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HOW TO DO IT.
EDWARD EVERETT HA LE .
JAMES B. OSaOOD AND COMPANY,
IiATt Tntsn Ie Fmn, tm taiot, OmoOD, k Oo.
1874.
%
Xotend aoeording to Act of CongzMB, in the 7«ar 1871,
BT JAMES B. OSGOOD tt 00.,
In thu Office of the libxaxiaxi of Congran, %X Wwhhigton.
UmvBRsiTY Pbxss : Welch, Bigblow, & Ca,
CAMBlHbbX.
^^tA —
• ■
CHAPTER I. .
Pioi
Introduotobt. — How wk Met • . • • 1
CHAPTER II.
How TO Talk 26
CHAPTER III.
Talk 46
CHAPTER IV.
How TO Wbitb ; • • 69^
PHAPTER v.
How TO Read. I. 97
CHAPTER VI.
How TO Read, n 127
CHAPTER VII.
■
How TO 00 ncTo Sooiett 144
IV CONTENTS.
CHAPTER VIII.
How TO Travel ...*... 161
CHAPTER IX.
Life at School. . • . . . . « 180
CHAPTER X.
Life in Vacation 190
CHAPTER XI.
Life Alone 200
CHAPTER XII.
Habits in Church 217
CHAPTER XIII.
Life with Children . 226
CHAPTER XIV.
Life with tour Elders ....«• 237
CHAPTER XV.
Habits of Reading 248
CHAPTER XVI.
Getting Readt 259
- .' , jbtj-'
J,
f^.
HCW TO DO IT.
m
CHAPTER I. — INTEODUCTORY.
HOW WE MET.
fTlIIE papers which are here collected enter in
-^ some detail into the success and failure of a
large number of young people of iny acquaintance,
who are here named as
Alice Fatjlconbeidgb,
Bob Edmeston,
Claea,
Clem Watbks,
Edward Holiday,
Ellen Liston,
Emma Fobtinbras,
Enoch Putnam, brother of
Horace,
Esther,
Fanchon,
HoRAOE Felltham (a very dif-
ferent person),
Jane Smith,
Jo Gresham,
Laura Wvlter,
Maud Ingletree,
Oliver Ferguson, brother to
Asaph and George,
Pauline,
Rachel,
Robert,
Fanny, cotcsin to Hatty Sarah Clavers,
Fielding,
Florence,
Frank,
George Ferguson (Asaph
Ferguson's brother),
Hatty Fielding,
Herbert,
Horace Putnam,
Stephen,
Sybil,
Theodora,
Tom Rising,
Walter,
William Hackmatack,
William Withers.
n
2 HOW TO DO IT.
It may be observed that there are thirty-four
of them. They make up a very nice set, or
would do so if they belonged together. But, in
truth, they live in many regions, not to say
countries. None of them are too bright or too
stupid, only one of them is really selfish, all
but one or two are thoroughly sorry for their
faults when they commit them, and all of them
who are good for anything think of themselves
very littla There are a few who are approved
members of the Harry Wadsworth Club. That
means that they "look up and not down," they
"look forward and not back," they "look out and
not in," and they "lend a hand." These papers
were first published, much as they are now col-
lected, in the magazine " Our Young Folks," and in
that admirable weekly paper " The Youth's Com-
panion," which is held in grateful remembrance
by a generation now tottering ofif the stage, and
welcomed, as I see, with equal interest by the
grandchildren as they totter on. From time to
time, therefore, as the diiGferent series have gone
on, I have received pleasant notes from other
HOW TO DO rr, 8
young people, whose acquaintance I have thus
made with real pleasure, who have asked more
explanation as to the points involved. I have
thus been told that my friend, Mr. Henry Ward
Beecher, is not governed by all my rules for
young people's composition, and that Miss Throck-
morton, the governess, does not believe Archbishop
Whately is infallible. I have once and again
been asked how I made the acquaintance of such
a nice set of children. And I can weU believe
that many of my young correspondents would in
that matter be glad to be as fortunate as I.
Perhaps, then, I shall do something to make the
little book more intelligible, and to connect its
parts, if in this introduction I teU of the one
occasion when the dramatis personce met each
other; arid in order to that, if I tell how they
aU met me.
First of all, then, my dear young friends, I began
active life, as soon as I had left college, as I can
well wish all of you might do. I began in keep-
ing school. Not that I want to have any of you
do this long, unless an evident fitness or '' manifest
4 HOW TO DO IT.
destiny" appear so to order. But you may be
sure that, for a year or two of the start of life,
there is nothing that will teach you your own
ignorance so well as having to teach children
the few things you know, and to answer, as best
you can, their questions on all grounds. There
was poor Jane, on the first day of that charming
visit at the Penroses, who was betrayed by the
simplicity and cordiality of the dinner-table —
where she was the yoimgest of ten or twelve
strangers — into taking a protective lead of all
the conversation, till at the very Ijist I heard her
explaining to dear Mr. Tom Coram himself, — a
gentleman who had lived in Java ten years, — that
cofifee-berries were red when they were ripe. I
was sadly mortified for my poor Jane as Tom's
eyes twinkled. She would never have got into
that rattletmp way of talking if she had kept
school for two years. Here, again, is a capital
letter from Oliver Ferguson, Asaph's younger
brother, describing his life on the Island at Paris
all through the siege. I should have sent it yes-
terday to Mr. Osgood, who would be delighted to
HOW TO DO IT. 5
print it in the Atlantic Monthly, hut that the
spelling is disgracefuL Mr. Osgood and Mr.
Howells would think Oliver a fool hefore they
had read down the first page. " L-i-n, lin, n-e-n,
nen, linen." Think of that ! Oliver would never
have spelled " linen " like that if he had been two
years a teacher. You can go through four years
at Harvard College spelling so, but you cannot
go through two years as a schoolmaster.
Well, I say I was fortunate enough to spend
two years as an assistant schoolmjister at the old
Boston Latin School, — the oldest institution of
learning, as we are fond of saying, in the United
States. And there first I made my manhood's
acquaintance with boys.
"Do you think," said dear Dr. Malone to me
one day, " that my son Eobert will be too young
to enter college next August?" "How old will
he be ? " said I, and I was told. Then as Eobert
was at that moment just six months younger than
I, who had already graduated, I said wisely, that I
thought he would do, and Dr. Malone chuckled, I
doubt not, as I did certainly, at the gravity of
,, .^ ■ or TO. • \
M W •»■»
\Pjf'v^ '^r' V -'
6 HOW TO DO IT.
my answer. A nice set of beys I had. I had
above me two of the most loyal and honorable of
gentlemen, who screened me from all reproof for
my blunders. My discipline was not of the best,
but my purposes were; and I and the boys got
along admirably.
It was the old schoolhouse. I believe I shall
explain in another place, in this volume, that it
stood where Parker's Hotel stands, and my room
occupied the spot in space where you, Florence, and
you, Theodora, dined with your aunt Dorcas last
Wednesday before you took the cars for Andover,
— the ladies' dining-room looking on what was
then Cook's Court, and is now Chapman Place.
Who Cook was I know not. The "Province
Street" of to-day was then much more fitly. called
" Governor's Alley." For boys do not know that
that minstrel-saloon so long known as " Ordway's,"
just now changed into Sargent's Hotel, was for a
century, more or less, the ofl&cial residence of the
Governor of Massachusetts. It was the " Province
House.".
On the top of it, for a. weathercock, was the
■
HOW TO DO IT. 7
large mechanical brp-zen Indian, who, whenever he
heard the Old South clock strike twelve, shot off
his brazen arrow. The little boys used to hope to
see this. But just as twelve came was the bustle
of dismissal, and I have never seen one who did
see him, though for myself I know he did as wgis
said, and have never questioned it. That oppor-
tunity, however, was up stairs, in Mr. Dixwell's
room. In my room, in the basement, we had no
such opportunity.
The glory of our room was that it was supposed,
rightly or not, that a part of it was included in
the old fijchoolhouse which was there before the
Eevolution. There were old men still living who
remembered the troublous times, the times that
stirred boys* souls, as the struggle for independence
began. I have myself talked with Jonathan Darby
Eobbins, who was himself one of the committee
who Waited on the British general to demand that
their coasting should not be obstructed. There is
a reading piece about it in one of the school-books.
This general was not Gage, as he is said to be
in tibe histories, but Greneral Haldimand ; and his
8 HOW TO DO IT.
quarters were at the house which stood nearly
I where Franklin's statue stands now, just below
King's ChapeL His servant had put ashes on the
coast which the boys had made, on the sidewalk
which passes the Chapel as you go down School
Street. When the boys remonstrated, the servant
ridiculed them, — he was not going to mind a
gang of rebel boys. So the boys, who were much
of their fathers' minds, appointed a committee, of
whom my friend was one, to wait on General Hal^
dimand himself. They called on him, and they
told him that coasting was one of their inalienable
rights and that he must not take it away. The
4dF6nefal Jcaew too well, that tha- people. of.theL
town must not be irritated to take up his servant's
quarrel, and he told the boys that their coast
should not be interfered with. So they carried
their point. The story-book says that he clasped
his hands and said, " Heavens ! Liberty is in the
very air ! Even these boys speak of their rights
as do their patriot sires ! " But of this Mr. Eobbins
told me nothing, and as Haldimand was a Hessian,
of no great enthusiasm for liberty, I do not, for my
part, believe it
HOW TO DO IT. 9
The morning of April 19, 1775, Harrison Gray
Otis, then a little boy of eight years old, came
down Beacon Street to school, and found a brigade
of red-coats in line along Common Street, — as
Tremont Street was then called, — so that he
could not cross into School Street. They were
Earl Percy's brigade. Class in history, where did
Percy's brigade go that day, and what became of
them before night ? A red-coat corporal told the
Otis boy to walk along Common Street, and not
try to cross the line. So he did. He went as far
as Scollay's Building before he could turn their
flank, then he went down to what you call Wash-
ington Street, and came up to school, — late.
Whether his excuse would have been sufl&cient I
do not know. He was never asked for it. He
came into school just in time to hear old Level,
the Tory schoolmaster, say, "War's begun and
school's done. Dimittite Itiros,'* — which means,
" Put away your books." They put them away,
and had a vacation of a year and nine months
thereafter, before the school was open again.
Well, in this old school I had spent four years
10 HOW TO DO IT.
of my boyhood, and here, as I say, my man-
hood's acquaintance with boys began. I taught
them Latin, and sometimes mathematics. Some
of them will remember a famous Latin poem we
wrote about Pocahontas and John Smith. All of
them will remember how they capped Latin verses
against the master, twenty against one, and put
him down. These boys used to cluster round my
table at recess and talk. Danforth Kewcomb, a
lovely, gentle, accurate boy, almost always at the
head of his class, — he died young. Shang-hae, San
Francisco, Berlin, Paris, Australia^ — I don't know
what cities, towns, and countries have the rest of
them. And when they carry home this book for
their own boys to read, they will find some of their
boy-stories here.
Then there was Mrs. Merriam'd boarding-schooL
If you will read the chapter on travelling you wiU
find about one of the vacations of her girls. Mrs.
