The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 11, No. 68, June, 1863: A Magazine of Literature, Art, and PoliticsVarious
Science
The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 11, No. 68, June, 1863: A Magazine of Literature, Art, and Politics
Various
American periodicals
"Perhaps it is the farthest bound of reaction from transcendentalism,
that causes us, when we do think a free thought, to look about for
something grimly practical to fasten it upon," argued Kate, smilingly.
"Yet I do not quite agree with the reason of my Aunt Patience for
devoting herself to the roughest part of gardening. A taste for flowers,
she contends, is legitimate only when it has perfected itself out of a
taste for earth-worms. There are truly thoughts only to be symbolized by
sunset colors and the song of birds, that are better than if mortared
with logic and based as firmly as the Pyramids."
The fatal word "Pyramids" sent us flying through the ages till we
reached the tombs of the Pharaohs, whence we came bounding back again
through Grecian civilization, mediæval darkness, and modern
enlightenment, till we naturally stopped at Professor Owlsdarck and the
carryall, by this time nearing Wrexford. My own literary performance, so
associated with that of the Professor, next occupied our attention, and
we realized the fact that it was time to be moving slowly in the
direction of the Town Hall.
"Don't let us get there till just the hour for commencing," said I,
endeavoring to restrain the quickened step of my companion.
And I quoted the ghastly merriment of the gentleman going to be hung, to
the effect that there was sure to be no fun till he arrived.
We said nothing else, but indulged in a very definite sort of wandering
by the river's bank,--I nervously looking at my watch, occasionally
devouring a troche, and patting my manuscript pocket, or, to make
assurance doubly sure, touching the polished surface of the case within.
We timed it to a minute. At exactly half-past seven o'clock, I proceeded
up the broad aisle of the Town Hall, put my wife into the place reserved
with the Prowley party upon settee number two from the platform, and
mounted the steps of that awful elevation amid general applause.
The President of the Young Men's Gelasmiphilous Society, who occupied a
chair at the right of the desk, came forward to receive me, and we shook
hands with an affectation of the most perfect ease and naturalness.
Here, a noisy satisfaction, as of boys in the gallery, accompanied by a
much fainter enthusiasm among their elders below.
"You are just in time," whispered the President. "I was afraid you would
be too late; we always like to begin punctually."
"I am all ready," said I, faintly; "you may announce me immediately."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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