the poet at the breakfast table-第6章

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to　make　some　of　my　floral　houris　unveil；　still　the　damask　roses
sweetened　the　June　breezes；　the　bladed　and　plumed　flower…de…luces
unfolded　their　close…wrapped　cones；　and　larkspurs　and　lupins；　lady's
delights；plebeian　manifestations　of　the　pansy；　self…sowing
marigolds；　hollyhocks；　the　forest　flowers　of　two　seasons；　and　the
perennial　lilacs　and　syringas；　all　whispered　to'　the　winds　blowing
over　them　that　some　caressing　presence　was　around　me。

Beyond　the　garden　was　〃the　field；〃　a　vast　domain　of　four　acres　or
thereabout；　by　the　measurement　of　after　years；　bordered　to　the　north
by　a　fathomless　chasm；　the　ditch　the　base…ball　players　of　the
present　era　jump　over；　on　the　east　by　unexplored　territory；　on　the
south　by　a　barren　enclosure；　where　the　red　sorrel　proclaimed　liberty
and　equality　under　its　drapeau　rouge；　and　succeeded　in　establishing　a
vegetable　commune　where　all　were　alike；　poor；　mean；　sour；　and
uninteresting；　and　on　the　west　by　the　Common；　not　then　disgraced　by
jealous　enclosures；　which　make　it　look　like　a　cattle…market。　　Beyond；
as　I　looked　round；　were　the　Colleges；　the　meeting…house；　the　little
square　market…house；　long　vanished；　the　burial…ground　where　the　dead
Presidents　stretched　their　weary　bones　under　epitaphs　stretched　out
at　as　full　length　as　their　subjects；　the　pretty　church　where　the
gouty　Tories　used　to　kneel　on　their　hassocks；　the　district
schoolhouse；　and　hard　by　it　Ma'am　Hancock's　cottage；　never　so　called
in　those　days；　but　rather　〃tenfooter〃；　then　houses　scattered　near　and
far；　open　spaces；　the　shadowy　elms；　round　hilltops　in　the　distance；
and　over　all　the　great　bowl　of　the　sky。　Mind　you；　this　was　the　WORLD；
as　I　first　knew　it；　terra　veteribus　cognita；　as　Mr。　Arrowsmith　would
have　called　it；　if　he　had　mapped　the　universe　of　my　infancy：

But　I　am　forgetting　the　old　house　again　in　the　landscape。　　The　worst
of　a　modern　stylish　mansion　is；　that　it　has　no　place　for　ghosts。　　I
watched　one　building　not　long　since。　　It　had　no　proper　garret；　to
begin　with；　only　a　sealed　interval　between　the　roof　and　attics；　where
a　spirit　could　not　be　accommodated；　unless　it　were　flattened　out　like
Ravel；　Brother；　after　the　millstone　had　fallen　on　him。　　There　was　not
a　nook　or　a　corner　in　the　whole　horse　fit　to　lodge　any　respectable
ghost；　for　every　part　was　as　open　to　observation　as　a　literary　man's
character　and　condition；　his　figure　and　estate；　his　coat　and　his
countenance；　are　to　his　（or　her）　Bohemian　Majesty　on　a　tour　of
inspection　through　his　（or　her）　subjects'　keyholes。

Now　the　old　house　had　wainscots；　behind　which　the　mice　were　always
scampering　and　squeaking　and　rattling　down　the　plaster；　and　enacting
family　scenes　and　parlor　theatricals。　　It　had　a　cellar　where　the　cold
slug　clung　to　the　walls；　and　the　misanthropic　spider　withdrew　from
the　garish　day；　where　the　green　mould　loved　to　grow；　and　the　long
white　potato…shoots　went　feeling　along　the　floor；　if　haply　they　might
find　the　daylight；　it　had　great　brick　pillars；　always　in　a　cold　sweat
with　holding　up　the　burden　they　had　been　aching　under　day　and　night
far　a　century　and　more；　it　had　sepulchral　arches　closed　by　rough
doors　that　hung　on　hinges　rotten　with　rust；　behind　which　doors；　if
there　was　not　a　heap　of　bones　connected　with　a　mysterious
disappearance　of　long　ago；　there　well　might　have　been；　for　it　was
just　the　place　to　look　for　them。　　It　had　a　garret；　very　nearly　such　a
one　as　it　seems　to　me　one　of　us　has　described　in　one　of　his　books；
but　let　us　look　at　this　one　as　I　can　reproduce　it　from　memory。　　It
has　a　flooring　of　laths　with　ridges　of　mortar　squeezed　up　between
them；　which　if　you　tread　on　you　will　go　tothe　Lord　have　mercy　on
you！　where　will　you　go　to？the　same　being　crossed　by　narrow　bridges
of　boards；　on　which　you　may　put　your　feet；　but　with　fear　and
trembling。　　Above　you　and　around　you　are　beams　and　joists；　on　some　of
which　you　may　see；　when　the　light　is　let　in；　the　marks　of　the
conchoidal　clippings　of　the　broadaxe；　showing　the　rude　way　in　which
the　timber　was　shaped　as　it　came；　full　of　sap；　from　the　neighboring
forest。　　It　is　a　realm　of　darkness　and　thick　dust；　and　shroud…like
cobwebs　and　dead　things　they　wrap　in　their　gray　folds。　　For　a　garret
is　like　a　seashore；　where　wrecks　are　thrown　up　and　slowly　go　to
pieces。　　There　is　the　cradle　which　the　old　man　you　just　remember　was
rocked　in；　there　is　the　ruin　of　the　bedstead　he　died　on；　that　ugly
slanting　contrivance　used　to　be　put　under　his　pillow　in　the　days　when
his　breath　came　hard；　there　is　his　old　chair　with　both　arms　gone；
symbol　of　the　desolate　time　when　he　had　nothing　earthly　left　to　lean
on；　there　is　the　large　wooden　reel　which　the　blear…eyed　old　deacon
sent　the　minister's　lady；　who　thanked　him　graciously；　and　twirled　it
smilingly；　and　in　fitting　season　bowed　it　out　decently　to　the　limbo
of　troublesome　conveniences。　　And　there　are　old　leather　portmanteaus；
like　stranded　porpoises；　their　mouths　gaping　in　gaunt　hunger　for　the
food　with　which　they　used　to　be　gorged　to　bulging　repletion；　and　old
brass　andirons；　waiting　until　time　shall　revenge　them　on　their　paltry
substitutes；　and　they　shall　have　their　own　again；　and　bring　with　them
the　fore…stick　and　the　back…log　of　ancient　days；　and　the　empty　churn；
with　its　idle　dasher；　which　the　Nancys　and　Phoebes；　who　have　left
their　comfortable　places　to　the　Bridgets　and　Norahs；　used　to　handle
to　good　purpose；　and　the　brown；　shaky　old　spinning…wheel；　which　was
running；　it　may　be；　in　the　days　when　they　were　hinging　the　Salem
witches。

