letters on literature-第15部分

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！


or　a　Greek；　could　have　written　this　on　Catullus：





〃Tell　me　not　what　too　well　I　know

About　the　Bard　of　Sirmio　…

Yes；　in　Thalia's　son

Such　stains　there　are　as　when　a　Grace

Sprinkles　another's　laughing　face

With　nectar；　and　runs　on！〃





That　is　poetry　deserving　of　a　place　among　the　rarest　things　in　the

Anthology。　　It　is　a　sorrow　to　me　that　I　cannot　quite　place　Praed

with　Prior　in　my　affections。　　With　all　his　gaiety　and　wit；　he

wearies　one　at　last　with　that　clever；　punning　antithesis。　　I　don't

want　to　know　how





〃Captain　Hazard　wins　a　bet；

Or　Beaulieu　spoils　a　curry〃　…





and　I　prefer　his　sombre　〃Red　Fisherman；〃　the　idea　of　which　is

borrowed；　wittingly　or　unwittingly；　from　Lucian。



Thackeray；　too　careless　in　his　measures；　yet　comes　nearer　Prior　in

breadth　of　humour　and　in　unaffected　tenderness。　　Who　can　equal　that

song；　〃Once　you　come　to　Forty　Year；〃　or　the　lines　on　the　Venice

Love…lamp；　or　the　〃Cane…bottomed　Chair〃？　　Of　living　English　writers

of　verse　in　the　〃familiar　style；〃　as　Cowper　has　it；　I　prefer　Mr。

Locker　when　he　is　tender　and　not　untouched　with　melancholy；　as　in

〃The　Portrait　of　a　Lady；〃　and　Mr。　Austin　Dobson；　when　he　is　not

flirting；　but　in　earnest；　as　in　the　〃Song　of　Four　Seasons〃　and　〃The

Dead　Letter。〃　　He　has　ingenuity；　pathos；　mastery　of　his　art；　and；

though　the　least　pedantic　of　poets；　is　〃conveniently　learned。〃



Of　contemporary　Americans；　if　I　may　be　frank；　I　prefer　the　verse　of

Mr。　Bret　Harte；　verse　with　so　many　tunes　and　turns；　as　comic　as　the

〃Heathen　Chinee；〃　as　tender　as　the　lay　of　the　ship　with　its　crew　of

children　that　slipped　its　moorings　in　the　fog。　　To　me　it　seems　that

Mr。　Bret　Harte's　poems　have　never　（at　least　in　this　country）　been

sufficiently　esteemed。　　Mr。　Lowell　has　written　（〃The　Biglow　Papers〃

apart）　but　little　in　this　vein。　　Mr。　Wendell　Holmes；　your　delightful

godfather；　Gifted；　has　written　much　with　perhaps　some　loss　from　the

very　quantity。　　A　little　of　vers　de　societe；　my　dear　Gifted；　goes　a

long　way；　as　you　will　think；　if　ever　you　sit　down　steadily　to　read

right　through　any　collection　of　poems　in　this　manner。　　So　do　not　add

too　rapidly　to　your　own　store；　let　them　be　〃few；　but　roses〃　all　of

them。










ON　BOOKS　ABOUT　RED　MEN







To　Richard　Wilby；　Esq。；　Eton　College；　Windsor。



My　Dear　Dick；It　is　very　good　of　you；　among　your　severe　studies　at

Eton；　to　write　to　your　Uncle。　　I　am　extremely　pleased　to　hear　that

your　football　is　appreciated　in　the　highest　circles；　and　shall　be

happy　to　have　as　good　an　account　of　your　skill　in　making　Latin

verses。



I　am　glad　you　like　〃She；〃　Mr。　Rider　Haggard's　book　which　I　sent　you。

It　is　〃something　like；〃　as　you　say；　and　I　quite　agree　with　you；　both

in　being　in　love　with　the　heroine；　and　in　thinking　that　she　preaches

rather　too　much。　　But；　then；　as　she　was　over　two　thousand　years　old；

and　had　lived　for　most　of　that　time　among　cannibals；　who　did　not

understand　her；　one　may　excuse　her　for　〃jawing；〃　as　you　say；　a　good

deal；　when　she　met　white　men。　　You　want　to　know　if　〃She〃　is　a　true

story。　　Of　course　it　is！



But　you　have　read　〃She；〃　and　you　have　read　all　Cooper's；　and

Marryat's；　and　Mr。　Stevenson's　books；　and　〃Tom　Sawyer；〃　and

〃Huckleberry　Finn；〃　several　times。　　So　have　I；　and　am　quite　ready　to

