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
If we did but know how to question these charming old people before
it is too late! About ten years, more or less, after the generation
in advance of our own has all died off, it occurs to us all at once,
“There! I can ask my old friend what he knows of that picture, which
must be a Copley; of that house and its legends about which there is
such a mystery. He (or she) must know all about that.” Too late! Too
late!
Still, now and then one saves a reminiscence that means a good deal
by means of a casual question. I asked the first of those two old
New-Yorkers the following question: “Who, on the whole, seemed to you
the most considerable person you ever met?”
Now it must be remembered that this was a man who had lived in a city
that calls itself the metropolis, one who had been a member of the
State and the National Legislature, who had come in contact with men
of letters and men of business, with politicians and members of all the
professions, during a long and distinguished public career. I paused
for his answer with no little curiosity. Would it be one of the great
Ex-Presidents whose names were known to, all the world? Would it be
the silver-tongued orator of Kentucky or the “God-like” champion of the
Constitution, our New-England Jupiter Capitolinus? Who would it be?
“Take it altogether,” he answered, very deliberately, “I should say
Colonel Elisha Williams was the most notable personage that I have met
with.”
--Colonel Elisha Williams! And who might he be, forsooth? A gentleman of
singular distinction, you may be well assured, even though you are
not familiar with his name; but as I am not writing a biographical
dictionary, I shall leave it to my reader to find out who and what he
was.
--One would like to live long enough to witness certain things which
will no doubt come to pass by and by. I remember that when one of our
good kindhearted old millionnaires was growing very infirm, his limbs
failing him, and his trunk getting packed with the infirmities which
mean that one is bound on a long journey, he said very simply and
sweetly, “I don't care about living a great deal longer, but I should
like to live long enough to find out how much old (a many-millioned
fellow-citizen) is worth.” And without committing myself on the
longevity-question, I confess I should like to live long enough to see a
few things happen that are like to come, sooner or later.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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