men with exceptionable hands is to be urged against the use of Brown
Windsor as a preliminary to appearance in cultivated society。
I mean to stand up for this poor lady； whose usefulness in the world
is apparently problematical。 She seems to me like a picture which
has fallen from its gilded frame and lies； face downward； on the
dusty floor。 The picture never was as needful as a window or a door；
but it was pleasant to see it in its place； and it would be pleasant
to see it there again； and I； for one； should be thankful to have the
Lady restored by some turn of fortune to the position from which she
has been so cruelly cast down。
I have asked the Landlady about the young man sitting near her； the
same who attracted my attention the other day while I was talking； as
I mentioned。 He passes most of his time in a private observatory； it
appears； a watcher of the stars。 That I suppose gives the peculiar
look to his lustrous eyes。 The Master knows him and was pleased to
tell me something about him。
You call yourself a Poet；he said；and we call you so； too； and so
you are； I read your verses and like 'em。 But that young man lives
in a world beyond the imagination of poets； let me tell you。 The
daily home of his thought is in illimitable space； hovering between
the two eternities。 In his contemplations the divisions of time run
together； as in the thought of his Maker。 With him also；I say it
not profanely；one day is as a thousand years and a thousand years
as one day。
This account of his occupation increased the interest his look had
excited in me； and I have observed him more particularly and found
out more about him。 Sometimes； after a long night's watching； he
looks so pale and worn； that one would think the cold moonlight had
stricken him with some malign effluence such as it is fabled to send
upon those who sleep in it。 At such times he seems more like one who
has come from a planet farther away from the sun than our earth； than
like one of us terrestrial creatures。 His home is truly in the
heavens； and he practises an asceticism in the cause of science
almost comparable to that of Saint Simeon Stylites。 Yet they tell me
he might live in luxury if he spent on himself what he spends on
science。 His knowledge is of that strange； remote character； that it
seems sometimes almost superhuman。 He knows the ridges and chasms of
the moon as a surveyor knows a garden…plot he has measured。 He
watches the snows that gather around the poles of Mars； he is on the
lookout for the expected comet at the moment when its faint stain of
diffused light first shows itself； he analyzes the ray that comes
from the sun's photosphere； he measures the rings of Saturn； he
counts his asteroids to see that none are missing； as the shepherd
counts the sheep in his flock。 A strange unearthly being； lonely；
dwelling far apart from the thoughts and cares of the planet on which
he lives；an enthusiast who gives his life to knowledge； a student
of antiquity； to whom the records of the geologist are modern pages
in the great volume of being； and the pyramids a memorandum of
yesterday； as the eclipse or occultation that is to take place
thousands of years hence is an event of to…morrow in the diary
without beginning and without end where he enters the aspect of the
passing moment as it is read on the celestial dial。
In very marked contrast with this young man is the something more
than middle…aged Register of Deeds； a rusty； sallow； smoke…dried
looking personage； who belongs to this earth as exclusively as the
other belongs to the firmament。 His movements are as mechanical as
those of a pendulum；to the office； where he changes his coat and
plunges into messuages and building…lots； then； after changing his
coat again； back to our table； and so； day by day； the dust of years
gradually gathering around him as it does on the old folios that fill
the shelves all round the great cemetery of past transactions of
which he is the sexton。
Of the Salesman who sits next him； nothing need be said except that
he is good…looking； rosy； well…dressed； and of very polite manners；
only a little more brisk than the approved style of carriage permits；
as one in the habit of springing with a certain alacrity at the call
of a customer。
You would like to see； I don't doubt； how we sit at the table； and I
will help you by means of a diagram which shows the present
arrangement of our seats。
4 3 2 1 14 13
…
｜ O O O O O O ｜
｜ ｜
5 ｜ O Breakfast…Table O ｜12
｜ ｜
｜ O O O O O O ｜
…
6 7 8 9 10 11
1。 The Poet。
2。 The Master Of Arts。
3。 The Young Girl （Scheherezade）。
4。 The Lady。
5。 The Landlady。
6。 Dr。 B。 Franklin。
7。 That Boy。
8。 The Astronomer。
9。 The Member of the Haouse。
10。 The Register of Deeds。
11。 The Salesman。
12。 The Capitalist。
13。 The Man of Letters（？）。
14。 The Scarabee。
Our young Scheherezade varies her prose stories now and then； as I
