FormyownpartIbelieveIhavenevergotanygoodfromabookthatI
didnotreadlawlesslyandwilfully，outofallleadingandfollowing，andmerelybecauseIwantedtoreadit;andIheremakeboldtopraisethatwayofdoing。Thebookwhichyoureadfromasenseofduty，orbecauseforanyreasonyoumust，doesnotcommonlymakefriendswithyou。
Itmayhappenthatitwillyieldyouanunexpecteddelight，butthiswillbeinitsownunentreatedwayandinspiteofyourgoodintentions。
Littleofthebookreadforapurposestayswiththereader，andthisisonereasonwhyreadingforreviewissovainandunprofitable。Ihavedoneavastdealofthis，butIhaveusuallybeenawarethatthebookwassubtlywithholdingfrommethebestabookcangive，sinceIwasnotreadingitforitsownsakeandbecauseIlovedit，butforselfishendsofmyown，andbecauseIwishedtopossessmyselfofitforbusinesspurposes，asitwere。Thereadingthatdoesonegood，andlastinggood，isthereadingthatonedoesforpleasure，andsimplyandunselfishly，aschildrendo。Artwillstillwithholdherselffromthrift，andshedoeswell，fornothingbutlovehasanyrighttoher。
Littleremainsoftheeventsofanyperiod，howevervividtheywereinpassing。Thememorymayholdrecordofeverything，asitisbelieved，butitwillnotbeeasilyentreatedtogiveupitsfacts，andIfindmyselfstrivinginveintorecallthethingsthatImusthavereadthatyearinthecountry。ProbablyIreadtheoldthingsover;certainlyI
keptonwithCervantes，andverylikelywithGoldsmith。TherewasadelightfulhistoryofOhio，stuffedwithtalesofthepioneertimes，whichwasagooddealinthehandsofusboys;andtherewasabookofWesternAdventure，fullofIndianfightsandcaptivities，whichweworetopieces。Still，IthinkthatitwasnowthatIbegantohavealiterarysenseofwhatIwasreading。Iwroteadiary，andItriedtogiveitsrecordformandstyle，butmostlyfailed。TheversifyingwhichIwasalwaysatwaseasier，andyieldeditselfmoretomyhand。Ishouldbeverygladto，knowatpresentwhatitdealtwith。
VIII。LIGHTERFANCIES
Whenmyuncleschangedtheirmindsinregardtocolonizingtheirfamiliesatthemills，astheydidinaboutayear，itbecamenecessaryformyfathertolookaboutforsomenewemployment，andhenaturallylookedintheolddirection。Therewereseveralschemesforgettingholdofthispaperandthat，andtherewereoffersthatcametonothing。InthatdaytherewerefewsalariededitorsinthecountryoutsideofNewYork，andtheonlyhopewecouldhavewasofsomeplaceasprintersinanofficewhichwemightfinallybuy。TheaffairendedinourgoingtotheStatecapital，wheremyfatherfoundworkasareporteroflegislativeproceedingsforoneofthedailyjournals，andIwastakenintotheofficeasacompositor。InthiswayIcameintolivingcontactwithliteratureagain，andthedaydreamsbeganoncemoreoverthefamiliarcasesoftype。Adefiniteliteraryambitiongrewupinme，andinthelongreveriesoftheafternoon，whenIwasdistributingmycase，Ifashionedafutureofoverpoweringmagnificenceandundyingcelebrity。
IshouldbeashamedtosaywhatliterarytriumphsIachievedinthosepreposterousdeliriums。WhatIactuallydidwastowriteagoodmanycopiesofverse，inimitation，neverowned，ofMooreandGoldsmith，andsomeminorpoets，whoseworkcaughtmyfancy，asIreaditinthenewspapersorputitintotype。
Oneofmypieces，whichfellsofarshortofmyvisionaryperformancesastotreatofthelowlyandfamiliarthemeofSpring，wasthefirstthingI
everhadinprint。MyfatherofferedittotheeditorofthepaperI
workedon，andIfirstknew，withmingledshameandpride，ofwhathehaddonewhenIsawitinthejournal。InthetumultofmyemotionsI
promisedmyselfthatifIgotthroughthisexperiencesafelyIwouldneversufferanythingelseofminetobepublished;butitwasnotlongbeforeIofferedtheeditorapoemmyself。Iamnowgladtothinkitdealtwithsohumbleafactasafarmer’sfamilyleavingtheiroldhomefortheWest。Theonlyfameofmypoemwhichreachedmewaswhenanotherboyintheofficequotedsomelinesofitinderision。ThiscoveredmewithsuchconfusionthatIwonderthatIdidnotvanishfromtheearth。
AtthesametimeIhadmysecretjoyinit，andevenyetIthinkitwasattemptedinawaywhichwasnotfalseorwrong。IhadtriedtosketchanaspectoflifethatIhadseenandknown，andthatwasverywellindeed，andIhadwroughtpatientlyandcarefullyintheartofthepoorlittleaffair。
Myelderbrother，forwhomtherewasnoplaceintheofficewhereI
worked，hadfoundoneinastore，andhebeguiledtheleisurethatlighttradeleftonhishandsbyreadingthenovelsofCaptainMarryat。Ireadthemafterhimwithagreatdealofamusement，butwithoutthepassionthatIbestoweduponmyfavoriteauthors。IbelieveIhadnocriticalreservesinregardtothem，butsimplytheydidnottakemyfancy。
Still，wehadgreatfunwithJaphetin’SearchofaFather’，andwith’MidshipmanEasy’，andwefeltafinephysicalshiverinthedarklingmoodsof’Snarle—yowtheDog—Fiend。’Idonotremembereventhenamesoftheothernovels，except’JacobFaithful，’whichIchanceduponafewyearsagoandfoundvery，hardreading。
Wechildrenwhowereusedtothefreerangeofwoodsandfieldswerehomesickforthecountryinournarrowcityyard，andIassociatewiththislongingthe’Farmer’sBoyofBloomfield，’whichmyfathergotforme。Itwasalittlebookinbluecloth，andthereweresomemildwood—
cutsinit。Ireaditwithatemperedpleasure，andwithavagueresentmentofitstrespassuponThomson’sgroundinthedivisionofitspartsunderthenamesoftheseasons。IdonotknowwhyIneedhavefeltthis。IwasnotyetveryfondofThomson。IreallylikedBloomfieldbetter;foronething，hispoemwaswrittenintheheroicdecasyllabicswhichIpreferredtoanyotherverse。
IX。POPE
Iinfer，fromthefactofthispreferencethatIhadalreadybeguntoreadPope，andthatImusthavereadthe\"DesertedVillage\"ofGoldsmith。
Ifancy，also，thatImustbythistimehavereadtheOdyssey，forthe\"BattleoftheFrogsandMice\"wasinthesecondvolume，andittookmesomuchthatIpaiditthetributeofabaldimitationinamock—heroicepicofacatfight，studiedfromthecatfightsinourbackyard，withthewontedinvocationtotheMuse，andthemachineryofpartisangodsandgoddesses。Itwasinsomehundredsofverses，whichIdidmybesttobalanceasPopedid，withacaesurafallinginthemiddleoftheline，andaneatantithesisattheend。
