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blushed； laughed； and slapped the book down as though she would have
liked to box the ears of Mr。 John Milton； if he had been a
contemporary and fellow…contributor to the 〃Weekly Bucket。〃I won't
touch the thing；she said。…He was a horrid man to talk so： and he
had as many wives as Blue…Beard。
Fair play；said the Master。…Bring me the book； my little
fractional superfluity；I mean you； my nursling；my boy； if that
suits your small Highness better。
The Boy brought the book。
The old Master； not unfamiliar with the great epic opened pretty
nearly to the place； and very soon found the passage： He read； aloud
with grand scholastic intonation and in a deep voice that silenced
the table as if a prophet had just uttered Thus saith the Lord：
〃So spake our sire； and by his countenance seemed
Entering on studious thoughts abstruse； which Eve
Perceiving 〃
went to water her geraniums； to make a short story of it； and left
the two 〃conversationists；〃 to wit； the angel Raphael and the
gentleman；there was but one gentleman in society then； you know；
to talk it out。
〃Yet went she not； as not with such discourse
Delighted； or not capable her ear
Of what was high； such pleasure she reserved；
Adam relating； she sole auditress；
Her husband the relater she preferred
Before the angel； and of him to ask
Chose rather； he she knew would intermix
Grateful digressions； and solve high dispute
With conjugal caresses： from his lips
Not words alone pleased her。〃
Everybody laughed； except the Capitalist； who was a little hard of
hearing； and the Scarabee； whose life was too earnest for
demonstrations of that kind。 He had his eyes fixed on the volume；
however； with eager interest。
The p'int 's carried；said the Member of the Haouse。
Will you let me look at that book a single minute？said the
Scarabee。 I passed it to him； wondering what in the world he wanted
of Paradise Lost。
Dermestes lardarius；he said； pointing to a place where the edge of
one side of the outer cover had been slightly tasted by some insect。
Very fond of leather while they 're in the larva state。
Damage the goods as bad as mice；said the Salesman。
Eat half the binding off Folio 67；said the Register of Deeds。
Something did； anyhow； and it was n't mice。 Found the shelf covered
with little hairy cases belonging to something or other that had no
business there。
Skins of the Dermestes lardaraus；said the Scarabee；you can always
tell them by those brown hairy coats。 That 's the name to give them。
What good does it do to give 'em a name after they 've eat the
binding off my folios？ asked the Register of Deeds。
The Scarabee had too much respect for science to answer such a
question as that； and the book； having served its purposes； was
passed back to the Lady。
I return to the previous question；said I；if our friend the Member
of the House of Representatives will allow me to borrow the phrase。
Womanly women are very kindly critics； except to themselves and now
and then to their own sex。 The less there is of sex about a woman；
the more she is to be dreaded。 But take a real woman at her best
moment；well dressed enough to be pleased with herself； not so
resplendent as to be a show and a sensation； with those varied
outside influences which set vibrating the harmonic notes of her
nature stirring in the air about her； and what has social life to
compare with one of those vital interchanges of thought and feeling
with her that make an hour memorable？ What can equal her tact； her
delicacy； her subtlety of apprehension； her quickness to feel the
changes of temperature as the warm and cool currents of talk blow by
turns？ At one moment she is microscopically intellectual； critical；
scrupulous in judgment as an analyst's balance； and the next as
sympathetic as the open rose that sweetens the wind from whatever
quarter it finds its way to her bosom。 It is in the hospitable soul
of a woman that a man forgets he is a stranger； and so becomes
natural and truthful； at the same time that he is mesmerized by all
those divine differences which make her a mystery and a bewilderment
to
If you fire your popgun at me； you little chimpanzee； I will stick a
pin right through the middle of you and put you into one of this
gentleman's beetle…cases！
I caught the imp that time； but what started him was more than I
could guess。 It is rather hard that this spoiled child should spoil
such a sentence as that was going to be； but the wind shifted all at
once； and the talk had to come round on another tack； or at least
fall off a point or two from its course。
I'll tell you who I think are the best talkers in all probability；
said I to the Master； who； as I mentioned； was developing
interesting talent as a listener；poets who never write verses。 And
there are a good many more of these than it would seem at first
sight。 I think you may say every young lover is a poet； to begin
with。 I don't mean either that all young lovers are good talkers；
they have an eloquence all their own when they are with the beloved
object； no doubt； emphasized after the fashion the solemn bard of
Paradise refers to with such delicious humor in the passage we just
heard；but a little talk goes a good way in most of these cooing
matches； and it wouldn't do to report them too literally。 What I
mean is； that a man with the gift of musical and impassioned phrase
（and love often deeds that to a young person for a while）； who
〃wreaks〃 it； to borrow Byron's word； on conversation as the natural
outlet of his sensibilities and spiritual activities； is likely to
talk better than the poet； who plays on the instrument of verse。 A
great pianist or violinist is rarely a great singer。 To write a poem
is to expend the vital force which would have made one brilliant for
an hour or two； and to expend it on an instrument with more pipes；
reeds； keys； stops； and pedals than the Great Organ that shakes New
England every time it is played in full blast。
Do you mean that it is hard work to write a poem？said the old
Master。…I had an idea that a poem wrote itself； as it were； very
often； that it came by influx； without voluntary effort； indeed； you
have spoken of it as an inspiration rather than a result of volition。
Did you ever see a great ballet…dancer？I asked him。
I have seen Taglioni；he answered。…She used to take her steps
rather prettily。 I have seen the woman that danced the capstone on
to Bunker Hill Monument； as Orpheus moved the rocks by music； the
Elssler woman；Fanny Elssler。 She would dance you a rigadoon or cut
a pigeon's wing for you very respectably。
（Confound this old college book…worm；he has seen everything！）
Well； did these two ladies dance as if it was hard work to them？
Why no； I should say they danced as if they liked it and couldn't
help dancing； they looked as if they felt so 〃corky〃 it was hard to
keep them down。
And yet they had been through such work to get their limbs strong
and flexible and obedient； that a cart…horse lives an easy life
compared to theirs while they were in training。
The Master cut in just hereI had sprung