the poet at the breakfast table-第5章

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like　to　accomplish　in　the　other　direction。　　I　remember　one　in
particular；　who　twitted　me　so　with　my　blessings　as　a　Christian　child；
and　whined　so　to　me　about　the　naked　black　children　who；　like　the
〃Little　Vulgar　Boy；〃　〃had　n't　got　no　supper　and　hadn't　got　no　ma；〃
and　hadn't　got　no　Catechism；　（how　I　wished　for　the　moment　I　was　a
little　black　boy！）　that　he　did　more　in　that　one　day　to　make　me　a
heathen　than　he　had　ever　done　in　a　month　to　make　a　Christian　out　of
an　infant　Hottentot。　　What　a　debt　we　owe　to　our　friends　of　the　left
centre；　the　Brooklyn　and　the　Park　Street　and　the　Summer　street
ministers；　good；　wholesome；　sound…bodied；　one…minded；　cheerful…
spirited　men；　who　have　taken　the　place　of　those　wailing　poitrinaires
with　the　bandanna　handkerchiefs　round　their　meagre　throats　and　a
funeral　service　in　their　forlorn　physiognomies！　　I　might　have　been　a
minister　myself；　for　aught　I　know；　if　this　clergyman　had　not　looked
and　talked　so　like　an　undertaker。

All　this　belongs　to　one　of　the　side…shows；　to　which　I　promised　those
who　would　take　tickets　to　the　main　exhibition　should　have　entrance
gratis。　　If　I　were　writing　a　poem　you　would　expect；　as　a　matter　of
course；　that　there　would　be　a　digression　now　and　then。

To　come　back　to　the　old　house　and　its　former　tenant；　the　Professor　of
Hebrew　and　other　Oriental　languages。　　Fifteen　years　he　lived　with　his
family　under　its　roof。　　I　never　found　the　slightest　trace　of　him
until　a　few　years　ago；　when　I　cleaned　and　brightened　with　pious　hands
the　brass　lock　of　〃the　study；〃　which　had　for　many　years　been　covered
with　a　thick　coat　of　paint。　　On　that　I　found　scratched；　as　with　a
nail　or　fork；　the　following　inscription：
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　E　PE

Only　that　and　nothing　more；　but　the　story　told　itself。　　Master　Edward
Pearson；　then　about　as　high　as　the　lock；　was　disposed　to　immortalize
himself　in　monumental　brass；　and　had　got　so　far　towards　it；　when　a
sudden　interruption；　probably　a　smart　box　on　the　ear；　cheated　him　of
his　fame；　except　so　far　as　this　poor　record　may　rescue　it。　　Dead　long
ago。　　I　remember　him　well；　a　grown　man；　as　a　visitor　at　a　later
period；　and；　for　some　reason；　I　recall　him　in　the　attitude　of　the
Colossus　of　Rhodes；　standing　full　before　a　generous　wood…fire；　not
facing　it；　but　quite　the　contrary；　a　perfect　picture　of　the　content
afforded　by　a　blazing　hearth　contemplated　from　that　point　of　view；
and；　as　the　heat　stole　through　his　person　and　kindled　his　emphatic
features；　seeming　to　me　a　pattern　of　manly　beauty。　　What　a　statue
gallery　of　posturing　friends　we　all　have　in　our　memory！　　The　old
Professor　himself　sometimes　visited　the　house　after　it　had　changed
hands。　　Of　course；　my　recollections　are　not　to　be　wholly　trusted；　but
I　always　think　I　see　his　likeness　in　a　profile　face　to　be　found　among
the　illustrations　of　Rees's　Cyclopaedia。　　（See　Plates；　Vol。　IV。；
Plate　2；　Painting；　Diversities　of　the　Human　Face；　Fig。　4。）

And　now　let　us　return　to　our　chief　picture。　　In　the　days　of　my
earliest　remembrance；　a　row　of　tall　Lombardy　poplars　mounted　guard　on
the　western　side　of　the　old　mansion。　　Whether；　like　the　cypress；
these　trees　suggest　the　idea　of　the　funeral　torch　or　the　monumental
spire；　whether　their　tremulous　leaves　make　wits　afraid　by　sympathy
with　their　nervous　thrills；　whether　the　faint　balsamic　smell　of　their
foliage　and　their　closely　swathed　limbs　have　in　them　vague　hints　of
dead　Pharaohs　stiffened　in　their　cerements；　I　will　guess；　but　they
always　seemed　to　me　to　give　an　of　sepulchral　sadness　to　the　house
before　which　stood　sentries。　　Not　so　with　the　row　of　elms　which　you
may　see　leading　up　towards　the　western　entrance。　　I　think　the
patriarch　of　them　all　went　over　in　the　great　gale　of　1815；　I　know　I
used　to　shake　the　youngest　of　them　with　my　hands；　stout　as　it　is　now；
with　a　trunk　that　would　defy　the　bully　of　Crotona；　or　the　strong　man
whose　liaison　with　the　Lady　Delilah　proved　so　disastrous。