ThestoryoftheOdysseycharmedme，ofcourse，andIhadmomentsofbeingintimatefriendswithUlysses，butIwaspassingoutofthatphase，andwascomingtoreadmorewithasenseoftheauthor，andlesswithasenseofhischaractersasrealpersons;thatis，Iwasgrowingmoreliterary，andlesshuman。IfellinlovewithPope，whoselifeIreadwithanardorofsympathywhichIamafraidhehardlymerited。Iwasofhissideinallhisquarrels，asfarasIunderstoodthem，andifIdidnotunderstandthemIwasofhissideanyway。WhenIfoundthathewasaCatholicIwasalmostreadytoabjuretheProtestantreligionforhissake;butIperceivedthatthiswasnotnecessarywhenIcametoknowthatmostofhisfriendswereProtestants。Ifthetruthmustbetold，Ididnotlikehisbestthingsatfirst，butlongremainedchieflyattachedtohisrubbishingpastorals，whichIwasperpetuallyimitating，withawholeapparatusofswainsandshepherdesses，purlingbrooks，enamelledmeads，rollingyears，andthelike。
Aftermyday’sworkatthecaseIworetheeveningawayinmyboyishliteraryattempts，forcingmypoorinventioninthatunnaturalkind，andrubbingandpolishingatmywretchedversestilltheydidsometimestakeonaneffect，which，ifitwasnotlikePope’s，waslikenoneofmine。
WithallmypainsIdonotthinkIevermanagedtobringanyofmypastoralstoasatisfactoryclose。Theyallstoppedsomewhereabouthalfway。Myswainscouldnotthinkofanythingmoretosay，andthemeritsofmyshepherdessesremainedundecided。TothisdayIdonotknowwhetherinanygiveninstanceitwasthechampionofChloeorofSylviathatcarriedofftheprizeforhisfair，butIdaresayitdoesnotmuchmatter。IamsurethatIproducedarhetoricasartificialandtreatedofthingsasunrealasmymasterintheart，andIamrathergladthatI
acquaintedmyselfsothoroughlywithamoodofliteraturewhich，whateverwemaysayagainstit，seemstohaveexpressedveryperfectlyamoodofcivilization。
ThesevereschoolingIgavemyselfwasnotwithoutitsimmediateuse。
Ilearnedhowtochoosebetweenwordsafterastudyoftheirfitness，andthoughIoftenemployedthemdecorativelyandwithnovitalsenseoftheirqualities，stillinmeredecorationtheyhadtobechosenintelligently，andaftersomethoughtabouttheirstructureandmeaning。
IcouldnotimitatePopewithoutimitatinghismethods，andhismethodwastothelastdegreeintelligent。Hecertainlyknewwhathewasdoing，andalthoughIdidnotalwaysknowwhatIwasdoing，hemademewishtoknow，andashamedofnotknowing。Thereareseveraltruerpoetswhomightnothavedonethis;andafterallthemoderncontemptofPope，heseemstometohavebeenatleastoneofthegreatmasters，ifnotoneofthegreatpoets。Thepoorman’slifewasasweakandcrookedashisfrail，tormentedbody，buthehadadauntlessspirit，andhefoughthiswayagainstoddsthatmightwellhaveappalledastrongernature。
IsupposeImustownthathewasfromtimetotimeasnob，andfromtimetotimealiar，butIbelievethathelovedthetruth，andwouldhavelikedalwaystorespecthimselfifhecould。Heviolentlyrevolted，nowandagain，fromtheabasementtowhichheforcedhimself，andhealwaysbittheheelthattrodonhim，especiallyifitwasaveryhigh，narrowheel，withaclockedstockingandahoopedskirtaboveit。
Ilovedhimfondlyatonetime，andafterwardsdespisedhim，butnowIamnotsorryforthelove，andIamverysorryforthedespite。Ihumbly，ownavastdebttohim，nottheleastpartofwhichistheperceptionthatheisamodelofeversomuchmoretobeshunnedthantobefollowedinliterature。
HewasthefirstofthewritersofgreatAnna’stimewhomIknew，andhemademereadytounderstand，ifhedidnotmakemeunderstandatonce，theorderofmindandlifewhichhebelongedto。Thankstohispastorals，Icouldlongafterwardsenjoywiththedoublesenserequisiteforfullpleasureinthem，suchdivinelyexcellentartificialitiesatTasso’s\"Aminta\"andGuarini’s\"PastorFido\";thingswhichyouwillthoroughlylikeonlyafteryouareinthejokeofthinkinghowpeopleonceseriouslylikedthemashighexamplesofpoetry。
OfcourseIreadotherthingsofPope’sbesideshispastorals，evenatthetimeIreadthesesomuch。Iread，ornotveryeasilyorwillinglyreadat，his’EssayonMan，’whichmyfatheradmired，andwhichheprobablyputPope’sworksintomyhandstohavemeread;andIreadthe’Dunciad，’withquiteafuriousardorinthetiresomequarrelsitcelebrates，andaninterestinitsmachinery，whichitfatiguesmetothinkof。ButitwasonlyafewyearsagothatIreadthe’RapeoftheLock，’athingperfectofitskind，whateverwemaychoosetothinkofthekind。UponthewholeIthinkmuchbetterofthekindthanIoncedid，thoughstillnotsomuchasIshouldhavethoughtifIhadreadthepoemwhenthefeverofmyloveforPopewasatthehighest。
Itisanicequestionhowfaroneishelpedorhurtbyone’sidealizationsofhistoricalorimaginarycharacters，andIshallnottrytoansweritfully。IsupposethatifIoncecherishedsuchapassionforPopepersonallythatIwouldwillinglyhavedonethethingsthathedid，andtoldthelies，andventedthemalice，andinflictedthecrueltiesthatthepoorsoulwasfullof，itwasforthereason，partly，thatIdidnotseethesethingsastheywere，andthatintheglamourofhistalentIwasblindtoallbutthevirtuesofhisdefects，whichhecertainlyhad，andpartlythatinmyloveofhimIcouldnottakesidesagainsthim，evenwhenIknewhimtobewrong。Afterall，Ifancynotmuchharmcomestothedevotedboyfromhisenthusiasmsforthisimperfectheroorthat。InmyowncaseIamsurethatIdistinguishedastocertainsinsinmyidols。Icouldnotcastthemdownorceasetoworshipthem，butsomeoftheirfrailtiesgrievedmeandputmetosecretshameforthem。Ididnotexcusethesethingsinthem，ortrytobelievethattheywerelessevilforthemthantheywouldhavebeenforlesspeople。ThiswasafterIcamemoreorlesstotheknowledgeofgoodandevil。WhileIremainedintheinnocenceofchildhoodIdidnotevenunderstandthewrong。