begin　again。　　But；　to　my　mind；　books　about　〃Red　Indians〃　have　always

seemed　much　the　most　interesting。　　At　your　age；　I　remember；　I　bought

a　tomahawk；　and；　as　we　had　also　lots　of　spears　and　boomerangs　from

Australia；　the　poultry　used　to　have　rather　a　rough　time　of　it。



I　never　could　do　very　much　with　a　boomerang；　but　I　could　throw　a

spear　to　a　hair's　breadth；　as　many　a　chicken　had　occasion　to

discover。　　When　you　go　home　for　Christmas　I　hope　you　will　remember

that　all　this　was　very　wrong；　and　that　you　will　consider　we　are

civilized　people；　not　Mohicans；　nor　Pawnees。　　I　also　made　a　stone

pipe；　like　Hiawatha's；　but　I　never　could　drill　a　hole　in　the　stem；

so　it　did　not　〃draw〃　like　a　civilized　pipe。



By　way　of　an　awful　warning　to　you　on　this　score；　and　also；　as　you

say　you　want　a　true　book　about　Red　Indians；　let　me　recommend　to　you

the　best　book　about　them　I　ever　came　across。　　It　is　called　〃A

Narrative　of　the　Captivity　and　Adventures　of　John　Tanner；　during

Thirty　Years'　Residence　among　the　Indians；〃　and　it　was　published　at

New　York　by　Messrs。　Carvill；　in　1830。



If　I　were　an　American　publisher；　instead　of　a　British　author　（how　I

wish　I　was！）　I'd　publish　〃John　Tanner〃　again；　or　perhaps　cut　a　good

deal　out；　and　make　a　boy's　book　of　it。　　You　are　not　likely　to　get　it

to　buy；　but　Mr。　Steevens；　the　American　bookseller；　has　found　me　a

copy。　　If　I　lend　you　it；　will　you　be　kind　enough　to　illustrate　it　on

separate　sheets　of　paper；　and　not　make　drawings　on　the　pages　of　the

book？　　This　will；　in　the　long　run；　be　more　satisfactory　to　yourself；

as　you　will　be　able　to　keep　your　pictures；　for　I　want　〃John　Tanner〃

back　again：　　and　don't　lend　him　to　your　fag…master。



Tanner　was　born　about　1780；　he　lived　in　Kentucky。　　Don't　you　wish

you　had　lived　in　Kentucky　in　Colonel　Boone's　time？　　The　Shawnees

were　roaming　about　the　neighbourhood　when　Tanner　was　a　little　boy。

His　uncle　scalped　one　of　them。　　This　made　bad　feeling　between　the

Tanners　and　the　Shawnees；　but　John；　like　any　boy　of　spirit；　wished

never　to　learn　lessons；　and　wanted　to　be　an　Indian　brave。　　He　soon

had　more　of　being　a　brave　than　he　liked；　but　he　never　learned　any

more　lessons；　and　could　not　even　read　or　write。



One　day　John's　father　told　him　not　to　leave　the　house；　because　from

the　movements　of　the　horses；　he　knew　that　Indians　were　in　the　woods。

So　John　seized　the　first　chance　and　nipped　out；　and　ran　to　a　walnut

tree　in　one　of　the　fields；　where　he　began　filling　his　straw　hat　with

walnuts。　　At　that　very　moment　he　was　caught　by　two　Indians；　who

spilled　the　nuts；　put　his　hat　on　his　head；　and　bolted　with　him。　　One

of　the　old　women　of　the　tribe　had　lost　her　son；　and　wanted　to　adopt

a　boy；　and　so　they　adopted　Johnny　Tanner。　　They　ran　with　him　till　he

was　out　of　breath；　till　they　reached　the　Ohio；　where　they　threw　him

into　a　canoe；　paddled　across；　and　set　off　running　again。



In　ten　days'　hard　marching　they　reached　the　camp；　and　it　was　worse

than　going　to　a　new　school；　for　all　the　Indians　kicked　John　Tanner

about；　and　〃their　dance；〃　he　says；　〃was　brisk　and　cheerful；　after

the　manner　of　the　scalp　dance！〃　　Cheerful　for　John！　　He　had　to　lie

between　the　fire　and　the　door　of　the　lodge；　and　every　one　who　passed

gave　him　a　kick。　　One　old　man　was　particularly　cruel。　　When　Tanner

