CORRESPONDENCE.
THE “Excelsior Letter-writing Society” had now been in operation several
weeks, and had thus far proved a popular and useful institution. The
letter-box was regularly patronized by all its members, but one of them
having brought upon himself the dire penalty of exclusion from it, and
he for only a single day. I do not intend to expose the delinquent, but
justice requires me to say it was neither Oscar nor Ronald. The letters
which passed through the domestic post office were as various as the
writers and their moods. Some were long, and some brief; some serious,
and others funny. There were letters advisory, admonitory, commendatory,
critical, mysterious, romantic, and quizzical; but none that were
disrespectful or unkind, care having been taken to guard against these
faults.
A few days after the events narrated in the preceding chapter, Marcus
received a letter which afforded him peculiar gratification. It was from
Oscar, and was as follows:
“Nov. 6th, 185—.
“DEAR MARCUS,—I think you would not have blamed me so much as
you did for going to the circus, last Thursday, if you had known
all the circumstances. I did not intend to go inside, when I
went over to the village; but I met a boy there named Alfred
Walton, that I used to be very intimate with in Boston. He
belongs to the company, and tried to persuade me to join them,
but I told him I did not wish to. Then he insisted upon my going
in, and would not take no for an answer. He got me inside the
tent, before I could get away from him. He told the doorkeeper I
was his friend, and he let me in without paying. I am very sorry
I went near the circus at all; but I could not very well help
going in, after I saw Alfred.
“I must tell you about another thing that has troubled me a good
deal. Alfred was mean or thoughtless enough to plague me about
being sentenced to the Reform School, right before Otis and
several other boys that know me. I turned it off as well as I
could, but Otis has spoken to me about it since, and I am afraid
he thinks there is something in it. I had to tell him what I
suppose some people would call ‘a white lie,’ to get rid of him.
I don’t see how I can keep the thing from coming out, unless I
lie right up and down about it.
“I have thought much lately of what you said about
self-government. I like your ideas, and I mean to try to put
them in practice. If you could give me any hints that would help
me in making the experiment, I should be very thankful.
“Yours truly, OSCAR.”
To this letter, Marcus replied as follows, at his earliest convenience:
“HIGHBURG, Nov. 7, 185—.
“DEAR COUSIN OSCAR,—I have not received a more welcome letter
for many a day, than yours of yesterday. The extenuating
circumstances you mention, in regard to your visit to the
circus, change my opinion of that act very much, as you may well
suppose; for I thought you went deliberately, and of your own
choice. You ought to have explained this before, and I wonder
that you did not. Still, I do not think this plea wholly excuses
you, unless you were actually _forced_ in, which I suppose you
do not pretend; and even in that case, you need not have
remained in, after Alfred left you. So I must still believe that
you were to some extent blameworthy, first, for putting yourself
in the way of temptation by going to the circus grounds; and
secondly, for yielding to the coaxings of your old friend. I am
glad you see your error, and are sorry for it.
“As to keeping certain parts of your history secret, I do not
think it a matter of so much importance as you probably do. If
you behave well now, and for the future, these errors will soon
be forgotten; but if they cannot be concealed without falsehood,
I would not attempt to hide them. I would rather acknowledge the
facts to Otis, and appeal to his honor and generosity to keep
them secret. I think he would not betray you.
“I am rejoiced to learn that you mean to govern yourself. I wish
I could help you in this noble work. You must imagine yourself a
governor, appointed over a province. Your subjects are the
various powers of your mind, the qualities of your heart, your
habits, tastes, affections, etc. It is taken for granted that
you know something of the law you are to administer. The Bible
and your conscience will give you all the instruction you need
on this point. The next thing to be done, is to make yourself
thoroughly acquainted with the people of your little province.
Who are they? What is their character? Are they a hard set to
govern, or the contrary? How can you best manage them? This is
_self-examination_, and without it, we can neither know
ourselves, nor govern ourselves. Well, after we understand
pretty well what kind of subjects we have got to deal with, the
next thing is to apply the law to them, firmly, vigorously, with
unwearied watchfulness, and with a determination to conquer
them. We must persevere in this until we accomplish our purpose,
and our rule in our own little household is securely
established.
“Let me give you a familiar illustration. In looking over the
little inner kingdom I am called to rule, we will suppose that I
find one subject that has proved quite troublesome. His real
name is Laziness, but we will call him by his polite name, Mr.
Ease. I can see very plainly, as I examine the past, that I owe
to him a great many wasted hours and opportunities, and a great
many good things _not_ done. Well, one cold winter morning, I
astonish Mr. Ease very much by informing him, before my eyes are
fairly open, that I intend to rise instanter. This is something
very strange, and he begins to expostulate, and to plead for a
few moments more in the warm bed; but before he can finish his
plea, I am up, and half dressed. ‘You are not going to make the
fire—your mother can do that,’ says Ease, as I go into the
kitchen; ‘But I _am_ going to make it,’ I reply, and at it I go,
at once. Then I go out to the barn, and see to the stock; but
before the morning work is half done, Mr. Ease says, in his
blandest voice, ‘Come, go into the house, and warm yourself, and
get ready for breakfast. This is cold work—let the boys finish
it.’ I pay no attention to his advice, but keep about my work
until it is done, and have all the better appetite for my
breakfast, for doing so. After that meal, Mr. Ease kindly
reminds me that I have not read the magazine that came
yesterday, and suggests that I might spend an hour very
comfortably with it in the chimney corner, on such a cold
morning. But I tell him it is a clear, bright day, and there is
plenty of work to do, and at it I go, without further parley.
