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out that there is a brook at a moderate distance from the trunk of
the tree； and they make for it with all their might。 They find every
crack in the rocks where there are a few grains of the nourishing
substance they care for； and insinuate themselves into its deepest
recesses。 When spring and summer come； they let their tails grow；
and delight in whisking them about in the wind； or letting them be
whisked about by it； for these tails are poor passive things； with
very little will of their own； and bend in whatever direction the
wind chooses to make them。 The leaves make a deal of noise
whispering。 I have sometimes thought I could understand them； as
they talk with each other； and that they seemed to think they made
the wind as they wagged forward and back。 Remember what I say。 The
next time you see a tree waving in the wind； recollect that it is the
tail of a great underground； many…armed； polypus…like creature； which
is as proud of its caudal appendage； especially in summer…time； as a
peacock of his gorgeous expanse of plumage。
Do you think there is anything so very odd about this idea？ Once get
it well into your heads； and you will find it renders the landscape
wonderfully interesting。 There are as many kinds of tree…tails as
there are of tails to dogs and other quadrupeds。 Study them as Daddy
Gilpin studied them in his 〃Forest Scenery；〃 but don't forget that
they are only the appendage of the underground vegetable polypus； the
true organism to which they belong。
He paused at this point； and we all drew long breaths； wondering what
was coming next。 There was no denying it； the 〃cracked Teacup〃 was
clinking a little false；so it seemed to the company。 Yet； after
all； the fancy was not delirious；the mind could follow it well
enough； let him go on。
What do you say to this？ You have heard all sorts of things said in
prose and verse about Niagara。 Ask our young Doctor there what it
reminds him of。 Is n't it a giant putting his tongue out？ How can
you fail to see the resemblance？ The continent is a great giant； and
the northern half holds the head and shoulders。 You can count the
pulse of the giant wherever the tide runs up a creek； but if you want
to look at the giant's tongue； you must go to Niagara。 If there were
such a thing as a cosmic physician； I believe he could tell the state
of the country's health； and the prospects of the mortality for the
coming season； by careful inspection of the great tongue； which
Niagara is putting out for him； and has been showing to mankind ever
since the first flint…shapers chipped their arrow…heads。 You don't
think the idea adds to the sublimity and associations of the
cataract？ I am sorry for that； but I can't help the suggestion。 It
is just as manifestly a tongue put out for inspection as if it had
Nature's own label to that effect hung over it。 I don't know whether
you can see these things as clearly as I do。 There are some people
that never see anything； if it is as plain as a hole in a grindstone；
until it is pointed out to them； and some that can't see it then； and
won't believe there is any hole till they've poked their finger
through it。 I've got a great many things to thank God for； but
perhaps most of all that I can find something to admire； to wonder
at； to set my fancy going； and to wind up my enthusiasm pretty much
everywhere。
Look here！ There are crowds of people whirled through our streets on
these new…fashioned cars； with their witch…broomsticks overhead；if
they don't come from Salem； they ought to；and not more than one in
a dozen of these fish…eyed bipeds thinks or cares a nickel's worth
about the miracle which is wrought for their convenience。 They know
that without hands or feet； without horses； without steam； so far as
they can see； they are transported from place to place； and that
there is nothing to account for it except the witch…broomstick and
the iron or copper cobweb which they see stretched above them。 What
do they know or care about this last revelation of the omnipresent
spirit of the material universe？ We ought to go down on our knees
when one of these mighty caravans； car after car； spins by us； under
the mystic impulse which seems to know not whether its train is
loaded or empty。 We are used to force in the muscles of horses； in
the expansive potency of steam； but here we have force stripped stark
naked；nothing but a filament to cover its nudity；and yet showing
its might in efforts that would task the working…beam of a ponderous
steam…engine。 I am thankful that in an age of cynicism I have not
lost my reverence。 Perhaps you would wonder to see how some very
common sights impress me。 I always take off my hat if I stop to
speak to a stone…cutter at his work。 〃Why？〃 do you ask me？ Because
I know that his is the only labor that is likely to endure。 A score
of centuries has not effaced the marks of the Greek's or the Roman's
chisel on his block of marble。 And now； before this new
manifestation of that form of cosmic vitality which we call
electricity； I feel like taking the posture of the peasants listening
to the Angelus。 How near the mystic effluence of mechanical energy
brings us to the divine source of all power and motion！ In the old
mythology； the right hand of Jove held and sent forth the lightning。
So； in the record of the Hebrew prophets； did the right hand of
Jehovah cast forth and direct it。 Was Nahum thinking of our far…off
time when he wrote； 〃The chariots shall rage in the streets； they
shall justle one against another in the broad ways： they shall seem
like torches； they shall run like the lightnings〃？
Number Seven had finished reading his paper。 Two bright spots in his
cheeks showed that he had felt a good deal in writing it； and the
flush returned as he listened to his own thoughts。 Poor old fellow！
The 〃cracked Teacup〃 of our younger wits；not yet come to their full
human sensibilities；the 〃crank〃 of vulgar tongues； the eccentric；
the seventh son of a seventh son； too often made the butt of
thoughtless pleasantry； was； after all； a fellow…creature； with flesh
and blood like the rest of us。 The wild freaks of his fancy did not
hurt us； nor did they prevent him from seeing many things justly； and
perhaps sometimes more vividly and acutely than if he were as sound
as the dullest of us。
The teaspoons tinkled loudly all round the table； as he finished
reading。 The Mistress caught her breath。 I was afraid she was going
to sob； but she took it out in vigorous stirring of her tea。 Will
you believe that I saw Number Five； with a sweet； approving smile on
her face all the time； brush her cheek with her hand…kerchief？ There
must have been a tear stealing from beneath its eyelid。 I hope
Number Seven saw it。 He is one of the two men at our table who most
need the tender looks and tones of a woman。 The Professor and I are
hors de combat； the Counsellor is busy with his cases and his
ambitions； the Doctor is probably in love with a microscope； and
flirting with pathological specimens； but Number Seven and the Tutor
are； I fear； both suffering from that worst of all famines； heart…
hunger。
Do you remember that Number Seven said he never wrote a line of
〃poetry〃 in his life； except once when he was suffering from
temporary weakness of body and mind？ That is because he is a poet。
If he had not been one； he would very certainly have taken to
tinkling rhymes。 What should you think of the probable musical
genius of a young man who was particularly fond of jingling a set of
sleigh…bells？ Should you expect him to turn out a Mozart or a
Beethoven？ Now； I think I recognize the poetical instinct in Number
Seven； however imperfect may be its expression； and however he may be
run away with at times by fantastic notions that come into his head。
If fate had allotted him a helpful companion in the shape of a loving
and intelligent wife； he might have been half cured of his
eccentricities； and we should not have had to say； in speaking of
him； 〃Poor fellow！〃 But since this cannot be； I am pleased that he
should have been so kindly treated on the occasion of the reading of
his paper。 If he saw Number Five's tear； he will certainly fall in
love with her。 No matter if he does Number Five is a kind of Circe
who does not turn the victims of her enchantment into swine； but into
lambs。 I want to see Number Seven one of her little flock。 I say
〃little。〃 I suspect it is larger than most of us know。 Anyhow； she
can spare him sympathy and kindness and encouragement enough to keep
him contented with himself and with her； and never miss the pulses of
her loving life she lends him。 It seems to be the errand of some
women to give many people as much happiness as they have any right to
in this world。 If they concentrated their affection on one； they
would give him more than any mortal could claim as his share。 I saw