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。