will be sufficiently pronounced for me to choose with some degree of certainty my path in life. The object then, is to put off the choice of a profession until I am competent to choose, whatever time that may be—say two years. Certainly that is a most rational wish. And the question is, what is the best method to secure that end? Both plans suggested have their advantages. Going home would be the best for the practical, active side of my nature, and the best for my temper and views of life. Germany would be the best for my intellect, information, and breadth. The first would make me the greater doer, the second, the greater thinker. It reduces itself to the question as to whether action or thought is the end of life. The practical man will not hesitate to say action. But I am in doubt myself. Certainly the practical side of me needs developing. I have almost no common sense. Anything calculated to develop that article in me will be a blessing.
By the way, you folks must always remember that my general letters are to be considered as answers to your particular ones. So that each one of you now owes me a letter. If you have any objection to this method of correspondence I will answer you separately. I can do it easily enough. For instance, my general letter this time would make two and a half letters of two sheets each, which would answer the letters I received from you, Carrie and Mother, this mail. The particular letter which I generally write is to any one, just as it happens. Generally to Helen, because she writes to me most, and because I always think of her as my agent, and general protector of my interests, as it were. I always make a point to get plenty of sleep, Helen, so you need not worry on that score. Mother has drilled it into me, so that now sleep is one of my hobbies. I always plan for nine hours. But I cannot generally get it, which proves that I do not need quite that amount. That is, if I get nine hours two or three nights hand running, after that I can’t get more than eight and a half, never mind how early I go bed. I will wake up earlier in the morning.
I regard “Thomas Wingfold, Curate” as a good book in many ways, but on the whole as a failure, though no doubt I can agree with you in all you said about it. “Wilfred Cumbermede” I think the best I have read. His “Phantastes” is a delightful work. Have I expatiated on it before? Carrie read it aloud to me when I had the measles. I had read it once before. We also read one of George Sand’s. She is fair. I am not getting so that I cannot enjoy good light reading, Helen. My enjoyment of Hawthorne’s lighter style is too thorough for that. But I confess that I think very little time should be given to that sort of reading. Only when we are seeking amusement, or better, recreation, should we indulge in it. This is not saying that it is not worth reading. For we should make our amusements healthful and beneficial. It is simply limiting its sphere. You are making a gain in reading, and I a distinct loss in not reading, contemporary literature. You read the books of which I only read the notices in Scribner, &c. But I think that my gain is greater than my loss, and your loss greater than your gain. A man must make a sacrifice somewhere, and I prefer to read only those authors whom time and the experience of mankind have pronounced worthy. I miss some rare jewel (mixed metaphor) which I might have discovered among much chaff, but I am more than compensated for it by the assurance that all I read will be pure gold. No dross in my dish. There is so much that is good that it takes more than a lifetime to attain an acquaintance with the classics even, and hence there is no excuse for reading that which is not classic. No excuse but one. To keep up with the times and the spirit of modern thought, one should read a very little of contemporary writers, those, that is, who are not yet classic. This does not include, 01 course, those living writers whose work has been already tried and found good,—Longfellow, Tennyson, Emerson, etc. They are already classic. They belong to the last generation anyway. They are not strictly our contemporaries. I read, and believe in reading, Howells, Henry James, Mrs. Burnett, Geo. W. Cable, etc. But to make that the bulk of our reading, even if we read nothing but fiction, would be spending among pigmies the time we should spend among giants. This is a bad illustration. If one reads, say five hours a day, half an hour of that time would certainly be enough to spend on such reading as that. Why, I could sit down this moment, and in half an hour’s time without the aid of anything but memory, I could map out a course of reading in the English classics, that it would take me years to finish. And when I think of the masterpieces of other languages, of “Faust,” of Dante’s poem, and especially of the masterpieces of Grecian Literature, of the incomparable productions of the Age of Pericles, I am convinced that man has little time to fritter away on trifles, artistic though they be. It is a crime to read anything that is not good. It is a mistake to read anything but the best. Just think of Grecian Literature. It yields to the English alone, and hardly to that. What a prolific age was that which produced the three greatest dramatists after Shakespeare. A great number of well read people of a cultivated literary taste wouldn’t even know their names. Æschylus, Sophocles and Euripides. There are translations of their works. And every well read person ought to have at least some acquaintance with them. To the vast majority of those who have not studied the classics, the great names of Latin and Greek Literature are nothing more than names. And only the greatest have they even heard of. I don’t understand this. You don’t have to understand German to be familiar with the name, position and even writings of Gæthe. I suppose that one reason is that the ancient languages do not admit of as good translation as the kindred tongues of modern Europe, and that besides, the same genius has not been applied to that work. As to the American Book Exchange, I do not overestimate their books. They do print some excellent ones, and those it pays to buy. The difficulty with them is that they try to do too much. If they would print such books as Scribners, &c, do, do as good work in every respect, and then apply their principles of cheap selling and large sales, they would do a great work. Bowen’s Dante leaves nothing to be desired in the line of print and binding for 40 c. Think of it! I have only been tempted by the American Book Exchange because I have hungered so to own books of my own, and haven’t felt able to spend much. As it is, I have spent a good deal on books this last year. Don’t stop your buying on my account, I shouldn’t buy any more for that. I shall still buy of them (the Book Exchange), but only such books as are well printed. They do print some very nice books. I have their Milton for 50 c. I wish I were rich, then I might buy books enough to swamp a kingdom. But as it is, all kingdoms are safe from me.
Affectionately yours,
HENRY.
OBERLIN, Saturday, October, 15, ‘81.
DEAR FATHER,
I am afraid that you folks will not hear much from me this mail. I wrote ten sheets to you at home and sent them to Will, at his request, in California. But I have reason to think that he left Grass Valley before they reached there. I have been working over a debate and also a Monthly Rhetorical. The debate I spoke last night. The Monthly Rhetorical comes off next Monday. I told you in my other letters that I had resigned my Junior Ex. It was, I think, a wise step. It has made me much happier, by relieving my mind of the burden. I will just say here while I happen to think of it, that I think I will make it my principle to avoid all honors of every kind. Not that I will get many. I should like to know what you folks think about it. My idea is this: that (1) No real benefit is lost by foregoing honors; that (2) I worry so over them that they make me morbid, and thus injure me; that (3) In most cases something of value is sacrificed for them, such as reading, etc.; that (4) Fully enough literary work is done without them, and that (5) They are liable to injure class work. I want to buy a Bryant. There is one down town for two dollars. The regular price is $3.50, but it is a little marked up, so they reduce the price. I can rub all the marks out, so that it is an extra good chance to get a copy. This one just suits me too, and I know that it is one which I will be well satisfied to keep all my life, as it is really a fine book. Well illustrated, good paper, print and binding. I think I will buy it, and if you blame me for extravagance, I won’t do so again. It takes me a long time to buy a book. I look at it for weeks before I purchase. I compare it with other books, hesitate, say I’ll come in again or think it over, and when I have once bought it, I tremble lest I should repent. But on the whole I find that I only repent of a very few of my purchases, and those are chiefly some of the very cheap American Book Ex. publications, so that all my mistakes wouldn’t count up a dollar, I believe. I acknowledge that I have been seduced into buying books that I didn’t want (i.e., long
