Only just a word to say that I have repented of my assent to your
well-meant proposal for your father to write of _me_. If there is
anything in my work in letters that engages his interest, or in my
_literary_ history--that is well enough, and I shall not mind. But
"biography" in the other sense is distasteful to me. I never read
biographical "stuff" of other writers--of course you know "stuff" is
literary slang for "matter"--and think it "beside the question."
Moreover, it is distinctly mischievous to letters. It throws no light
on one's work, but on the contrary "darkens counsel." The only reason
that posterity judges work with some slight approach to accuracy is
that posterity knows less, and cares less, about the author's
personality. It considers his work as impartially as if it had found
it lying on the ground with no footprints about it and no initials on
its linen.
My brother is not "fully cognizant" of my history, anyhow--not of the
part that is interesting.
So, on the whole, I'll ask that it be not done. It was only my wish to
please that made me consent. That wish is no weaker now, but I would
rather please otherwise.
I trust that you arrived safe and well, and that your memory of those
few stormy days is not altogether disagreeable. Sincerely your friend,