over the teacups-第43章
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in many directions; and that he belongs to a family of remarkable
intellectual gifts。 So it was not surprising that he said some
things which pleased the company; as in fact they did。 The reader
will not be startled to see a certain abruptness in the transition
from one subject to another;it is a characteristic of the squinting
brain wherever you find it。 Another curious mark rarely wanting in
the subjects of mental strabismus is an irregular and often sprawling
and deformed handwriting。 Many and many a time I have said; after
glancing at the back of a letter; 〃This comes from an insane asylum;
or from an eccentric who might well be a candidate for such an
institution。〃 Number Seven's manuscript; which showed marks of my
corrections here and there; furnished good examples of the
chirography of persons with ill…mated cerebral hemispheres。 But the
earlier portions of the manuscript are of perfectly normal
appearance。
Conticuere omnes; as Virgil says。 We were all silent as Number Seven
began the reading of his paper。
Number Seven reads。
I am the seventh son of a seventh son; as I suppose you all know。 It
is commonly believed that some extraordinary gifts belong to the
fortunate individuals born under these exceptional conditions。
However this may be; a peculiar virtue was supposed to dwell in me
from my earliest years。 My touch was believed to have the influence
formerly attributed to that of the kings and queens of England。 You
may remember that the great Dr。 Samuel Johnson; when a child; was
carried to be touched by her Majesty Queen Anne for the 〃king's
evil;〃 as scrofula used to be called。 Our honored friend The
Dictator will tell you that the brother of one of his Andover
schoolmates was taken to one of these gifted persons; who touched
him; and hung a small bright silver coin; either a 〃fourpence
ha'penny〃 or a 〃ninepence;〃 about his neck; which; strange to say;
after being worn a certain time; became tarnished; and finally
black;a proof of the poisonous matters which had become eliminated
from the system and gathered upon the coin。 I remember that at one
time I used to carry fourpence ha'pennies with holes bored through
them; which I furnished to children or to their mothers; under
pledges of secrecy;receiving a piece of silver of larger dimensions
in exchange。 I never felt quite sure about any extraordinary
endowment being a part of my inheritance in virtue of my special
conditions of birth。 A phrenologist; who examined my head when I was
a boy; said the two sides were unlike。 My hatter's measurement told
me the same thing; but in looking over more than a bushel of the
small cardboard hat…patterns which give the exact shape of the head;
I have found this is not uncommon。 The phrenologist made all sorts
of predictions of what I should be and do; which proved about as near
the truth as those recorded in Miss Edith Thomas's charming little
poem; 〃Augury;〃 which some of us were reading the other day。
I have never been through college; but I had a relative who was
famous as a teacher of rhetoric in one of our universities; and
especially for taking the nonsense out of sophomorical young fellows
who could not say anything without rigging it up in showy and
sounding phrases。 I think I learned from him to express myself in
good old…fashioned English; and without making as much fuss about it
as our Fourth of July orators and political haranguers were in the
habit of making。
I read a good many stories during my boyhood; one of which left a
lasting impression upon me; and which I have always commended to
young people。 It is too late; generally; to try to teach old people;
yet one may profit by it at any period of life before the sight has
become too dim to be of any use。 The story I refer to is in
〃Evenings at Home;〃 and is called 〃Eyes and No Eyes。〃 I ought to
have it by me; but it is constantly happening that the best old
things get overlaid by the newest trash; and though I have never seen
anything of the kind half so good; my table and shelves are cracking
with the weight of involuntary accessions to my library。
This is the story as I remember it: Two children walk out; and are
questioned when they come home。 One has found nothing to observe;
nothing to admire; nothing to describe; nothing to ask questions
about。 The other has found everywhere objects of curiosity and
interest。 I advise you; if you are a child anywhere under forty…
five; and do not yet wear glasses; to send at once for 〃Evenings at
Home〃 and read that story。 For myself; I am always grateful to the
writer of it for calling my attention to common things。 How many
people have been waked to a quicker consciousness of life by
Wordsworth's simple lines about the daffodils; and what he says of
the thoughts suggested to him by 〃the meanest flower that blows〃!
I was driving with a friend; the other day; through a somewhat dreary
stretch of country; where there seemed to be very little to attract
notice or deserve remark。 Still; the old spirit infused by 〃Eyes and
No Eyes〃 was upon me; and I looked for something to fasten my thought
upon; and treat as an artist treats a study for a picture。 The first
object to which my eyes were drawn was an old…fashioned well…sweep。
It did not take much imaginative sensibility to be stirred by the
sight of this most useful; most ancient; most picturesque; of
domestic conveniences。 I know something of the shadoof of Egypt;
the same arrangement by which the sacred waters of the Nile have been
lifted; from the days of the Pharaohs to those of the Khedives。 That
long forefinger pointing to heaven was a symbol which spoke to the
Puritan exile as it spoke of old to the enslaved Israelite。 Was
there ever any such water as that which we used to draw from the
deep; cold well; in 〃the old oaken bucket〃? What memories gather
about the well in all ages! What love…matches have been made at its
margin; from the times of Jacob and; Rachel downward! What fairy
legends hover over it; what fearful mysteries has it hidden! The
beautiful well…sweep! It is too rarely that we see it; and as it
dies out and gives place to the odiously convenient pump; with the
last patent on its cast…iron uninterestingness; does it not seem as
if the farmyard aspect had lost half its attraction? So long as the
dairy farm exists; doubtless there must be every facility for getting
water in abundance; but the loss of the well…sweep cannot be made up
to us even if our milk were diluted to twice its present attenuation。
The well…sweep had served its turn; and my companion and I relapsed
into silence。 After a while we passed another farmyard; with nothing
which seemed deserving of remark except the wreck of an old wagon。
〃Look;〃 I said; 〃if you want to see one of the greatest of all the
triumphs of human ingenuity; one of the most beautiful; as it is one
of the most useful; of all the mechanisms which the intelligence of
successive ages has called into being。〃
〃I see nothing;〃 my companion answered; 〃but an old broken…down
wagon。 Why they leave such a piece of lumbering trash about their
place; where people can see it as they pass; is more than I can
account for。〃
〃And yet;〃 said I; 〃there is one of the most extraordinary products
of human genius and skill;an object which combines the useful and
the beautiful to an extent which hardly any simple form of mechanism
can pretend to rival。 Do you notice how; while everything else has
gone to smash; that wheel remains sound and fit for service? Look at
it merely for its beauty。
See the perfect circles; the outer and the inner。 A circle is in
itself a consummate wonder of geometrical symmetry。 It is the line
in which the omnipotent energy delights to move。 There is no fault
in it to be amended。 The first drawn circle and the last both embody
the same complete fulfillment o