Merriam was one of Mr. Ingham's old friends, —
and he is a man with whom I have had a great
deal to do. Mrs. Merriam opened a school for
t^^ve girla. I knew bar tqxjt wqU, and ao it
HOW TO DO ITw 11
came that 1 knew her ways with ttiem. Though
it was a boarding-school, still the girls had just as
''good a time ** as they had at home, and when I
found that some of them asked leave to spend va-
cation with her I knew they had better times. I
remember perfectly the day when Mrs. Phillips
asked them down to the old mansion-house, which
seems so like home to me, to eat peaches. And
it was determined that the girls should not think
ihey were under any ''company" restraint, so
no person but themselves was present when the
peaches were served, and every girl ate as many
as for herself she determined best. When they aU
rode horseback, Mrs. M6rriam and I used to ride
together with these young folks behind or before,
as it listed them. So, not unnaturally, being a
friend of the family^ I came to know a good many
of them very well.
For another set of them — you may choose the
names to please yourselves — the history of my
relationship goes back to the Sunday school of the
Church of the Unity in Worcester. The first time
i «v«9^ preached m that church, namely. May 3,
12 HOW TO DO IT.
1846, there was but one person in it who had gray
hair. All of us of that day have enough now.
But we were a set of young people, starting on a
new church, which had, I assure you, no dust in
the. pulpit-cushions. And almost all the children
were young, as you may suppose. The first meet-
ing of the Sunday school showed, I think, thirty-
six children, and more of them were under mne
than over. They are all twenty-five years older
now than they were then. WeU, we started with-
out a library for the Sunday schooL But in a
comer of my study Jo Matthews and I put up
some three-cornered shelves, on which I kept
about a hundred books such as children like, and
young people who are no longer children ; and then,
as I sat reading, writing, or stood fussing over my
fuchsias or labelling the mineralogical specimens,
there would come in one or another nice girl or
boy, to borrow a "EoUo" or a "Franconia," or to
see if EUen listen had returned *' Amy Herbert."
And so we got very good chances to find each
othfer out. It is not a bad plan for a young minis-
ter, if he really want to know what the young
■
HOW TO DO IT. 13
folk of his pariah are. I know it was then and
there that I conceived the plan of writing " Mar-
garet Percival in America" as a sequel to Miss
Sewell's "Margaret Percival," and that I wrote
my half of that history.
The Worcester Sunday school grew beyond
thirty-six scholars; and I have since had to do
with two other Sunday schools, where, though the
children did not know it, I felt as young as the
youngest of them alL And in that sort of life
you get chances to come at jiice boys and nice
girls which most people in the world do not
have.
And the last of all the congresses of young
people which I will name, where I have found
my favorites, shall be the vacation congresses, ^-
when people from all the comers of the world
meet at some country hotel, and wonder who the
others are the first night, and, after a month, won-
der again how .they ever lived without knowing
each other as brothers and sisters. I never had
a nicer time than that day when we celebrated
Arthur's birthday by going up to Greely's Pond.
14 wosw TO DO m
^' Could Amelia walk so £ac? She only eight
jeaxs old, and it was the whole of five miles hj
a wood-road, and five miles to come back again."
Yes, Amelia was certain she could. Then, ^ whether
Arthur could walk so far, he being nine." Why,
of course he could if Amelia could. So eight-year-
old, nine-year-old, ten-year-old, eleven-year-old,
and all the rest of the ages, — we tramped off
together, and we stumbled ov^ the stumps, and
waded throu^ the mud, and tripped lightly, like
Somnambula in the opera, over the log bridges,
which were single logs and nothing more, and
came successfully to Greely's Pond, — beautiful
lake of Egeria that it is, hidden from envious and
lazy men by forest and rock and mountain. And
the children of fifty years old and less pulled off
shoes and stockings to wade in it ; and we caught
in tin mugs little seedling trouts not so long as
that word ''seedling" is on the page, and saw
them swim in the mugs and set them free again ;
and we ate the lunches with appetites as of Ar-
cadia ; and we stumped happily home again, and
found, as we weiit home^ all the sketchrbooks ane
HOW TO DO rr. 16
bait-boxes and neckties which we had lost as we
went up. On a day like that you get intimate, if
you were not intimate before.
dear ! don't you wish you were at WatervOle
pow?
Now, if you please, my dear Fanchon, we will
not go any further into the places where I got
acquainted with the heroes and heroines of this
book. Allow, of those mentioned here, four to the
Latin school, five to the Unity Sunday school, six
to the South Congregational, sev^i to vacation
acquaintance, credit me with nine children of my
own and ten brothers and sisters, and you will
find no difl&culty in selecting who of these are
which of those, if you have ever studied the
science of ** Indeterminate Analysis " in Professor
Smythe*s Algebra.
" Dear Mr. Hale, you are making fun of us.
We never know when you are in earnest"
Do not be in the least afraid, dear Florence.
Remember that a central rule for comfort in life
is this, "Nobody was ever written down an ass,
except by himself"
16 HOW TO DO IT.
Now I will tell you how ariA when the partic-
ular thirty-four names above happened to come
together.
We were, a few of us, staying at the White
Mountains. I think no New England summer is
quite perfect imless you stay at least a day in the
White Mountains. " Staying in the White Moun-
tains " does not mean climbing on top of a stage-
coach at Centre Harbor, and riding by day and by
night for forty-^ight hours till you fling yourself
into a railroad-car at Littleton, and cry out that
" you have done them." No. It means just living
with a prospect before your eye of a hundred mUes*
radius, as you may have at Bethlehem or the
Flume ; or, perhaps, a valley and a set of hills,
which never by accident look twice the same, as
you may have at the Glen House or Dolly Cop's
or at Waterville ; or with a gorge behind the
house, which you may thread and thread and
thread day in and out, and still not come out
upon the cleft rock from which flows the first
drop of the lovely stream, as you may do at Jack-
son. It means Uving front to front. Up to_ Up,
HOW TO DO IT. 17
with Nature at her leireliest, Echo at her most mys-
terious, with Heaven at its brightest and Earth at
its greenest, and, all this time, breathing, with
every breath, an atmosphere which is the elixir of
life, so pure and sweet and strong. At Greely's
you are, I believe, on the highest land inhabited
in America. That land has a pure air upon it.
Well, as I say, we were staying in the White
Mountains. Of course the young folks wanted to
go up Mount Washington. We had all been up
Osceola and Black Mountain, and some of us had
gone up on Mount Carter, and one or two had
been on Mount Lafayette. But this was as noth-
ing till we had stood on Mount Washington him-
self. So I told Hatty Fielding and Laura to go
on to the railroad-station and join a party we
knew that were going up from there, while Jo
Gresham and Stephen and the two Fergusons and
I would go up on foot by a route I kn^w from
Eandolph over the real Mount Adams. Kobody
had been up that particular branch of Israel's run
since Channing and I did in 1841. Will Hack-
matack, who was with us, had a blister on his
2
18 HOW TO DO IT.
foot, SO he Went with the riding party. He said
that was the reason, perhaps he thought sa The
truth was he wanted to go with Laura, and nobody
need be ashamed of that any day.
I spare you the account of Israel's river, and of
the lovely little cascade at its very source, where
it leaps out between two rocks. I spare you the
hour when we lay under the spruces while it
rained, and the little birds, ignorant of men aiMi
boys, hopped tamely round us. I spare you even
the rainbow, more than a semicircle, which we
saw from Mount Adams. Safely, wetly, and hun-
gry, we five arrived at the Tiptop House about
six, amid the congratulations of those who had
ridden. The two girk and Will had come safely
up by the cars, — and who do you think had got
in at the last moment when the train started but
Pauline and her father, who had made a party up
from Portland and had with them Ellen listen
and Sarah Clavers. And who do you think had
appeared in the Glen House party, when they
came, but Esther and her mother and Edward
Holiday and his &ther. Up to this moment of
^^^i"i""^"ii"""**
HOW TO DO ITt 19
their lives gome of these young people had never
seen other some. But some had, and we had
not long been standing on the rocks making out
Sebago and the water beyond Portland before they
were all very well acquainted. All fourteen of us
went in to supper, and were just beginning on the
goat's milk, when a cry was heard that a party of
young men in uniform were approaching from the
head of Tuckerman's Eavine. Jo and Oliver ran
out, and in a moment returned to wrench us all
from our corn-cakes that we might welcome the
New Limerick boat-club, who were on a pedestrian
trip and had come up the Parkman Notch that
day. Nice, brave fellows they were, — a little
foot-sore. Who should be among them but Tom
himself and Bob Edmeston. They all went and
washed, and then with some difi&culty we all got
through tea, when the night party from the
Notch House was announced on horseback, and
we sallied forth to welcome them. Nineteen in
all, from all imtions. Two Japanese princes, and
the Secretary of the Dutch legation, and so on,
as usual; but what was no| ^as usual^ jolly Mi;
y
20 HOW TO DO IT.
Waters and bis jollier wife were there, — she
astride on her saddle, as is the sensible fashion
of the Notch House, — and, in the long stretch-
ing line, we made out Clara Waters and Clem,
not together, but Clara with a girl whom she
did not know, but who rode better than she,
and had whipped both horses with a rattan she
had. And who should this girl be but Sybil
Dyer !
As the party filed up, and we lifted tired girls
and laughing mothers oS the patient horses, I
found that a lucky chance had thrown Maud
and her brother Stephen into the same caravan.
There was great kissing when my girls recog-
nized Maud, and when it became generally
known that I was competent to introduce to
others such pretty and bright people as she and
Laura and Sarah Clavers were, I found myself
very popular, of a sudden, and in quite general
demand.
And I bore my honors meekly, I assure you.
I took nice old Mrs. Van Astrachan out to a
favorite rock of mine to see the sunset, and, what
HOW TO DO IT. 21
was more marvellous, the heavy thunder-doud,
which was beating up against the wind; and I
left the young folks to themselves, only aspiring
to be a Youth's Companion. I got Will to bring
me Mrs. Van Astrachan's black furs, as it grew
cold, but at last the air was so sharp and the
storm clearly so near, that we were all driven in
to that nice, cosey parlor at the Tiptop House,
and sat round the hot stove, not sorry to be shel-
tered, indeed, when we heard the heavy rain on
the windows.
We fell to telling stories, and I was telling of
the last time I was there, when, by great good
luck, Starr King turned up, having come over
Madison afoot, when I noticed that Hall, one of
those patient giants who kept the house, was called
out, and, in a moment more, that he returned and
whispered his partner out. In a minute more
they returned for their rubber capes, and then we
learned that a man had staggered into the stable
half frozen and terribly frightened, announcing
that he had left some people lost just by the
Lake of the Clouds. Of course, we were all im-
1
22 HOW TO DO IT.
mensely excited for half an hour or less, when Hall
appeared with a very wet woman, all but sense-
less, on his shoulder, with her hair hanging down
to the ground. The ladies took her into an inner
room, stripped off her wet clothes, and rubbed her
dry and warm, gave her a little brandy, and
dressed her in the dry linens Mrs. Hall kept
ready. Who should she prove to be, of all the
world, but Emma FortinbrasI The men of the
party were her father and her brothers Frank
and Eobert.
No ! that is not alL After the excitement was
over they joined us in our circle round the stove,
— and we should all have been in bed, but that
Mr. Hall told such wonderful bear-stories, and
it was after ten o'clock that we were still sitting
there. The shower had quite blown over, when
a cheery French horn was heard, and the cheery
Hall, who was never surprised, I believe, rushled
out again, and I need not say Oliver rushed out
with him and Jo Gresham, and before long we
all rushed out to welcome the last party of the
day.
woif TO DO IT. 23
These were horseback people, who had come
by perhaps the most charming route of all, —
which is also the oldest of all, — from what was
Ethan Crawford's. They did not start till noon.
