a mortal antipathy- 第18部分

baldric；　come　to　me　in　the　still　midnight；　when　I　hold　the　inverted

firmament　like　a　cup　brimming　with　jewels；　nor　spill　one　star　of　all

the　constellations　that　float　in　my　ebon　goblet。　　Do　you　know　the

charm　of　melancholy？　　Where　will　you　find　a　sympathy　like　mine　in

your　hours　of　sadness？　　Does　the　ocean　share　your　grief？　　Does　the

river　listen　to　your　sighs？　　The　salt　wave；　that　called　to　you　from

under　last　month's　full　moon；　to…day　is　dashing　on　the　rocks　of

Labrador；　the　stream；　that　ran　by　you　pure　and　sparkling；　has

swallowed　the　poisonous　refuse　of　a　great　city；　and　is　creeping　to

its　grave　in　the　wide　cemetery　that　buries　all　things　in　its　tomb　of

liquid　crystal。　　It　is　true　that　my　waters　exhale　and　are　renewed

from　one　season　to　another；　but　are　your　features　the　same；

absolutely　the　same；　from　year　to　year？　　We　both　change；　but　we　know

each　other　through　all　changes。　　Am　I　not　mirrored　in　those　eyes　of

yours？　　And　does　not　Nature　plant　me　as　an　eye　to　behold　her　beauties

while　she　is　dressed　in　the　glories　of　leaf　and　flower；　and　draw　the

icy　lid　over　my　shining　surface　when　she　stands　naked　and　ashamed　in

the　poverty　of　winter？'



