a mortal antipathy-第61章

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college　which　they　try　to　make　out　to　be　a　university；　and　where　no

female　is　admitted　unless　she　belongs　among　the　quadrupeds。　　I

enjoyed　lecturing；　but　the　subject　is　a　difficult　one；　and　I　don't

think　any　one　of　them　had　any　very　clear　notion　of　what　I　was　talking

about；　except　Rhodora；and　I　know　she　did　n't。　　To　tell　the　truth；　I

was　lecturing　to　instruct　myself。　　I　mean　to　try　something　easier

next　time。　　I　have　thought　of　the　Basque　language　and　literature。

What　do　you　say　to　that？



The　Society　goes　on　famously。　　We　have　had　a　paper　presented　and　read

lately　which　has　greatly　amused　some　of　us　and　provoked　a　few　of　the

weaker　sort。　　The　writer　is　that　crabbed　old　Professor　of　Belles…

Lettres　at　that　men's　college　over　there。　　He　is　dreadfully　hard　on

the　poor　〃poets；〃　as　they　call　themselves。　　It　seems　that　a　great

many　young　persons；　and　more　especially　a　great　many　young　girls；　of

whom　the　Institute　has　furnished　a　considerable　proportion；　have

taken　to　sending　him　their　rhymed　productions　to　be　criticised；

expecting　to　be　praised；　no　doubt；　every　one　of　them。　　I　must　give

you　one　of　the　sauciest　extracts　from　his　paper　in　his　own　words：



〃It　takes　half　my　time　to　read　the　'poems'　sent　me　by　young　people　of

both　sexes。　　They　would　be　more　shy　of　doing　it　if　they　knew　that　I

recognize　a　tendency　to　rhyming　as　a　common　form　of　mental　weakness；

and　the　publication　of　a　thin　volume　of　verse　as　prima　facie　evidence

of　ambitious　mediocrity；　if　not　inferiority。　　Of　course　there　are

exceptions　to　this　rule　of　judgment；　but　I　maintain　that　the

presumption　is　always　against　the　rhymester　as　compared　with　the　less

pretentious　persons　about　him　or　her；　busy　with　some　useful　calling；

too　busy　to　be　tagging　rhymed　commonplaces　together。　　Just　now

there　seems　to　be　an　epidemic　of　rhyming　as　bad　as　the　dancing　mania；

or　the　sweating　sickness。　　After　reading　a　certain　amount　of

manuscript　verse　one　is　disposed　to　anathematize　the　inventor　of

homophonous　syllabification。　　＇This　phrase　made　a　great　laugh　when　it

was　read。＇　This；　that　is　rhyming；　must　have　been　found　out　very

early；



　　　　　'Where　are　you；　Adam？'



　　　　　'Here　am　I；　Madam；'



