P. S. I am sending a slight token, too. Do you think you would like
her if you knew her?
January 11th.
I meant to write to you from the city, Daddy, but New York is an
engrossing place.
I had an interesting--and illuminating--time, but I’m glad I don’t
belong in such a family! I should truly rather have the John Grier
Home for a background. Whatever the drawbacks of my bringing up,
there was at least no pretense about it. I know now what people mean
when they say they are weighed down by Things. The material
atmosphere of that house was crushing; I didn’t draw a deep breath
until I was on an express train coming back. All the furniture was
carved and upholstered and gorgeous; the people I met were
beautifully dressed and low-voiced and well-bred, but it’s the
truth, Daddy, I never heard one word of real talk from the time we
arrived until we left. I don’t think an idea ever entered the front
door.
Mrs. Pendleton never thinks of anything but jewels and dressmakers
and social engagements. She did seem a different kind of mother from
Mrs. McBride! If I ever marry and have a family, I’m going to make
them as exactly like the McBrides as I can. Not for all the money in
the world would I ever let any children of mine develop into
Pendletons. Maybe it isn’t polite to criticize people you’ve been
visiting? If it isn’t, please excuse. This is very confidential,
between you and me.
I only saw Master Jervie once when he called at tea time, and
then I didn’t have a chance to speak to him alone. It was sort of
disappointing after our nice time last summer. I don’t think he
cares much for his relatives--and I am sure they don’t care
much for him! Julia’s mother says he’s unbalanced. He’s a
Socialist--except, thank Heaven, he doesn’t let his hair grow and
wear red ties. She can’t imagine where he picked up his queer ideas;
the family have been Church of England for generations. He throws
away his money on every sort of crazy reform, instead of spending it
on such sensible things as yachts and automobiles and polo ponies.
He does buy candy with it though! He sent Julia and me each a box
for Christmas.
You know, I think I’ll be a Socialist, too. You wouldn’t mind,
would you, Daddy? They’re quite different from Anarchists; they
don’t believe in blowing people up. Probably I am one by rights;
I belong to the proletariat. I haven’t determined yet just which
kind I am going to be. I will look into the subject over Sunday,
and declare my principles in my next.
I’ve seen loads of theaters and hotels and beautiful houses. My
mind is a confused jumble of onyx and gilding and mosaic floors and
palms. I’m still pretty breathless but I am glad to get back to
college and my books--I believe that I really am a student; this
atmosphere of academic calm I find more bracing than New York.
College is a very satisfying sort of life; the books and study and
regular classes keep you alive mentally, and then when your mind
gets tired, you have the gymnasium and outdoor athletics, and always
plenty of congenial friends who are thinking about the same
things you are. We spend a whole evening in nothing but
talk--talk--talk--and go to bed with a very uplifted feeling,
as though we had settled permanently some pressing world problems.
And filling in every crevice, there is always such a lot of
nonsense--just silly jokes about the little things that come up--but
very satisfying. We do appreciate our own witticisms!
It isn’t the great big pleasures that count the most; it’s making
a great deal out of the little ones--I’ve discovered the true
secret of happiness, Daddy, and that is to live in the _now_. Not to
be forever regretting the past, or anticipating the future; but to
get the most that you can out of this very instant. It’s like
farming. You can have extensive farming and intensive farming; well,
I am going to have intensive living after this. I’m going to enjoy
every second, and I’m going to _know_ I’m enjoying it while I’m
enjoying it. Most people don’t live; they just race. They are trying
to reach some goal far away on the horizon, and in the heat of the
going they get so breathless and panting that they lose all sight of
the beautiful, tranquil country they are passing through; and then
the first thing they know, they are old and worn out, and it
doesn’t make any difference whether they’ve reached the goal or
not. I’ve decided to sit down by the way and pile up a lot of
little happinesses, even if I never become a Great Author. Did you
ever know such a philosopheress as I am developing into?
Yours ever,