　in　connection　with　love　of　country　and　kindred　across　the　sea。　　I　had　a　touching　illustration　of　it　the　other　morning。　　The　despot　who　reigns　over　our　kitchen　was　gathering　a　mess　of　dandelions　on　the　rear　lawn。　　It　was　one　of　those　blue　and　gold　days　which　seem　especially　to　belong　New　Eng…　land。　　〃It's　in　County　Westmeath　I　'd　be　this　day；〃　she　said；　looking　up　at　me。　　〃I'd　go　cool　my　hands　in　the　grass　on　my　ould　mother's　grave　in　the　bit　of　churchyard　foreninst　the　priest's　house　at　Mullingar。〃　I　have　seen　poorer　poetry　than　that　in　the　magazines。


SPEAKING　of　the　late　Major　Pond；　the　well…　known　director　of　a　lecture　bureau；　an　old　client　of　his　remarked：　〃He　was　a　most　capable　manager；　but　it　always　made　me　a　little　sore　to　have　him　deduct　twenty…five　per　cent。　commis…　sion。〃　　〃Pond's　Extract；〃　murmured　one　of　the　gentlemen　present。

EACH　of　our　great　towns　has　its　〃Little　Italy；〃　with　shops　where　nothing　is　spoken　but　Italian　and　streets　in　which　the　alien　pedestrian　had　better　not　linger　after　nightfall。　　The　chief　in…　dustry　of　these　exotic　communities　seems　to　be　spaghetti　and　stilettos。　　What　with　our　Little　Italys　and　Chinatowns；　and　the　like；　an　Ameri…　can　need　not　cross　the　ocean　in　order　to　visit　foreign　lands　and　enjoy　the　benefits　of　older　civilizations。

POETS　are　made　as　well　as　born；　the　proverb　notwithstanding。　　They　are　made　possible　by　the　general　love　of　poetry　and　the　consequent　imperious　demand　for　it。　　When　this　is　non…　existent；　poets　become　mute；　the　atmosphere　stifles　them。　　There　would　have　been　no　Shake…　speare　had　there　been　no　Elizabethan　audience。　That　was　an　age　when；　as　Emerson　finely　puts　it；

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　Men　became　　　　　　Poets；　for　the　air　was　fame。

THE　stolid　gentleman　in　livery　who　has　his　car…　riage…stand　at　the　corner　opposite　my　house　is　constantly　touching　on　the　extremes　of　human　experience；　with　probably　not　the　remotest　per…　ception　of　the　fact。　　Now　he　takes　a　pair　of　lovers　out　for　an　airing；　and　now　he　drives　the　abscond…　ing　bank…teller　to　the　railway…station。　　Except…　ing　as　question　of　distance；　the　man　has　positively　no　choice　between　a　theatre　and　a　graveyard。　　I　met　him　this　morning　dashing　up　to　the　portals　of　Trinity　Church　with　a　bridal　party；　and　this　afternoon；　as　I　was　crossing　Cambridge　Bridge；　I　saw　him　creeping　along　next　to　the　hearse；　on　his　way　to　Mount　Auburn。　　The　wedding　af…　forded　him　no　pleasure；　and　the　funeral　gave　him　no　grief；　yet　he　was　a　factor　in　both。　　It　is　his　odd　destiny　to　be　wholly　detached　from　the　vital　part　of　his　own　acts。　　If　the　carriage　itself　could　speak！　　The　autobiography　of　a　public　hack　written　without　reservation　would　be　dra…　matic　reading。

IN　this　blotted　memorandum…book　are　a　score　or　two　of　suggestions　for　essays；　sketches；　and　poems；　which　I　have　not　written；　and　never　shall　write。　　The　instant　I　jot　down　an　idea　the　desire　to　utilize　it　leaves　me；　and　I　turn　away　to　do　something　unpremeditated。　　The　shabby　vol…　ume　has　become　a　sort　of　Potter's　Field　where　I　bury　my　literary　intentions；　good　and　bad；　with…　out　any　belief　in　their　final　resurrection。