was　grown　up；　he　came　back　to　that　neighbourhood；　and　the　first

thing　he　asked　was；　〃Where　is　Manito…o…geezhik？〃



〃Dead；　two　months　since。〃



〃It　is　well　that　he　is　dead；〃　said　John　Tanner。　　But　an　old　female

chief；　Net…ko…kua；　adopted　him；　and　now　it　began　to　be　fun。　　For　he

was　sent　to　shoot　game　for　the　family。　　Could　anything　be　more

delightful？　　His　first　shot　was　at　pigeons；　with　a　pistol。　　The

pistol　knocked　down　Tanner；　but　it　also　knocked　down　the　pigeon。　　He

then　caught　martinsand　measles；　which　was　less　entertaining。　　Even

Indians　have　measles！　　But　even　hunting　is　not　altogether　fun；　when

you　start　with　no　breakfast　and　have　no　chance　of　supper　unless　you

kill　game。



The　other　Red　Indian　books；　especially　the　cheap　ones；　don't　tell

you　that　very　often　the　Indians　are　more　than　half…starved。　　Then

some　one　builds　a　magic　lodge；　and　prays　to　the　Great　Spirit。

Tanner　often　did　this；　and　he　would　then　dream　how　the　Great　Spirit

appeared　to　him　as　a　beautiful　young　man；　and　told　him　where　he

would　find　game；　and　prophesied　other　events　in　his　life。　　It　is

curious　to　see　a　white　man　taking　to　the　Indian　religion；　and　having

exactly　the　same　sort　of　visions　as　their　red　converts　described　to

the　Jesuit　fathers　nearly　two　hundred　years　before。



Tanner　saw　some　Indian　ghosts；　too；　when　he　grew　up。　　On　the　bank　of

the　Little　Saskawjewun　there　was　a　capital　camping…place　where　the

Indians　never　camped。　　It　was　called　Jebingneezh…o…shin…naut〃the

place　of　two　Dead　Men。〃　　Two　Indians　of　the　same　totem　had　killed

each　other　there。　　Now；　their　totem　was　that　which　Tanner　bore；　the

totem　of　his　adopted　Indian　mother。　　The　story　was　that　if　any　man

camped　there；　the　ghosts　would　come　out　of　their　graves；　and　that

was　just　what　happened。　　Tanner　made　the　experiment；　he　camped　and

fell　asleep。　　〃Very　soon　I　saw　the　two　dead　men　come　and　sit　down　by

my　fire　opposite　me。　　I　got　up　and　sat　opposite　them　by　the　fire；

and　in　this　position　I　awoke。〃　　Perhaps　he　fell　asleep　again；　for　he

now　saw　the　two　dead　men；　who　sat　opposite　to　him；　and　laughed　and

poked　fun　and　sticks　at　him。　　He　could　neither　speak　nor　run　away。

One　of　them　showed　him　a　horse　on　a　hill；　and　said；　〃There；　my

brother；　is　a　horse　I　give　you　to　ride　on　your　journey　home；　and　on

your　way　you　can　call　and　leave　the　horse；　and　spend　another　night

with　us。〃　　So；　next　morning；　he　found　the　horse　and　rode　it；　but　he

did　not　spend　another　night　with　the　ghosts　of　his　own　totem。　　He

had　seen　enough　of　them。



Though　Tanner　believed　in　his　own　dreams　of　the　Great　Spirit；　he　did

not　believe　in　those　of　his　Indian　mother。　　He　thought　she　used　to

prowl　about　in　the　daytime；　find　tracks　of　a　bear　or　deer；　watch

where　they　went　to；　and　then　say　the　beast's　lair　had　been　revealed

to　her　in　a　dream。　　But　Tanner's　own　visions　were　〃honest　Injun。〃

Once；　in　a　hard　winter；　Tanner　played　a　trick　on　the　old　woman。　　All

the　food　they　had　was　a　quart　of　frozen　bears'　grease；　kept　in　a

kettle　with　a　skin　fastened　over　it。　　But　Tanner　caught　a　rabbit

alive　and　popped　him　under　the　skin。　　So　when　the　old　woman　went　for

the　bears'　grease　in　the　morning；　and　found　it　alive；　she　was　not　a

little　alarmed。



But　does　not　the　notion　of　living　on　frozen　pomatum　rather　take　the

gilt　off　the　delight　of　being　an　Indian？　　The　o