CONCORD, May 28, 1850.
MR. BLAKE,--"I never found any contentment in the life which the
newspapers record,"--anything of more value than the cent which they
cost. Contentment in being covered with dust an inch deep! We who walk
the streets, and hold time together, are but the refuse of ourselves,
and that life is for the shells of us,--of our body and our mind,--for
our scurf,--a thoroughly _scurvy_ life. It is coffee made of
coffee-grounds the twentieth time, which was only coffee the first
time,--while the living water leaps and sparkles by our doors. I know
some who, in their charity, give their coffee-grounds to the poor! We,
demanding news, and putting up with _such_ news! Is it a new
convenience, or a new accident, or, rather, a new perception of the
truth that we want!
You say that "the serene hours in which friendship, books, nature,
thought, seem alone primary considerations, visit you but faintly." Is
not the attitude of expectation somewhat divine?--a sort of home-made
divineness? Does it not compel a kind of sphere-music to attend on it?
And do not its satisfactions merge at length, by insensible degrees,
in the enjoyment of the thing expected?
What if I should forget to write about my not writing? It is not worth
the while to make that a theme. It is as if I had written every day.
It is as if I had never written before. I wonder that you think so
much about it, for not writing is the most like writing, in my case,
of anything I know.
Why will you not relate to me your dream? That would be to realize it
somewhat. You tell me that you dream, but not what you dream. I can
_guess_ what comes to pass. So do the frogs dream. Would that I knew
what. I have never found out whether they are awake or asleep,--whether
it is day or night with them.
I am preaching, mind you, to bare walls, that is, to myself; and if
you have chanced to come in and occupy a pew, do not think that my
remarks are directed at you particularly, and so slam the seat in
disgust. This discourse was written long before these exciting times.
Some absorbing employment on your higher ground,--your upland
farm,--whither no cart-path leads, but where you mount alone with your
hoe,--where the life everlasting grows; there you raise a crop which
needs not to be brought down into the valley to a market; which you
barter for heavenly products.
Do you separate distinctly enough the support of your body from that
of your essence? By how distinct a course commonly are these two ends
attained! Not that they should not be attained by one and the same
means,--that, indeed, is the rarest success,--but there is no half and
half about it.
I shall be glad to read my lecture to a small audience in Worcester
such as you describe, and will only require that my expenses be paid.
If only the parlor be large enough for an echo, and the audience will
embarrass themselves with hearing as much as the lecturer would
otherwise embarrass himself with reading. But I warn you that this is
no better calculated for a promiscuous audience than the last two
which I read to you. It requires, in every sense, a concordant
audience.
I will come on next Saturday and spend Sunday with you if you wish it.
Say so if you do.
"Drink deep, or taste not the Pierian spring."
Be not deterred by melancholy on the path which leads to immortal
health and joy. When they tasted of the water of the river over which
they were to go, they thought it tasted a little bitterish to the
palate, but it proved sweeter when it was down.