The　College　plain　would　be　nothing　without　its　elms。　　As　the　long
hair　of　a　woman　is　a　glory　to　her；　are　these　green　tresses　that　bank
themselves　against　sky　in　thick　clustered　masses　the　ornament　and　the
pride　of　the　classic　green。　　You　know　the　〃Washington　elm；〃　or　if　you
do　not；　you　had　better　rekindle　our　patriotism　by　reading　the
inscription；　which　tells　you　that　under　its　shadow　the　great　leader
first　drew　his　sword　at　the　head　of　an　American　army。　　In　a　line　with
that　you　may　see　two　others：　the　coral　fan；　as　I　always　called　it
from　its　resemblance　in　form　to　that　beautiful　marine　growth；　and　a
third　a　little　farther　along。　　I　have　heard　it　said　that　all　three
were　planted　at　the　same　time；　and　that　the　difference　of　their
growth　is　due　to　the　slope　of　the　ground；the　Washington　elm　being
lower　than　either　of　the　others。　　There　is　a　row　of　elms　just　in
front　of　the　old　house　on　the　south。　　When　I　was　a　child　the　one　at
the　southwest　corner　was　struck　by　lightning；　and　one　of　its　limbs
and　a　long　ribbon　of　bark　torn　away。　　The　tree　never　fully　recovered
its　symmetry　and　vigor；　and　forty　years　and　more　afterwards　a　second
thunderbolt　crashed　upon　it　and　set　its　heart　on　fire；　like　those　of
the　lost　souls　in　the　Hall　of　Eblis。　　Heaven　had　twice　blasted　it；
and　the　axe　finished　what　the　lightning　had　begun。

The　soil　of　the　University　town　is　divided　into　patches　of　sandy　and
of　clayey　ground。　　The　Common　and　the　College　green；　near　which　the
old　house　stands；　are　on　one　of　the　sandy　patches。　　Four　curses　are
the　local　inheritance：　droughts；　dust；　mud；　and　canker…worms。　　I
cannot　but　think　that　all　the　characters　of　a　region　help　to　modify
the　children　born　in　it。　　I　am　fond　of　making　apologies　for　human
nature；　and　I　think　I　could　find　an　excuse　for　myself　if　I；　too；　were
dry　and　barren　and　muddy…witted　and　〃cantankerous；〃disposed　to　get
my　back　up；　like　those　other　natives　of　the　soil。

I　know　this；　that　the　way　Mother　Earth　treats　a　boy　shapes　out　a　kind
of　natural　theology　for　him。　　I　fell　into　Manichean　ways　of　thinking
from　the　teaching　of　my　garden　experiences。　　Like　other　boys　in　the
country；　I　had　my　patch　of　ground；　to　which；　in　the　spring…time；　I
entrusted　the　seeds　furnished　me；　with　a　confident　trust　in　their
resurrection　and　glorification　in　the　better　world　of　summer。　　But　I
soon　found　that　my　lines　had　fallen　in　a　place　where　a　vegetable
growth　had　to　run　the　gauntlet　of　as　many　foes　and　dials　as　a
Christian　pilgrim。　　Flowers　would　not　Blow；　daffodils　perished　like
criminals　in　their　cone　demned　caps；　without　their　petals　ever　seeing
daylight；　roses　were　disfigured　with　monstrous　protrusions　〃through
their　very　centres；something　that　looked　like　a　second　bud　pushing
through　the　middle　of　the　corolla；　lettuces　and　cabbages　would　not
head；　radishes　knotted　themselves　until　they　looked　like
centenerians'　fingers；　and　on　every　stem；　on　every　leaf；　and　both
sides　of　it；　and　at　the　root　of　everything　that　dew；　was　a
professional　specialist　in　the　shape　of　grub；　caterpillar；　aphis；　or
other　expert；　whose　business　it　was　to　devour　that　particular　part；
and　help　order　the　whole　attempt　at　vegetation。　　Such　experiences
must　influence　a　child　born　to　them。　　A　sandy　soil；　where　nothing
flourishes　but　weeds　and　evil　beasts　of　small　dimensions；　must　breed
different　qualities　in　its　human　offspring　from　one　of　those　fat　and
fertile　spots　which　the　wit　whom　I　have　once　before　noted　described
so　happily　that；　if　I　quoted　the　passage；　its　brilliancy　would　spoil
one　of　my　pages；　as　a　diamond　breastpin　sometimes　kills　the　social
effect　of　the　wearer；　who　might　have　passed　for　a　gentleman　without
it。　　Your　arid　patch　of　earth　should　seem　to　the　natural　birthplace
of　the　leaner　virtues　and　the　abler　vices；of　temperance　and　the
domestic　proprieties　on　the　one　hand；　with　a　tendency　to　light
weights　in　groceries　and　provisions；　and　to　clandestine　abstraction
from　the　person　on　the　other；　as　opposed　to　the　free　hospitality；　the
broadly　planned　burglaries；　and　the　largely　conceived　homicides　of
our　rich　Western　alluvial　regions。　　Yet　Nature　is　never　wholly
unkind。　　Economical　as　she　was　in　my　unparadised　Eden；　hard　as　it　was
to　make　some　of　my　floral　houris　unveil；　still　the　damas