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and take out any manuscript it may contain。 If conversation is going
on and the company are in a talking mood； I replace the manuscript or
manuscripts； clap on the cover； and wait until there is a moment's
quiet before taking it off again。 I might guess the writers
sometimes by the handwriting； but there is more trouble taken to
disguise the chirography than I choose to take to identify it as that
of any particular member of our company。
The turn the conversation took； especially the slashing onslaught of
Number Seven on the writers of verse； set me thinking and talking
about the matter。 Number Five turned on the stream of my discourse
by a question。
〃You receive a good many volumes of verse； do you not？〃 she said；
with a look which implied that she knew I did。
I certainly do； I answered。 My table aches with them。 My shelves
groan with them。 Think of what a fuss Pope made about his trials；
when he complained that
〃All Bedlam or Parnassus is let out〃！
What were the numbers of the
〃Mob of gentlemen who wrote with ease〃
to that great multitude of contributors to our magazines； and authors
of little volumessometimes； alas！ big onesof verse； which pour
out of the press； not weekly； but daily； and at such a rate of
increase that it seems as if before long every hour would bring a
book； or at least an article which is to grow into a book by and by？
I thanked Heaven； the other day； that I was not a critic。 These
attenuated volumes of poetry in fancy bindings open their covers at
one like so many little unfledged birds； and one does so long to drop
a worm in；a worm in the shape of a kind word for the poor
fledgling！ But what a desperate business it is to deal with this
army of candidates for immortality！ I have often had something to
say about them； and I may be saying over the same things； but if I do
not remember what I have said； it is not very likely that my reader
will； if he does； he will find； I am very sure； that I say it a
little differently。
What astonishes me is that this enormous mass of commonplace verse；
which burdens the postman who brings it； which it is a serious task
only to get out of its wrappers and open in two or three places； is
on the whole of so good an average quality。 The dead level of
mediocrity is in these days a table…land； a good deal above the old
sea…level of laboring incapacity。 Sixty years ago verses made a
local reputation； which verses； if offered today to any of our first…
class magazines； would go straight into the waste…basket。 To write
〃poetry〃 was an art and mystery in which only a few noted men and a
woman or two were experts。
When 〃Potter the ventriloquist；〃 the predecessor of the well…
remembered Signor Blitz； went round giving his entertainments； there
was something unexplained； uncanny； almost awful； and beyond dispute
marvellous； in his performances。 Those watches that disappeared and
came back to their owners； those endless supplies of treasures from
empty hats； and especially those crawling eggs that travelled all
over the magician's person； sent many a child home thinking that Mr。
Potter must have ghostly assistants； and raised grave doubts in the
minds of 〃professors；〃 that is members of the church； whether they
had not compromised their characters by being seen at such an
unhallowed exhibition。 Nowadays； a clever boy who has made a study
of parlor magic can do many of those tricks almost as well as the
great sorcerer himself。 How simple it all seems when we have seen
the mechanism of the deception！
It is just so with writing in verse。 It was not understood that
everybody can learn to make poetry； just as they can learn the more
difficult tricks of juggling。 M。 Jourdain's discovery that he had
been speaking and writing prose all his life is nothing to that of
the man who finds out in middle life； or even later； that he might
have been writing poetry all his days； if he had only known how
perfectly easy and simple it is。 Not everybody； it is true； has a
sufficiently good ear； a sufficient knowledge of rhymes and capacity
for handling them； to be what is called a poet。 I doubt whether more
than nine out of ten； in the average； have that combination of gifts
required for the writing of readable verse。
This last expression of opinion created a sensation among The
Teacups。 They looked puzzled for a minute。 One whispered to the
next Teacup； 〃More than nine out of ten！ I should think that was a
pretty liberal allowance。〃
Yes； I continued； perhaps ninety…nine in a hundred would come nearer
to the mark。 I have sometimes thought I might consider it worth
while to set up a school for instruction in the art。 〃Poetry taught
in twelve lessons。〃 Congenital idiocy is no disqualification。
Anybody can write 〃poetry。〃 It is a most unenviable distinction to
leave published a thin volume of verse； which nobody wanted； nobody
buys； nobody reads； nobody cares for except the author； who cries
over its pathos； poor fellow； and revels in its beauties； which he
has all to himself。 Come！ who will be my pupils in a Course；Poetry
taught in twelve lessons？ That made a laugh； in which most of The
Teacups； myself included； joined heartily。 Through it all I heard
the sweet tones of Number Five's caressing voice； not because it was
more penetrating or louder than the others； for it was low and soft；
but it was so different from the others； there was so much more
life；the life of sweet womanhood；dissolved in it。
（Of course he will fall in love with her。 〃He？ Who？〃 Why； the
newcomer； the Counsellor。 Did I not see his eyes turn toward her as
the silvery notes rippled from her throat？ Did they not follow her
in her movements； as she turned her tread this or that way？
What nonsense for me to be arranging matters between two people
strangers to each other before to…day！）
〃A fellow writes in verse when he has nothing to say； and feels too
dull and silly to say it in prose；〃 said Number Seven。
This made us laugh again； good…naturedly。 I was pleased with a kind
of truth which it seemed to me to wrap up in its rather startling
affirmation。 I gave a piece of advice the other day which I said I
thought deserved a paragraph to itself。 It was from a letter I wrote
not long ago to an unknown young correspondent； who had a longing for
seeing himself in verse but was not hopelessly infatuated with the
idea that he was born a 〃poet。〃 〃When you write in prose；〃 I said；
〃you say what you mean。 When you write in verse you say what you
must。〃 I was thinking more especially of rhymed verse。 Rhythm alone
is a tether； and not a very long one。 But rhymes are iron fetters；
it is dragging a chain and ball to march under their incumbrance； it
is a clog…dance you are figuring in； when you execute your metrical
pas seul。 Consider under what a disadvantage your thinking powers
are laboring when you are