The Poet at the Breakfast-TableHolmes, Oliver Wendell
General
The Poet at the Breakfast-Table
Holmes, Oliver Wendell
American fiction -- 19th century; Conversation -- Fiction; Poetry
Paris frequently, and as many as could be got in without troubling the
customhouse; Russia sables and Venetian point-lace; diamonds, and good
big ones; and, speaking generally, she loved dear things in distinction
from cheap ones, the real article and not the economical substitute.
For the life of me I cannot see anything Satanic in all this. Tell
me, Beloved, only between ourselves, if some of these things are not
desirable enough in their way, and if you and I could not make up our
minds to put up with some of the least objectionable of them without
any great inward struggle? Even in the matter of ornaments there is
something to be said. Why should we be told that the New Jerusalem is
paved with gold, and that its twelve gates are each of them a pearl, and
that its foundations are garnished with sapphires and emeralds and all
manner of precious stones, if these are not among the most desirable
of objects? And is there anything very strange in the fact that many a
daughter of earth finds it a sweet foretaste of heaven to wear about
her frail earthly tabernacle these glittering reminders of the celestial
city?
Mrs. Midas Goldenrod was not so entirely peculiar and anomalous in
her likes and dislikes; the only trouble was that she mixed up these
accidents of life too much with life itself, which is so often serenely
or actively noble and happy without reference to them. She valued
persons chiefly according to their external conditions, and of course
the very moment her relative, the Lady of our breakfast-table, began
to find herself in a streak of sunshine she came forward with a lighted
candle to show her which way her path lay before her.
The Lady saw all this, how plainly, how painfully! yet she exercised a
true charity for the weakness of her relative. Sensible people have as
much consideration for the frailties of the rich as for those of
the poor. There is a good deal of excuse for them. Even you and I,
philosophers and philanthropists as we may think ourselves, have a
dislike for the enforced economies, proper and honorable though they
certainly are, of those who are two or three degrees below us in the
scale of agreeable living.
--These are very worthy persons you have been living with, my dear,
--said Mrs. Midas--[the “My dear” was an expression which had flowered
out more luxuriantly than ever before in the new streak of sunshine]
--eminently respectable parties, I have no question, but then we shall
want you to move as soon as possible to our quarter of the town, where
we can see more of you than we have been able to in this queer place.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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