They had taken the storm, wisely, in a charcoal
camp, — and there are worse places, — and then
they had spurred np, and here they were. Who
were they I Why, there was an army ofl&cer
and his wife, who proved to be Alice Faulcon-
bridge, and with her was Hatty Fielding's Cousin
Fanny, and besides them were Will Withers and
his sister Florence, who had made a charming
quartette party with Walter and his sister Theo-
dora, and on this ride had made acquaintance
for the first time with Colonel Mansfield and
Alice. All this was wonderful enough to me,
as Theodora explained it to me when I lifted
her off her horse, but when I found that Horace
Putnam and his brother Enoch were in the same
train, I said I did believe in astrology.
For though I have not named Jane Smith nor
Fanchon, that was because you did not recog-
nize them among the married people in the
24 HOW TO DO IT.
Crawford House party, — and I suppose you did
not recognize Herbert either. How should you ?
But, in truth, here we all were up above the
clouds on the night of the 25th of August.
Did not those Ethan Crawford people eat as
if they had never seen biscuits? And when at
last they were done, Stephen, who had been out
in the stables, came in with a black boy he
found there, who had his fiddle ; and as the
Colonel Mansfield party came in from the dining-
room, Steve screamed out, "Take your partners
for a Virginia EeeL" No! I do not know, whose
partner was who ; only this, that there were
seventeen boys and men and seventeen girls or
women, besides me and Mrs. Van Astrachan and
Colonel Mansfield and Pauline's mother. And
we danced till for one I was almost dead, and
then we went to bed, to wake up at five in the
morning to see the sunrise.
As we sat on the rocks, on the eastern side, I
introduced Stephen to Sybil Dyer, — the last two
who had not known each other. And I got talk-
ing with a circle of young folks about what the
HOW TO DO IT*
25
commimion of saints is, — meaning, of course,
just such unselfish society as we had there.
And so dear Laura said, "Why will you not
write us down something of what you are say-
ing, Mr. Hale?" And Jo Giesham said, "Pray
do, — pray do; if it were only to tell us
"How TO po rr"
26 HOW TO DO IT.
CHAPTEE II.
T WISH the young people who propose to read
-*- any of these papers to understand to whom
they are addressed. My friend, Frederic Ingham,
has a nephew, who went t(f New York on a visit,
and while there occupied himseK in buying
"travel-presents" for his brothers and sisters at
home. His funds ran low ; and at last he found
that he had still three presents to buy and only
thirty-four cents with which to buy them. He
made the requisite calculation as to how much
he should have for each, — looked in at Ball and
Black's, and at Tiffany's, priced an amethyst neck-
lace, which he thought Clara would like, and a set
of cameos for Fanfan, and found them beyond his
reach. He then tried at a nice little toy-shop
there is a little below the Fifth Avenue House,
on the west, where a "clever" woman and a
good-natured girl keep the shop, and, having
there made one or two vain endeavors to suit
HOW TO DO IT. 27
himself, asked the good-natured girl if she had
not ''got anything a fellow could buy for about
eleven cents." She found him first one article,
then another, and then another. Wat bought
them all, and had one cent in his pocket when
he came home. ^ i
In much the same way these several articles
of mine have been waiting in the bottom of my
inkstand and the front of my head for seven
or nine years, without finding precisely the right
audience or circle of readers. I explained to Mr.
Fields — the amiable Sheik of the amiable tribe
who prepare the "Young Folks" for the young
folks — that I had six articles all ready to write,
but that they were meant for girls say from
thirteen to seventeen, and boys say from fourteen
to nineteen. I explained that girls and boys of
this age never read the "Atlantic," no, not by
any means ! And I supposed that they never read
the "Tbung Folks," no, not by any means ! I
explained that .1 could not preach them as ser-
mons, because many of the children at church
were too young, and a few of the grown people
were too old. That I was, therefore, detailing
28 HOW TO DO IT.
them in conyersation to such of my young friends
as chose to hear. On which the Sheik was so
good as to propose to provide for me, as it were, a
special opportunity, which I now use. We jointly
explain to the older boys and girls, who rate be-
tween the ages of thirteen and nineteen, that
these essays are exclusively for them.
I had once the honor — on the day after Lee's
surrender — to address the girls of the 12th Street
School in New York ** Shall I call you ' girls '
or ' young ladies ' ? " said I. " Call us girls, call
us girls," was the unanimous answer. I heard
it with great pleasure ; for I took it as a nearly
certain sign that these three hundred young peo-
ple were growing up to be true women, — which
is to say, ladies of the very highest tone.
" Why did I think so ? " Because at the age
of fifteen, sixteen, and seventeen they took pleas-
ure in calling things by their right names.
So far, then, I trust we understand each other,
before any one begins to read these little hints of
mine, drawn from forty-five years of very quiet
listening to good talkers; which are, however,
nothing more than hints
HOW TO DO nr. 29
HOW TO TALK.
Here 13 a letter from my nephew Tom, a
epirited, modest ])oy of seventeen, who is a stu-
dent of the Scientific School at New Limerick.
He is at home with his mother for an eight weeks'
vacaticm ; and the very first evening of his return
he went round with her to the Vandermeyers',
wh^» "^as a little gathering of some thirty or
fwty people, — most of them, as he confesses, his
old schoolmates, a few of them older than himself.
But poor Tom was mortified, and thinks he was
disgraced, because he did not have anything to
«ay, could not say it if he had, and, in short,
because he does not talk weE He hates talking
parties, be says, and never means to go to one
again.
Here is also a letter from Esther W., who may
speak for herself, and the two may well enough
be put upon tibe same file, and be answered to-
gether : '^
^'Please listen patiently to a confession. I
have wbAt seems to me very »ato»al,— a strong
30 HOW TO DO IT.
desire to be liked by those whom I meet around
me in society of my own age ; but, unfortunately,
when with them my manners have often been .
unnatural and constrained, and I have foimd .
myself thinking of myseK, and what others were
thinking of me, instead of entering into the en-
joyment of the moment as others did. I seem to
have naturally very little independence, and to
be very much afraid of other people, and of their
opinion. And when, as you might naturally infer
from the above, I often have not been successful
in gaining the favor of those around me, then I
have spent a great deal of time in the selfish
indulgence of 'the blues,' and in philosophizing
on the why and the wherefore of some persons'
agreeableness and popularity and others' unpopu-
larity."
There, is not that a good letter from a nice
girl?
Will you please to see, dear Tom, and you also,
dear Esther, that both of you, after the fashion of
your age, are confounding the method with the
thing. You see how charmingly Mrs. Pallas sits
HOW TO DO It. 31
back and goes on with her crochet while Dr.
Volta talks to her ; and then, at the right moment,
she says just the right thing, and makes him
, laiigh, or makes him cry, or makes him defend
himself, or makes him explain himself ; and you
think that there is a particular knack or rule for
doing this so glibly, or that she has a particular
genius for it which you are not bom to, and there-
fore you both propose hermitages for yourselves
because you cannot do as she does. Dear chil-
dren, it would be a very stupid world if anybody
in it did just as anybody else does. There is no
particular method about talking or talking well
It is one of the things in life which " does itself."
And the only reason why you do not talk as
easily and quite as pleasantly as Mrs. Pallas is,
that you are thinking of the method, and coming
to me to inquire how to do that which ought
to do itself perfectly, simply, and without any
rules at alL
It is just as foolish girls at school think that
there is some particular method of drawing with
which they shall succeed, while with all other
3J HOW TO PO IT.
methods they have failed. " No, I can't draw in
india-ink [pronounced in-jink], 'n' I can't do any.
thing with crayons, — I hate crayons, — 'n' I can't
draw pencil-drawings, 'n' I won't try any more ;
but if this tiresome old Mr. Apelles was not so ob-
stinate, 'n' would only let me try the ' monochro-
matio drawing,' I know I could do that. 'T so
easy* Julia Ann, she drew a beautiful piece in
only six lessors/'
My poor Pauline, if you cannot see right when
you have a crayon in your hand, and will not
draw what you se^ then, no " monochromatic
system" is going to help you. But if you will
put down on the paper what you see, as you
see -it, whether you do it with a cat's tail, as
Benjamin West did it, or with a glove turned
inside out, as Mr. Hunt bids you do it, you will
draw well The method is of no use, imless the
thing is there ; and when you have the thing, the
method will foUow.
So there is no particular method for taUdng
which wiU not also apply to swimming or skating,
ay leading qit Ammg, ox in general to living.
gOW TO DO JT. 33
Jjid if you fail in talking, it is because you have
not yet applied in talking the simple master-^es
pf lif a
For io^tancei the first of iliese rules is.
Tell the Tkuth.
Only last night I saw poor Bob Edmestoii, vko
has got to pull throi^h a ^©al of drift-wood before
te gets into dear water, break down completely in
the very beginning of his acquaint^tnce with one
of the nicest girls I know, because he would not
teU the truth, or did not. J was standing right
behind them, listening to Pr. OUapod, who was
explaining to nje the history of the second land-
graut made to Gorges, and between the sentences
I had a chance to hear every word poor Bob said
to Laura. Mark now, Laura is a nice clever gir]^
who has come to make the Watsons a visit
through her whole vacation at Poughkeepsie ; and
all the young people are delighted with her pleas-
ant ways, and all of them would be glad to know
more of her than they do. Bob really wants to
toow her, and he wfs really glad to be introduwi
34 HOW TO DO IT.
to her. Mrs. Pollexfen presented him to her, and
he asked her to dance, and they stood on the side
of the cotillon behind me and in front of Dr.
OUapod. After they had taken their places, Bob
said : "Jew go to the opera last week. Miss Wal-
ter ? " He meant, " Did you go to the opera last
week ? "
" No," said Lanra, " I did not."
" 0, 't was charming ! " said Bob. And there
this effort at talk stopped, as it should have done,
being founded on nothing but a lie ; which is to
say, not founded at alL For, in fact. Bob did not
care two straws about the opera. He had never
been to it but once, and then he was tired before
it was over. But he pretended he cared for it.
He thought that at an evening party he must talk
about the opera, and the lecture season, and the
assemblies, and a lot of other trash, about which
in fact he ocured nothing, and so knew nothing.
Not caring and not knowing, he could not carry
on his conversation a step. The mere fact that
Miss Walter had shown that she was in real sym-
pathy with him in an indifference to the opera
HOW TO DO rr. 35
threw him off the track which he never should
have been on, and brought his untimely conversa-
tion to an end.
Now, as it happened, Laura's next partner
brought her to the very same place, or rather she
never left it, but Will Hackmatack came and
claimed her dance as soon as Bob's was done. Dr.
OUapod had only got down to the appeal made to
the lords sitting in equity, when I noticed Will's
beginning. He spoke right out of the thing he
was thinking of.
" I saw you riding this afternoon," he said.
"Yes," said Laura, "we went out by the red
•mills, and drove up the hiU by Mr. Pond's."
" Did you ? " said Will, eagerly. " Did you see
the beehives ? "
" Beehives ? no ; — are there beehives ? "
" Why, yes, did not you know that Mr. Pond
knows more about bees than all the world beside ?
