It was brief, and at
another time would have been written and revised in half a day; but in
his enfeebled condition it was with the utmost difficulty that he
could satisfy himself. He worked at it patiently day after day, until
his labor became a pain; nevertheless, he continued, and won what he
deserved--the applause of men practiced in his art who were there to
listen and appreciate.
Any record of Dr. Holmes's life would be imperfect which contained no
mention of the pride and pleasure he felt in the Saturday Club.
Throughout the forty years of its prime he was not only the most
brilliant talker of that distinguished company, but he was also the
most faithful attendant. He was seldom absent from the monthly dinners
either in summer or in winter, and he lived to find himself at the
head of the table where Agassiz, Longfellow, Emerson, and Lowell had
in turn preceded him. Could a shorthand writer have been secretly
present at those dinners, what a delightful book of wise talk and
witty sayings would now lie open before us! Fragments of the good
things were sometimes brought away, as loving parents bring sugar-
plums from a feast to the children at home; but they are only
fragments, and bear out but inefficiently the reputation which has run
before them. The following pathetic incident, related on one of those
occasions by Dr. Holmes, need not, however, be omitted:--
"Just forty years ago," he said one day, "I was whipped at school for
a slight offense--whipped with a ferule right across my hands, so that
I went home with a blue mark where the blood had settled, and for a
fortnight my hands were stiff and swollen from the blows.
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