My Dear Sir,--Let me tell you at the outset that I have for five years
suffered from a spinal hurt, from which I am now slowly recovering,
but am still unable to walk more than a quarter of a mile or to write
without much pain. I have all the will in the world to serve you, but,
as you will perceive, must use much brevity in writing.
"Expression" I do not remember,--probably did not read,--for I read
no periodical literature--not even the "Atlantic," which is the best
periodical I know--unless my attention is very especially called to it,
and often, to tell the truth, do not heed the call when it is given.
Where I am at present I have not access to back numbers of the
"Atlantic," but shall have soon. The essay that you sent me I read
carefully twice, but unfortunately left it in Boston, where it reached
me. I can therefore only speak of it generally. It certainly shows
in you, if my judgment may be trusted, unusual gifts of pure
intellect--unusual, I mean, among scholars and literary men; and the
literary execution is creditable, though by no means of the same grade
with the mental power evinced. You must become a fine literary worker
to be equal to the demands of such an intellect as yours. For the
deeper the thought, the more difficult to give it a clear and attractive
expression. You can write so as to command attention. I am sure you can.
Will you? that is the only question. Can you work and wait long enough?
Have you the requisite patience and persistency? If you have, there is
undoubtedly an honorable future before you.
But I will not conceal from you that I think you too young to have
written "numerous essays" of the class you attempt, or to publish a
book consisting of such. No other kind of writing requires such mental
maturity; stories may be written at any age, though good ones are seldom
written early. Even poems and works of art have been produced by some
Raphael or Milton at a comparatively early season of life, and have not
given shame to the author at a later age; though this is the exception,
not the rule. But the purely reflective essay belongs emphatically to
maturer life. Your twenty-four years have evidently been worth more
to you than the longest life to most men; but my judgment is that you
should give your genius more time yet, and should wait upon it with more
labor. This is my frank counsel. I will respect you so much as to offer
it without disguise. Let me fortify it by an example or two. Mr. Emerson
published nothing, I think, until he was past thirty, and his brother
Charles, now dead, who was considered almost superior to him, maintained
that it is almost a sin to go into print sooner. Yet both these had all
possible educational advantages, and were familiar with the best books
and the best results of American culture from infancy almost. I myself
printed nothing--saving some poetical indiscretions--until I was
twenty-seven, and this was only a criticism on Dr. Isaac Barrow--not a
subject, you see, that made great demands upon me. Two years later an
article on Lord Bacon, for which I had been indirectly preparing more
than two years, and directly at least one; and even then I would say
little respecting his philosophy, and confined myself chiefly to a
portraiture of his character as a man. At thirty-two years of age I sent
to press an essay similar in character to those I write now--and am at
present a little ashamed of it. I am now thirty-nine years old, and all
that I have ever put in print would not make more than one hundred
and thirty or one hundred and forty pages in the "Atlantic." Upon
reflection, however, I will say two hundred pages, including pamphlet
publications. I would have it less rather than more. But for this
illness it would have been even less, for this has led me to postpone
larger enterprises, which would have gone to press much later, and
prepare shorter articles for the "Atlantic." Yet my literary interest
began at a very early age.
In writing essays such as it seems to me you have a genius for, I
require:--
1. That one should get the range--the largest _range_--of the laws he
sets forth. This is the _sine qua num_. Every primary law goes through
heaven and earth. Go with it. This is the business and privilege of
intellect.
2. When one comes to writing, let his discourse have a beginning and an
end. Do not let the end of his essay be merely the end of his sheet,
or the place where he took a notion to stop writing, but let it be
necessary. Each paragraph, too, should represent a distinct advance,
a clear step, in the exposition of his thought. I spare no labor in
securing this, and reckon no labor lost that brings me toward this
mark. I reckon my work ill done if a single paragraph, yes, or a single
sentence, can be transposed without injuring the whole.
3. Vivid expression must be sought, must be labored for unsparingly.
This you, from your position, will find it somewhat hard to attain,
unless you have peculiar aptitude for it. Expression in the country is
far less vivacious than in cities.
I have spoken frankly; now you must decide for yourself. You have mental
power enough; if you have accessory qualities (which I think you must
possess), you cannot fail to make your mark.
The brevity that I promised you will not find in this letter, but you
will find haste enough to make up for the lack of it.
If now, after the foregoing, you feel any inclination to send me the
essay on "Analogy" (capital subject), pray do so. I will read it, and if
I have anything to say about it, will speak as frankly as above.
I shall be in this place--Groveland, Mass.--about three weeks; after
that in Worcester a short while.
Very truly yours,