the professor at the breakfast table-第51章

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perennial　articles　of　merchandise；　of　which　my　memory　still　has

hanging　among　its　faded　photographs　a　kind　of　netted　scarf　and　some

pairs　of　thick　woollen　stockings。　　More　articles；　but　not　very　many；

were　stored　inside；　and　there　was　one　drawer；　containing　children's

books；　out　of　which　I　once　was　treated　to　a　minute　quarto　ornamented

with　handsome　cuts。　　This　was　the　only　purchase　I　ever　knew　to　be

made　at　the　shop　kept　by　the　three　maiden　ladies；　though　it　is

probable　there　were　others。　　So　long　as　I　remember　the　shop；　the

same　scarf　and；　I　should　say；　the　same　stockings　hung　on　the　door…

posts。　You　think　I　am　exaggerating　again；　and　that　shopkeepers

would　not　keep　the　same　article　exposed　for　years。　　Come　to　me；　the

Professor；　and　I　will　take　you　in　five　minutes　to　a　shop　in　this

city　where　I　will　show　you　an　article　hanging　now　in　the　very　place

where　more　than　thirty　years　ago　I　myself　inquired　the　price　of　it

of　the　present　head　of　the　establishment。　＇　This　was　a　glass

alembic；　which　hung　up　in　Daniel　Henchman's　apothecary　shop；　corner

of　Cambridge　and　Chambers　streets。＇



The　three　maidens　were　of　comely　presence；　and　one　of　them　had　had

claims　to　be　considered　a　Beauty。　　When　I　saw　them　in　the　old

meeting…house　on　Sundays；　as　they　rustled　in　through　the　aisles　in

silks　and　satins；　not　gay；　but　more　than　decent；　as　I　remember　them；

I　thought　of　My　Lady　Bountiful　in　the　history　of　〃Little　King

Pippin；〃　and　of　the　Madam　Blaize　of　Goldsmith　（who；　by　the　way；　must

have　taken　the　hint　of　it　from　a　pleasant　poem；　〃Monsieur　de　la

Palisse；〃　attributed　to　De　la　Monnoye；　in　the　collection　of　French

songs　before　me）。　　There　was　some　story　of　an　old　romance　in　which

the　Beauty　had　played　her　part。　　Perhaps　they　all　had　had　lovers；

for；　as　I　said；　they　were　shapely　and　seemly　personages；　as　I

remember　them；　but　their　lives　were　out　of　the　flower　and　in　the

berry　at　the　time　of　my　first　recollections。



One　after　another　they　all　three　dropped　away；　objects　of　kindly

attention　to　the　good　people　round；　leaving　little　or　almost

nothing；　and　nobody　to　inherit　it。　　Not　absolutely　nothing；　of

course。　　There　must　have　been　a　few　old　dressesperhaps　some　bits

of　furniture；　a　Bible；　and　the　spectacles　the　good　old　souls　read　it

through；　and　little　keepsakes；　such　as　make　us　cry　to　look　at；　when

we　find　them　in　old　drawers；such　relics　there　must　have　been。　　But

there　was　more。　　There　was　a　manuscript　of　some　hundred　pages；

closely　written；　in　which　the　poor　things　had　chronicled　for　many

years　the　incidents　of　their　daily　life。　　After　their　death　it　was

passed　round　somewhat　freely；　and　fell　into　my　hands。　　How　I　have

cried　and　laughed　and　colored　over　it！　　There　was　nothing　in　it　to

be　ashamed　of；　perhaps　there　was　nothing　in　it　to　laugh　at；　but　such

a　picture　of　the　mode　of　being　of　poor　simple　good　old　women　I　do

believe　was　never　drawn　before。　　And　there　were　all　the　smallest

incidents　recorded；　such　as　do　really　make　up　humble　life；　but　which

die　out　of　all　mere　literary　memoirs；　as　the　houses　where　the

Egyptians　or　the　Athenians　lived　crumble　and　leave　only　their

temples　standing。　　I　know；　for　instance；　that　on　a　given　day　of　a

certain　year；　a　kindly　woman；　herself　a　poor　widow；　now；　I　trust；

not　without　special　mercies　in　heaven　for　her　good　deeds；for　I

read　her　name　on　a　proper　tablet　in　the　churchyard　a　week　ago；sent

a　fractional　pudding　from　her　own　table　to　the　Maiden　Sisters；　who；

I　fear；　from　the　warmth　and　detail　of　their　description；　were

fasting；　or　at　least　on　short　allowance；　about　that　time。　　I　know

who　sent　them　the　segment　of　melon；　which　in　her　riotous　fancy　one

of　them　compared　to　those　huge　barges　to　which　we　give　the

ungracious　name　of　mudscows。　　But　why　should　I　illustrate　further

what　it　seems　almost　a　breach　of　confidence　to　speak　of？　　Some　kind

friend；　who　could　challenge　a　nearer　interest　than　the　curious

