world. Frenchmen - you remember the line about Paris, the Court,
the World, etc. - I recollect well, by the way, a sign in that

city which ran thus: "Hotel l'Univers et des Etats Unis"; and as
Paris IS the universe to a Frenchman, of course the United States

are outside of it. - "See Naples and then die." - It is quite as
bad with smaller places. I have been about, lecturing, you know,

and have found the following propositions to hold true of all of
them.

1. The axis of the earth sticks out visibly through the centre of
each and every town or city.

2. If more than fifty years have passed since its foundation, it
is affectionately styled by the inhabitants the "GOOD OLD town of"

- (whatever its name may happen to be.)
3. Every collection of its inhabitants that comes together to

listen to a stranger is invariably declared to be a "remarkably
intelligent audience."

4. The climate of the place is particularly favorable to
longevity.

5. It contains several persons of vast talent little known to the
world. (One or two of them, you may perhaps chance to remember,

sent short pieces to the "Pactolian" some time since, which were
"respectfully declined.")

Boston is just like other places of its size; - only perhaps,
considering its excellent fish-market, paid fire-department,

superior monthly publications, and correct habit of spelling the
English language, it has some right to look down on the mob of

cities. I'll tell you, though, if you want to know it, what is the
real offence of Boston. It drains a large water-shed of its

intellect, and will not itself be drained. If it would only send
away its first-rate men, instead of its second-rate ones, (no

offence to the well-known exceptions, of which we are always
proud,) we should be spared such epigrammatic remarks as that which

the gentleman has quoted. There can never be a real metropolis in
this country, until the biggest centre can drain the lesser ones of

their talent and wealth. - I have observed, by the way, that the
people who really live in two great cities are by no means so

jealous of each other, as are those of smaller cities situated
within the intellectual" target="_blank" title="n.知识分子">intellectual basin, or SUCTION-RANGE, of one large one,

of the pretensions of any other. Don't you see why? Because their
promising young author and rising lawyer and large capitalist have

been drained off to the neighboring big city, - their prettiest
girl has been exported to the same market; all their ambition

points there, and all their thin gilding of glory comes from there.
I hate little toad-eating cities.

- Would I be so good as to specify any particular example? - Oh, -
an example? Did you ever see a bear-trap? Never? Well, shouldn't

you like to see me put my foot into one? With sentiments of the
highest consideration I must beg leave to be excused.

Besides, some of the smaller cities are charming. If they have an
old church or two, a few stately mansions of former grandees, here

and there an old dwelling with the second story projecting, (for
the convenience of shooting the Indians knocking at the front-door

with their tomahawks,) - if they have, scattered about, those
mighty square houses built something more than half a century ago,

and standing like architectural boulders dropped by the former
diluvium of wealth, whose refluent wave has left them as its

monument, - if they have gardens with elbowed apple-trees that push
their branches over the high board-fence and drop their fruit on

the side-walk, - if they have a little grass in the side-streets,
enough to betoken quiet without proclaiming decay, - I think I

could go to pieces, after my life's work were done, in one of those
tranquil places, as sweetly as in any cradle that an old man may be

rocked to sleep in. I visit such spots always with infinite
delight. My friend, the Poet, says, that rapidly growing towns are

most unfavorable to the imaginative and reflective faculties. Let
a man live in one of these old quiet places, he says, and the wine

of his soul, which is kept thick and turbid by the rattle of busy
streets, settles, and, as you hold it up, you may see the sun

through it by day and the stars by night.
- Do I think that the little villages have the conceit of the great

towns? - I don't believe there is much difference. You know how
they read Pope's line in the smallest town in our State of

Massachusetts? - Well, they read it
"All are but parts of one stupendous HULL!"

- Every person's feelings have a front-door and a side-door by
which they may be entered. The front-door is on the street. Some

keep it always open; some keep it latched; some, locked; some,
bolted, - with a chain that will let you peep in, but not get in;

and some nail it up, so that nothing can pass its threshold. This
front-door leads into a passage which opens into an ante-room, and

this into the inferior apartments. The side-door opens at once
into the sacred chambers.

There is almost always at least one key to this side-door. This is
carried for years hidden in a mother's bosom. Fathers, brothers,

sisters, and friends, often, but by no means so universally, have
duplicates of it. The wedding-ring conveys a right to one; alas,

if none is given with it!
If nature or accident has put one of these keys into the hands of a

person who has the torturing instinct, I can only solemnly
pronounce the words that Justice utters over its doomed victim, -

THE LORD HAVE MERCY ON YOUR SOUL! You will probably go mad within
a reasonable time, - or, if you are a man, run off and die with

your head on a curb-stone, in Melbourne or San Francisco, - or, if
you are a woman, quarrel and break your heart, or turn into a pale,

jointed petrifaction that moves about as if it were alive, or play
some real life-tragedy or other.

Be very careful to whom you trust one of these keys of the side-
door. The fact of possessing one renders those even who are dear

to you very terrible at times. You can keep the world out from
your front-door, or receive visitors only when you are ready for

them; but those of your own flesh and blood, or of certain grades
of intimacy, can come in at the side-door, if they will, at any

hour and in any mood. Some of them have a scale of your whole
nervous system, and can play all the gamut of your sensibilities in

semitones, - touching the naked nerve-pulps as a pianist strikes
the keys of his instrument. I am satisfied that there are as great

masters of this nerve-playing as Vieuxtemps or Thalberg in their
lines of performance. Married life is the school in which the most

accomplished artists in this department are found. A delicate
woman is the best instrument; she has such a magnificentcompass of

sensibilities! From the deep inward moan which follows pressure on
the great nerves of right, to the sharp cry as the filaments of

taste are struck with a crashing sweep, is a range which no other
instrument possesses. A few exercises on it daily at home fit a

man wonderfully for his habitual labors, and refresh him immensely
as he returns from them. No stranger can get a great many notes of

torture out of a human soul; it takes one that knows it well, -
parent, child, brother, sister, intimate. Be very careful to whom

you give a side-door key; too many have them already.
- You remember the old story of the tender-hearted man, who placed

a frozen viper in his bosom, and was stung by it when it became
thawed? If we take a cold-blooded creature into our bosom, better

that it should sting us and we should die than that its chill
should slowly steal into our hearts; warm it we never can! I have

seen faces of women that were fair to look upon, yet one could see
that the icicles were forming round these women's hearts. I knew

what freezing image lay on the white breasts beneath the laces!
A very simple INTELLECTUAL mechanism answers the necessities of

friendship, and even of the most intimate relations of life. If a
watch tells us the hour and the minute, we can be content to carry