the professor at the breakfast table- 第13部分

used　to　say；　was　swinging；　to　hang　over　the　little　heap　of　stirring

clothes；　from　which　looked　the　minute；　red；　downy；　still；　round　face；

with　unfixed　eyes　and　working　lips；in　that　unearthly　gravity　which

has　never　yet　been　broken　by　a　smile；　and　which　gives　to　the　earliest

moon…year　or　two　of　an　infant's　life　the　character　of　a　first　old

age；　to　counterpoise　that　second　childhood　which　there　is　one　chance

in　a　dozen　it　may　reach　by　and　by。　　The　boys　had　remembered　the　old

man　and　young　father　at　that　tender　period　of　his　hard；　dry　life。

There　came　to　him　a　fair；　silver　goblet；　embossed　with　classical

figures；　and　bearing　on　a　shield　the　graver　words；　Ex　dono

pupillorum。　　The　handle　on　its　side　showed　what　use　the　boys　had

meant　it　for；　and　a　kind　letter　in　it；　written　with　the　best　of

feeling；　in　the　worst　of　Latin；　pointed　delicately　to　its

destination。　　Out　of　this　silver　vessel；　after　a　long；　desperate；

strangling　cry；　which　marked　her　first　great　lesson　in　the　realities

of　life；　the　child　took　the　blue　milk；　such　as　poor　tutors　and　their

children　get；　tempered　with　water；　and　sweetened　a　little；　so　as　to

bring　it　nearer　the　standard　established　by　the　touching　indulgence

and　partiality　of　Nature；who　had　mingled　an　extra　allowance　of

sugar　in　the　blameless　food　of　the　child　at　its　mother's　breast；　as

compared　with　that　of　its　infant　brothers　and　sisters　of　the　bovine

race。



But　a　willow　will　grow　in　baked　sand　wet　with　rainwater。　　An　air…

plant　will　grow　by　feeding　on　the　winds。　　Nay；　those　huge　forests

that　overspread　great　continents　have　built　themselves　up　mainly　from

the　air…currents　with　which　they　are　always　battling。　　The　oak　is　but

a　foliated　atmospheric　crystal　deposited　from　the　aerial　ocean　that

holds　the　future　vegetable　world　in　solution。　　The　storm　that　tears

its　leaves　has　paid　tribute　to　its　strength；　and　it　breasts　the

tornado　clad　in　the　spoils　of　a　hundred　hurricanes。



Poor　little　Iris！　　What　had　she　in　common　with　the　great　oak　in　the

shadow　of　which　we　are　losing　sight　of　her？She　lived　and　grew　like

that；this　was　all。　　The　blue　milk　ran　into　her　veins　and　filled

them　with　thin；　pure　blood。　　Her　skin　was　fair；　with　a　faint　tinge；

such　as　the　white　rosebud　shows　before　it　opens。　　The　doctor　who　had

attended　her　father　was　afraid　her　aunt　would　hardly　be　able　to

〃raise　〃　her；〃delicate　child；〃hoped　she　was　not　consumptive；

thought　there　was　a　fair　chance　she　would　take　after　her　father。



A　very　forlorn…looking　person；　dressed　in　black；　with　a　white

neckcloth；　sent　her　a　memoir　of　a　child　who　died　at　the　age　of　two

years　and　eleven　months；　after　having　fully　indorsed　all　the

doctrines　of　the　particular　persuasion　to　which　he　not　only　belonged

himself；　but　thought　it　very　shameful　that　everybody　else　did　not

belong。　　What　with　foreboding　looks　and　dreary　death…bed　stories；　it

was　a　wonder　the　child　made　out　to　live　through　it。　　It　saddened　her

early　years；　of　course；it　distressed　her　tender　soul　with　thoughts

which；　as　they　cannot　be　fully　taken　in；　should　be　sparingly　used　as

instruments　of　torture　to　break　down　the　natural　cheerfulness　of　a

healthy　child；　or；　what　is　infinitely　worse；　to　cheat　a　dying　one　out

of　the　kind　illusions　with　which　the　Father　of　All　has　strewed　its