WhenIrealizedwhatlivessomeofmypoetshadled，howtheyweredrunkards，andswindlers，andunchaste，anduntrue，Ilamentedoverthemwithasenseofpersonaldisgraceinthem，andtothisdayIhavenopatiencewiththatcodeoftheworldwhichrelaxesitselfinbehalfofthebrilliantandgiftedoffender;ratherheshouldsuffermoreblame。Theworstoftheliteratureofpasttimes，beforeanethicalconsciencebegantoinformit，ortheadvanceoftheracecompelledittodecency，isthatitleavesthemindfoulwithfilthyimagesandbasethoughts;butwhatIhavebeentryingtosayisthattheboy，unlessheisexceptionallydepravedbeforehand，issavedfromthesethroughhisignorance。StillIwishtheywerenotthere，andIhopethetimewillcomewhenthebeast—manwillbesofarsubduedandtamedinusthatthememoryofhiminliteratureshallbelefttoperish;thatwhatislewdandribaldinthegreatpoetsshallbekeptoutofsucheditionsasaremeantforgeneralreading，andthatthepedant—pridewhichnowperpetuatesitasanessentialpartofthosepoetsshallnolongerhaveitsway。Attheendoftheendssuchthingsdodefile，theydocorrupt。
Wemaypalliatethemorexcusethemforthisreasonorthat，butthatisthetruth，andIdonotseewhytheyshouldnotbedroppedfromliterature，astheywerelongagodroppedfromthetalkofdecentpeople。
Theliteraryhistoriesmightkeeprecordofthem，butitisloathsometothinkofthoseheapsofordure，accumulatedfromgenerationtogeneration，andcarefullypasseddownfromagetoageassomethingpreciousandvital，andnotjustlyregardedasthemoraloffalwhichtheyare。
DuringthewinterwepassedatColumbusIsupposethatmyfatherreadthingsaloudtousafterhisoldhabit，andthatIlistenedwiththerest。IhaveadimnotionoffirstknowingThomson’s’CastleofIndolence’inthisway，butIwasgettingmoreandmoreimpatientofhavingthingsreadtome。ThetroublewasthatIcaughtsomethoughtorimagefromthetext，andthatmyfancyremainedplayingwiththatwhilethereadingwenton，andIlosttherest。ButIthinkthereadingwaslessineverywaythanithadbeen，becausehisworkwasexhaustingandhisleisureless。Myownhoursintheprinting—officebeganatsevenandendedatsix，withanhouratnoonfordinner，whichIoftenusedforputtingdownsuchversesashadcometomeduringthemorning。AssoonassupperwasoveratnightIgotoutmymanuscripts，whichIkeptingreatdisorder，andwritteninseveraldifferenthandsonseveraldifferentkindsofpaper，andsawed，andfiled，andhammeredawayatmyblessedPopeanheroicstillnine，whenIwentregularlytobed，toriseagainatfive。SometimestheforemangavemeanafternoonoffonSaturdays，andthoughthedayswerelongtheworkwasnotalwaysconstant，andwasneververysevere。Isuspectnowtheofficewasnotsoprosperousasmighthavebeenwished。Iwasshiftedfromplacetoplaceinit，andtherewasplentyoftimeformyday—dreamsoverthedistributionofmycase。Iwasveryfondofmywork，though，andproudofmyswiftnessandskillinit。Oncewhentheperplexedforemancouldnotthinkofanytasktosetmeheofferedmeaholiday，butIwouldnottakeit，soIfancythatatthistimeIwasnotmoreinterestedinmyartofpoetrythaninmytradeofprinting。WhatwentonintheofficeinterestedmeasmuchasthequarrelsoftheAugustanageofEnglishletters，andImademuchmorerecordofitinthecrudeandshapelessdiarywhichIkept，partlyinverseandpartlyinprose，butalwaysofadistinctlylowerliterarykindthanthatIwastryingotherwisetowrite。
TheremusthavebeensomementioninitofthetremendouscombatwithwetspongesIsawthereonedaybetweentwooftheboyswhohurledthembackandforthateachother。Thisamiablefray，carriedonduringtheforeman’sabsence，forceduponmynoticeforthefirsttimetheboywhohascometobeanamewell—knowninliterature。Iadmiredhisvigorasacombatant，butIneverspoketohimatthattime，andIneverdreamedthathe，too，waseffervescingwithverse，probablyasfiercelyasmyself。Sixorsevenyearslaterwemetagain，whenwehadbothbecomejournalists，andhadbothhadpoemsacceptedbyMr。LowellfortheAtlanticMonthly，andthenweformedaliteraryfriendshipwhicheventuatedinthejointpublicationofavolumeofverse。’ThePoemsofTwoFriends’becameinstantlyandlastinglyunknowntofame;theWestwaited，asitalwaysdoes，tohearwhattheEastshouldsay;theEastsaidnothing，andtwo—thirdsofthesmalleditionoffivehundredcamebackuponthepublisher’shands。Iimaginethesecopieswere\"groundup\"
inthemannerofworthlessstock，forIsawasingleexampleofthebookquotedtheotherdayinabook—seller’scatalogueattendollars，andI
inferthatitissorareastobeprizedatleastforitsrarity。Itwasaveryprettylittlebook，printedontintedpaperthencalled\"blush，\"
inthetrade，anditwasmanufacturedinthesameofficewherewehadoncebeenboystogether，unknowntoeachother。Anotherboyofthattimehadbythistimebecomeforemanintheoffice，andhewasveryseverewithusabouttheproofs，andsentushurtingmessagesonthemargin。
Perhapshethoughtwemightbegoingtotakeonairs，andperhapswemighthavetakenonairsifthefateofourbookhadbeendifferent。
AsitwasIreallythinkwebehavedwithsufficientmeekness，andafterthirtyfourorfiveyearsforreflectionIamstillofaverymodestmindaboutmyshareofthebook，inspiteofthepriceitbearsinthebook—
seller’scatalogue。ButIhavesteadilygrowninlikingformyfriend’sshareinit，andIthinkthatthereisatpresentnoAmericanoftwenty—
threewritingverseofsogoodaquality，withanidealsopureandhigh，andfromanimpulsesoauthenticasJohnJ。Piatt’swerethen。Healreadyknewhowtobreatheintohisglowingrhymetheveryspiritoftheregionwherewewerebothnative，andinhimtheMiddleWesthasitstruepoet，whowasmuchmorethanitspoet，whohadarichandtenderimagination，alovelysenseofcolor，andatoucheventhensecurelyandfullyhisown。Iwasreadingoverhispoemsinthatpoorlittlebookafewdaysago，andwonderingwithshameandcontritionthatIhadnotatonceknowntheirincomparablesuperioritytomine。ButIusedthenandforlongafterwardstotaxhimwithobscurity，notknowingthatmyownwantofsimplicityanddirectnesswastoblameforthateffect。