〃I　have　had　strange　experiences　and　sad　thoughts　in　the　course　of　a

life　not　very　long；　but　with　a　record　which　much　longer　lives　could

not　match　in　incident。　　Oftentimes　the　temptation　has　come　over　me

with　dangerous　urgency　to　try　a　change　of　existence；　if　such　change

is　a　part　of　human　destiny；to　seek　rest；　if　that　is　what　we　gain　by

laying　down　the　burden　of　life。　　I　have　asked　who　would　be　the　friend

to　whom　I　should　appeal　for　the　last　service　I　should　have　need　of。

Ocean　was　there；　all　ready；　asking　no　questions；　answering　none。

What　strange　voyages；　downward　through　its　glaucous　depths；　upwards

to　its　boiling　and　frothing　surface；　wafted　by　tides；　driven　by

tempests；　disparted　by　rude　agencies；　one　remnant　whitening　on　the

sands　of　a　northern　beach；　one　perhaps　built　into　the　circle　of　a

coral　reef　in　the　Pacific；　one　settling　to　the　floor　of　the　vast

laboratory　where　continents　are　built；　to　emerge　in　far…off　ages！

What　strange　companions　for　my　pall…bearers！　　Unwieldy　sea…monsters；

the　stories　of　which　are　counted　fables　by　the　spectacled　collectors

who　think　their　catalogues　have　exhausted　nature；　naked…eyed

creatures；　staring；　glaring；　nightmare…like　spectres　of　the　ghastly…

green　abysses；　pulpy　islands；　with　life　in　gelatinous　immensity；

what　a　company　of　hungry　heirs　at　every　ocean　funeral！　　No！　　No！

Ocean　claims　great　multitudes；　but　does　not　invite　the　solitary　who

would　fain　be　rid　of　himself。



'Shall　I　seek　a　deeper　slumber　at　the　bottom　of　the　lake　I　love　than

I　have　ever　found　when　drifting　idly　over　its　surface？　　No；　again。　　I

do　not　want　the　sweet；　clear　waters　to　know　me　in　the　disgrace　of

nature；　when　life；　the　faithful　body…servant；　has　ceased　caring　for

me。　　That　must　not　be。　　The　mirror　which　has　pictured　me　so　often

shall　never　know　me　as　an　unwelcome　object。



〃If　I　must　ask　the　all…subduing　element　to　be　my　last　friend；　and

lead　me　out　of　my　prison；　it　shall　be　the　busy；　whispering；　not

unfriendly；　pleasantly　companionable　river。





〃But　Ocean　and　River　and　Lake　have　certain　relations　to　the　periods

of　human　life　which　they　who　are　choosing　their　places　of　abode

should　consider。　　Let　the　child　play　upon　the　seashore。　　The　wide

horizon　gives　his　imagination　room　to　grow　in；　untrammelled。　　That

background　of　mystery；　without　which　life　is　a　poor　mechanical

arrangement；　is　shaped　and　colored；　so　far　as　it　can　have　outline；　or

any　hue　but　shadow；　on　a　vast　canvas；　the　contemplation　of　which

enlarges　and　enriches　the　sphere　of　consciousness。　　The　mighty　ocean

is　not　too　huge　to　symbolize　the　aspirations　and　ambitions　of　the　yet

untried　soul　of　the　adolescent。



〃The　time　will　come　when　his　indefinite　mental　horizon　has　found　a

solid　limit；　which　shuts　his　prospect　in　narrower　bounds　than　he

would　have　thought　could　content　him　in　the　years　of　undefined

possibilities。　　Then　he　will　find　the　river　a　more　natural　intimate

than　the　ocean。　　It　is　individual；　which　the　ocean；　with　all　its

gulfs　and　inlets　and　multitudinous　shores；　hardly　seems　to　be。　　It

does　not　love　you　very　dearly；　and　will　not　miss　you　much　when　you

disappear　from　its　margin；　but　it　means　well　to　you；　bids　you　good…

morning　with　its　coming　waves；　and　good…evening　with　those　which　are

leaving。　　It　will　lead　your　thoughts　pleasantly　away；　upwards　to　its

source；　downwards　to　the　stream　to　which　it　is　tributary；　or　the　wide

waters　in　which　it　is　to　lose　itself。　　A　river；　by　choice；　to　live　by

in　middle　age。



〃In　hours　of　melancholy　reflection；　in　those　last　years　of　life　which

have　little　left　but　tender　memories；　the　still　companionship　of　the

lake；　embosomed　in　woods；　sheltered；　fed　by　sweet　mountain　brooks　and

hidden　springs；　commends　itself　to　the　wearied　and　saddened　spirit。

I　am　not　thinking　of　those　great　inland　seas；　which　have　many　of　the

features　and　much　of　the　danger　that　belong　to　the　ocean；　but　of

those　'ponds；'　as　our　countrymen　used　to　call　them　until　they　were

rechristened　by　summer　visitors；　beautiful　sheets　of　water　from　a

hundred　to　a　few　thousand　acres　in　extent；　scattered　like　raindrops

over　the　map　of　our　Northern　sovereignties。　　The　loneliness　of

contemplative　old　age　finds　its　natural　home　in　the　near　neighborhood

of　one　of　these　tranquil　basins。



Nature　does　not　always　plant　her　poets　where　they　belong；　but　if　we

look　carefully　their　affinities　betray　themselves。　　The　youth　will