A　STAGE　DIRECTION：　exit　time；　enter　Eternitywith　a　soliloquy。




ASIDES




TOM　FOLIO

IN　my　early　Boston　days　a　gentle　soul　was　often　to　be　met　with　about　town；　furtively　haunting　old　book…shops　and　dusty　editorial　rooms；　a　man　of　ingratiating　simplicity　of　man…　ner；　who　always　spoke　in　a　low；　hesitating　voice；　with　a　note　of　refinement　in　it。　　He　was　a　de…　vout　worshiper　of　Elia；　and　wrote　pleasant　dis…　cursive　essays　smacking　somewhat　of　his　master's　flavorsuggesting　rather　than　imitating　it　which　he　signed　〃Tom　Folio。〃　　I　forget　how　he　glided　into　my　acquaintanceship；　doubtless　in　some　way　too　shy　and　elusive　for　remembrance。　I　never　knew　him　intimately；　perhaps　no　one　did；　but　the　intercourse　between　us　was　most　cordial；　and　our　chance　meetings　and　bookish　chats　extended　over　a　space　of　a　dozen　years。　　　　　　Tom　FolioI　cling　to　the　winning　pseu…　donymwas　sparely　built　and　under　medium　height；　or　maybe　a　slight　droop　of　the　shoulders　made　it　seem　so；　with　a　fragile　look　about　him　and　an　aspect　of　youth　that　was　not　his。　　En…　countering　him　casually　on　a　street　corner；　you　would；　at　the　first　glance；　have　taken　him　for　a　youngish　man；　but　the　second　glance　left　you　doubtful。　　It　was　a　figure　that　struck　a　note　of　singularity　and　would　have　attracted　your　atten…　tion　even　in　a　crowd。　　　　　　During　the　first　four　or　five　years　of　our　ac…　quaintance；　meeting　him　only　out　of　doors　or　in　shops；　I　had　never　happened　to　see　him　with　his　hat　off。　　One　day　he　recklessly　removed　it；　and　in　the　twinkling　of　an　eye　he　became　an　elderly　bald…headed　man。　　The　Tom　Folio　I　once　knew　had　virtually　vanished。　　An　instant　earlier　he　was　a　familiar　shape；　an　instant　later；　an　almost　unrecognizable　individual。　　A　narrow　fringe　of　light…colored　hair；　extending　from　ear　to　ear　under　the　rear　brim　of　his　hat；　had　perpetrated　an　unintentional　deception　by　leading　one　to　sup…　pose　a　head　profusely　covered　with　curly　locks。　〃Tom　Folio；〃　I　said；　〃put　on　your　hat　and　come　back！　　But　after　that　day　he　never　seemed　young　to　me。　　　　　　I　had　few　or　no　inklings　of　his　life　discon…　nected　with　the　streets　and　the　book…stalls；　chiefly　those　on　Cornhill　or　in　the　vicinity。　　It　is　possi…　ble　I　am　wrong　in　inferring　that　he　occupied　a　room　somewhere　at　the　South　End　or　in　South　Boston；　and　lived　entirely　alone；　heating　his　cof…　fee　and　boiling　his　egg　over　an　alcohol　lamp。　　I　got　from　him　one　or　two　fortuitous　hints　of　quaint　housekeeping。　　Every　winter；　it　appeared；　some　relative；　far　or　near；　sent　him　a　large　batch　of　mince　pies；　twenty　or　thirty　at　least。　　He　once　spoke　to　me　of　having　laid　in　his　winter　pie；　just　as　another　might　speak　of　laying　in　his　winter　coal。　　The　only　fireside　companion　Tom　Folio　ever　alluded　to　in　my　presence　was　a　Maltese　cat；　whose　poor　health　seriously　disturbed　him　from　time　to　time。　　I　suspected　those　mince　pies。　　The　cat；　I　recollect；　was　named　Miss　Mowcher。　　　　　　If　he　had　any　immediate　family　ties　beyond　this　I　was　unaware　of　them；　and　not　curious　to　be　enlightened　on　the　subject。　　