Myreadingfromthefirstwassuchastoenamourmeofclearness，ofdefiniteness;anythingleftinthevaguewasintolerabletome;butmylongsubjectiontoPope，whileitwasusefulinotherways，mademesostrictlyliteraryinmypointofviewthatsometimesIcouldnotseewhatwas，ifmorenaturallyapproachedandwithoutanytechnicalpreoccupation，perfectlytransparent。Itremainedforanothergreatpassion，perhapsthegreatestofmylife，tofusethesegyvesinwhichI
wastryingsohardtodance，andfreemeforeverfromthebondswhichI
hadspentsomuchtimeandtroubletoinvolvemyselfin。ButIwasnottoknowthatpassionforfiveorsixyearsyet，andinthemeantimeI
keptonasIhadbeengoing，andworkedoutmydeliveranceinthepredestinedway。WhatIlikedthenwasregularity，uniformity，exactness。Ididnotconceiveofliteratureastheexpressionoflife，andIcouldnotimaginethatitoughttobedesultory，mutable，andunfixed，evenifattheriskofsomevagueness。
X。VARIOUSPREFERENCES
MyfatherwasveryfondofByron，andImustbeforethishaveknownthathispoemswereinourbookcase。WhilewewerestillinColumbusIbegantoreadthem，butIdidnotreadsomuchofthemascouldhavehelpedmetoatruerandfreerideal。Iread\"EnglishBardsandScotchReviewers，\"
andIlikeditsvulgarmusicanditsheavy—handedsarcasm。Thesewould，perhaps，havefascinatedanyboy，butIhadsuchafanaticismformethodicalversethatanyvariationfromtheoctosyllabicanddecasyllabiccoupletswaspainfultome。TheSpencerianstanza，withitsrichvarietyofmovementanditsharmoniouscloses，longshut\"ChildeHarold\"fromme，andwheneverIfoundapoeminanybookwhichdidnotrhymeitssecondlinewithitsfirstIreaditunwillinglyornotatall。
Thiscrazecouldnotlast，ofcourse，butitlastedbeyondourstayinColumbus，whichendedwiththewinter，whentheLegislatureadjourned，andmyfather’semploymentceased。Hetriedtofindsomeeditorialworkonthepaperwhichhadprintedhisreports，buteveryplacewasfull，anditwashopelesstodreamofgettingaproprietaryinterestinit。Wehadnothing，andwemustseekachancewheresomethingbesidesmoneywouldavailus。ThisoffereditselfinthevillageofAshtabula，inthenortheasternpartoftheState，andthereweallfoundourselvesonemoonlightnightofearlysummer。TheLakeShoreRailroadthenendedatAshtabula，inabankofsand，andmyelderbrotherandIwalkedupfromthestation，whiletherestofthefamily，whichprettywellfilledtheomnibus，rode。WehadbeenveryhappyatColumbus，aswewereapttobeanywhere，butnoneofuslikedthenarrownessofcitystreets，evensoneartothewoodsasthosewere，andwewereeagerforthecountryagain。
Wehadalwayslivedhithertoinlargetowns，exceptforthatyearattheMills，andwewereeagertoseewhatavillagewaslike，especiallyavillagepeopledwhollybyYankees，asourfatherhadreportedit。ImustownthatwefounditfarprettierthananythingwehadknowninSouthernOhio，whichweweresofondofandsoloathtoleave，andasIlookbackitstillseemstomeoneoftheprettiestlittleplacesIhaveeverknown，withitswhitewoodenhouses，glimmeringinthedarkofitselmsandmaples，andtheirsilentgardensbesideeach，andthesilent，grass—
bordered，sandystreetsbetweenthem。Thehotel，wherewerejoinedourfamily，lurkedbehindagroupofloftyelms，andwedrankatthetownpumpbeforeitjustforthepleasureofpumpingit。
Thevillagewasallthatwecouldhaveimaginedofsimplyandsweetlyromanticinthemoonlight，andwhenthedaycameitdidnotrobitofitscharm。Itwasaslovelyinmyeyesastheloveliestvillageoftheplain，andithadtheadvantageofrealizingtheDesertedVillagewithoutbeingdeserted。
XI。UNCLETOM’SCABIN
Thebookthatmovedmemost，inourstayofsixmonthsatAshtabula，wasthenbeginningtomovethewholeworldmorethananyotherbookhasmovedit。IreaditasitcameoutweekafterweekintheoldNationalEra，andIbrokemyheartoverUncleTom’sCabin，aseveryoneelsedid。YetIcannotsaythatitwasapassionofminelikeDonQuixote，ortheotherbooksthatIhadlovedintensely。IfeltitsgreatnesswhenIreaditfirst，andasoftenasIhavereaditsince，Ihaveseenmoreandmoreclearlythatitwasaverygreatnovel。Withcertainobviouslapsesinitsart，andwithanartthatisatitsbestverysimple，andperhapsprimitive，thebookisstillaworkofart。Iknewthis，inameasurethen，asIknowitnow，andyetneithertheliteraryprideIwasbeginningtohaveintheperceptionofsuchthings，northepowerfulappealitmadetomysympathies，sufficedtoimpassionmeofit。Icouldnotsaywhythiswasso。Whydoestheyoungman’sfancy，whenitlightlyturnstothoughtsoflove，turnthiswayandnotthat？Thereseemsnomorereasonforonethanfortheother。
Insteadofremainingsteepedtothelipsinthestronginterestofwhatisstillperhapsourchieffiction，Ishedmytributeoftears，andwentonmyway。Ididnottrytowriteastoryofslaver，asImightverywellhavedone;IdidnotimitateeitherthemakeorthemannerofMrs。
Stowe’sromance;IkeptonatmyimitationofPope’spastorals，whichI
daresayIthoughtmuchfiner，andworthierthepowersofsuchapoetasImeanttobe。Ididthis，asImusthavefeltthen，atsomepersonalriskofasupernaturalkind，formystudieswereapttobeprolongedintothenightaftertherestofthefamilyhadgonetobed，andacertainghost，whichIhadeveryreasontofear，mightverywellhavevisitedthesmallroomgivenmetowritein。Therewasastory，whichIshrankfromverifying，thataformerinmateofourhousehadhunghimselfinit，butIdonotknowtothisdaywhetheritwastrueornot。Thedoubtdidnotpreventhimfromdanglingatthedoor—post，inmyconsciousness，andmanyatimeIshunnedthesightofthisproblematicalsuicidebykeepingmyeyesfastenedonthebookbeforeme。Itwasaverysimpledevice，butperfectlyeffective，asIthinkanyonewillfindwhoemploysitinlikecircumstances;andIwouldreallyliketocommendittogrowingboystroubledasIwasthen。
