Let us look at these first-fruits which the bountiful Spring hangs on our
trees.
"To break the eggshell after the meat is out we are taught in our
childhood, and practise it all our lives; which, nevertheless, is but a
superstitious relict, according to the judgment of Pliny, and the intent
hereof was to prevent witch-craft [to keep the fairies out]; for lest
witches should draw or prick their names therein, and veneficiously
mischief their persons, they broke the shell, as Dalecampius hath
observed." This is what Sir Thomas Browne tells us about eggshells. And
Dr. Wren adds, "Least they [the witches] perchance might use them for
boates to sayle in by night." But I, who have no fear of witches, would not
break them,--rather use them, try what an untold variety of forms we may
make out of this delicate oval.
By a little skilful turning and reversing, putting on a handle, a lip here,
a foot there, always following the sacred oval, we shall get a countless
array of pitchers and vases, of perfect finished form, handsome enough to
be the oval for a king's name. Should they attempt to copy our rare vases
in finest Parian, alabaster, or jasper, their art would fail to hit the
delicate tints and smoothness of this fine shell; and then those dots and
dashes, careless as put on by a master's hand!
Are not these rare lines? They look to me as wise as hieroglyphics. Who
knows what rhyme and reason are written there,--what subtile wisdom rounded
into this small curve,--repeated on the breasts and backs of the
birds,--their own notes, it may be, photographed on their swelling breasts
like the musical notes on the harp-shell,--written in bright, almost
audible colors on the petals of flowers,--harmonies, melodies, for ear and
eye? Has this language, older than Erse, older than Sanscrit, ever got
translated? I am afraid, dear, the key has been turned in the lock, and
thrown into the well.
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