He　was　more　pic…　turesque　solitary。　　I　preferred　him　to　remain　so。　Other　figures　introduced　into　the　background　of　the　canvas　would　have　spoiled　the　artistic　effect。　　　　　　Tom　Folio　was　a　cheerful；　lonely　mana　recluse　even　when　he　allowed　himself　to　be　jostled　and　hurried　along　on　the　turbulent　stream　of　humanity　sweeping　in　opposite　directions　through　Washington　Street　and　its　busy　estu…　aries。　　He　was　in　the　crowd；　but　not　of　it。　　I　had　so　little　real　knowledge　of　him　that　I　was　obliged　to　imagine　his　more　intimate　environ…　ments。　　However　wide　of　the　mark　my　conjec…　tures　may　have　fallen；　they　were　as　satisfying　to　me　as　facts　would　have　been。　　His　secluded　room　I　could　picture　to　myself　with　a　sense　of　certaintythe　couch　（a　sofa　by　day）；　the　cup…　board；　the　writing…table　with　its　student　lamp；　the　litter　of　pamphlets　and　old　quartos　and　oc…　tavos　in　tattered　bindings；　among　which　were　scarce　reprints　of　his　beloved　Charles　Lamb；　and　perhapsnay；　surelyan　editio　prin…　ceps　of　the　〃Essays。〃　　　　　　The　gentle　Elia　never　had　a　gentler　follower　or　a　more　loving　disciple　than　Tom　Folio。　　He　moved　and　had　much　of　his　being　in　the　early　part　of　the　last　century。　　To　him　the　South…Sea　House　was　the　most　important　edifice　on　the　globe；　remaining　the　same　venerable　pile　it　used　to　be；　in　spite　of　all　the　changes　that　had　be…　fallen　it。　　It　was　there　Charles　Lamb　passed　the　novitiate　of　his　long　years　of　clerkship　in　the　East　India　Company。　　In　Tom　Folio's　fancy　a　slender；　boyish　figure　was　still　seated；　quill　in　hand；　behind　those　stately　porticoes　looking　upon　Threadneedle　Street　and　Bishopsgate。　　That　famous　first　paper　in　the　〃Essays；〃　describing　the　South…Sea　House　and　the　group　of　human　oddities　which　occupied　desks　within　its　gloomy　chambers；　had　left　an　indelible　impression　upon　the　dreamer。　　Every　line　traced　by　the　〃lean　annuitant〃　was　as　familiar　to　Tom　Folio　as　if　he　had　written　it　himself。　　Stray　scraps；　which　had　escaped　the　vigilance　of　able　editors；　were　known　to　him；　and　it　was　his　to　unearth　amid　a　heap　of　mouldy；　worm…eaten　magazines；　a　handful　of　leaves　hitherto　forgotten　of　all　men。　Trifles；　yesbut　Charles　Lamb's！　　〃The　king's　chaff　is　as　good　as　other　people's　corn；〃　says　Tom　Folio。　　　　　　Often　his　talk　was　sweet　and　racy　with　old…　fashioned　phrases；　the　talk　of　a　man　who　loved　books　and　drew　habitual　breath　in　an　atmosphere　of　fine　thought。　　Next　to　Charles　Lamb；　but　at　a　convenable　distance；　Izaak　Walton　was　Tom　Folio's　favorite。　　His　poet　was　Alexander　Pope；　though　he　thought　Mr。　Addison's　tragedy　of　〃Cato〃　contained　some　proper　good　lines。　　Our　friend　was　a　wide　reader　in　English　classics；　greatly　preferring　the　literature　of　the　earlier　pe…　riods　to　that　of　the　Victorian　age。　　His　smiling；　tenderly　expressed　disapprobation　of　various　modern　authors　was　enchanting。　　John　Keats's　verses　were　monstrous　pretty；　but　over…orna…　mented。　　A　little　too　much　lucent　syrup　tinct　with　cinnamon；　don't　you　think？　　The