but　it　can　never　have　been　habitually　practised　until　after　the　Fall。

The　intrusion　of　tintinnabulating　terminations　into　the

conversational　intercourse　of　men　and　angels　would　have　spoiled

Paradise　itself。　　Milton　would　not　have　them　even　in　Paradise　Lost；

you　remember。　　For　my　own　part；　I　wish　certain　rhymes　could　be

declared　contraband　of　written　or　printed　language。　　Nothing　should

be　allowed　to　be　hurled　at　the　world　or　whirled　with　it；　or　furled

upon　it　or　curled　over　it；　all　eyes　should　be　kept　away　from　the

skies；　in　spite　of　os　homini　sublime　dedit；　youth　should　be　coupled

with　all　the　virtues　except　truth；　earth　should　never　be　reminded　of

her　birth；　death　should　never　be　allowed　to　stop　a　mortal's　breath；

nor　the　bell　to　sound　his　knell；　nor　flowers　from　blossoming　bowers

to　wave　over　his　grave　or　show　their　bloom　upon　his　tomb。　　We　have

rhyming　dictionaries；let　us　have　one　from　which　all　rhymes　are

rigorously　excluded。　　The　sight　of　a　poor　creature　grubbing　for

rhymes　to　fill　up　his　sonnet；　or　to　cram　one　of　those　voracious；

rhyme…swallowing　rigmaroles　which　some　of　our　drudging　poetical

operatives　have　been　exhausting　themselves　of　late　to　satiate　with

jingles；　makes　my　head　ache　and　my　stomach　rebel。　　Work；　work　of　some

kind；　is　the　business　of　men　and　women；　not　the　making　of　jingles！

No；no；no！　　I　want　to　see　the　young　people　in　our　schools　and

academies　and　colleges；　and　the　graduates　of　these　institutions；

lifted　up　out　of　the　little　Dismal　Swamp　of　self…contemplating　and

self…indulging　and　self…commiserating　emotionalism　which　is

surfeiting　the　land　with　those　literary　sandwiches；thin　slices　of

tinkling　sentimentality　between　two　covers　looking　like　hard…baked

gilt　gingerbread。　　But　what　faces　these　young　folks　make　up　at　my

good　advice！　　They　get　tipsy　on　their　rhymes。　　Nothing　intoxicates

one　like　hisor　herown　verses；　and　they　hold　on　to　their　metre…

ballad…mongering　as　the　fellows　that　inhale　nitrous　oxide　hold　on　to

the　gas…bag。〃



We　laughed　over　this　essay　of　the　old　Professor；　though　it　hit　us

pretty　hard。　　The　best　part　of　the　joke　is　that　the　old　man　himself

published　a　thin　volume　of　poems　when　he　was　young；　which　there　is

good　reason　to　think　he　is　not　very　proud　of；　as　they　say　he　buys　up

all　the　copies　he　can　find　in　the　shops。　　No　matter　what　they　say；　I

can't　help　agreeing　with　him　about　this　great　flood　of　〃poetry；〃　as

it　calls　itself；　and　looking　at　the　rhyming　mania　much　as　he　does。



How　I　do　love　real　poetry！　　That　is　the　reason　hate　rhymes　which　have

not　a　particle　of　it　in　them。　　The　foolish　scribblers　that　deal　in

them　are　like　bad　workmen　in　a　carpenter's　shop。　　They　not　only　turn

out　bad　jobs　of　work；　but　they　spoil　the　tools　for　better　workmen。

There　is　hardly　a　pair　of　rhymes　in　the　English　language　that　is　not

so　dulled　and　hacked　and　gapped　by　these　'prentice　hands　that　a

master　of　the　craft　hates　to　touch　them；　and　yet　he　cannot　very　well

do　without　them。　　I　have　not　been　besieged　as　the　old　Professor　has

been　with　such　multitudes　of　would…be…poetical　aspirants　that　he

could　not　even　read　their　manuscripts；　but　I　have　had　a　good　many

letters　containing　verses；　and　I　have　warned　the　writers　of　the

delusion　under　which　they　were　laboring。



You　may　like　to　know　that　I　have　just　been　translating　some　extracts

from　the　Greek　Anthology。　　I　send　you　a　few　specimens　of　my　work；

with　a　Dedication　to　the　Shade　of　Sappho。　　I　hope　you　will　find

something　of　the　Greek　rhythm　in　my　versions；　and　that　I　have　caught

a　spark　of　inspiration　from　the　impassioned　Lesbian。　　I　have　found

great　delight　in　this　work；　at　any　rate；　and　am　never　so　happy　as

when　I　read　from　my　manuscript　or　repeat　from　memory　the　lines　into

which　I　have　transferred　the　thought　of　the　men　and　women　of　two

thousand　years　ago；　or　given　rhythmical　expression　to　my　own

rapturous　feelings　with　regard　to　them。　　I　must　read　you　my

Dedication　to　the　Shade　of　Sappho。　　I　cannot　help　thinking　that　you

will　like　it　better　than　either　of　my　last　two；　The　Song　of　the

Roses；　or　The　Wail　of　the　Weeds。



How　I　do　miss　you；　dearest！　　I　want　you：　I　want　you　to　listen　to　what

I　have　written；　I　want　you　to　hear　all　about　my　plans　for　the　future；

I　want　to　look　at　you；　and　think　how　grand　it　must　be　to　feel　one's

self　to　be　such　a　noble　and　beautiful…creature；　I　want　to　wander　in

the　woods　with　you；　to　float　on　the　lake；　to　share　your　life　and　talk

over　every　day's　doings　with　you。　　Alas！　　I　feel　that　we　have　parted

as　two　friends　part　at　a　port　of　embarkation：　they　embrace；　they　kiss

each　other's　cheeks；　they　cover　their　faces　and　weep；　they　try　to

speak　good…by　to　each　other；　they　watch　from　the　pier　and　from　the

deck；　the　two　forms　grow　less　and　less；　fainter　and　fainter　in　the

distance；　two　white　handkerchiefs　flutter　once　and　again；　and　yet

once　more；　and　the　last　visible　link　of　the　chain　which　binds　them

has　parted。　　Dear；　dear；　dearest　Euthymia；　my　eyes　are　running　over

with　tears　when　I　think　that　we　may　never；　never　meet　again。



Don't　you　want　some　more　items　of　village　news？　　We　are　threatened

with　an　influx　of　stylish　people：　〃Buttons〃　to　answer　the　door…bell；

in　place　of　the　chamber…maid；　〃butler；〃　in　place　of　the　〃hired　man；〃

footman　in　top…boots　and　breeches；　cockade　on　hat；　arms　folded　a　la

Napoleon；　tandems；　〃drags；〃　dogcarts；　and　go…carts　of　all　sorts。　　It

is　rather　amusing　to　look　at　their　ambitious　displays；　but　it　takes

away　the　good　old　country　flavor　of　the　place。



I　don't　believe　you　mean　to　try　to　astonish　us　when　you　come　back　to

spend　your　summers　here。　　I　suppose　you　must　have　a　large　house；　and

I　am　sure　you　will　have　a　beautiful　one。　　I　suppose　you　will　have

some　fine　horses；　and　who　would　n't　be　glad　to？　　But　I