At least, I believe so. He has a gold medal from
Paris for his honey or for something. And his
arrangements there are very curious."
" I wish I had known it," said Laura. ** I kept
g6 mw TO DO IT.
1)069 l^t fiuinmer, cmd they always puzzled me. I
tried to get book? ; but the books 9jre all written
for Switzerland, or England, or aaywhere but
Orange County."
''Well," said the eager WilJ, ^'J do not think
Mr. Pond has written any book, but I really guess
he k^pws g. great dQptl about it. Why, he told
ine — " &c., &c., &c.
It was hard for Will to ke^ the run of the
dance ; and befoi:e it was over he bad promised to
ask Mr. Pond when a party of them might come
up to the hill and see the establishment ; and he
felt as well acquainted with Laura as if he had
known her a inonth. All this ease came from
Will's not pretending an interest where he did not
feel any, but opening simply where he was flure of
his ground, and was reftUy interested. More
simply. Will did not teU a lie, as poor Bob had
done in that remark about the oper^ but told
the truth.
If I were periftitted to write more than thirty-
five pages of this note-pap^r (of which this is the
pjseleent^), I wouJci teU jm twenty stories to the
sam^ point And please observe that the distinction
m
HOW TO DO IT. 37
between the two systems of talk is the eternal dis-
tinction between the people whom Thackeray calls
snobs and the people who are gentlemen and la-
dies. Gentlemen and ladies are sure of thei?
ground. They pretend to nothing that they are
not. They have no occasion to act one or another
part. It is not possible fop them, even in the
ehoiee qf mitget^, to tell lies.
The principle of selecting f^ subject which
thoroughly interests you j^uires only one quali-
fieation. Ton may be veiy intaisely inta?ested in
some a£fairs of you? own ; but i^ general society
you hare no right to talk of them, simply because
th^ are not of equal interest to other people. Of
eourse you may come to me for advice, or go to
your mast^, ox to yoijr fetb^ or mother, or to any
friwd, and i^ foym lay (f^n your own troubles or
your own life, and make these the subject of your
talk. But in genesral society you have no right tp
do this. For the ?^e of life is, that men a^d
women must not think of themselves, but of
^ ^hers : thay must live for others, and then they
will live rightiy fm liemfi^lves. So the second
rule for talk would express itself thus : —
38 HOW TO DO IT.
Do NOT TALK ABOUT YOUK OWN AtFAIRS.
I remember how I was mortified last summer^
up at the Tiptop House, though I was not in the
least to blame, by a display Emma Fortinbras
made of herself. There had gathered round the
fire in the sitting-room quite a group of the differ-
ent parties who had come up from the different
houses, and we all felt warm' and comfortable and
social; and, to my real delight, Emma and her
father and her cousin came in, — they had been
belated somewhere. She is a sweet pretty little
thing, really the belle of the village, if we had
such things, and we are all quite proud of her in
one way ; but I am sorry to say that she is a little
goose, and sometimes she manages to show this
just when you don't want her to. Of course she
shows this, as all other geese show themselves, by
cackling about things that interest no one but her-
sel£ When she came into the room, Alice ran to
her and kissed her, and took her to the wannest
seat, and took her little cold hands to rub them^
and b^an to ask her how it had all happened, and
HOW TO DO IT. 39
where they had been, and all the other questions.
Now, you see, this was a very dangerous position.
Poor Emma was not equal to it. The subject was
given her, and so far she was not to blame. But
when, from the misfortunes of the party, she rushed
immediately to detail individual misfortunes of
her own, resting principally on the history of a
pair of boots which she had thought would be
strong enough to last all through the expedition,
and which she had meant to send to Sparhawk's
before she left home to have their heels cut down,
only she had forgotten, and now these boots were
thus and thus, and so and so, and she had no
others with her, and she was sure that she did not
know what she should do when she got up in the
morning, — I say, when she got as far as this, in
all this thrusting upon people who wanted to
sympathize a set of matters which had no connec-
tion with what interested them, excepting so far
as their personal interest in her gave it, she vio-
lated the central rule of life; for she showed she
was thinking of herself with more interest than
she thought of others with. Now to do this is
40 gOW TO W IT.
b^ living, and it is tad liyiiig which will ahow
iteelf in bad talking.
But I hope you Be^ tbe^ distinetio». If Mr.
Agassiz comes to you on the Field day of the Essex
Society, and says : '* Miss FftBehon, I understand
that you feJJ over froBi the pteamer as you came
from Portland, ai^d had to swim half au hour be-
fore the boats reached you. Will you be kind
enough to tell me how you wei^ taught to swim,
and how the qhill of the water affected you, and,
in shorty all about your experience?" he then
makes choice pf the subject. He asks for all
the detaiL It is to gratify him that you go into
the detail, and you may therefore go into it just
as far as you choose. Only take care not to lug in
one little detail merely because it interests you,
when there is no possibility that, in itself, it can
have an interest for him.
Have you never noticed how the really jarovokr
ing snence of these brave men who come back
from the war gives a new and particular zest to
what they tell us of their adventures ? We have
to WQp» it ^ut pf them, w^ drag it from them by
WW TO DO IT. 41
pincers, ftnd, when we have it, the flavor is fJl
pure, It is exactly what we want, — life highly
condensed ; and they could have given us indeed
nothing more precious, as certainly nothing more
charming. But when some Bobadil braggart vol-
unteers to tell how he did this and that, how he
silenced this battery, fi«id how he rode over that
field of carnage, in the first place we do not be^
lieve a tenth part of his story, and in the second
place we wish he would not tell the fraction
which we suppose is possibly true,
life is given to us that we may learn how to
live. That is what it is for. We are here in a
gj?eat boardingHschool, where we are being trained
in the use of our bodies and our minds, so that
in another world we may know how to use other
bodies and minds with other faculties. Or, if you
please, life is a gymnasium. Take which figure
you choose. Because of this, good talk, following
the principle of life, is always directed with a gen-
eral desire for learning rather than teaching. No
good talker is obtrusive, thrusting forward his ob-
SOTvation QA men and tJiJMir:-^iSfltisL^ther recep-
'->
42 HOW TO DO IT.
tive, trjdng to get at other people's observations ;
and what he says himself falls from him, as it
were, by accident, he unconscious that he is say-
ing anything that is worth while. As the late
Professor Harris said, one of the last times I saw
him, " There are unsounded depths in a man's na-
ture of which he himself knows nothing till they
are rerealed to him by the plash and ripple of his
own conrersation with other men." This great
principle of life, when applied in conversation,
may be stated simply then in two words, —
Confess Ignorance.
You are both so young that you cannot yet
conceive of the amount of treasure that will yet
be poured in upon you, by all sorts of people, if
you do not go about professing that you have all
you want abeady. Ton know the story of the
two school-girls on the Central Eailroad. They
were dead faint with hunger, having ridden all
day without food, but, on consulting together,
agreed that they did not dare to get out at any
station to buy. A modest old doctor of divinity.
HOW TO DO IT. 43
who was coming home from a meeting of the
" American Board/' overheard their talk, got some
sponge-cake, and pleasantly and civilly offered it
to them as he might have done to his grand-
children. But poor Sybil, who was nervous and
anxious, said, "No, thank you," and so Sarah
thought she must say, "No, thank you," too;
and so they were nearly dead when they reached
the Delavan House. Now just that same thing
happens whenever you pretend, either from pride
or from shyness, that you know the thing you do
not know. K you go on in that way you will be
starved before long, and the coroner's jury wiU
bring in a verdict, " Served you right." I could
have brayed a girl, whom I will call Jane Smith,
last night at Mrs. PoUexfen's party, only I remem-
bered, " Though thou bray a fool in a mortar, his
foolishness will not depart from him," and that
much the same may be said of fools of the other
sex. I could have brayed her, I say, when I saw
how she was constantly defrauding herself by cut-
ting off that fine Major Andrew, who was talking
to her, or trying to. Eeally, no instances give you
44 HOW TO DO IT.
any idea of it. From a silly boarding-school habit^
I think, she kept saying *' Yes," as if she would be
disgraced by acknowledging ignorance. ^ You
know," said he, "what General Taylor said to
Santa Anna, when they brought him in ? "
"Yes," simpered poor Jane, though in fact she
did not know, and I do not suppose five people
in the world do. But poor Andrew, simple as a
soldier, believed her and did not tell the story,
but went on alluding to it, and they got at once
into helpless confusion. Still, he did not know
what the matter was, and before long, when they
were speaking of one of the Muhlbach novels, he
said, '' Did you think of the resemblance between
the winding up and Eedgauntlet ? " " O yes,*'
simpered poor Jane again, though, as it proved,
and as she had to explain in two or three minutes,
she had never read a word of Bedgauntlet. She
had merely said "Yes,'' and "Yes," and "Yes''
not with a distinct notion of fraud, but from an
impression that it helps conversation on if you
forever assent to what is said. This is an utter
mistake ; for, as Z hope you see by this time, con-^
BOW TO DO rr. 45
versation really depends on the acknowledgment
of ignorance, — being, indeed, the providential
appointment of God foor the easy removal of such
ignorance.
And here I must stop, lest you both be tired.
In my next paper I shall begin again, and teach
you, 4 To t£dk to the person you are talking with,
and not simper to her or him, while really you are
looking all round the room, and thinking of ten
other persons; 5. Never in any other way to
underrate the person you talk with, but to talk
your best, whatever that may be ; and, 6. To be
brief, — a point which I shall have to illustrate
at great length.
If you like, you may confide to the Letter-Box
your experiences on these points, as well as on
the three on which we have already been engaged.
But, whether you do or do not, I shall give to you
the result, not only of my experiences, but of at
least 5,872 years of talk — Lyell says many more
— since Adam gave names to chattering monkeys.
46 HOW TO DO IT.
CHAPTEE III.
TALK.
ni T"AY I presume that all my young friends
•^-^ between this and Seattle have read paper
Number Two ? First class in geography, where
is Seattle ? Eight. Go up. Have you all read,
and inwardly considered, the three rules, "TeU
the truth"; ''Talk not of yourself"; and "Con-
fess ignorance"? Have you all practised them,
in moonlight sleigh-ride by the Eed Eiver of
the North, — in moonlight stroll on the beach
by St. Augustine, — in evening party at Potts-
ville, — and at the parish sociable in Northfield ?
Then you are sure of the benefits which will
crown your lives if you obey these three pre-
cepts ; and you will, with xmfaltering step, move
quickly over the kettle-de-benders of this broken
essay, and from the thistle, danger, will pluck the
three more flowers which I have promised. I
am to teach you, fourth, —
HOW TO DO IT. 47
To TALK TO THE PERSON WHO IS TALKING TO YOU.
This rule is constantly violated by fools and
snobs. Now you might as well turn your head
away when you shoot at a bird, or look over your
shoulder when you have opened a new book, —
instead of looking at the bird, or looking at the
book, — as lapse into any of the habits of a man
who pretends to talk to one person while he
is listening to another, or watching another, or
wondering about another. If you really want to
hear what Jo Gresham is saying to Alice Faul-
conbridge, when they are standing next you in
the dance, say so to Will Withers, who is trying
to talk with you. You can say pleasantly, '' Mr.