carry　his　Byron　to　the　rock　which　overlooks　the　ocean　the　poet　loved

so　well。　　The　man　of　maturer　years　will　remember　that　the　sonorous

couplets　of　Pope　which　ring　in　his　ears　were　written　on　the　banks　of

the　Thames。　　The　old　man；　as　he　nods　over　the　solemn　verse　of

Wordsworth；　will　recognize　the　affinity　between　the　singer　and　the

calm　sheet　that　lay　before　him　as　he　wrote；the　stainless　and　sleepy

Windermere。



〃The　dwellers　by　Cedar　Lake　may　find　it　an　amusement　to　compare　their

own　feelings　with　those　of　one　who　has　lived　by　the　Atlantic　and　the

Mediterranean；　by　the　Nile　and　the　Tiber；　by　Lake　Leman　and　by　one　of

the　fairest　sheets　of　water　that　our　own　North　America　embosoms　in

its　forests。〃





Miss　Lurida　Vincent；　Secretary　of　the　Pansophian　Society；　read　this

paper；　and　pondered　long　upon　it。　　She　was　thinking　very　seriously　of

studying　medicine；　and　had　been　for　some　time　in　frequent

communication　with　Dr。　Butts；　under　whose　direction　she　had　begun

reading　certain　treatises；　which　added　to　such　knowledge　of　the　laws

of　life　in　health　and　in　disease　as　she　had　brought　with　her　from　the

Corinna　Institute。　　Naturally　enough；　she　carried　the　anonymous　paper

to　the　doctor；　to　get　his　opinion　about　it；　and　compare　it　with　her

own。　　They　both　agreed　that　it　was　probably；　they　would　not　say

certainly；　the　work　of　the　solitary　visitor。　　There　was　room　for

doubt；　for　there　were　visitors　who　might　well　have　travelled　to　all

the　places　mentioned；　and　resided　long　enough　on　the　shores　of　the

waters　the　writer　spoke　of　to　have　had　all　the　experiences　mentioned

in　the　paper。　　The　Terror　remembered　a　young　lady；　a　former

schoolmate；　who　belonged　to　one　of　those　nomadic　families　common　in

this　generation；　the　heads　of　which；　especially　the　female　heads；　can

never　be　easy　where　they　are；　but　keep　going　between　America　and

Europe；　like　so　many　pith…balls　in　the　electrical　experiment；

alternately　attracted　and　repelled；　never　in　contented　equilibrium。

Every　few　years　they　pull　their　families　up　by　the　roots；　and　by　the

time　they　have　begun　to　take　hold　a　little　with　their　radicles　in　the

spots　to　which　they　have　been　successively　transplanted　up　they　come

again；　so　that　they　never　get　a　tap…root　anywhere。　　The　Terror

suspected　the　daughter　of　one　of　these　families　of　sending　certain

anonymous　articles　of　not　dissimilar　character　to　the　one　she　had

just　received。　　But　she　knew　the　style　of　composition　common　among

the　young　girls；　and　she　could　hardly　believe　that　it　was　one　of　them

who　had　sent　this　paper。　　Could　a　brother　of　this　young　lady　have

written　it？　　Possibly；　she　knew　nothing　more　than　that　the　young　lady

had　a　brother；　then　a　student　at　the　University。　　All　the　chances

were　that　Mr。　Maurice　Kirkwood　was　the　author。　　So　thought　Lurida；

and　so　thought　Dr。　Butts。



Whatever　faults　there　were　in　this　essay；　it　interested　them　both。

There　was　nothing　which　gave　the　least　reason　to　suspect　insanity　on

the　part　of　the　writer；　whoever　he　or　she　might　be。　　There　were

references　to　suicide；　it　is　true；　but　they　were　of　a　purely

speculative　nature；　and　did　not　look　to　any　practical　purpose　in　that

direction。　　Besides；　if　the　stranger　were　the　author　of　the　paper；　he

certainly　would　not　choose　a　sheet　of　water　like　Cedar　Lake　to

perform　the　last　offices　for　him；　in　case　he　seriously　meditated

taking　unceremonious　leave　of　life　and　its　accidents。　　He　could　find

a　river　easily　enough；　to　say　nothing　of　other　methods　of　effecting

his　purpose；　but　he　had　committed　himself　as　to　the　impropriety　of

selecting　a　lake；　so　they　need　not　be　anxious　about　the　white　canoe

and　its　occupant；　as　they　watched　it　skimming　the　surface　of　the　deep

waters。



The　holder　of　the　Portfolio　would　never　have　ventured　to　come　before

the　public　if　he　had　not　counted　among　his　resources　certain　papers

belonging　to　the　records　of　the　Pansophian　Society；　which　he　can　make

free　use　of；　either　for　the　illustration　of　the　narrative；　or　for　a

diversion　during　those　intervals　in　which　the　flow　of　events　is

languid；　or　even　ceases　for　the　time　to　manifest　any　progress。　　The

reader　can　hardly　have　failed　to　notice　that　the　old　Anchor　Tavern

had　become　the　focal　point　where　a　good　deal　of　mental　activity

converged。　　There　were　the　village　people；　including　a　number　of

cultivated　familie