Ineverheardwhothepoorsoulwas，orwhyhetookhimselfoutoftheworld，ifhereallydidso，orifheeverwasinit;butIamsurethatmypassionforPope，andmypurposeofwritingpastorals，musthavebeenpowerfulindeedtocarrymethroughdangersofthatkind。Isuspectthatthestrongestproofoftheirexistencewasthegloomyandruinouslookofthehouse，whichwasoneoftheoldestinthevillage，andtheonlyonethatwasforrentthere。Wewentintoitbecausewemust，andweweretoleaveitassoonaswecouldfindabetter。ButbeforethishappenedweleftAshtabula，andIpartedwithoneofthefewpossibilitiesIhaveenjoyedofseeingaghostonhisownground，asitwere。
Iwasnotsorry，forIbelieveIneverwentinorcameoutoftheplace，bydayorbynight，withoutashudder，moreorlesssecret;andatleast，now，weshouldbeabletogetanotherhouse。
XII。OSSIAN
VerylikelythereadingofOssianhadsomethingtodowithmymorbidanxieties。IhadreadByron’simitationofhimbeforethat，andadmireditprodigiously，andwhenmyfathergotmethebook——asusualIdidnotknowwhereorhowhegotit——notallthetallformsthatmovedbeforetheeyesofhauntedbardsintheduskyvaleofautumncouldhavekeptmefromit。Therewerecertainoutlineillustrationsinit，whichwereverygoodinthecoldFlaxmanmanner，andhelpedlargelytoheightenthefascinationofthepoemsforme。TheydidnotsupplantthepastoralsofPopeinmyaffections，andtheywereneverthegrandpassionwithmethatPope’spoemshadbeen。
IbeganatoncetomakemyimitationsofOssian，andIdaresaytheywerenotwindierandmistierthantheoriginal。AtthesametimeIreadtheliteratureofthesubject，andgavethepretensionsofMacphersonanunquestioningfaith。Ishouldhavemadeveryshortworkofanyonewhohadimpugnedtheauthenticityofthepoems，buthappilytherewasnoonewhoheldthecontraryopinioninthatvillage，sofarasIknew，orwhocaredforOssian，orhadevenheardofhim。Thissavedmeagreatdealofheatedcontroversywithmycontemporaries，butIhaditoutinmanyangryreverieswithDr。Johnsonandothers，whohaddaredtosayintheirtimethatthepoemsofOssianwerenotgenuinelaysoftheGaelicbard，handeddownfromfathertoson，andtakenfromthelipsofoldwomeninHighlandhuts，asMacphersonclaimed。
InfactIlivedoverinmysmallwaytheepochoftheeighteenthcenturyinwhichthesecuriousfraudsfoundpoliteacceptancealloverEurope，andIthinkyetthattheywerereallyworthierofacceptancethanmostoftheartificialitiesthatthenpassedforpoetry。Therewasalightofnatureinthem，andthismusthavebeenwhatpleasedme，solong—shutuptothestudio—workofPope。ButstrangelyenoughIdidnotfalterinmyallegiancetohim，orrealizethathereinthisfreeformwasadeliverance，ifIliked，fromthefettersandmanacleswhichIhadbeenatsomuchpainstofitmyselfwith。Probablynothingwouldthenhavepersuadedmetoputthemoffpermanently，ortodomorethanlaythemasideforthemomentwhileItriedthatnewstopandthatnewstep。
IthinkthateventhenIhadaninstinctivedoubtwhetherformlessnesswasreallybetterthanformality。Something，itseemstome，maybecontainedandkeptaliveinformality，butinformlessnesseverythingspillsandwastesaway。ThisiswhatIfindthefataldefectofourAmericanOssian，WaltWhitman，whosewayiswhereartisticmadnesslies。
Hehadgreatmoments，beautifulandnoblethoughts，generousaspirations，andaheartwideandwarmenoughforthewholerace，buthehadnobounds，noshape;hewasasliberalasthecasingair，buthewasoftenasvagueandintangible。IcannotsayhowlongmypassionforOssianlasted，butnotlong，Ifancy，forIcannotfindanytraceofitinthetimefollowingourremovalfromAshtabulatothecountyseatatJefferson。IkeptonwithPope，IkeptonwithCervantes，IkeptonwithIrving，butIsupposetherewasreallynotsubstanceenoughinOssiantofeedmypassion，anditdiedofinanition。
XIII。SHAKESPEARE
Theestablishmentofourpaperinthevillagewheretherehadbeennonebefore，anditsenlargementfromfourtoeightpages，wereeventssofillingthattheyleftlittleroomforanyotherexcitementbutthatofgettingacquaintedwiththeyoungpeopleofthevillage，andgoingtoparties，andsleighrides，andwalks，anddrives，andpicnics，anddances，andalltheotherpleasuresinwhichthatcommunityseemedtoindulgebeyondanyotherwehadknown。Thevillagewassmallerthantheonewehadjustleft，butitwasbynomeanslesslively，andIthinkthatforitssizeandtimeandplaceithadanuncommonshareofwhathassincebeencalledculture。Theintellectualexperienceofthepeoplewasmainlytheologicalandpolitical，asitwaseverywhereinthatday，buttherewereseveralamongthemwhohadarealloveforbooks，andwhentheymetatthedruggist’s，astheydideverynight，todisputeoftheinspirationoftheScripturesandtheprinciplesoftheFreeSoilparty，thetalksometimesturnedupontherespectivemeritsofDickensandThackeray，GibbonandMacaulay，WordsworthandByron。Therewerelawstudentswhoread\"NoctesAmbrosianae，\"the’AgeofReason’，andBailey’s\"Festus，\"aswellasBlackstone’s’Commentaries;’andtherewasapubliclibraryinthatvillageofsixhundredpeople，smallbutverywellselected，whichwaskeptinoneofthelawyers’offices，andwasfreetoall。Itseemstomenowthatthepeoplemetthereoftenerthantheydoinmostcountryplaces，andrubbedtheirwitstogethermore，butthismaybeoneofthosepleasingillusionsofmemorywhichmeninlaterlifearesubjectto。
Iinsistuponnothing，butcertainlytheairwasfriendliertothetastesIhadformedthananyIhadyetknown，andIfoundawiderifnotdeepersympathywiththem。Therewasoneofourprinterswholikedbooks，andwewentthrough’DonQuixote’togetheragain，andthroughthe’ConquestofGranada’，andwebegantoreadotherthingsofIrving’s。Therewasaverygoodlittlestockofbooksatthevillagedrugstore，andamongthosethatbegantocomeintomyhandswerethepoemsofDr。Holmes，strayvolumesofDeQuincey，andhereandthereminorworksofThackeray。
IbelieveIhadnomoneytobuythem，buttherewasanopenaccount，oracomity，betweentheprinterandthebookseller，andImusthavebeenallowedacertaindiscretioninregardtogettingbooks。
StillIdonotthinkIwentfarinthemoremodernauthors，orgavemyhearttoanyofthem。Suddenly，itwasnowgiventoShakespeare，withoutnoticeorreason，thatIcanrecall，exceptthatmyfriendlikedhimtoo，andthatwefounditadoublepleasuretoreadhimtogether。Printersintheold—timeofficeswerealwaysspoutingShakespearemoreorless，andI
