STATEN ISLAND, October 18, 1843.
Dear Helen,--What do you mean by saying that "_we_ have written eight
times by private opportunity"? Is n't it the more the better? And am I
not glad of it? But people have a habit of not letting me know it
when they go to Concord from New York. I endeavored to get you _The
Present_ when I was last in the city, but they were all sold; and now
another is out, which I will send, if I get it. I did not send the
_Democratic Review_, because I had no copy, and my piece was not worth
fifty cents. You think that Channing's words would apply to me too, as
living more in the natural than the moral world; but I think that you
mean the world of men and women rather, and reformers generally. My
objection to Channing and all that fraternity is that they need and
deserve sympathy themselves rather than are able to render it to
others. They want faith, and mistake their private ail for an infected
atmosphere; but let any one of them recover hope for a moment, and
right his _particular_ grievance, and he will no longer train in that
company. To speak or do anything that shall concern mankind, one must
speak and act as if well, or from that grain of health which he has
left. This _Present_ book indeed is blue, but the hue of its thoughts
is yellow. I say these things with the less hesitation, because I have
the jaundice myself; but I also know what it is to be well. But do not
think that one can escape from mankind who is one of them, and is so
constantly dealing with them.
I could not undertake to form a nucleus of an institution for the
development of infant minds, where none already existed. It would be
too cruel. And then, as if looking all this while one way with
benevolence, to walk off another about one's own affairs suddenly!
Something of this kind is an unavoidable objection to that.
I am very sorry to hear such bad news about Aunt Maria; but I think
that the worst is always the least to be apprehended, for nature is
averse to it as well as we. I trust to hear that she is quite well
soon. I send love to her and Aunt Jane. For three months I have not
known whether to think of Sophia as in Bangor or Concord, and now you
say that she is going directly. Tell her to write to me, and establish
her whereabouts, and also to get well directly. And see that she has
something worthy to do when she gets down there, for that's the best
remedy for disease.
Your affectionate brother,
H. D. THOREAU.