hinges, perhaps, on Turkey. But he is a man; there is no boyhood about it. Or, perhaps, the chief interest hinges upon some of Geo. Macdonald’s theories of parental training. If so, Ranald Bannerman is a nonentity—nothing but a foil for his father. In that case, the book may. be very instructive to parents, and indeed to everybody, and may be very valuable. But it is a poor attempt at a novel. You may think, however, that I am very cheeky in “talking so much about a book that I have not read and I guess I am. So I will take it back. (Dec. 10). Charles Kingsley is nice. I read his “Westward Ho,” coming over on the Ella. It is full of the author, and displays his hobbies to the utmost advantage, which is manly Christianity. A very common hobby with Englishmen. Being a kind of reaction, which does not exist in America, for here, we never thought it particularly brave and manly to fight, and never made a God of muscle, so that we never need to write books to prove that a man may refuse to fight and yet not be a coward, like Thomas Hughes. However the book presents a fine picture of the Elizabethan, which the author thinks a heroic age. The characters are better than the book. Some of them are really very noble, and the book is written with so much enthusiasm, and such an ardent admiration and sympathy with nature. In fact enthusiasm is the principal element of the work, and it is so sincere that you cannot help being stirred yourself. So I have a weakness for Westward Ho. My memory of it is full of bright pictures, pictures of a beautiful coast with lofty cliffs, and shelving beaches, bronzed sailors, and fierce sea fights, and fine pictures of the tropics. In parts it is great. And the best adjective to apply to the whole is noble. If you like Kingsley I should advise you to read it, if you have not already done so. The steamer came day before yesterday, bringing a letter from you, for which I was much obliged. Reky had I believe eight letters. But he ought to get more than I, for he writes more. However I think I write quite as much as desirable. Ida M. Jim Julia, and Ida B. and Will, owe me letters. However I did not write to them so as to get a letter out of them, for I know they are all busy or sick or something. Have you read Wilfred Cumbermede? I think you told me you had not for a long time. Before you pass final judgment on Geo. Macdonald you must read that. It is altogether the finest that I have read, in my estimation. However, some of his I cannot compare because I read them when so young. It has been my great misfortune to read a vast number of fine novels when too young to appreciate them. However, I suppose that is better than to read a lot of trash. Wilfred Cumbermede is one of those books that I spoke of, where Geo. Macdonald does not follow the beaten track, and here I admire him wholly. The friendship between Wilfred and Charley is fine. A strong friendship is a beautiful thing, and I wonder that poets and novelists don’t give us more of it. How provoking it is that I should have come away just as all the improvements are being introduced. How I should like to see Will’s new house. Fred’s room and the library must be like the octagon room that you girls had at the Falls of the Giessbach. What a glorious place that was!
Love to everybody,
HENRY.
OBERLIN, Thursday, December 9, ’80
DEAREST MOTHER,
The Island mail came yesterday, bringing a good long letter from you, and one from Helen. Many thanks. It must be rather lonesome in the big house now, with nobody there but you and Father and Helen. By the way will you convey my aloha to Ah Yung and Laurence. I suppose they are both there yet. But to business. You ask me as to books. A good many of them, the most of them, I left on purpose. But there are a few which I meant to bring which I did not. For instance some of the Guide books. Especially Baedeker’s, Paris, and Switzerland, and Italy, if that is there. I feel completely lost without the Switzerland. I never can finish my Journal without that and the “Paris.” To be sure, I don’t suppose that I would finish it anyway. But I might if I had the books. For sometimes I long to very much. I don’t think I ever borrowed any book of C. . . A. . . I remember one night I was up to his house, and he persisted in offering me the loan of about every book that he owned, but I am quite certain that I refused them all. What I could have possibly wanted of any May Martyn, or any other Martyn girl, I can’t imagine. Rex has not met any friends of his grandmother that I know of. Mrs. Ellis is very anxious to see him but we have not called there yet, though we went once when they were away from home. I hope that we will go before long though. Mrs. Jewett has got a Bro. here 14 years old, about. He left the Islands ten years ago. Tell me all about him please. I have a vague remembrance of some Gulick boys whom I used to go and see, and whom you always used to hold up to me as models of virtue which I was to imitate. But I can’t remember whether they could lick me or I them. However this chap has two brothers. I believe one about 19 years old, who is at College in the East. Miss R. . . sends her love and thanks you for all the kindnesses you have done her. I know the way Uncle gave me the message it was a good deal nicer than that but I have forgotten just what it was. I know it quite touched me and made me feel that gratitude was a pretty nice thing. I know that lots of your friends have sent messages to you, but I have forgotten them and the messages both. It all goes in at one ear and comes out at the other. But I know that lots of messages have been given me. I shall put it down as Oberlin sends you its love. It will be a long while before you are forgotten here. Besides you will be back in two years from next spring, anyway. It doesn’t seem long, does it? And it won’t be.. I notice in your letter that you hope Carrie and I can get together somewhere and spend the vacation together. I suppose you mean summer vacation. I have given up Boston this winter of course. For in your letter before this last you said, “I suppose your Father has written you not to go to Boston this winter”. He didn’t write as it happens, but I took it that that settled the matter. So I stay in Oberlin this vacation. But I shall have enough to keep me busy. Geo. Mead and I propose to read a little Greek out together for amusement. Last night was the Oratorical contest. It was pretty good. This is a very pleasant term’s work both in Latin and Greek. In the latter we have been reading Homer, and are now at the Lyric Poets, both of which are fine, and in Latin we have read about 90 pages of Tacitus. He is the finest prose writer that we have read. I enjoy it immensely. My health is first class. I am not troubled with the blues. With love to all,
I am your affectionate Son,
HENRY.
OBERLIN, Wednesday, December 29, ’80.
DEAR FATHER,
I received your good letter sent by the Ho Chung last week. It was very welcome. It found me sick with a cold, and cheered me right up. I had just been wishing that I might have some mail from home, but was without the least hope of it. So it was a very pleasant surprise. The cold that I spoke of, was really quite a bad one for me. But by care and a little of Auntie’s doctoring, I have been enabled to throw it off very rapidly. I shall take excellent care of myself, so that you need not have the least fear for me. I shall not neglect to wear my overcoat, whenever it is the least cold. I am too little fond of cold weather to care to expose myself. It has been quite warm for the greater part of this month, but it has now set in cold again, and this morning the thermometer stood at 10 degrees below zero. We have made some slight change in our arrangement here. I now board with Auntie; Rex however still continues to patronize Mrs H. . . I very much prefer to be with Auntie, as it is much more homelike and I feel more free to do as I please. If I don’t happen to feel like talking, nobody comments upon it. But at Mrs H’s., if I don’t immediately upon coming to table commence to smile and laugh and make foolish remarks why they think that I am sick or have lost all my friends. Neither of which is the case, but I am merely weary of the froth and bubbles of table talk, notwithstanding that I make three fourths of it generally myself. It does seem a pity that you should travel so in your old age. But I suppose it can’t be helped. However I shall regard it as a sign that you are better than you were when I last saw you. As to my working next summer, I shall be glad to. I had thought of it before a word was written from home about it.
Your affectionate Son,
HENRY.
OBERLIN, Thursday, Feb. 3, ’81.
DEAR SISTER HELEN,
As usual, it is almost