downward　path。



The　child　would　have　died；　no　doubt；　and；　if　properly　managed；　might

have　added　another　to　the　long　catalogue　of　wasting　children　who　have

been　as　cruelly　played　upon　by　spiritual　physiologists；　often　with

the　best　intentions；　as　ever　the　subject　of　a　rare　disease　by　the

curious　students　of　science。



Fortunately　for　her；　however；　a　wise　instinct　had　guided　the　late

Latin　tutor　in　the　selection　of　the　partner　of　his　life；　and　the

future　mother　of　his　child。　　The　deceased　tutoress　was　a　tranquil；

smooth　woman；　easily　nourished；　as　such　people　are；a　quality　which

is　inestimable　in　a　tutor's　wife；and　so　it　happened　that　the

daughter　inherited　enough　vitality　from　the　mother　to　live　through

childhood　and　infancy　and　fight　her　way　towards　womanhood；　in　spite

of　the　tendencies　she　derived　from　her　other　parent。



Two　and　two　do　not　always　make　four；　in　this　matter　of　hereditary

descent　of　qualities。　　Sometimes　they　make　three；　and　sometimes　five。

It　seems　as　if　the　parental　traits　at　one　time　showed　separate；　at

another　blended；that　occasionally；　the　force　of　two　natures　is

represented　in　the　derivative　one　by　a　diagonal　of　greater　value　than

either　original　line　of　living　movement；that　sometimes　there　is　a

loss　of　vitality　hardly　to　be　accounted　for；　and　again　a　forward

impulse　of　variable　intensity　in　some　new　and　unforeseen　direction。



So　it　was　with　this　child。　　She　had　glanced　off　from　her　parental

probabilities　at　an　unexpected　angle。　　Instead　of　taking　to　classical

learning　like　her　father；　or　sliding　quietly　into　household　duties

like　her　mother；　she　broke　out　early　in　efforts　that　pointed　in　the

direction　of　Art。　　As　soon　as　she　could　hold　a　pencil　she　began　to

sketch　outlines　of　objects　round　her　with　a　certain　air　and　spirit。

Very　extraordinary　horses；　but　their　legs　looked　as　if　they　could

move。　　Birds　unknown　to　Audubon；　yet　flying；　as　it　were；　with　a　rush。

Men　with　impossible　legs；　which　did　yet　seem　to　have　a　vital

connection　with　their　most　improbable　bodies。　　By…and…by　the　doctor；

on　his　beast；an　old　man　with　a　face　looking　as　if　Time　had　kneaded

it　like　dough　with　his　knuckles；　with　a　rhubarb　tint　and　flavor

pervading　himself　and　his　sorrel　horse　and　all　their　appurtenances。

A　dreadful　old　man！　　Be　sure　she　did　not　forget　those　saddle…bags

that　held　the　detestable　bottles　out　of　which　he　used　to　shake　those

loathsome　powders　which；　to　virgin　childish　palates　that　find　heaven

in　strawberries　and　peaches；　are　Well；　I　suppose　I　had　better　stop。

Only　she　wished　she　was　dead　sometimes　when　she　heard　him　coming。

On　the　next　leaf　would　figure　the　gentleman　with　the　black　coat　and

white　cravat；　as　he　looked　when　he　came　and　entertained　her　with

stories　concerning　the　death　of　various　little　children　about　her

age；　to　encourage　her；　as　that　wicked　Mr。　Arouet　said　about　shooting

Admiral　Byng。　　　Then　she　would　take　her　pencil；　and　with　a　few

scratches　there　would　be　the　outline　of　a　child；　in　which　you　might

notice　how　one　sudden　sweep　gave　the　chubby　cheek；　and　two　dots

darted　at　the　paper　looked　like　real　eyes。



By…and…by　she　went　to　school；　and　caricatured　the　schoolmaster　on　the

leaves　of　her　grammars　and　geographies；　and　drew　the　faces　of　her

companions；　and；　from　time　to　time；　heads　and　figures　from　her　fancy；

