As to the course of the conversations which would take place, very little could be guessed beforehand.  Various subjects of interest would be likely to present themselves, without definite order, oftentimes abruptly and, as it would seem, capriciously.  Conversation in such a mixed company as that of “The Teacups” is likely to be suggestive rather than exhaustive.  Continuous discourse is better adapted to the lecture-room than to the tea-table.  There is quite enough of it, I fear too much,—­in these pages.  But the reader must take the reports of our talks as they were jotted down.  A patchwork quilt is not like a piece of Gobelin tapestry; but it has its place and its use.

Some will feel a temptation to compare these conversations with those earlier ones, and remark unamiably upon their difference.  This is hardly fair, and is certainly not wise.  They are produced under very different conditions, and betray that fact in every line.  It is better to take them by themselves; and, if my reader finds anything to please or profit from, I shall be contented, and he, I feel sure, will not be ungrateful.

The readers who take up this volume may recollect a series of conversations held many years ago over the breakfast-table, and reported for their more or less profitable entertainment.  Those were not very early breakfasts at which the talks took place, but at any rate the sun was rising, and the guests had not as yet tired themselves with the labors of the day.  The morning cup of coffee has an exhilaration about it which the cheering influence of the afternoon or evening cup of tea cannot be expected to reproduce.  The toils of the forenoon, the heats of midday, in the warm season, the slanting light of the descending sun, or the sobered translucency of twilight have subdued the vivacity of the early day.  Yet under the influence of the benign stimulant many trains of thought which will bear recalling, may suggest themselves to some of our quiet circle and prove not uninteresting to a certain number of readers.

How early many of my old breakfast companions went off to bed!  I am thinking not merely of those who sat round our table, but of that larger company of friends who listened to our conversations as reported.  Dear girl with the silken ringlets, dear boy with the down-shadowed cheek, your grandfather, your grandmother, turned over the freshly printed leaves that told the story of those earlier meetings around the plain board where so many things were said and sung, not all of which have quite faded from memory of this overburdened and forgetful time.  Your father, your mother, found the scattered leaves gathered in a volume, and smiled upon them as not uncompanionable acquaintances.  My tea-table makes no promises.  There is no programme of exercises to studied beforehand.  What if I should content myself with a single report of what was said and done over our teacups?  Perhaps my young reader would be glad to let me off, for there are talkers enough who have not yet left their breakfast-tables; and nobody can blame the young people for preferring the thoughts and the language of their own generation, with all its future before it, to those of their grandfathers contemporaries.