over the teacups- 第4部分

Their　pallid　infusion　is　but　a　feeble　stimulant　compared　with　the

black　decoction　served　at　the　morning　board。　　And　so；　perhaps；　if

wisdom　like　yours　were　compatible　with　years　like　mine；　I　should　drop

my　pen　and　make　no　further　attempts　upon　your　patience。



But　suppose　that　a　writer　who　has　reached　and　passed　the　natural

limit　of　serviceable　years　feels　that　he　has　some　things　which　be

would　like　to　say；　and　which　may　have　an　interest　for　a　limited　class

of　readers；is　he　not　right　in　trying　his　powers　and　calmly　taking

the　risk　of　failure？　　Does　it　not　seem　rather　lazy　and　cowardly；

because　he　cannot　〃beat　his　record；〃　or　even　come　up　to　the　level　of

what　he　has　done　in　his　prime；　to　shrink　from　exerting　his　talent；

such　as　it　is；　now　that　he　has　outlived　the　period　of　his　greatest

vigor？　　A　singer　who　is　no　longer　equal　to　the　trials　of　opera　on　the

stage　may　yet　please　at　a　chamber　concert　or　in　the　drawing…room。

There　is　one　gratification　an　old　author　can　afford　a　certain　class

of　critics：　that；　namely；　of　comparing　him　as　he　is　with　what　he　was。

It　is　a　pleasure　to　mediocrity　to　have　its　superiors　brought　within

range；　so　to　speak；　and　if　the　ablest　of　them　will　only　live　long

enough；　and　keep　on　writing；　there　is　no　pop…gun　that　cannot　reach

him。　　But　I　fear　that　this　is　an　unamiable　reflection；　and　I　am　at

this　time　in　a　very　amiable　mood。



I　confess　that　there　is　something　agreeable　to　me　in　renewing　my

relations　with　the　reading　public。　　Were　it　but　a　single　appearance；

it　would　give　me　a　pleasant　glimpse　of　the　time　when　I　was　known　as　a

frequent　literary　visitor。　　Many　of　my　readersif　I　can　lure　any

from　the　pages　of　younger　writers　will　prove　to　be　the　children；　or

the　grandchildren；　of　those　whose　acquaintance　I　made　something　more

than　a　whole　generation　ago。　　I　could　depend　on　a　kind　welcome　from

my　contemporaries；my　coevals。　　But　where　are　those　contemporaries？

Ay　de　mi！　as　Carlyle　used　to　exclaim；Ah；　dear　me！　as　our　old　women

say；I　look　round　for　them；　and　see　only　their　vacant　places。　　The

old　vine　cannot　unwind　its　tendrils。　　The　branch　falls　with　the　decay

of　its　support；　and　must　cling　to　the　new　growths　around　it；　if　it

would　not　lie　helpless　in　the　dust。　　This　paper　is　a　new　tendril；

feeling　its　way；　as　it　best　may；　to　whatever　it　can　wind　around。　　The

thought　of　finding　here　and　there　an　old　friend；　and　making；　it　may

be；　once　in　a　while　a　new　one；　is　very　grateful　to　me。　　The　chief

drawback　to　the　pleasure　is　the　feeling　that　I　am　submitting　to　that

inevitable　exposure　which　is　the　penalty　of　authorship　in　every　form。

A　writer　must　make　up　his　mind　to　the　possible　rough　treatment　of　the

critics；　who　swarm　like　bacteria　whenever　there　is　any　literary

material　on　which　they　can　feed。　　I　have　had　as　little　to　complain　of

as　most　writers；　yet　I　think　it　is　always　with　reluctance　that　one

encounters　the　promiscuous　handling　which　the　products　of　the　mind

have　to　put　up　with；　as　much　as　the　fruit　and　provisions　in　the

market…stalls。　　I　had　rather　be　criticised；　however；　than　criticise；

that　is；　express　my　opinions　in　the　public　prints　of　other　writers'