supposeIcouldnothavekeptawayfromhimmuchlongerinthenatureofthings。IcannotfixthetimeorplacewhenmyfriendandIbegantoreadhim，butitwasinthefineprintofthatunhallowededitionofours，andpresentlywehadgreatlengthsofhimbyheart，outof\"Hamlet，\"outof\"TheTempest，\"outof\"Macbeth，\"outof\"RichardIII。，\"
outof\"Midsummer—Night’sDream，\"outofthe\"ComedyofErrors，\"outof\"JuliusCaesar，\"outof\"MeasureforMeasure，\"outof\"RomeoandJuliet，\"
outof\"TwoGentlemenofVerona。\"
Theseweretheplaysthatweloved，andmusthavereadincommon，oratleastatthesametime：butothersthatImoreespeciallylikedweretheHistories，andamongthemparticularlyweretheHenrys，whereFalstaffappeared。Thisgrossandpalpablereprobategreatlytookmyfancy。
Idelightedinhimimmensely，andinhiscomrades，Pistol，andBardolph，andNym。Icouldnotreadofhisdeathwithoutemotion，anditwasapersonalpangtomewhentheprince，crownedking，deniedhim：blackguardforblackguard，Istillthinktheprincetheworseblackguard。PerhapsI
flattermyself，butIbelievethateventhen，asaboyofsixteen，IfullyconceivedofFalstaff’scharacter，andenteredintotheauthor’swonderfullyhumorousconceptionofhim。Thereisnosuchperfectconceptionoftheselfishsensualistinliterature，andtheconceptionisallthemoreperfectbecauseofthewitthatlightsuptheviceofFalstaff，acoldlightwithouttenderness，forhewasnotagoodfellow，thoughamerrycompanion。IamnotsurebutIshouldputhimbesideHamlet，andonthenamelevel，forthemeritofhisartisticcompleteness，andatonetimeImuchpreferredhim，oratleasthishumor。
AstoFalstaffpersonally，orhislike，Iwasratherfastidious，andwouldnothavemadefriendswithhimintheflesh，muchorlittle。
IrevelledinallhisappearancesintheHistories，andItriedtobeashappywhereafactitiousandperfunctoryFalstaffcomestolifeagaininthe\"MerryWivesofWindsor，\"thoughatthebottomofmyheartIfeltthedifference。IbegantomakemyimitationsofShakespeare，andIwrote57
outpassageswhereFalstaffandPistolandBardolphtalkedtogether，inthatErclesveinwhichissoeasilycaught。ThiswasafterayearortwooftheirregularandinterruptedacquaintancewiththeauthorwhichhasbeenmymodeoffriendshipwithalltheauthorsIhaveloved。MyworshipofShakespearewenttoheightsandlengthsthatithadreachedwithnoearlieridol，andtherewasasuprememoment，once，whenIfoundmyselfsayingthatthecreationofShakespearewasasgreatasthecreationofaplanet。
Thereoughtcertainlytobesomeboundbeyondwhichthecultoffavoriteauthorsshouldnotbesufferedtogo。Ishouldkeepwellwithinthelimitofthatearlyexcessnow，andshouldnotlikenthecreationofShakespearetothecreationofanyheavenlybodybigger，say，thanoneofthenamelessasteroidsthatrevolvebetweenMarsandJupiter。EventhisIdonotfeeltobeatruemeansofcomparison，andIthinkthatinthecaseofallgreatmenweliketoletourwondermountandmount，tillitleavesthetruthbehind，andhonestyisprettymuchcastoutasballast。
AwisecriticismwillnomoremagnifyShakespearebecauseheisalreadygreatthanitwillmagnifyanylessman。Butweareloadeddownwiththeresponsibilityoffindinghimallwehavebeentoldheis，andwemustdothisorsuspectourselvesofawantoftaste，awantofsensibility。Atthesametime，wemayreallybehonesterthanthosewhohaveledustoexpectthisorthatofhim，andmoretrulyhisfriends。IwishthetimemightcomewhenwecouldreadShakespeare，andDante，andHomer，assincerelyandasfairlyaswereadanynewbookbytheleastknownofourcontemporaries。Thecourseofcriticismistowardsthis，butwhenI
begantoreadShakespeareIshouldnothaveventuredtothinkthathewasnotateverymomentgreat。Ishouldnomorehavethoughtofquestioningthepoetryofanypassageinhimthanofquestioningtheproofsofholywrit。Allthesame，IknewverywellthatmuchwhichIreadwasreallypoorstuff，andthepersonsandpositionswereoftenpreposterous。Itisagreatpitythattheardentyouthshouldnotbepermittedandevenencouragedtosaythistohimself，insteadoffallingslavishlybeforeagreatauthorandacceptinghimatallpointsasinfallible。Shakespeareisfineenoughandgreatenoughwhenallthepossibledetractionsaremade，andIhavenofearofsayingnowthathewouldbefinerandgreaterforthelossofhalfhiswork，thoughifIhadheardanyonesaysuchathingthenIshouldhaveheldhimaslittlebetterthanoneofthewicked。
UponthewholeitwaswellthatIhadnotfoundmywaytoShakespeareearlier，thoughitisratherstrangethatIhadnot。Iknewhimonthestageinmostoftheplaysthatusedtobegiven。IhadsharedtheconscienceofMacbeth，thepassionofOthello，thedoubtofHamlet;manytimes，inmynaturalaffinityforvillains，IhadmockedandsufferedwithRichardIII。
Probablynodramatisteverneededthestageless，andnoneeverbroughtmoretoit。Therehavebeenfewjoysformeinlifecomparabletothatofseeingthecurtainriseon\"Hamlet，\"andhearingtheguardsbegintotalkabouttheghost;andyethowfullythisjoyimpartsitselfwithoutanymaterialembodiment！Itisthesameinthewholerangeofhisplays：
theyfillthescene，butifthereisnoscenetheyfillthesoul。Theyareneitherworsenorbetterbecauseofthetheatre。Theyaresogreatthatitcannothamperthem;theyaresovitalthattheyenlargeittotheirownproportionsandendueitwithsomethingoftheirownlivingforce。Theymakeitthesizeoflife，andyettheyretireitsowhollythatyouthinknomoreofitthanyouthinkofthephysiognomyofonewhotalksimportantlytoyou。IhaveheardpeoplesaythattheywouldrathernotseeShakespeareplayedthantoseehimplayedill，butIcannotagreewiththem。Hecanbetteraffordtobeplayedillthananyothermanthateverwrote。Whoeverisonthestage，itisalwaysShakespearewhoisspeakingtome，andperhapsthisisthereasonwhyinthepastIcantracenodiscrepancybetweenreadinghisplaysandseeingthem。