Withers, I want very much to overhear what Mr.
Gresham is saying, and if you will keep still a
minute, I think I can." Then Will Withers will
know what to do. You will not be preoccupied,
and perhaps you may be able to hear something
you were not meant to know.
At this you are disgusted. You throw down
the book at once, and say you will not read
48 HOW TO DO IT. *
any more. Tou cannot think why this hateful
man supposes that you would do anything so
mean.
Then why do you let Will Withers suppose so ?
All he can tell is what you show him. If you
will listen while he speaks, so as to answer in-
telligently, and will then speak to him as if
there were no other persons in the room, he will
know fast enough that you are talking to him.
But if you just say "yes," and "no," and "in-
deed," and "certainly," in that flabby, languid
way in which some boys and girls I know pre-
tend to talk sometimes, be will think that you
are engaged in thinking of somebody else, or
something else, — unless, indeed, he supposes
that you are not thinking of anything, and that
you hardly know what thinking is.
It is just as bad, when you are talking to
another girl, or another girl's mother, if you take
to watching her hair, or the way she trimmed
her frock, or anything else about her, instead of
watching what she is saying as if that were
really what you and she are talking for. I
fow Ta i>o rr. 49
could name to yon young womeii who seem to
go into society for the purpose of studying the
milliner's business. It is a very good business,
and a very proper business to study in the right
place. I know some very good girls who would
be much improved, and whose husbands would be
a great deal happier, if they would study it to
more purpose than they do. But do not study it
while you are talking. No, -^ not if the Em-
press Eugenie herself should be talking to you.^
Suppose, when General Dix has presented you
and mamma, the Empress . should see you in the
crowd afterwards, and should spnd that stiff-
looking old gentleman in a court dress across
the room, to ask you to come and talk to her,
and should say to you, ''Mademoiselle, est-ce
que Ton permet aux jeunes filles Am^ricaines
se promener k cheval sans cavalier?" Do you
look her frankly in the face while she speaks,
* This was written in 1869, and I leave it in memcriam.
Indeed, in this May of 1871, Eugenie's chances of receiving
Clare at Court again are as good as anybody's, and better
tiian some.
4
50 HOW TO DO m
and when she stops, do you answer her as you
would answer Leslie Goldthwaite if you were
coming home from berrying. Don't you count
those pearls that the Empress has tied roimd her
head, nor think how you can make a necktie
like hers out of that old bit of ribbon that you
bought in Syracuse. Tell her, in as good French
or as good English as you can muster, what she
asks ; and if, after you have answered her lead,
she plays again, do you play again; and if she
plays again, do you play again, — till one or
other of you takes the trick But do you think
of nothing else, while the talk goes on, but the
subject she has started, and of her ; do not think
of yoiu^elf, but address yourself to the single
business of meeting her inquiry as well as you
can. Then, if it becomes proper for you to ask
her a question, you may. But remember that
conversation is what you are there for, — not the
study of millinery, or fashion, or jewelry, or
politics.
Why, I have known men who, while they were
smirking, and smiling, and telling other lies to
HOW TO DO IT. 51
their partners, were keeping the calendar of the
whole room, - knew who waa dancing with
whom, and who was looking at pictures, and [
that Brown had sent up to the lady of the
house to tell her that supper was served, and
that she was just looking for her husband that
he might offer Mrs. Grant his arm and take her
down stairs. But do you think their partners
liked to be treated so ? Do you think their
partners were worms, who liked to be trampled
upon? Do you think they were pachyderma-
tous coleoptera of the dor tribe, who had just
fallen from red-oak trees, and did not know that
they were trampled upon ? You are wholly mis-
taken. Those partners were of flesh and blood,
like you, — of the same blood with you, cousins-
german of yours on the Anglo-Saxon side, —
and they felt just as badly as you would feel
if anybody talked to you while he was thinking
of the other side of the room.
And I know a man who is, it is true, one of
the most noble and unselfish of men, but who
had made troops of friends long before people
52 HOW Ta DO
^
liad found that out Loi^ before lie bad loftde
his- present fame, lie had found these tioops of
fdends. When he was a green, uncouth^ un-
licked cub of a boy, like you, Stephen^ he had
made them. And do you ask howl He had
made them by listening with all his might.
Whoever sailed down on him at an evening
party and engaged him — though it were the
most weary of odd old ladies — was sure, while
they were together, of her victim. He would
look her right in the eye, would take in her
every shrug and half-whisper, would enter into
all her joys and terrors and hopes, would help
her by his sympathy to find out what the trouble
was, and, when it was his turn to answer, he
would answer like her own son. Do you won-
der that all the old ladies loved him? And it
was no special court to old ladies. He talked
so to school-boys, and to shy people who had
just poked their heads out of their shells, and
to all the awkward people, and to all the gay
and easy people. And so he ccanpelled them, by
his magnetism, to talk so to him. That was the
• Ifcir T* DO IT. 68
vnBf lie iH«ie lr» &irt fiaends, — amd ffaat -was
lite -way, I Uattk, that Tie deserved them.
Did JWL notice how iadly I violated iMs Ttfle
^hen Dr. OUapod ta&ed to foe of tiie Gorges
iaad-gmnlB, «rtj Sfai. P^iexfen'ssl I got Tery
ksMy puraahed, and I deserved wkat I got,*^
I beA feehavBd veiy iH. I fmgi^ Twt to hsnne
knowa what Edmeston saM, or wfait Wifl Sack-
imatadk «ttid. I ^ugbt to lia^e %een fistemng, and
tatming about the (Lords fiiMing m Eqnily. Only
{be ^BXt dajr i^T. OMapod left town withoirt cffTKng
«iL me, he was m mnch cUspleased. And when, the
next week, I was lecturing in Naguadavick, and
the mayor of the town asked me a very simple
question about the titles in the third range, I
knew ^citlmi^ i»bout tit "ond was disgraced. So
mundi hfc being rude, and n^t tittending to the
man ^v^o iwas taUdi^ to me.
SCowcdon^^tellone that ^ou cannot a^ttend to
stupid people, or long-winded people, or vulgar
^Bopte. '¥ou ^oeoL stttsnd to anybody, <£f ytm will
remember who he is. How do you suppose thstt
fioaoKoe B^eQChamiattenflB 4o 4^^ese old kdiee, und
54 HOW TO DO IT.
these shy boys ? "Why, he remembers that they
are all of the blood-royaL To speak very seri-
ously, he remembers whose children they are, —
who is their Father. And that is worth remem-
bering. It is not of much consequence, when you
think of that, who made their clothes, or what
sort of grammar they speak in. This rule of talk,
indeed, leads to our next rule, which, as I said of
the others, is as essential in conversation as it is
in war, in business, in criticism, or in any other
affairs of men. It is based on the principle of
rightly honoring all men. For talk, it may be
stated thus : —
Never undekrate youb Interlocutor.
In the conceit of early life, talking to a man of
thrice my age, and of immense experience, I said,
a little too flippantly, " Was it not the King of
Wurtemberg whose people declined a constitution
when he had oflTered it to them ? "
" Yes," said my Mend, " the King told me the
story himself."
Observe what a rebuke this would have been to
sow TO DO IT. 65
me, had I presumed to tell him the fact which he
knew ten times as accurately as I. I was just
saved from sinking into the earth by having
couched my statement in the form of a question.
The truth is, that we are all dealing with angek
unawares, and we had best make up our minds
to that, early in our interviews. One of the first
of preachers once laid down the law of preaching
thus : " Preach as if you were preaching to arch-
angels." This means, " Say the very best thing
you know, and never condescend to your audi-
ence." And I once heard Mr. William Hunt, who
is one of the first artists, say to a class of teachers,
" I shall not try to adapt myself to your various
lines of teaching. I will tell you the best things
I know, and you may make the adaptations." If
you will boldly try the experiment of entering,
with anybody you have to talk with, on the thing
which at the moment interests you most, you will
find out that other people's hearts are much like
your heart, other people's experiences much like
yours, and even, my dear Justin, that some other
people know as much as you know. In short.
56 HOW TO DO IT.
never talk doWn to Jiieople ; but talk to them from
yomr bert thotigM aJnd your best feeling, witbont
trying for it on. tbe <me hand, but without reject-
ing it on the other.
You will be amazed, every time you try this ex-
perimeiiLt, to fifid hoW often the num or the woman
whkto you filrst haj^n to speak to iti the very
p^^t^lbi 'Who eaZH tell you just what you want to
know. My friend Ingham, Who is a working
liai^ififtet in ^ large town, lijays that wh^ he
comely from 'a house Where everyfliing is in
a ttogle, knd all wrong, he knows no way of
r^hfe^ things but by telling the whole story,
Wrt^6«tt iSt^b names, in the next house he hap-
peiffl to 'cail at in his afternoon waBc He says
that if the Windermeres are all in teaife be-
cause little Polly lost their grandmother^s min-
iature when she Was out picking blueberries, and
if he tells of Iheir losis at this Ashteroths' where he
calls next, it Will be sure that thie daughter of the
gardener df "ttife Ashteroths Will have found the
picture of tl* Windermeres. Bemember what I
l»ve 1»ught you, -^^^fliat tjonversation is the provi-
WOiW TO DO IT. 67
drntial arttfig^Nnent fot tiie i^litif of ignofaflce.
Onty, as Ia all Btedicme, tiiie patient most admit
tiiat 1m IB m, ojf h» can never be eured. It is
only ia " Patwiwge," — which I am so soupy yo«i
boys aod girib wiB not lead, — and in other pocwer
ficrvete, that the leech cu^es, at a distance^ pati^ts
irtio say they need no physician. Knd out yiDur
igiM>¥a(fiee, ^e/t; admit it ftankly, seoond; be
iMdy to lecognije with fme honor the next man
yon meet, third ; wd then, presto ! — afthongh it
were needed that the floor of the parlor sho^
&pm, and a little black-bearded Merlin be shot
tip like Jack in a box, as you saw in Hnmpty-
IDompty, — the right petson, who knowe the rig^
ttdng, wiS appear, and yoetr %noiaiice wiD be
' What happened to me last week when I was
^ying to ftotd &e Histoty of Taskee Doodle?
Did it eome to me withont my asMng f 9f ot a
bit of it Kothmg that was trufe eame withont
my asking. Without my adking, there came that
itoff you saw in the newspapers, which said
¥ai&ie Doodle was « l^aais^ ak. That was
58 HOW TO DO IT.
not true. This was the way I found out what
was true. I confessed my ignorance; and, as
Lewis at Bellombre said of that ill-mannered
Power, I had a great deal to confess. What I
knew was, that in "American Anecdotes" an
anonymous writer said a friend of his had seen
the air among some Eoundhead songs in the col-
lection of a friend of his at Cheltenham, and that
this air was the basis of Yankee Doodle. What
was more, there was the old air printed. But
then that story was good for nothing till you could
prove it. A Methodist minister came to Jeremiah
Mason, and said, " I have seen an angel from
heaven who told me that your client was innocent"
'' Yes," said Mr. Mason, " and did he tell you how
to prove it?" Unfortunately, in the dear old
''American Anecdotes," there was not the name
of any person, fix)m one cover to the other, who
would be responsible for one syllable of its charm-
ing stories. So there I was I And I went through
library after library looking for that Soundhead
song, and I could not find it. But when the time
came that it was necessary I should know, I con-
HOW TO DO rr. 69
fessed ignorance. Well^ after that^ the first man I
spoke to said, ''Ko,I don't know anything about it.