work；　if　they　are　living；　and　can　suffer；　as　I　should　often　have　to

make　them。　　There　are　enough；　thank　Heaven；　without　me。　　We　are

literary　cannibals；　and　our　writers　live　on　each　other　and　each

other's　productions　to　a　fearful　extent。　　What　the　mulberry　leaf　is

to　the　silk…worm；　the　author's　book；　treatise；　essay；　poem；　is　to　the

critical　larva；　that　feed　upon　it。　　It　furnishes　them　with　food　and

clothing。　　The　process　may　not　be　agreeable　to　the　mulberry　leaf　or

to　the　printed　page；　but　without　it　the　leaf　would　not　have　become

the　silk　that　covers　the　empress's　shoulders；　and　but　for　the　critic

the　author's　book　might　never　have　reached　the　scholar's　table。

Scribblers　will　feed　on　each　other；　and　if　we　insist　on　being

scribblers　we　must　consent　to　be　fed　on。　　We　must　try　to　endure

philosophically　what　we　cannot　help；　and　ought　not；　I　suppose；　to

wish　to　help。



It　is　the　custom　at　our　table　to　vary　the　usual　talk；　by　the　reading

of　short　papers；　in　prose　or　verse；　by　one　or　more　of　The　Teacups；　as

we　are　in　the　habit　of　calling　those　who　make　up　our　company。　　Thirty

years　ago；　one　of　our　present　circle…　〃Teacup　Number　Two；〃　The

Professor；read　a　paper　on　Old　Age；　at　a　certain　Breakfast…table；

where　he　was　in　the　habit　of　appearing。　　That　paper　was　published　at

the　time；　and　has　since　seen　the　light　in　other　forms。　　He　did　not

know　so　much　about　old　age　then　as　he　does　now；　and　would　doubtless

write　somewhat　differently　if　he　took　the　subject　up　again。　　But　I

found　that　it　was　the　general　wish　that　another　of　our　company　should

let　us　hear　what　he　had　to　say　about　it。　　I　received　a　polite　note；

requesting　me　to　discourse　about　old　age；　inasmuch　as　I　was

particularly　well　qualified　by　my　experience　to　write　in　an

authoritative　way　concerning　it。　　The　fact　is　that　I；for　it　is

myself　who　am　speaking；have　recently　arrived　at　the　age　of

threescore　years　and　twenty；fourscore　years　we　may　otherwise　call

it。　　In　the　arrangement　of　our　table；　I　am　Teacup　Number　One；　and　I

may　as　well　say　that　I　am　often　spoken　of　as　The　Dictator。　　There　is

nothing　invidious　in　this；　as　I　am　the　oldest　of　the　company；　and　no

claim　is　less　likely　to　excite　jealousy　than　that　of　priority　of

birth。



I　received　congratulations　on　reaching　my　eightieth　birthday；　not

only　from　our　circle　of　Teacups；　but　from　friends；　near　and　distant；

in　large　numbers。　　I　tried　to　acknowledge　these　kindly　missives　with

the　aid　of　a　most　intelligent　secretary　；　but　I　fear　that　there　were

gifts　not　thanked　for；　and　tokens　of　good…will　not　recognized。　　Let

any　neglected　correspondent　be　assured　that　it　was　not　intentionally

that　he　or　she　was　slighted。　　I　was　grateful　for　every　such　mark　of

esteem；　even　for　the　telegram　from　an　unknown　friend　in　a　distant

land；　for　which　I　cheerfully　paid　the　considerable　charge　which　the

sender　doubtless　knew　it　would　give　me　pleasure　to　disburse　for　such

an　expression　of　friendly　feeling。



I　will　not　detain　the　reader　any　longer　from　the　essay　I　have

promised。



This　is　the　paper　read　to　The　Teacups。



It　is　in　A　Song　of　Moses　that　we　find　the　words；　made　very　familiar

to　us　by　the　Episcopal　Burial　Service；　which　place　the　natural　limit

on　life　at　threescore　years　and　ten；　with　an　extra　ten　years　for　some

of　a　stronger　constitution　than　the　average。　　Yet　we　are　told　that

Moses　himself　lived　to　be　a　hundred　and　twenty　years　old；　and　that