After dinner, Mr. Ease again intrudes himself, in his blandest
way. ‘Come,’ he says, ‘you’ve worked hard all the forenoon, now
put the horse into the sleigh and have a ride; the afternoon is
fine, and the sleighing excellent.’ ‘Ah, yes, the sleighing _is_
good,’ I reply; ‘I think I’ll improve it by hauling a load or
two of wood, and take the ride some other time.’
“So I keep ‘snubbing’ this Mr. Ease, as coolly as you please,
day after day. Finding he is losing his power over me, he grows
shy and glum, and slinks away, and at length I hear but very
little from him. He is conquered. And if I find any other
upstarts or usurpers in my dominions, I serve them in the same
way. If I can’t snub them into submission, as I did Mr. Ease, I
just seize them firmly by the throat, and choke them down. That
is the way I served Mr. Anger.
“To do all this, you must rely upon principle, not impulse. You
must form a fixed purpose to govern yourself, and adhere to it,
through thick and thin. You must also be willing to submit to
some self-denial and sacrifice. Don’t be frightened at those
words. They look like bugbears, but after all, they are at the
root of all our happiness. Almost our first and last experience
of life is that of desires denied. From infancy to old age, we
are daily and almost hourly called to sacrifice a lesser for a
greater good; and until we yield cheerfully to this great law,
we have not learned to live, nor have we known true happiness.
Self-indulgence and ease make puny, vicious and unhappy men.
Self-control and self-denial make strong and noble souls—the
master spirits that rule the world.
“I will add but one thought more. However painful the effort at
self-government may be, at first, the power of habit will
gradually render the work easy, until at length it will actually
become a pleasure.
“Wishing you much success in your good purpose, I remain
“Your affectionate cousin,
“MARCUS.”
It was not often that so long and formal a letter as this found its way
into the family post office. Most of the missives exchanged between the
members of the society, were brief notes, a few specimens of which are
given:
“MARCUS PAGE, ESQ.—Dear Sir,—I propose that we take the
hay-cart, Saturday afternoon, and all hands go off after nuts.
What say you to the plan?
“Yours truly, OTIS.
“Oct. 25th.”
“O, fie, Ronald! how could you say, ‘I intended to have wrote!’
It is perfectly barbarous. ‘I intended to have written,’ is what
you should have said. ‘I got my lessons’ is bad, too; you mean
you _learned_ your lessons. Please put two t’s in regretted,
next time, and write Friday with a capital F. But I wont play
the critic any more, just now, for fear you might banish from
your list of correspondents
“Your faithful friend, KATE.
“Nov. 2.”
To this note Kate received the following reply, the next day:
“O, fie, Kate! how could you say, ‘I intended to have written!’
It is perfectly barbarous. ‘I intended to _write_’ is what you
should have said. If you don’t believe me, I can show you the
rule in the grammar. Don’t be afraid to ‘play the critic’—I
_like_ to have you do it!
“Yours in fun, RON.
“Nov. 3.”
Ronald was not accustomed to take things upon trust, especially from one
near his own age, when he could conveniently verify their truth for
himself. This habit led him to investigate the blunders pointed out by
Kate, and the result was, that he was able to convict his critic of a
serious grammatical error—a “turning of the tables” which he enjoyed
with a roguish zest. Kate did not need to consult the grammar, to
satisfy herself in regard to the error; for she at once recalled to mind
the rule she had learned: “All verbs expressive of hope, desire,
intention, or command, must invariably be followed by the present, and
not the perfect of the infinitive.”
The post office sometimes served as a medium through which an uneasy
conscience sought relief, as in the following:—
“HIGHBURG, Oct. 26th.
“DEAR MISS LEE,—I don’t know what you think of me, for speaking
to you so rudely, last evening. I was only in fun, of course,
but I suppose I carried it too far. I was sorry for it a minute
after. I hope you will excuse me, this time, and I will be more
careful in future.
“Ever yours,
KATE.”
Kate, in a merry mood, had rallied Miss Lee upon her state of
singleness, applying to her the epithet, “old maid,” and using other
expressions that were not quite proper, considering the differences
between their ages; hence this apology. Miss Lee, it should be added,
was loved and esteemed none the less by those who knew her, because of
the peculiarity of which Kate made sport. She was an especial favorite
with the children of the family, and her pleasant words and looks, her
obliging disposition, her sound advice, her clear explanations of school
lesson and other mysteries, her inexhaustible fund of anecdote and
story, and not least, the beautiful productions of her pencil and brush,
constituted an attraction which all felt and acknowledged. She had spent
many years in teaching, but had now relinquished the profession. Her
services as an artist were highly appreciated by the children, who
coaxed many a pretty drawing or painting from her portfolio. Her letters
were eagerly sought for, as they sometimes contained the fruits of her
pencil, as well as of her pen. Here is one of them:—
“Nov. 4.
“DEAR OTIS,—Enclosed I send the drawing of the four dogs, which
you wished me to make for your little brother. When you forward
it to him, you had better call his attention to the dotted
lines, otherwise he might not understand the design of the
picture. If he should get a piece of tracing paper, he might
easily make for himself a separate copy of each of the four
dogs. I have not had a letter from you yet. Won’t my turn come
soon?
“Your friend sincere,
“FANNY.”
Here is a copy of the picture enclosed in this letter:
[Illustration]
Thus did the domestic post office serve alike to entertain the younger
members of the family, and to educate their minds and hearts. Its
novelty had not yet begun to wear off, and it was regarded by all as one
of the established institutions of the family.
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