It is not in my line. But our old friend Watson
knew something about it, or said he did." " Who
is Watson? " said I. '* 0, he 's dead ten years ago.
But there 's a letter by him in the Historical
Proceedings, which tells what he knew." So,
indeed, there was a letter by Watson. Oddly
enough it left out all that was of direct importance ;
but it left in this statement, that he, an authen-
tic person, wrote the dear old " American Anec-
dote" story. That was something. So then I
gratefully confessed ignorance again, and again,
and again. And I have many friends, so that
there were many brave men, and many fair
women, who were extending the various tentacula
of their feeling processes into the different realms
of the known and the unknown, to find that lost
scrap of a Boundhead song for me. And so, at
last, it was a girl — as old, say, as the youngest
who will struggle as far as this page in the
Cleveland High School — who said, " Why, there
is something about it in that funny English book.
60 BOW TO DO 17.
' Gleamngs fiOr tiM» Cw^us/ I found in the Boston
Lilnary/' And give ^laugh, in on article perfectly
wotthleaa in itdelf^ there were the two words
which named the printed coUectioa of music
which the other people had forgotten to nan^
These three books were eaek useless alone; but,
when brought together^ they established a £Act
It took tkcee people in talk to bring the three
books together. And if I had been such a fool
that I could not confess ignorance, or such
another fool aa to have distrusted the people I
met with, I should never have had the pleasure
of m^r discovery.
Kow 1' must not go into any more such stories
as this, because you will say I am vic^ating tiie
sixth great role of talk, whidi is
Be Short.
And,, besides, you nmst koow thai ''they say"
(whoever Ikey may be) that "young folks" like
you skip such expkna^ns^ a^ htErry on to tiie
stoxj^ I do' not beiieve % word of that^ but I
HOW TO DO rr. 61
I kBdw die Saint We wt31 caQ ber Agatha. I
nsmd to think she could be painted for Mary
Mother^ her face is so passionless and pure and
good. I used to want to make her wrap a bhie
cloth round her head^ as if she were in a pickire I
have a print oj^ and then, if we could only find
^ painter who was as pure and good as she, she
should be painted as Mary Mother. Wdl, this
sweet Saint has done lovelj things in life, and
will do mote, till she dies. And the people she
deals with do many more than she. For her truth
and g^ftteness and loveliness pass into them, and
iMpire tib^n, and then, with the li^t and life
they gain frc^aa her, th^ can do what, with her
B^i and life, she eaniK)t do. Vc^ she herself, like
fiE of us, has her liinitalicaid. And I suppose tl^
on^ reascm why, with such ssrenity and energy
aind kxng-safireiiog and unselfishness as hers, she
does not sucked better in her own person is thai
she does not know how to ''be i^ort." We cannot
aU be (XT do aU things. First boy in Latin, you
ffifty tanuislate that sentence back into Latin, and
(Me bow mudir better it SMnda th^re thazk in Eng-
lish. Then send your version to the Letter-Box.
62 HOW TO DO IT.
For instance^ it may be Agatha's duty to come
and tell me that — what shall we have it ? — say
that dimier is ready. Now really the best way
but one to say that is, " Dinner is ready, sir." The
best way is, " Dinner, sir " ; for this age, observe,
loves to omit the verb. Let it. But really if St
Agatha, of whom I speak, — the second of that
name, and of the Protestant, not the Boman Can-
on, — had this to say, she would say : " I am so
glad to see you ! I do not want to take your time,
I am sure, you have so many things to do, and
you are so good to everybody, but I knew you
would let me tell you this. I was coming up
stairs, and I saw your cook, Florence, you know.
I always knew her ; she used to live at Mrs. era-
dock's before she started on her journey ; and her
sister lived with that friend of mine that I visited
the summer Willie was so sick with the mumps,
and she was so kind to him. She was a beautiful
woman ; her husband would be away aU the day,
and, when he came home, she would have a piece
of mince-pie for him, and his slippers warmed and
in front of the fire for him; and, when he was in
HOW TO DO IT. 63
Cayenne, he died, and they brought his body home
in a ship Frederic Marsters was the captain of. It
was there that I met Florence's sister, — not so
pretty as Florence, but I think a nice girL She is
married now and lives at Ashland, and has two
nice children, a boy and a girL They are all com-
ing to see us at Thanksgiving. I was so glad to see
that Florence was with you, and I did not know it
when I came in, and when I met her in the entry
I was very much surprised, and she saw I was
coming in here, and she said, ' Please, will you tell
him that dinner is ready ? ' "
Now it is not simply, you see, that, while an
announcement of that nature goes on, the mutton
grows cold, your wife grows tired, the children
grow cross, and that the subjugation of the world
in general is set back, so far as you are aU con-
cerned, a perceptible space of time on The Great
Dial But the tale itself has a wearing and weary-
ing perplexity about it. At the end you doubt if
it is your dinner that is ready, or Fred Marsters's,
or Florence's, or nobody's. Whether there is any
real dinner, you doubt For want of a vigorous
H HOW Ta DO n.
iu»ninative case, finaolj gorenuBg the y«rb> wlietti^
er that verb is seen (x not^ or beeaufi^ tbl» firai
nominative k masked and disguised behind olonds
of drapeiy and other mbbish, the best oi stories^
thus told, loses all Hfe, interest, and power.
Leave out then, residutely. First omit *^ Speskk"
ing of hidesy" or " That reminds me of/' gs " What
you say suggests," o^ ''Tou make me think of/'
or any such introductions. Of course you teme^'
loex what you are saying. Tou could not say il^ if
you did not remember it It is to be hoped, too^
that you are thinking of what you are saying H
you are not, you will not help the matter Igr say-
ing you are, no matt^ if the c(HiTersati<m do have
firm and sharp edges. CS<mveEBation is noi an
essay. It has a right to many latge letters, and
many new paragraplHk That is what niakes it so
much more interestii^ than long; close paiagnq^
like this, which the printetrs hate as much as I d(^
and which they caU " solid matUr,'* as if to indi-
cate that, in {^portion, such paragraphs are ap4
to lack the light, ethereal spirit of all life.
SeciHkU iA coayfrsatikon, you neei not gif»
HOW TO DO IT. 65
tlioTities, if it 1)6 asly ^ear that yon aie not pre*
tendiiig origiimKty. Do ftot say, as dear Ptoiber-
ton used to, " I have a book at home, which I
"bought at the sde (rf By Ws books, in which there
is an account of Parf^s fir^ l^age, and an expla^
nation oi th^ red efioW, w*fiL©h shows <iat the red
adoW is,** &c., &t,, *d. fuBtfeM of this say, « Eed
snow is," &c., &e., &c. Nobody will «unk you we
producilig ttns a^ a discov^ of yoot oWn. When
the Authority is asked 4br, Ubibte wiU Tbe 4 fit time
ft/t you %o teE
Itird, nfever ej^lain, unless for exteeme neces-
sfty, who people are. Let them come in as they
do att the plaj^, when you have no play-bilL If
what you say is ofliCTWise inftelligible, the hearers
will find out, 'if 4t is necessary, as perhaps it may
not be. <3o back, if you please, to my aceount of
-Agatha, and see how mtibh eoon^ we i*hould all
have come to dintior if she had not tried to e:i£plain
about all these people. The truth is, you cannot
ei^lain "about ^em. You -are led in farther and
farther. Prank wants to fi*iy, " Greorge went to
the St€»^tic^ y^st^Dday.'' Instead of that he
66 HOW TO DO IT.
says, "A fellow at our school named George, a
brother of Tom Tileston who goes to the Dwight,
and is in Miss Somerby's room, — not the Miss
Somerby that has the class in the Sunday school,
— she *s at the Brimmer School, — ^^but her sister,"
— and already poor Frank is far from George, and
far from the Stereopticon, and, as I observe, is
wandering farther and farther. He began with
George, but, George having suggested Tom and
Miss Somerby, by the same law of thought each
of them would have suggested two others. Poor
Frank, who was quite master of his one theme,
George, finds unawares that he is dealing with
two, gets flurried, but plunges on, only to find, in
his remembering, that these two have doubled into
four, and then, conscious that in an instant they
will be eight, and, which is worse, eight themes or
subjects on which he is not prepared to speak at
all, probably wishes he had never begun. It is
certain that eveiy one else wishes it, whether he
does or not. You need not explain. People of
sense understand something.
Do you remember the illustration of repartee in
Miss Edgeworth ? It is this : —
HOW TO DO IT 67
Mr. Pope, who was crooked and cross, was talk-
ing with a young officer. The officer said he
thought that in a certain sentence an interroga-
tion-mark was needed.
"Do you know what an interrogation-mark
is?" snarled out the crooked, cross little man.
"It is a crooked little thing that asks ques-
tions," said the young man.
And he shut up Mr. Pope for that day.
But you can see that he would not have shut
up Mr. Pope at all if he had had to introduce his
answer and explain it from point to point. If he
had said, " Do you really suppose I do not know ?
Why, really, as long ago as when I was at the
Charter House School, old William Watrous, who
was master there then, — he had been at the
school himself, when he and Ezekiel Cheever were
boys, — told me that a point of interrogation was
a little crooked thing that asks questions."
The repartee would have lost a good deal of
its force, if this unknown yoimg officer had not
learned, 1, not to introduce his remarks ; 2, not to
give authorities ; and 3, not to explain who people
66 HOW ^0 !)0 It.
aSPb, Th^s^ t0t^, p<»li«ps, <enot^ ^iftatit»s m lie-
tail, thcmgh <^7 4o not !b the VsBialt deacribe all
1^ dangers thfi^ matenaA yoti. Speaking mote
generally, avoid parentheses «s yea 'rouM poison;
cfflid ifioiye ^&Dfft^j yet, fts I cfaid fit £ii^. Be
Shom.
Ttese Mx raleto sm^ 'stt£^ for the present
Observe, I am only spea'king of uw^ods. I take
it for gralrted ^ttt you are not spfteSPd, Ittttefiil, or
lrt(ied otl^iwifie. I ^do not tdl you, ftierrfore,
^V€ar to tfHk soandal, because I hope you do mot
need to ieiBtm ^^, I do iiot teH ytm nev^r tol)e
sly, 43i» naeto, in tfeflk. H youiieed to be tiSd that,
ycm 9»e ^eycmd Budi li^aiDing^s ^we^can give Jiere.
Study m^, and practise daaSy tliese mx Tules, tend
then you 'wHl be prepared for our next instrac-
tim&, — which ipe<iuire attention to these Tuks, as
aU i^ does,— *• when ^we shall -eonsidear
How TO WBITB.
HOW TO DO IT. 69
CHAPTER IV.
HOW TO WEECg.
TT is supposed that you have learned your
"■" letters, and bow to make them. It is sup-
posed that you have ynitten the school copies,
from
down to
)uinM CMiu^ l^^tAaed rntem^ ^i^e^io/ M^oa&iifi^.
It is supposed that you can ndnd your p's
and q's, and, as Harriet Byron said of Clu^rlesi
Grandiscm, in the youiance which your grqat-
grandmother knew by heart, "that you can spell
welL" Observe the advance of the times, dear
Stephen. That a gentleman should spell well
was the only literary requisition which the aci»
complished lady of hi^ love xnadf» upo» bim i^
70 HOW TO DO rr.
Hundred years ago. And you, if you go to Mrs.