with　large　eyes；　far　apart；　like　those　of　Raffaelle's　mothers　and

children；　sometimes　with　wild　floating　hair；　and　then　with　wings　and

heads　thrown　back　in　ecstasy。　　This　was　at　about　twelve　years　old；　as

the　dates　of　these　drawings　show；　and；　therefore；　three　or　four　years

before　she　came　among　us。　　Soon　after　this　time；　the　ideal　figures

began　to　take　the　place　of　portraits　and　caricatures；　and　a　new

feature　appeared　in　her　drawing…books　in　the　form　of　fragments　of

verse　and　short　poems。



It　was　dull　work；　of　course；　for　such　a　young　girl　to　live　with　an

old　spinster　and　go　to　a　village　school。　　Her　books　bore　testimony　to

this；　for　there　was　a　look　of　sadness　in　the　faces　she　drew；　and　a

sense　of　weariness　and　longing　for　some　imaginary　conditions　of

blessedness　or　other；　which　began　to　be　painful。　　She　might　have　gone

through　this　flowering　of　the　soul；　and；　casting　her　petals；　subsided

into　a　sober；　human　berry；　but　for　the　intervention　of　friendly

assistance　and　counsel。



In　the　town　where　she　lived　was　a　lady　of　honorable　condition；

somewhat　past　middle　age；　who　was　possessed　of　pretty　ample　means；　of

cultivated　tastes；　of　excellent　principles；　of　exemplary　character；

and　of　more　than　common　accomplishments。　　The　gentleman　in　black

broadcloth　and　white　neckerchief　only　echoed　the　common　voice　about

her；　when　he　called　her；　after　enjoying；　beneath　her　hospitable　roof；

an　excellent　cup　of　tea；　with　certain　elegancies　and　luxuries　he　was。

unaccustomed　to；　〃The　Model　of　all　the　Virtues。〃



She　deserved　this　title　as　well　as　almost　any　woman。　　She　did　really

bristle　with　moral　excellences。　　Mention　any　good　thing　she　had　not

done；　I　should　like　to　see　you　try！　　There　was　no　handle　of　weakness

to　take　hold　of　her　by；　she　was　as　unseizable；　except　in　her

totality；　as　a　billiard…ball；　and　on　the　broad；　green；　terrestrial

table；　where　she　had　been　knocked　about；　like　all　of　us；　by　the　cue

of　Fortune；　she　glanced　from　every　human　contact；　and　〃caromed〃　from

one　relation　to　another；　and　rebounded　from　the　stuffed　cushion　of

temptation；　with　such　exact　and　perfect　angular　movements；　that　the

Enemy's　corps　of　Reporters　had　long　given　up　taking　notes　of　her

conduct；　as　there　was　no　chance　for　their　master。



What　an　admirable　person　for　the　patroness　and　directress　of　a

slightly　self…willed　child；　with　the　lightning　zigzag　line　of　genius

running　like　a　glittering　vein　through　the　marble　whiteness　of　her

virgin　nature！　　One　of　the　lady…patroness's　peculiar　virtues　was

calmness。　　She　was　resolute　and　strenuous；　but　still。　　You　could

depend　on　her　for　every　duty；　she　was　as　true　as　steel。　　She　was

kind…hearted　and　serviceable　in　all　the　relations　of　life。　　She　had

more　sense；　more　knowledge；　more　conversation；　as　well　as　more

goodness；　than　all　the　partners　you　have　waltzed　with　this　winter　put

together。



Yet　no　man　was　known　to　have　loved　her；　or　even　to　have　offered

himself　to　her　in　marriage。　　It　was　a　great　wonder。　　I　am　very

anxious　to　vindicate　my　character　as　a　philosopher　and　an　observer　of

Nature　by　accounting　for　this　apparently　extraordinary　fact。



You　may　remember　certain　persons　who　have　the　misfortune　of

presenting　to　the　friends　whom　they　meet　a　cold；　damp　hand。　　There

are　states　of　mind　in　which　a　contact　of　this　kind　has　a　depre