his　eye　was　not　dim　nor　his　natural　strength　abated。　　This　is　hard　to

accept　literally；　but　we　need　not　doubt　that　he　was　very　old；　and　in

remarkably　good　condition　for　a　man　of　his　age。　　Among　his　followers

was　a　stout　old　captain；　Caleb；　the　son　of　Jephunneh。　　This　ancient

warrior　speaks　of　himself　in　these　brave　terms：　〃Lo；　I　am　this　day

fourscore　and　five　years　old。　　As　yet；　I　am　as　strong　this　day　as　I

was　in　the　day　that　Moses　sent　me；　as　my　strength　was　then；　even　so

is　my　strength　now；　for　war；　both　to　go　out　and　to　come　in。〃　　It　is

not　likely　that　anybody　believed　his　brag　about　his　being　as　good　a

man　for　active　service　at　eighty…five　as　he　was　at　forty；　when　Moses

sent　him　out　to　spy　the　land　of　Canaan。　　But　he　was；　no　doubt；　lusty

and　vigorous　for　his　years；　and　ready　to　smite　the　Canaanites　hip　and

thigh；　and　drive　them　out；　and　take　possession　of　their　land；　as　he

did　forthwith；　when　Moses　gave　him　leave。



Grand　old　men　there　were；　three　thousand　years　ago！　　But　not　all

octogenarians　were　like　Caleb；　the　son　of　Jephunneh。　　Listen　to　poor

old　Barzillai；　and　hear　him　piping：　〃I　am　this　day　fourscore　years

old；　and　can　I　discern　between　good　and　evil？　　Can　thy　servant　taste

what　I　eat　or　what　I　drink　？　　Can　I　hear　any　more　the　voice　of

singing　men　and　singing　women？　　Wherefore；　then；　should　thy　servant

be　yet　a　burden　unto　my　lord　the　king？〃　　And　poor　King　David　was

worse　off　than　this；　as　you　all　remember；　at　the　early　age　of

seventy。



Thirty　centuries　do　not　seem　to　have　made　any　very　great　difference

in　the　extreme　limits　of　life。　　Without　pretending　to　rival　the

alleged　cases　of　life　prolonged　beyond　the　middle　of　its　second

century；　such　as　those　of　Henry　Jenkins　and　Thomas　Parr；　we　can　make

a　good　showing　of　centenarians　and　nonagenarians。　　I　myself　remember

Dr。　Holyoke；　of　Salem；　son　of　a　president　of　Harvard　College；　who

answered　a　toast　proposed　in　his　honor　at　a　dinner　given　to　him　on

his　hundredth　birthday。



〃Father　Cleveland；〃　our　venerated　city　missionary；　was　born　June　21；

1772；　and　died　June　5；　1872；　within　a　little　more　than　a　fortnight　of

his　hundredth　birthday。　　Colonel　Perkins；　of　Connecticut；　died

recently　after　celebrating　his　centennial　anniversary。



Among　nonagenarians；　three　whose　names　are　well　known　to　Bostonians；

Lord　Lyndhurst；　Josiah　Quincy；　and　Sidney　Bartlett；　were　remarkable

for　retaining　their　faculties　in　their　extreme　age。　　That　patriarch

of　our　American　literature；　the　illustrious　historian　of　his　country；

is　still　with　us；　his　birth　dating　in　1800。



Ranke；　the　great　German　historian；　died　at　the　age　of　ninety…one；　and

Chevreul；　the　eminent　chemist；　at　that　of　a　hundred　and　two。



Some　English　sporting　characters　have　furnished　striking　examples　of

robust　longevity。　　In　Gilpin's　〃Forest　Scenery〃　there　is　the　story　of

one　of　these　horseback　heroes。　　Henry　Hastings　was　the　name　of　this

old　gentleman；　who　lived　in　the　time　of　Charles　the　First。　　It　would

be　hard　to　find　a　better　portrait　of　a　hunting　squire　than　that　which

the　Earl　of　Shaftesbury　has　the　credit　of　having　drawn　of　this　very

peculiar　personage。　　His　description　ends　by　saying；　〃He　lived　to　be

an　hundred；　and　never　lost　his　eyesight　nor　used　spectacles。　　He　got

on　horseback　without　help；　and　rode　to　the　death　of　the　stag　till　he

was　past　fourscore。〃



Everything