Vandermeyer's party to-night, will be asked by
the fair Marcia, what is your opinion as to ,the
origin of the Myth of Ceres !
These things are supposed. It is also sup-
posed that you have, at heart and in practice,
the essential rules which have been unfolded in
Chapters II. and III. As has been akeady said,
these are as necessary in one duty of life as
in another, — in writing a President's message as
in finding your way by a spotted trail, from
Albany to TamwortL
These things being supposed, we will now
consider the special needs for writing, as a gen-
tleman writes, or a lady, in the English language,
which is, fortunately for us, the best language
of them all.
I will tell you, first, the first lesson I learned
about it; for it was the best, and was central
My first undertaking of importance in this line
was made when I was seven years old. There
was a new theatre, and a prize of a hundred
dollars was offered for an ode to be recited at
HOW TO DO IT. 7X
the opening, — or perhaps it was only at the
opening of the season. Our school was hard
by the theatre, and as we boys were generally
short of spending-money, we conceived the idea
of competing for this prize. You can see that
a hundred dollars would have gone a good way
in barley-candy and blood-alleys, — which last
are things unknown, perhaps, to Young America
to-day. So we resolutely addressed ^ourselves
to, writing for the ode. I was soon snagged,
and found the difl&culties greater than I had
thought. I consulted one who has through life
been Nestor and Mentor to me, — (Second class
in Greek, — Wilkins, who was Nestor? — Eight;
go up. Third class in French, — Miss Clara, who
was Mentor? — Eight; sit down), — and he re-
plied by this remark, which I beg you to ponder
inwardly, and always act upon: —
"Edward," said he, "whenever I am going to
write anything, I find it best to think first what
I am going to say."
In the instruction thus conveyed is a lesson
which nine writers out of ten have never learned.
*J2 HOW TO DQ IT.
Even the people wha write leading articles for
the newspapers do , naif the time, know what
they are going to say when they begin. And
I have heard many a sermon which was evi-
dently written by a man who, when he began,
only knew what his first "head" was to be.
The sermon was a sort of riddle to himself,
when he started, and he was curious as to, how
it would come out. I remember a very worthy
gentleman who sometimes spoke to the Sunday
pchool when I was a boy. He would begin-
without the slightest idea of what he was going
to say, but he was sure that the end of the first
sentence would help him to the second. This
is an example.
"My dear young friends, I do not know that
I have anything to say to you, but I am very
much obliged to your teachers for asking me
to address you this beautiful morning. — The
morning is so beautiful after the refreshment
of the night, that as I walked to church, and
looked around and breathed the fresh air, I felt
more than ever what a privilege it is tp live in
HOW TO DO IT. 73
SO wonderful a world. — For the world, dear chil-
dren, has been all contrivew 1 set in order for
US by a Power so much higher than our own, that
we might enjoy our own lives, and live for the hap-
piness and good of our brothers and our sisters. —
Our brothers and our sisters they are indeed, though
some of them are in distant lands, and beneath
other skies, and parted from us by the broad oceans.
— These oceans, indeed, do not so much divide
the world as they unite it. They make it one.
The winds which blow over them, and the cur-
rents which move their waters, — all are ruled
by a higher law, that they may contribute to
commerce and to the good of man. — And man,
my dear children," &c., &c., &c.
You see there is no end to it. It is a sort
of capping verses with yourself, where you take
up the last word, or the last idea of one sentence,
and begin the next with it, quite indiflferent where
you come out, if you only "occupy the time"
that is appointed. It is very easy for you, but,
my dear friends, it is very hard for those who
read and who listen 1
74 HOW TO DO IT,
The vice goes so far, indeed^ that you may divide
literature into two great classes of books. The
smaller class of the two consists of the books
written by people who had something to say.
They had in life learned something, or seen some-
things or done something, which they really
wanted and needed to tell to other people. They
told it. And their writings make, perhaps, a twen-
tieth part of the printed literature of the world.
It is the part which contains all that is worth
reading. The other nineteen-twentieths make up
the other class. The people have written just as
you wrote at school when Miss Winstanley told
you to bring in your compositions on *' Duty Per-
formed." You had very little to say about " Duty
Performed.'* But Miss Winstanley expected three
pages. And she got them, — such as they were.
Our first rule is, then»
Know what you want to sat.
The second rule is.
Say it.
That is, do not begin by saying something else.
HOW TO DO rr. 75
which you ihink will lead up to what you want to
s£iy. I remember, when they tried to teach me to
sing, they told me to "think of eight and sing
seven." That may be a very good rule for singing,
but it is not a good rule for talking, or writing, or
any of the other things that I have to do. I ad-
vise you to say the thing you want to say* Wlien
I began to preach, another of my Nestors said to
me, "Edward, I give you one piece of advice.
When you have written your sermon, leave off the
introduction and leave oflT the conclusion. The in-
troduction seems to me always written to show
that the minister can preach two sermons on one
text Leave that off, then, and it will do for an-
other Sunday. The (inclusion is written 'to apply
to the' congregation the doctrine of the sermon.
But, if your hearers are such fools that they can-
not apply the doctrine to themselves, nothing you
can say will help them." In this advice was much
wisdom. It consists, ypu see, in advising to begin
at the beginning, and to stop when you have dona
Thirdly, and always.
Use your own Language.
76 HOW TO DO IT.
I mean the language you are accustomed to use in
daily life. David did much better with his sling
than he would have done with Saul's sword and
spear. And Hatty - Fielding told me, only last
week, that she was very sorry she wore her cous-
in's pretty brooch to an evening dance, though
Fanny had really forced it on her. Hatty said,
like a sensible girl as she is, that it made her ner-
vous all the time. She felt as if she were sailing
under false colors. If your every-day language is
not fit for a letter or for print, it is not fit for talk.
And if, by any series of joking or fun, at school or
at home, you have got into the habit of using
slang in talk, which is not fit for print, why, the
sooner fon get out of it the better. Eemember
that the very highest compliment paid to anything
printed is paid when a person, hearing it read
aloud, thinks it is the remark of the reader made
in conversation. Both writer and reader then re-
ceive the highest possible praise.
It is sad enough to see how often this rule is
violated. There are fashions of writing. Mr.
Dickens, in his wonderful use of exaggerated Ian-
HOW TO DO IT. 77
guage, introduced one. And now you can hardly
read the court report in a village paper but you
find that the ill-bred boy who makes up what he
calls its "locals" thinks it is funny to write in
such a style as this: —
"An unfortunate individual who answered to
the somewhat well-worn sobriquet of Jones, and
appeared to have been trying some experiments aa
to the comparative density of his own skull and
the materials of the sidewalk, made an involuntary
appearance before Mr. Justice Smith."
Now the little fool who writes this does not
think of imitating Dickens. He is only imitating
OQother fool, who was imitating another, who waB
imitating another, — who, through a score of such
imitations, got the idea of this burlesque exaggera-
tion from some of Mr. Dickens's earlier writings
of thirty years ago. It was very funny when Mr.
Dickens originated it. And almost always, when
he used it, it was very funny. But it is not in the
least funny when these other people use it, to
whom it is not natural, and to whom it does
not come easily. Just as this boy says "sobri-
78 HOW TO DO IT.
queV' without knowing at all what the woid
means^ merely because he has read it in anoth*
er newspaper, everybody, in this Vein, gets en-
trapped into using words with the wrong senses,
in the wrong places, and making himself ridicu-
lous.
Now it happens, by good luck, that I have, on
the table here, a pretty file of eleven compositicms^
which Miss Winstanley has sent me, which the
girls in her first class wrote, on the subject I have
already named. The whole subject, as she gave it
out, was, " Duty performed is a Eainbow in the
SouL" I think, myself, that the sulgect was a
hard one, and that Miss Winstanley would have
done better had she given them a choice firom
two familiar subjects, of which they had lately
seen something or recul something. When young
people have to do a thing, it always helps them to
give them a choice between two ways of doing it
However, Miss Winstanley gave them this subject
It made a good deal of growling in the school, but,
when the time came, of course the girls buckled
down to the work, and, as I said before, the three
HOW to DO IT.
70
pages wrote themselves, or were written somehow
or other.
Now I am not going to inflict on you all these
eleven compositions. But there are three of them
which, as it happens, illustrate quite distinctly the
three errors against which I have been warning
you. I will copy a little scrap from each of them.
First, here is Pauline's. She wrote without any
idea, when she began, of what she was going to
say.
" Duty performed is a Rainbow in the SouL
"A great many people ask the question, 'What
is duty ? ' and there has been a great deal written
upon the subject, and many opinions have been
expressed in a variety of ways. People have differ-
ent ideas upon it, and some of them think one
thing and some another. And some have very
strong views, and very decided about it. But
these are not always to be the most admired, for
often those who are so loud about a thing are not
the ones who know the most upon a subject
Yet it is aU very important, and many things
should be done ; and, when they are done, we are
all embowered in ecstasy."
80 HOW TO DO IT.
That is enough of poor Pauline's. And, to tell
the truth, she was as much ashamed when she
had come out to this " ecstasy," in first writing
what she called " the plaguy thing," as she is now
she reads it from the print. But she began that
sentence, just as she began the whole, with no
idea how it was to end. Then she got aground.
She had said, "it is all very important"; and
she did not know that it was better to stop there,
if she had nothing else to say, so, after waiting a
good while, knowing that they must all go to bed
at nine, she added, " and many things should be
done." Even then, she did not see that the best
thing she could do was to put a full stop to the
sentence. She watched the other girls, who were
going weU down their second pages, whHe she had
not turned the leaf, and so, in real agony, she
added this absurd "when they are done, we are
all embowered in ecstasy." The next morning
they had to copy the " compositions." She knew
what stuff this was, just as well as you and I
do, but it took up twenty good lines, and she
could not afford, she thought^ to leave it out
HOW TO DO IT. 81
Indeed^ I am sorry to say, none of her "com-
position" was any better. She did not kaow
what ehe wanted to say, when she had done, any
better than when she began.
Pauline is the same Pauline who wanted to
draw in monochromatic drawing.
Here is the beginning of Sybil's. She is the
girl who refused the sponge-cake when Dr. Throop
offered it to her. She had an idea that an intro-
duction helped along, — emd this is her introduc-
tion.
^'Duty performed is a Rairibow in the Sovl.
" I went out at sunset to consider this subject,
and beheld how the departing orb was scattering
his beams over the mountains. Every blade of
grass was gathering in some rays of beauty,
every tree was glittering in the majesty of part-
ing day.
"I said, 'What is life?— What is duiy?' I
saw the world folding itself up to rest. The little
flowers, the tired sheep, were turning to their fold.
So the sun went down. He had done his duty,
along with the rest.**
6
82 HOW TO DO IT.
And so we got rotmd to Thity perfonned/*
and, the introduction well over, like the tuning
of an orchestra, the business of the piece b^aa
That little slip about the flowers going into their
folds was one which Sybil afterwards defended.
She said it meant that they folded themselves up.
But it was an oversight when she wrote it ; she
forgot tiie flowers, and was thinking of the
sheep.
Now I think you will all agree with me that
the whole composition would have been better
without this introduction.