told you； with compositions in verse； one or two of which she has let
me look over。 Here is one of them； which she allowed me to copy。 It
is from a story of hers； 〃The Sun…Worshipper's Daughter；〃 which you
may find in the periodical before mentioned； to which she is a
contributor； if your can lay your hand upon a file of it。 I think
our Scheherezade has never had a lover in human shape； or she would
not play so lightly with the firebrands of the great passion。
FANTASIA。
Kiss mine eyelids； beauteous Morn；
Blushing into life new…born！
Lend me violets for my hair；
And thy russet robe to wear；
And thy ring of rosiest hue
Set in drops of diamond dew！
Kiss my cheek； thou noontide ray；
》From my Love so far away！
Let thy splendor streaming down
Turn its pallid lilies brown；
Till its darkening shades reveal
Where his passion pressed its seal！
Kiss my lips； thou Lord of light；
Kiss my lips a soft good night！
Westward sinks thy golden car；
Leave me but the evening star；
And my solace that shall be；
Borrowing all its light from thee！
III
The old Master was talking about a concert he had been to hear。
I don't like your chopped music anyway。 That womanshe had more
sense in her little finger than forty medical societiesFlorence
Nightingalesays that the music you pour out is good for sick folks；
and the music you pound out isn't。 Not that exactly； but something
like it。 I have been to hear some music…pounding。 It was a young
woman； with as many white muslin flounces round her as the planet
Saturn has rings； that did it。 Shegave the music…stool a twirl or
two and fluffed down on to it like a whirl of soap…suds in a hand…
basin。 Then she pushed up her cuffs as if she was going to fight for
the champion's belt。 Then she worked her wrists and her hands； to
limber 'em； I suppose； and spread out her fingers till they looked as
though they would pretty much cover the key…board； from the growling
end to the little squeaky one。 Then those two hands of hers made a
jump at the keys as if they were a couple of tigers coming down on a
flock of black and white sheep； and the piano gave a great howl as if
its tail had been trod on。 Dead stop；so still you could hear your
hair growing。 Then another jump； and another howl； as if the piano
had two tails and you had trod on both of 'em at once； and； then a
grand clatter and scramble and string of jumps； up and down； back and
forward； one hand over the other； like a stampede of rats and mice
more than like anything I call music。 I like to hear a woman sing；
and I like to hear a fiddle sing； but these noises they hammer out of
their wood and ivory anvilsdon't talk to me； I know the difference
between a bullfrog and a woodthrush and
Pop！ went a small piece of artillery such as is made of a stick of
elder and carries a pellet of very moderate consistency。 That Boy
was in his seat and looking demure enough； but there could be no
question that he was the artillery…man who had discharged the
missile。 The aim was not a bad one； for it took the Master full in
the forehead； and had the effect of checking the flow of his
eloquence。 How the little monkey had learned to time his
interruptions I do not know； but I have observed more than once
before this； that the popgun would go off just at the moment when
some one of the company was getting too energetic or prolix。 The Boy
isn't old enough to judge for himself when to intervene to change the
order of conversation； no； of course he isn't。 Somebody must give
him a hint。 Somebody。 Who is it？ I suspect Dr。 B。 Franklin。 He
looks too knowing。 There is certainly a trick somewhere。 Why； a day
or two ago I was myself discoursing； with considerable effect； as I
thought； on some of the new aspects of humanity； when I was struck
full on the cheek by one of these little pellets； and there was such
a confounded laugh that I had to wind up and leave off with a
preposition instead of a good mouthful of polysyllables。 I have
watched our young Doctor； however； and have been entirely unable to
detect any signs of communication between him and this audacious
child； who is like to become a power among us； for that popgun is
fatal to any talker who is hit by its pellet。 I have suspected a
foot under the table as the prompter； but I have been unable to
detect the slightest movement or look as if he were making one； on
the part of Dr。 Benjamin Franklin。 I cannot help thinking of the
flappers in Swift's Laputa； only they gave one a hint when to speak
and another a hint to listen； whereas the popgun says unmistakably；
〃Shut up！〃
I should be sorry to lose my confidence in Dr。 B。 Franklin； who
seems very much devoted to his business； and whom I mean to consult
about some small symptoms I have had lately。 Perhaps it is coming to
a new boarding…house。 The young people who come into Paris from the
provinces are very aptso I have been told by one tha