TheeffectissoequalfromeitherexperiencethatIamnotsureastosomeplayswhetherIreadthemorsawthemfirst，thoughastomostofthemIamawarethatIneversawthematall;andifthewholetruthmustbetoldthereisstilloneofhisplaysthatIhavenotread，andI
believeitisesteemedoneofhisgreatest。Thereareseveral，withallmyreadingofothers，thatIhadnotreadtillwithinafewyears;andI
donotthinkIshouldhavelostmuchifI，hadneverread\"Pericles\"and\"Winter’sTale。\"
InthoseearlydaysIhadnophilosophizedpreferenceforrealityinliterature，andIdaresayifIhadbeenasked，IshouldhavesaidthattheplaysofShakespearewhererealityisleastfeltwerethemostimaginative;thatisthebeliefofthepuerilecriticsstill;butI
supposeitwasmyinstinctivelikingforrealitythatmadethegreatHistoriessodelightfultome，andthatrendered\"Macbeth\"and\"Hamlet\"
vitalintheirveryghostsandwitches。ThereIfoundaworldappreciabletoexperience，aworldinexpressiblyvasterandgranderthanthepoorlittleaffairthatIhadonlyknownasmallobscurecornerof，andyetofonequalitywithit，sothatIcouldbeasmuchathomeandcitizeninitaswhereIactuallylived。ThereIfoundjoyandsorrowmixed，andnothingabstractortypical，buteverythingstandingforitself，andnotforsomeotherthing。Then，Isupposeitwastheinterfusionofhumorthroughsomuchofit，thatmadeitallpreciousandfriendly。IthinkIhadanativeloveoflaughing，whichwasfosteredinmebymyfather’swayoflookingatlife，andhadcertainlybeenflatteredbymyintimacywithCervantes;butwhetherthiswassoornot，IknowthatIlikedbestandfeltdeepestthoseplaysandpassagesinShakespearewheretheallianceofthetragicandthecomicwasclosest。
Perhapsinatimewhenself—consciousnessissowidespread，itistheonlythingthatsavesusfromourselves。IamsurethatwithoutitI
shouldnothavebeennaturalizedtothatworldofShakespeare’sHistories，whereIusedtospendsomuchofmyleisure，withsuchasenseofhisownintimatecompanionshipthereasIhadnowhereelse。Ifeltthathemustsomehowlikemybeinginthejokeofitall，andthatinhisgreathearthehadroomforaboywillingabsolutelytolosehimselfinhim，andbeasoneofhiscreations。
Itwasthetimeoflifewithmewhenaboybeginstobeinlovewiththeprettyfacesthatthenpeopledthisworldsothickly，andIdidnotfailtofallinlovewiththeladiesofthatShakespeare—worldwhereIlivedequally。IcannottellwhetheritwasbecauseIfoundthemlikemyidealshere，orwhethermyidealsacquiredmeritbecauseoftheirlikenesstotherealitiesthere;theyappearedtobeallofonedegreeofenchantingloveliness;butuponthewholeImusthavepreferredthemintheplays，becauseitwassomucheasiertogetonwiththemthere;Iwasalwaysmuchbetterdressedthere;Iwasvastlyhandsomer;Iwasnotbashfulorafraid，andIhadsomedefectsoftheseadvantagestocontendwithhere。
Thatfriendofmine，theprinterwhomIhavementioned，wasonewithmeinasenseoftheShakespeareanhumor，andhedweltwithmeinthesortofdoublebeingIhadinthosetwoworlds。Wetookthebookintothewoodsattheendsofthelongsummerafternoonsthatremainedtouswhenwehadfinishedourwork，andontheshiningSundaysofthewarm，latespring，theearly，warmautumn，andwereaditthereongrassyslopesorheapsoffallenleaves;sothatmuchofthepoetryismixedformewitharapturoussenseoftheout—doorbeautyofthislovelynaturalworld。
Wereadturnabout，onetakingthestoryupastheothertired，andaswereadthedramaplayeditselfundertheopenskyandinthefreeairwithsuchorchestraleffectsasthesoughingwoodsorsomeripplingstreamafforded。Itwasnotinterruptedwhenasquirreldroppedanutonusfromthetopofatallhickory;andtheplaintofameadow—larkprolongeditselfwithunbrokensweetnessfromoneworldtotheother。
ButIthinkittakestwotoreadintheopenair。Thepressureofwallsiswantedtokeepthemindwithinitselfwhenonereadsalone;otherwiseitwandersanddispersesitselfthroughnature。Whenmyfriendleftusforwantofworkintheoffice，orfromthevagariousimpulsewhichissostronginourcraft，ItookmyShakespearenolongertothewoodsandfields，butporeduponhimmostlybynight，inthenarrowlittlespacewhichIhadformystudy，underthestairsathome。Therewasadeskpushedbackagainstthewall，whichtheirregularceilingelopeddowntomeetbehindit，andatmyleftwasawindow，whichgaveagoodlightonthewriting—leafofmydesk。Thiswasmyworkshopforsixorsevenyears，anditwasnotatallabadone;Ihavehadmanysincethatwerenotsomuchtothepurpose;andthoughIwouldnotlivemylifeover，I
wouldwillinglyenoughhavethatlittlestudymineagain。Butitisgoneanutterlyasthefacesandvoicesthatmadehomearoundit，andthatI
wasfiercetoshutoutofit，sothatnosoundorsightshouldmolestmeinthepursuitoftheendwhichIsoughtgropingly，blindly，withverylittlehope，butwithanintenseambition，andacouragethatgavewayundernoburden，beforenoobstacle。Longagochangesweremadeinthelow，ramblinghousewhichthrewmylittleclosetintoalargerroom;butthiswasnotuntilafterIhadleftitmanyyears;andaslongasI
remainedapartofthatdearandsimplehomeitwasmyplacetoread，towrite，tomuse，todream。
IsometimeswishintheselateryearsthatIhadspentlesstimeinit，orthatworldofbookswhichitopenedinto;thatIhadseenmoreoftheactualworld，andhadlearnedtoknowmybrethreninitbetter。Imightsohaveamassedmorematerialforafteruseinliterature，butIhadtofitmyselftouseit，andIsupposethatthiswaswhatIwasdoing，inmyownway，andbysuchlightasIhad。Ioftentoiledwronglyandfoolishly;butcertainlyItoiled，andIsupposenoworkiswasted。Somestrength，Ihope，wascomingtome，evenfrommymistakes，andthoughI
wentovergroundthatIneednothavetraversed，ifIhadnotbeenleftsomuchtofindthewayalone，yetIwasnotstandingstill，andsomeofthethingsthatIthenwishedtodoIhavedone。IdonotmindowningthatinothersIhavefailed。Forinstance，IhaveneversurpassedShakespeareasapoet，thoughIoncefirmlymeanttodoso;butthen，itistoberememberedthatveryfewotherpeoplehavesurpassedhim，andthatitwouldnothavebeeneasy。
