morbid reveries have been so often mistaken for piety！ No。 I。 had
something for me； then； besides the cover； which was all it claimed
to have worth offering。
No。 II。 was 〃A View of Society and Manners in Italy。〃 Vol。 III。 By
John Moore； M。 D。 （Zeluco Moore。） You know his pleasant book。 In
this particular volume what interested me most； perhaps； was the very
spirited and intelligent account of the miracle of the liquefaction
of the blood of Saint Januarius； but it gave me an hour's mighty
agreeable reading。 So much for Number Two。
No。 III。 was 〃An ESSAY On the Great EFFECTS of Even Languid and
Unheeded LOCAL MOTION。〃 By the Hon。 Robert Boyle。 Published in
1685； and； as appears from other sources； 〃received with great and
general applause。〃 I confess I was a little startled to find how
near this earlier philosopher had come to the modern doctrines； such
as are illustrated in Tyndall's 〃Heat considered as a Mode of
Motion。〃 He speaks of 〃Us； who endeavor to resolve the Phenomena of
Nature into Matter and Local motion。〃 That sounds like the
nineteenth century； but what shall we say to this？ 〃As when a bar of
iron or silver； having been well hammered； is newly taken off of the
anvil； though the eye can discern no motion in it； yet the touch will
readily perceive it to be very hot； and if you spit upon it； the
brisk agitation of the insensible parts will become visible in that
which they will produce in the liquor。〃 He takes a bar of tin； and
tries whether by bending it to and fro two or three times he cannot
〃procure a considerable internal commotion among the parts 〃； and
having by this means broken or cracked it in the middle； finds； as he
expected； that the middle parts had considerably heated each other。
There are many other curious and interesting observations in the
volume which I should like to tell you of； but these will serve my
purpose。
Which book furnished you the old cover you wanted？ said I。
Did he kill the owl ？said the Master； laughing。 ＇I suppose you；
the reader； know the owl story。＇It was Number Two that lent me one
of his covers。 Poor wretch！ He was one of three； and had lost his
two brothers。 From him that hath not shall be taken even that which
he hath。 The Scripture had to be fulfilled in his case。 But I
couldn't help saying to myself； What do you keep writing books for；
when the stalls are covered all over with 'em； good books； too； that
nobody will give ten cents apiece for； lying there like so many dead
beasts of burden； of no account except to strip off their hides？
What is the use； I say？ I have made a book or two in my time； and I
am making another that perhaps will see the light one of these days。
But if I had my life to live over again； I think I should go in for
silence； and get as near to Nirvana as I could。 This language is
such a paltry tool！ The handle of it cuts and the blade doesn't。
You muddle yourself by not knowing what you mean by a word； and send
out your unanswered riddles and rebuses to clear up other people's
difficulties。 It always seems to me that talk is a ripple and
thought is a ground swell。 A string of words； that mean pretty much
anything； helps you in a certain sense to get hold of a thought； just
as a string of syllables that mean nothing helps you to a word； but
it's a poor business； it's a poor business； and the more you study
definition the more you find out how poor it is。 Do you know I
sometimes think our little entomological neighbor is doing a sounder
business than we people that make books about ourselves and our
slippery abstractions？ A man can see the spots on a bug and count
'em； and tell what their color is； and put another bug alongside of
him and see whether the two are alike or different。 And when he uses
a word he knows just what he means。 There is no mistake as to the
meaning and identity of pulex irritans； confound him！
What if we should look in； some day； on the Scarabeeist； as he
calls himself？said I。…The fact is the Master had got agoing at
such a rate that I was willing to give a little turn to the
conversation。
Oh； very well；said the Master；I had some more things to say；
but I don't doubt they'll keep。 And besides； I take an interest in
entomology； and have my own opinion on the meloe question。
You don't mean to say you have studied insects as well as solar
systems and the order of things generally？
He looked pleased。 All philosophers look pleased when people say
to them virtually； 〃Ye are gods。〃 The Master says he is vain
constitutionally； and thanks God that he is。 I don't think he has