Under　the　dark　and　haunted　garret　were　attic　chambers　which
themselves　had　histories。　　On　a　pane　in　the　northeastern　chamber　may
be　read　these　names：

〃John　Tracy；〃　〃Robert　Roberts；〃　〃Thomas　Prince　〃；　〃Stultus〃　another
hand　had　added。　　When　I　found　these　names　a　few　years　ago　（wrong　side
up；　for　the　window　had　been　reversed）；　I　looked　at　once　in　the
Triennial　to　find　them；　for　the　epithet　showed　that　they　were
probably　students。　　I　found　them　all　under　the　years　1771　and　1773。
Does　it　please　their　thin　ghosts　thus　to　be　dragged　to　the　light　of
day？　　Has　〃Stultus　〃　forgiven　the　indignity　of　being　thus
characterized？

The　southeast　chamber　was　the　Library　Hospital。　　Every　scholar　should
have　a　book　infirmary　attached　his　library。　　There　should　find　a
peaceable　refuge　the　many　books；　invalids　from　their　birth；　which　are
sent　〃with　the　best　regards　of　the　Author〃；　the　respected；　but
unpresentable　cripples　which　have　lost　cover；　the　odd　volumes　of
honored　sets　which　go　mourning　all　their　days　for　their　lost　brother；
the　school…books　which　have　been　so　often　the　subjects　of　assault　and
battery；　that　they　look　as　if　the　police　must　know　them　by　heart；
these　and　still　more　the　pictured　story…books；　beginning　with　Mother
Goose　（which　a　dear　old　friend　of　mine　has　just　been　amusing　his
philosophic　leisure　with　turning　most　ingeniously　and　happily　into
the　tongues　of　Virgil　and　Homer）；　will　be　precious　mementos　by　and
by；　when　children　and　grandchildren　come　along。　　What　would　I　not
give　for　that　dear　little　paper…bound　quarto；　in　large　and　most
legible　type；　on　certain　pages　of　which　the　tender　hand　that　was　the
shield　of　my　infancy　had　crossed　out　with　deep　black　marks　something
awful；　probably　about　BEARS；　such　as　once　tare　two…and…forty　of　us
little　folks　for　making　faces；　and　the　very　name　of　which　made　us
hide　our　heads　under　the　bedclothes。

I　made　strange　acquaintances　in　that　book　infirmary　up　in　the
southeast　attic。　　The　〃Negro　Plot〃　at　New　York　helped　to　implant　a
feeling　in　me　which　it　took　Mr。　Garrison　a　good　many　years　to　root
out。　　〃Thinks　I　to　Myself；〃　an　old　novel；　which　has　been　attributed
to　a　famous　statesman；　introduced　me　to　a　world　of　fiction　which　was
not　represented　on　the　shelves　of　the　library　proper；　unless　perhaps
by　Coelebs　in　Search　of　a　Wife；　or　allegories　of　the　bitter　tonic
class；　as　the　young　doctor　that　sits　on　the　other　side　of　the　table
would　probably　call　them。　　I　always；　from　an　early　age；　had　a　keen
eye　for　a　story　with　a　moral　sticking　out　of　it；　and　gave　it　a　wide
berth；　though　in　my　later　years　I　have　myself　written　a　couple　of
〃medicated　novels；〃　as　one　of　my　dearest　and　pleasantest　old　fri