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to that of threescore and ten。 The face might be an uninteresting
one； still； as sharing the inevitable changes wrought by time； it
would be worth looking at as it passed through the curve of life；
the vital parabola； which betrays itself in the symbolic changes of
the features。 An inscription is the same thing； whether we read it
on slate…stone； or granite； or marble。 To watch the lights and
shades； the reliefs and hollows； of a countenance through a lifetime；
or a large part of it； by the aid of a continuous series of
photographs would not only be curious； it would teach us much more
about the laws of physiognomy than we could get from casual and
unconnected observations。
The same kind of interest； without any assumption of merit to be
found in them； I would claim for a series of annual poems； beginning
in middle life and continued to what many of my correspondents are
pleased to remind meas if I required to have the fact brought to my
knowledgeis no longer youth。 Here is the latest of a series of
annual poems read during the last thirty…four years。 There seems to
have been one interruption； but there may have been other poems not
recorded or remembered。 This； the latest poem of the series； was
listened to by the scanty remnant of what was a large and brilliant
circle of classmates and friends when the first of the long series
was read before them； then in the flush of ardent manhood：
THE OLD SONG。
The minstrel of the classic lay
Of love and wine who sings
Still found the fingers run astray
That touched the rebel strings。
Of Cadmus he would fair have sung；
Of Atreus and his line；
But all the jocund echoes rung
With songs of love and wine。
Ah； brothers！ I would fair have caught
Some fresher fancy's gleam；
My truant accents find； unsought；
The old familiar theme。
Love； Love！ but not the sportive child
With shaft and twanging bow；
Whose random arrows drove us wild
Some threescore years ago；
Not Eros； with his joyous laugh；
The urchin blind and bare；
But Love； with spectacles and staff；
And scanty； silvered hair。
Our heads with frosted locks are white；
Our roofs are thatched with snow；
But red； in chilling winter's spite；
Our hearts and hearthstones glow。
Our old acquaintance； Time； drops in；
And while the running sands
Their golden thread unheeded spin；
He warms his frozen hands。
Stay； winged hours； too swift； too sweet；
And waft this message o'er
To all we miss； from all we meet
On life's fast…crumbling shore：
Say that to old affection true
We hug the narrowing chain
That binds our hearts；alas； how few
The links that yet remain！
The fatal touch awaits them all
That turns the rocks to dust；
》From year to year they break and fall；
They break； but never rust。
Say if one note of happier strain
This worn…out harp afford；
One throb that trembles； not in vain；
Their memory lent its chord。
Say that when Fancy closed her wings
And Passion quenched his fire；
Love； Love； still echoed from the strings
As from Anacreon's lyre！
January 8； 1885。
VII
A RECORD OF ANTIPATHIES
In thinking the whole matter over； Dr。 Butts felt convinced that；
with care and patience and watching his opportunity； he should get at
the secret； which so far bad yielded nothing but a single word。 It
might be asked why he was so anxious to learn what； from all
appearances； the young stranger was unwilling to explain。 He may
have been to some extent infected by the general curiosity of the
persons around him； in which good Mrs。 Butts shared； and which she
had helped to intensify by revealing the word dropped by Paolo。 But
this was not really his chief motive。 He could not look upon this
young man； living a life of unwholesome solitude； without a natural
desire to do all that his science and his knowledge of human nature
could help him to do towards bringing him into healthy relations with
the world about him。 Still； he would not intrude upon him in any
way。 He would only make certain general investigations； which might
prove serviceable in case circumstances should give him the right to
counsel the young man as to his course of life。 The first thing to
be done was to study systematically the whole subject of antipathies。
Then； if any further occasion offered itself； he would be ready to
take advantage of it。 The resources of the Public Library of the
place and his own private collection were put in requisition to
furnish him the singular and widely scattered facts of which he was
in search。
It is not every reader who will care to follow Dr。 Butts in his study
of the natural history of antipathies。 The stories told about them
are； however； very curious； and if some of them may be questioned；
there is no doubt that many of the strangest are true； and
consequently take away from the improbability of others which we are
disposed to doubt。
But in the first place； what do we mean by an antipathy？ It is an
aversion to some object； which may vary in degree from mere dislike
to mortal horror。 What the cause of this aversion is we cannot say。
It acts sometimes through the senses； sometimes through the
imagination； sometimes through an unknown channel。 The relations
which exist between the human being and all that surrounds him vary
in consequence of some adjustment peculiar to each individual。 The
brute fact is expressed in the phrase 〃One man's meat is another
man's poison。〃
In studying the history of antipathies the doctor began with those
referable to the sense of taste； which are among the most common。 In
any collection of a hundred persons there will be found those who
cannot make use of certain articles of food generally acceptable。
This may be from the disgust they occasion or the effects they have
been found to produce。 Every one knows individuals who cannot
venture on honey； or cheese； or veal； with impunity。 Carlyle； for
example； complains of having veal set before him；a meat he could
not endure。 There is a whole family connection in New England； and
that a very famous one； to many of whose members； in different
generations； all the products of the dairy are the subjects of a
congenital antipathy。 Montaigne says there are persons who dread the
smell of apples more than they would dread being exposed to a fire of
musketry。 The readers of the charming story 〃A Week in a French
Country…House〃 will remember poor Monsieur Jacque's piteous cry in
the night： 〃Ursula； art thou asleep？ Oh； Ursula； thou sleepest； but
I cannot close my eyes。 Dearest Ursula； there is such a dreadful
smell！ Oh； Ursula； it is such a smell！ I do so wish thou couldst
smell it！ Good…night； my angel！Dearest！ I have found them！
They are apples！ 〃The smell of roses； of peonies； of lilies； has
been known to cause faintness。 The sight of various objects has had
singular effects on some persons。 A boar's head was a favorite dish
at the table of great people in Marshal d'Albret's time； yet he used
to faint at the sight of one。 It is not uncommon to meet with
persons who faint at the sight of blood。 One of the most
inveterately pugnacious of Dr。 Butts's college…mates confessed that
he had this infirmity。 Stranger and far more awkward than this is
the case mentioned in an ancient collection； where the subject of the
antipathy fainted at the sight of any object of a red color。 There
are sounds； also； which have strange effects on some individuals。
Among the obnoxious noises are the crumpling of silk stuffs； the
sound of sweeping； the croaking of frogs。 The effects in different
cases have been spasms； a sense of strangling； profuse sweating；all
showing a profound disturbance of the nervous system。
All these effects were produced by impressions on the organs of
sense； seemingly by direct agency on certain nerve centres。 But
there is another series of cases in which the imagination plays a
larger part in the phenomena。 Two notable examples are afforded in
the lives of two very distinguished personages。
Peter the Great was frightened； when an infant； by falling from a
bridge into the water。 Long afterward； when he had reached manhood；
this hardy and resolute man was so affected by the sound of wheels
rattling over a bridge that he had to discipline himself by listening
to the sound； in spite of his dread of it； in order to overcome his
antipathy。 The story told by Abbe Boileau of Pascal is very similar
to that related of Peter。 As he was driving in his coach and four
over the bridge at Neuilly； his horses took fright and ran away； and
the leaders broke from their harness and sprang into the river；
leaving the wheel…horses and the carriage on the bridge。 Ever after
this fright it is said that Pascal had the terrifying sense that he
was just on the edge of an abyss； ready to fall over。
What st