enough vanity to make a fool of himself with it； but the simple truth
is he cannot help knowing that he has a wide and lively intelligence；
and it pleases him to know it； and to be reminded of it； especially
in an oblique and tangential sort of way； so as not to look like
downright flattery。
Yes； yes； I have amused a summer or two with insects； among other
things。 I described a new tabanus；horsefly； you know；which； I
think； had escaped notice。 I felt as grand when I showed up my new
discovery as if I had created the beast。 I don't doubt Herschel felt
as if he had made a planet when he first showed the astronomers
Georgium Sidus； as he called it。 And that reminds me of something。
I was riding on the outside of a stagecoach from London to Windsor in
the yearnever mind the year； but it must have been in June； I
suppose； for I bought some strawberries。 England owes me a sixpence
with interest from date； for I gave the woman a shilling； and the
coach contrived to start or the woman timed it so that I just missed
getting my change。 What an odd thing memory is； to be sure； to have
kept such a triviality； and have lost so much that was invaluable！
She is a crazy wench； that Mnemosyne； she throws her jewels out of
the window and locks up straws and old rags in her strong box。
＇De profundis！ said I to myself； the bottom of the bushel has
dropped out！ SanctaMaria； ora pro nobis！＇
But as I was saying； I was riding on the outside of a stage…coach
from London to Windsor； when all at once a picture familiar to me
from my New England village childhood came upon me like a
reminiscence rather than a revelation。 It was a mighty bewilderment
of slanted masts and spars and ladders and ropes； from the midst of
which a vast tube； looking as if it might be a piece of ordnance such
as the revolted angels battered the walls of Heaven with； according
to Milton； lifted its muzzle defiantly towards the sky。 Why； you
blessed old rattletrap； said I to myself； I know you as well as I
know my father's spectacles and snuff…box！ And that same crazy witch
of a Memory； so divinely wise and foolish； travels thirty…five
hundred miles or so in a single pulse…beat； makes straight for an old
house and an old library and an old corner of it； and whisks out a
volume of an old cyclopaedia； and there is the picture of which this
is the original。 Sir William Herschel's great telescope！ It was
just about as big； as it stood there by the roadside； as it was in
the picture； not much different any way。 Why should it be？ The
pupil of your eye is only a gimlet…hole； not so very much bigger than
the eye of a sail…needle； and a camel has to go through it before you
can see him。 You look into a stereoscope and think you see a
miniature of a building or a mountain； you don't； you 're made a fool
of by your lying intelligence； as you call it； you see the building
and the mountain just as large as with your naked eye looking
straight at the real objects。 Doubt it； do you？ Perhaps you'd like
to doubt it to the music of a couple of gold five…dollar pieces。 If
you would； say the word； and man and money； as Messrs。 Heenan and
Morrissey have it； shall be forthcoming； for I will make you look at
a real landscape with your right eye； and a stereoscopic view of it
with your left eye； both at once； and you can slide one over the
other by a little management and see how exactly the picture overlies
the true landscape。 We won't try it now； because I want to read you
something out of my book。
I have noticed that the Master very rarely fails to come back to
his original proposition； though he； like myself； is fond of
zigzagging in order to reach it。 Men's minds are like the pieces on
a chess…board in their way of moving。 One mind creeps from the
square it is on to the next； straight forward； like the pawns。
Another sticks close to its own line of thought and follows it as far
as it goes； with no heed for others' opinions； as the bishop sweeps
the board in the line of his own color。 And another class of minds
break through everything that lies before them； ride over argument
and opposition； and go to the end of the board； like the castle。 But
there is still another sort of intellect which is very apt to jump
over the thought that stands next and come down in the unexpected way
of the knight。 But that same knight； as the chess manuals will show
you； will contrive to get on to every square of the board in a pretty
series of moves that looks like a pattern of embroidery； and so these
zigzagging minds like the Master's； and I suppose my own is