strangers　into　whose　hands　the　book　might　fall；　at　last　claimed　it；

and　I　was　glad　that　it　should　be　henceforth　sealed　to　common　eyes。

I　learned　from　it　that　every　good　and；　alas！　every　evil　act　we　do

may　slumber　unforgotten　even　in　some　earthly　record。　　I　got　a　new

lesson　in　that　humanity　which　our　sharp　race　finds　it　so　hard　to

learn。　　The　poor　widow；　fighting　hard　to　feed　and　clothe　and　educate

her　children；　had　not　forgotten　the　poorer　ancient　maidens。

I　remembered　it　the　other　day；　as　I　stood　by　her　place　of　rest；　and

I　felt　sure　that　it　was　remembered　elsewhere。　　I　know　there　are

prettier　words　than　pudding；　but　I　can't　help　it；the　pudding　went

upon　the　record；　I　feel　sure；　with　the　mite　which　was　cast　into　the

treasury　by　that　other　poor　widow　whose　deed　the　world　shall

remember　forever；　and　with　the　coats　and　garments　which　the　good

women　cried　over；　when　Tabitha；　called　by　interpretation　Dorcas；　lay

dead　in　the　upper　chamber；　with　her　charitable　needlework　strewed

around　her。



Such　was　the　Book　of　the　Maiden　Sisters。　　You　will　believe　me　more

readily　now　when　I　tell　you　that　I　found　the　soul　of　Iris　in　the　one

that　lay　open　before　me。　　Sometimes　it　was　a　poem　that　held　it；

sometimes　a　drawing；　angel；　arabesque；　caricature；　or　a　mere

hieroglyphic　symbol　of　which　I　could　make　nothing。　　A　rag　of　cloud

on　one　page；　as　I　remember；　with　a　streak　of　red　zigzagging　out　of

it　across　the　paper　as　naturally　as　a　crack　runs　through　a　China

bowl。　　On　the　next　page　a　dead　bird；some　little　favorite；　I

suppose；　for　it　was　worked　out　with　a　special　love；　and　I　saw　on　the

leaf　that　sign　with　which　once　or　twice　in　my　life　I　have　had　a

letter　sealed；a　round　spot　where　the　paper　is　slightly　corrugated；

and；　if　there　is　writing　there；　the　letters　are　somewhat　faint　and

blurred。　　Most　of　the　pages　were　surrounded　with　emblematic

traceries。　　It　was　strange　to　me　at　first　to　see　how　often　she

introduced　those　homelier　wild…flowers　which　we　call　weeds；for　it

seemed　there　was　none　of　them　too　humble　for　her　to　love；　and　none

too　little　cared　for　by　Nature　to　be　without　its　beauty　for　her

artist　eye　and　pencil。　　By　the　side　of　the　garden…flowers；of

Spring's　curled　darlings；　the　hyacinths；　of　rosebuds；　dear　to

sketching　maidens；　of　flower…de…luces　and　morning…glories；　nay；

oftener　than　these；　and　more　tenderly　caressed　by　the　colored　brush

that　rendered　them；were　those　common　growths　which　fling

themselves　to　be　crushed　under　our　feet　and　our　wheels；　making

themselves　so　cheap　in　this　perpetual　martyrdom　that　we　forget　each

of　them　is　a　ray　of　the　Divine　beauty。



Yellow　japanned　buttercups　and　star…disked　dandelions；just　as　we

see　them　lying　in　the　grass；　like　sparks　that　have　leaped　from　the

kindling　sun　of　summer；　the　profuse　daisy…like　flower　which　whitens

the　fields；　to　the　great　disgust　of　liberal　shepherds；　yet　seems

fair　to　loving　eyes；　with　its　button…like　mound　of　gold　set　round

with　milk…white　rays；　the　tall…stemmed　succory；　setting　its　pale

blue　flowers　aflame；　one　after　another；　sparingly；　as　the　lights　are

kindled　in　the　candelabra　of　decaying　palaces　where　the　heirs　of

dethroned　monarchs　are　dying　out；　the　red　and　white　clovers；　the

broad；　flat　leaves　of　the　plantain；〃the　white　man's　foot；〃　as　the

Indians　called　it；the　wiry；　jointed　stems　of　that　iron　creeping

plant　which　we　call　〃knot…grass；〃　and　which　loves　its　life　so　dearly

that　it　is　next　to　impossible　to　murder　it　with　a　hoe；　as　it　clings

to　the　cracks　of　the　pavement；all　these　plants；　and　many　more；　she

wove　into　her　fanciful　garlands　and　borders。　On　one　of　the　pages

were　some　musical　notes。　　I　touched　them　from　curiosity　on　a　piano

belonging　to　one　of　our　boarders。　　Strange！　　There　are　passages　that

I　have　heard　before；　plaintive；　full　of　some　hidden　meaning；　as　if

they　were　gasping　for　words　to　interpret　them。　　She　must　have　heard

the　strains　that　have　so　excited　my　curiosity；　coming　from　my

neighbor's　chamber。　　The　illuminated　border　she　had　traced　round　the

page　that　held　these　notes　took　the