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
--No, sir,--he said,--better not, better not. That which means so much
to me, the writer, might be a disappointment, or at least a puzzle, to
you, the listener. Besides, if you'll take my printed book and be at
the trouble of thinking over what it says, and put that with what you've
heard me say, and then make those comments and reflections which will
be suggested to a mind in so many respects like mine as is your
own,--excuse my good opinion of myself.
(It is a high compliment to me, I replied) you will perhaps find you
have the elements of the formula and its consequences which I was about
to read you. It's quite as well to crack your own filberts as to borrow
the use of other people's teeth. I think we will wait awhile before we
pour out the Elixir Vitae.
--To tell the honest truth, I suspect the Master has found out that his
formula does not hold water quite so perfectly as he was thinking, so
long as he kept it to himself, and never thought of imparting it to
anybody else. The very minute a thought is threatened with publicity
it seems to shrink towards mediocrity, as I have noticed that a great
pumpkin, the wonder of a village, seemed to lose at least a third of
its dimensions between the field where it grew and the cattle-show
fair-table, where it took its place with other enormous pumpkins from
other wondering villages. But however that maybe, I shall always regret
that I had not the opportunity of judging for myself how completely the
Master's formula, which, for him, at least, seemed to have solved the
great problem, would have accomplished that desirable end for me.
The Landlady's announcement of her intention to give up keeping boarders
was heard with regret by all who met around her table. The Member of the
Haouse inquired of me whether I could tell him if the Lamb Tahvern was
kept well abaout these times. He knew that members from his place used
to stop there, but he hadn't heerd much abaout it of late years. I had
to inform him that that fold of rural innocence had long ceased offering
its hospitalities to the legislative, flock. He found refuge at last,
I have learned, in a great public house in the northern section of the
city, where, as he said, the folks all went up stairs in a rat-trap,
and the last I heard of him was looking out of his somewhat elevated
attic-window in a northwesterly direction in hopes that he might perhaps
get a sight of the Grand Monadnock, a mountain in New Hampshire which I
have myself seen from the top of Bunker Hill Monument.
The Member of the Haouse seems to have been more in a hurry to find
a new resting-place than the other boarders. By the first of January,
however, our whole company was scattered, never to meet again around the
board where we had been so long together.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Elsewhere in the archive
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account