“I think I did so before I really had the time. Literary aspirations
were stirred in me by the great authors whom I successively discovered,
and I was perpetually imitating the writings of these,—modeling some
composition of my own after theirs, but never willing to own it.”
“Do you attribute your style to the composite influence of these
various models?”
“No doubt they had their effect, as a whole, but individually I was
freed from the last by each succeeding author, until at length I came
to understand that I must be like myself, and no other.”
“Had you any conveniences for literary research, beyond the bookcase in
your home?”
“If you mean a place to work, I had a narrow, little space, under the
stairs at home. There was a desk pushed back against the wall, which
the irregular ceiling sloped down to meet, behind it, and at my left
was a window, which gave a good light on the writing leaf of my desk.
This was my workshop for six or seven years,—and it was not at all a
bad one. It seemed, for a while, so very simple and easy to come home
in the middle of the afternoon, when my task at the printing office
was done, and sit down to my books in my little study, which I did not
finally leave until the family were all in bed. My father had a decided
bent in the direction of literature; and, when I began to show a liking
for literature, he was eager to direct my choice. This finally changed
to merely recommending books, and eventually I was left to my own
judgment,—a perplexed and sorrowful mistaken judgment, at times.”
“In what manner did you manage to read the works of all your favorite
authors?”
“Well, my hours in the printing office began at seven and ended at six,
with an hour at noon for dinner, which I used for putting down such
verses as had come to me in the morning. As soon as supper was over, I
got out my manuscripts, and sawed, and filed, and hammered away at my
blessed poems, which were little less than imitations, until nine, when
I went regularly to bed, to rise again at five. Sometimes the foreman
gave me an afternoon off on Saturday, which I devoted to literature.”
“Might I ask concerning your next advance in your chosen work?”
“Certainly. As I recall it, my father had got one of those legislative
clerkships, in 1858, which used to fall sometimes to deserving
country editors, and together we managed and carried out a scheme
for corresponding with some city papers. Going to Columbus, the
state capital, we furnished a daily letter giving an account of the
legislative proceedings, which I mainly wrote from the material he
helped me to gather. The letters found favor, and my father withdrew
from the work wholly.”
“How long were you a correspondent?”