over the teacups-第4章
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unassailable。
I referred; when first reporting this curious case of coincidence;
with suggestive circumstances; to two others; one of which I said was
the most picturesque and the other the most unlikely; as it would
seem; to happen。 This is the first of those two cases:
Grenville Tudor Phillips was a younger brother of George Phillips; my
college classmate; and of Wendell Phillips; the great orator。 He
lived in Europe a large part of his life; but at last returned; and;
in the year 1863; died at the house of his brother George。 I read
his death in the paper; but; having seen and heard very little of him
during his life; should not have been much impressed by the fact; but
for the following occurrence: between the time of Grenville
Phillips's death and his burial; I was looking in upon my brother;
then living in the house in which we were both born。 Some books
which had been my father's were stored in shelves in the room I used
to occupy when at Cambridge。 Passing my eye over them; an old dark
quarto attracted my attention。 It must be a Bible; I said to myself;
perhaps a rare one;the 〃Breeches〃 Bible or some other interesting
specimen。 I took it from the shelves; and; as I did so; an old slip
of paper fell out and fluttered to the floor。 On lifting it I read
these words:
The name is Grenville Tudor。
What was the meaning of this slip of paper coming to light at this
time; after reposing undisturbed so long? There was only one way of
explaining its presence in my father's old Bible;a copy of the
Scriptures which I did not remember ever having handled or looked
into before。 In christening a child the minister is liable to forget
the name; just at the moment when he ought to remember it。 My father
preached occasionally at the Brattle Street Church。 I take this for
granted; for I remember going with him on one occasion when he did
so。 Nothing was more likely than that he should be asked to
officiate at the baptism of the younger son of his wife's first
cousin; Judge Phillips。 This slip was handed him to remind him of
the name: He brought it home; put it in that old Bible; and there it
lay quietly for nearly half a century; when; as if it had just heard
of Mr。 Phillips's decease; it flew from its hiding…place and startled
the eyes of those who had just read his name in the daily column of
deaths。 It would be hard to find anything more than a mere
coincidence here; but it seems curious enough to be worth telling。
The second of these two last stories must be told in prosaic detail
to show its whole value as a coincidence。
One evening while I was living in Charles Street; I received a call
from Dr。 S。; a well…known and highly respected Boston physician; a
particular friend of the late Alexander H。 Stephens; vice…president
of the Southern Confederacy。 It was with reference to a work which
Mr。 Stephens was about to publish that Dr。 S。 called upon me。 After
talking that matter over we got conversing on other subjects; among
the rest a family relationship existing between us;not a very near
one; but one which I think I had seen mentioned in genealogical
accounts。 Mary S。 (the last name being the same as that of my
visitant); it appeared; was the great…great…grandmother of Mrs。 H。
and myself。 After cordially recognizing our forgotten relationship;
now for the first time called to mind; we parted; my guest leaving me
for his own home。 We had been sitting in my library on the lower
floor。 On going up…stairs where Mrs。 H。 was sitting alone; just as I
entered the room she pushed a paper across the table towards me;
saying that perhaps it might interest me。 It was one of a number of
old family papers which she had brought from the house of her mother;
recently deceased。
I opened the paper; which was an old…looking document; and found that
it was a copy; perhaps made in this century; of the will of that same
Mary S。 about whom we had been talking down…stairs。
If there is such a thing as a purely accidental coincidence this must
be considered an instance of it。
All one can say about it is that it seems very unlikely that such a
coincidence should occur; but it did。
I have not tried to keep my own personality out of these stories。
But after all; how little difference it makes whether or not a writer
appears with a mask on which everybody can take off;whether he
bolts his door or not; when everybody can look in at his windows; and
all his entrances are at the mercy of the critic's skeleton key and
the jimmy of any ill…disposed assailant!
The company have been silent listeners for the most part; but the
reader will have a chance to become better acquainted with some cf
them by and by。
II
TO THE READER。
I know that it is a hazardous experiment to address myself again to a
public which in days long past has given me a generous welcome。 But
my readers have been; and are; a very faithful constituency。 I think
there are many among them who would rather listen to an old voice
they are used to than to a new one of better quality; even if the
〃childish treble〃 should betray itself now and then in the tones of
the overtired organ。 But there must be others;I am afraid many
others;who will exclaim: 〃He has had his day; and why can't he be
content? We don't want literary revenants; superfluous veterans;
writers who have worn out their welcome and still insist on being
attended to。 Give us something fresh; something that belongs to our
day and generation。 Your morning draught was well enough; but we
don't care for your evening slip…slop。 You are not in relation with
us; with our time; our ideas; our aims; our aspirations。〃
Alas; alas! my friend;my young friend; for your hair is not yet
whitened;I am afraid you are too nearly right。 No doubt;no
doubt。 Teacups are not coffee…cups。 They do not hold so much。
Their pallid infusion is but a feeble stimulant compared with the
black decoction served at the morning board。 And so; perhaps; if
wisdom like yours were compatible with years like mine; I should drop
my pen and make no further attempts upon your patience。
But suppose that a writer who has reached and passed the natural
limit of serviceable years feels that he has some things which be
would like to say; and which may have an interest for a limited class
of readers;is he not right in trying his powers and calmly taking
the risk of failure? Does it not seem rather lazy and cowardly;
because he cannot 〃beat his record;〃 or even come up to the level of
what he has done in his prime; to shrink from exerting his talent;
such as it is; now that he has outlived the period of his greatest
vigor? A singer who is no longer equal to the trials of opera on the
stage may yet please at a chamber concert or in the drawing…room。
There is one gratification an old author can afford a certain class
of critics: that; namely; of comparing him as he is with what he was。
It is a pleasure to mediocrity to have its superiors brought within
range; so to speak; and if the ablest of them will only live long
enough; and keep on writing; there is no pop…gun that cannot reach
him。 But I fear that this is an unamiable reflection; and I am at
this time in a very amiable mood。
I confess that there is something agreeable to me in renewing my
relations with the reading public。 Were it but a single appearance;
it would give me a pleasant glimpse of the time when I was known as a
frequent literary visitor。 Many of my readersif I can lure any
from the pages of younger writers will prove to be the children; or
the grandchildren; of those whose acquaintance I made something more
than a whole generation ago。 I could depend on a kind welcome from
my contemporaries;my coevals。 But where are those contemporaries?
Ay de mi! as Carlyle used to exclaim;Ah; dear me! as our old women
say;I look round for them; and see only their vacant