XIV。IKMARVEL
MyardorforShakespearemusthavebeenatitsheightwhenIwasbetweensixteenandseventeenyearsold，forIfancywhenIbegantoformulatemyadmiration，andtotrytomeasurehisgreatnessinphrases，Iwaslesssimplyimpassionedthanatsomeearliertime。Atanyrate，IamsurethatIdidnotproclaimhisplanetaryimportanceincreationuntilIwasatleastnineteen。ButevenatanearlierageInolongerworshippedatasingleshrine;thereweremanygodsinthetempleofmyidolatry，andI
bowedthekneetothemallinadevotionwhich，ifitwasnotofonequality，wascertainlyimpartial。WhileIwasreading，andthinking，andlivingShakespearewithsuchanintensitythatIdonotseehowtherecouldhavebeenroominmyconsciousnessforanythingelse，thereseemtohavebeenhalfadozenotherdivinitiesthere，greatandsmall，whomI
havesomepresentdifficultyindistinguishing。IkeptIrving，andGoldsmith，andCervantesontheiroldaltars，butIaddednewones，andtheseItranslatedfromthecontemporary：literaryworldquiteasoftenasfromthepast。IamrathergladthatamongthemwasthegentleandkindlyIkMarvel，whose’ReveriesofaBachelor’andwhose’DreamLife’
theyoungpeopleofthatdaywerereadingwithatenderrapturewhichwouldnotbealtogethersurprising，Idaresay，totheyoungpeopleofthis。Thebookshavesurvivedthespanofimmortalityfixedbyouramusingcopyrightlaws，andseemnow，whenanypiratepublishermayplundertheirauthor，tohaveanewlifebeforethem。PerhapsthisisorderedbyProvidence，thatthosewhohavenorighttothemmayprofitbythem，inthatdivinecontemptofsuchprofitwhichProvidencesooftenshows。
IcannotunderstandjusthowIcametoknowofthebooks，butIsupposeitwasthroughthecontemporarycriticismwhichIwasthenbeginningtoread，whereverIcouldfindit，inthemagazinesandnewspapers;andI
couldnotsaywhyIthoughtitwouldbevery’commeilfaut’tolikethem。Probablytheliteraryfineworld，whichisalwaysrubbingshoulderswiththeotherfineworld，andbringingoffalittleofitspowderandperfume，wasthendawninguponme，andIwaswishingtobeofit，andtolikethethingsthatitliked;Iamnotsoanxioustodoitnow。Butifthisistrue，Ifoundthebooksbetterthantheirfriends，andhadmanyaheartachefromtheirpathos，manyagenuineglowofpurposefromtheirhighimport，manyatendersuffusionfromtheirsentiment。IdaresayIshouldfindtheirposenowalittleold—
fashioned。Ibelieveitwasratherfullofsighs，andshrugsandstarts，expressedindashes，andasterisks，andexclamations，butIamsurethatthefeelingwasthegenuineandmanlysortwhichisofalltimesandalwaysthelatestwear。Whateveritwas，itsufficedtowinmyheart，andtoidentifymewithwhateverwasmostromanticandmostpatheticinit。Iread’DreamLife’first——thoughthe’ReveriesofaBachelor’waswrittenfirst，andIbelieveisesteemedthebetterbook——and’DreamLife’remainsfirstinmyaffections。Ihavenowlittlenotionwhatitwasabout，butIloveitsmemory。ThebookisassociatedespeciallyinmymindwithonegoldendayofIndiansummer，whenIcarrieditintothewoodswithme，andabandonedmyselftoawelterofemotionoveritspage。
Ilay，underacrimsonmaple，andIrememberhowthelightstruckthroughitandflushedtheprintwiththegulesofthefoliage。MyfriendwasawaybythistimeononeofhisseveralabsencesintheNorthwest，andI
wasquitealoneintheabsurdandirrelevantmelancholywithwhichIreadmyselfandmycircumstancesintothebook。Ibegantoreadthemoutagaininduetime，clothedwiththeliteraryairsandgracesthatI
admiredinit，andforalongtimeIimitatedIkMarvelinthevoluminouslettersIwrotemyfriendincompliancewithhisShakespeareanprayer：
\"ToMilanletmehearfromtheebyletters，Ofthysuccessinlove，andwhatnewselseBetidethhereinabsenceofthyfriend;
AndIlikewisewillvisittheewithmine。\"
MilanwasthenpresentlySheboygan，Wisconsin，andVeronawasourlittlevillage;buttheybothservedthesoulofyouthaswellastherealplaceswouldhavedone，andwereasreallyItalianasanythingelseinthesituationwasreallythisorthat。Heavenknowswhatgaudysentimentalparadewemadeinourborrowedplumes，butifthetravestyhadkeptitselftothewrittenworditwouldhavebeenallwellenough。
MymisfortunewastocarryitintoprintwhenIbegantowriteastory，intheIkMarvelmanner，orrathertocomposeitintypeatthecase，forthatwaswhatIdid;anditwasnotaltogetherimitatedfromIkMarveleither，forIdrewupontheeasierartofDickensattimes，andhelpedmyselfoutwithbaldparodiesofBleakHouseinmanyplaces。Itwasallverywellatthebeginning，butIhadnotreckonedwiththefuturesufficientlytohavestartedwithanyclearendinginmymind，andasI
wentonIbegantofindmyselfmoreandmoreindoubtaboutit。Mymaterialgaveout;incidentsfailedme;thecharacterswaveredandthreatenedtoperishonmyhands。Tocrownmymiserytheregrewupanimpatiencewiththestoryamongitsreaders，andthisfounditswaytomeonedaywhenIoverheardanoldfarmerwhocameinforhispapersaythathedidnotthinkthatstoryamountedtomuch。Ididnotthinksoeither，butitwasdeadlytohaveitputintowords，andhowIescapedthemortaleffectofthestrokeIdonotknow。SomehowImanagedtobringthewretchedthingtoaclose，andtoliveitslowlyintothepast。Slowlyitseemedthen，butIdaresayitwasfastenough;andthereisalwaysthisconsolationtobewhisperedintheearofwoundedvanity，thattheworld’smemoryisequallybadforfailureandsuccess;thatifitwillnotkeepyourtriumphsinmindasyouthinkitought，neitherwillitlongdwelluponyourdefeats。Butthatexperiencewasreallyterrible。
Itwaslikesomedreadfuldreamonehasoffindingone’sselfinbattlewithoutthecourageneededtocarryonecreditablythroughtheaction，oronthestageunpreparedbystudyofthepartwhichoneistoappearin。Ihavehoverlookedatthatstorysince，sogreatwastheshameandanguishthatIsufferedfromit，andyetIdonotthinkitwasbadlyconceived，orattempteduponlinesthatweremistaken。IfitwerenotforwhathappenedinthepastImightlikesometimetowriteastoryonthesamelinesinthefuture。