Sarah Clavers had a genuine idea, which she
had explained to the other girls much in this way.
" I know what Miss Winstanley means. She
means this. When you have had a real hard
time to do what you know you ought to do, when
you have made a good deal of fuss about it, —
as We all did the day we had to go over to Mr.
Ingham's and beg pardon for disturbing the Sim-
day school, — you are so glad it id done, that
everything seems nice and quiet and peaceful, —
HOW TO DO IT. 83
just as when a thunder-storm is really over, only
just a few drops falling, there comes a nice still
minute or two with a rainhow across the sky.
That 's what Miss Winstanley means, and that 's
what I am going to say."
Now really, if Sarah had said that, without
making the sentence breathlessly long, it would
have been a very decent "composition" for such
a subject* But when poor Sarah got her paper
before her, she made two mistakes. First, she
thought her school-girl talk was not good enough
to be written down. And, second, she knew that
long words took up more room than short; so,
to fill up her three pages, she translated her little
words into the largest she could think o£ It was
just as Dr. Schweigenthal, when he wanted to
say "Jesus was going to Jerusalem," said, " The
Founder of our religion was proceeding to the
metropolis of his country." That took three
times as much room and time, you see. So Sarah
translated her English into the language of the
Talkee-talkees ; thus: —
84 HOW TO DO IT.
^'Duty performed is a Rairibow in the Soul,
"It is frequently observed, that the complete
discharge of the obligations pressing upon us as
moral agents is attended with conflict and diffi-
culty. Frequently, therefore, we address our-
selves to the dischaige of these obUgations with
some measure of resistance, perhaps with ob-
stinacy, and I may add, indeed, with unwilling-
ness. I wish I could persuade myself that our
teacher had forgotten" (Sarah looked on this as
a masterpiece, — a good line of print, which says,
as you see, really nothing) ^' the afternoon which
was so mortifying to all who were concerned,
when her appeal to our better selves, and to our
educated consciousness of what was due to a
clergyman, and to the institutions of religion,
made it necessary for several of the young ladies
to cross to the village," (Sarah wished she could
have said metropolis,) " and obtain an interview
with the Rev. Mr. Ingham."
And so the composition goes on. Four full
pages there are; but you see how they were
gained, — by a vicious style, wholly false to a
frank-spoken girl like Sarah. She expanded
HOW TO DO IT. 85
into what fills sixteen lines on this page what^
as she expressed it in conversation, fills only
five.
I hope you all see how one of these faults
brings on another. Such is the way with aU
faults ; they hunt in couples, or often, indeed, in
larger company. The moment you leave the
simple wish to say upon paper the thing you have
thought, you are given over to all these tempta-
tions, to write things which, if any one else wrote
them, you would say were absurd, as you say
these school-girls' " compositions " are. Here is a
good rule of the real "Nestor" of our time. He
is a great preacher ; and one day he was speaking
of the advantage of sometimes preaching an old
sermon a second time. "You can change the
arrangement," he said. " You can fill in any
point in the argument, where you see it is not
as strong as you proposed. You can add an
illustration, if your statement is difficult to under-
stand. Above aU, you can
*' Leave out all the Finb Passages."
86 HOW TO DO IT.
I put that in email capitals, for one of our rules. >
For, in nineteen cases out of twenty, the Fine
Passage that you are so pleased with, when you
first write it, is b^ter out of sight than in. Re-
member Whately's great maxim, " Nobody knows
what good things you leave out."
Indeed, to the older of the young friends who
favor me by reading these pages I can give no
better advice, by the way, than tliat they read
"Whatel/s Rhetoric." Read ten pages k day,
then turn back, and read them carefully again,
before you put the book by. You will find it a
very pleasant book, and it will give you a great
many hints for clear and simple expression, which
you are not so likely to find in any other way I
know.
Most of you know th6 difterence between Saxon
words and Latin words in the English language.
You know there were once two languages in Eng^
land, — the Norman French, which William the
Conqueror and his men brought in, and the Saxon
of the people who were conquered at that time.
The Norman French WAA largely oomposed of
HOW TO DO IT. 87
words of Latin origin. The English language
has been made np of the slow mixture of these
two; but the real stock, out of which this deli-
cious soup is made, is the Saxon, — the Norman
French should only add the flavor. In some writ-
ing, it is often necessary to use the words of
Latin origio* Thus, in most scientific writing, the
Latiu words more nicely express the details of the
meaning needed. But, to use the Latin word
where you have a good Saxon one is still what
it was in the times of Wamba and of Cedric, — it
is to pretend^ you are one of the conquering
nobility, when, in fact, you are one of the free
people, who speak, and should be proud to speak,
not the French, but the English tongue. To those
of you who have even a slight knowledge of
French or Latin it will be very good fun, and a
very good exercise, to translate, in some thor-
oughly bad author, his Latin words into English.
To younger writers, or to those who know only
English, this may seem too hard a task. It will
be doing much the same thing, if they will try
translating from long wordfl into short ones.
88 . HOW TO DO IT.
Here is a piece of weak English. It is not bad
in other regards, but simply weak
" Entertaining unlimited confidence in your in-
telligent and patriotic devotion to the public in-
terest, and being conscious of no motives on my
part which are not inseparable from the honor and
advancement of my country, I hope it may be my
privilege to deserve and secure, not only your cor-
dial co-operation in great public measures, but
also those relations of mutual confidence and re-
gard which it is always so desirable to cultivate
between members of co-ordinate branches of the
government." *
Take that for an exercise in translating into
shorter words. Strike out the unnecessary words,
and see if it does not come out stronger. The
same passage will serve also as an exercise as to
the use of Latin and Saxon words. Dr. Johnson
is generally quoted as the English author who
uses most Latin words. He uses, I think, ten
in a hundred. But our Congressmen far exceed
* From Mr. Franklin Pierce's first message to Congreaa as
President of the United States.
HOW TO DO IT. 89
hinL This sentence uses Latin words at the rate
of thirty-five in a hundred. Try a good many ex-
periments in translating from long to shorty and
you will be sure that, when you haye a fair choice
between two words,
A SHORT Word is better than a long one.
For instance, I think this sentence would have
been better if it had been couched in thirty-six
words instead of eighty-one. I think we should
have lost nothing of the author's meaning if he
had said, " I have full trust in you. I am sure
that I seek only the honor and advance of the
country. I hope, therefore, that I may earn your
respect and regard, while we heartily work to-
gether."
I am fond of telling the story of the words
which a distinguished friend of mine used in
accepting a hard post of duty. He said: —
"I do not think I am fit for this place. But
my friends say I am, and I trust them. I shall
take the place, and, when I am in it, I shall do as
well as I can."
90 HOW TO DO IT,
It is a very grand sentence. Observe that it
has not one word which is more than one syllable.
As it happens, also, every word is Saxon, — there
is not one spurt of Latin. Yet this was a learned
man, who, if he chose, could have said the whole
in Latin. But he was one American gentleman
talking to another American gentleman, and there-
fore he chose to use the tongue to which they both
were born.
We have not Space to go into the theory of
these rules^ as far as I should like to. But you
see the force which a short word has, if you can
use it, instead of a long one. If you want to say
"hush," "hush" is a much better word than
the French '^ taisez-votis," If you want to say
"halt," "halt" is much better than the French
" arretez^ottsJ' The French have, in f£U3t, bor-
rowed "Judte" from us or from the German, for
their tactics. For the same reason, you want to
prune out the unnecessary words from your sen-
tences, and even the classes of words which seem
put in to fill up. If, for instance, you can express
your idea without an adjective, your sentence i«J
HOW TO DO IT* 91
stronger and more manly. It is better to say '' a
saint " than *' a saintly man." It is better to say
" This is the truth " than " This is the truthful re-
sult." Of course an adjective may be absolutely
necessary. But you may oftw detect extempore
speakers in piling in adjectives, because they have
not yet hit on the right noun. In writing, ^ins is
not to be excused. " You have all the time there
is," when you write, and you do better to sink a
minute in thinking for one right word, than to put in
two in its place, — because you can do so without
loss of time. I hope every school*girl knows,
what I am sure every school-boy knows, Sheri-
dan's saying, that '' Easy writing is hard reading."
In general, as I said before, oth^ things being
equal,
"The fewer Words, the better,"
'^ as it seems to me." ^ As it seems to me " is the
quiet way in which Nestor states things. Would
we were all as careful !
There is one adverb or acljective which it is
almost always safe to leave out in America. It
92 HOW TO DO IT.
is the word " very/* I learned that from one of
the masters of English style. "Strike out your
'verys/" said he to me, when I was yotmg.
I wish I had done so oftener than I have.
For myself, I Uke short sentences. This is,
perhaps, because I have read a good deal of
modem French, and I think the French gain in
clearness by the shortness of their sentences.
But there are great masters of style, — great
enough to handle long sentences well,^ — and these
men would not agree with me. But I will teU
you this, that if you have a sentence which you
do not like, the best experiment to try on it is the
experiment Medea tried on the old goat, when she
wanted to make him over : —
Cut it to Pieces.
What shall I take for illustration? You will
be more interested in one of these school-girls*
themes than in an old Congress speech I have
here marked for copying. Here is the first draft
of Laura Walter*s composition, which happens to
be tied up in the same red ribbon with the finished
HOW TO DO IT. 93
exercises. I will copy a piece of that, and then
you shall see, from the corrected "composition,"
what came of it, when she cut it to pieces, and
applied the other rules which we have been
studying.
LAUEA'S FIRST DRAFT.
" Duty performed is a Bairibow in the SoiU,
"I cannot conceive, and therefore I cannot
attempt adequately to consider, the full probable
meaning of the metaphorical expression with which
the present 'subject' concludes, — nor do I sup-
pose it is absolutely necessary that I should do so,
for expressing the various impressions which I
have formed on the subject taken as a whole,
which have occurred to me in such careful med-
itation as I have been able to give to it, — in
natural connection with an affecting little incident,
which I will now, so far as my limited space will
permit, proceed, however inadequately, to describe.
"My dear little brother Frankie — as sweet a
little fellow as ever plagued his sister's life out,
or troubled the kindest of mothers in her daily
duties — was one day returning from school, when
he met my father hurrying from his ofl&ce, and
94 HOW TO DO IT.
was directed by him to proceed as quickly as
was possible to the post-office, and make inquiry
there for a letiter of a good deal of importance
which he had reason to expect, or at the least to
hope for, by the New York mail."/
Laura had come as far as this esirly in the week,
when bedtime came. The next day she read it
all, and saw it was sad stuff, and sh,a frankly asked
herself why. The answer was, that she had really
been trying to spin out three pages* " Now," said
Laura to herself, "that is not fair." And she
finished the piece in a very different way, as you
shall see. Then she went back over this introduc- >
tion, and struck out the fine passages. Then she
struck out the long words, and put in short ones.
Then she saw she could do better yet, — and she
cut that long introductory sentence to pieces.
Then she saw that none of it was strictly ne-
cessary, if she only explained why she gave up
the rainbow part. And, after all these reductions,
the first part of the essay which I have copied was
cut down and changed so that it read thus : —
HOW TO DO IT. 95
** Duty ferforoied is a Rainbow in tJie Soul,
" I do not know what is meant by a Eainbow in
the SouL"
Then Laura went on thus : —
"I will try to tell a story of duty performed.
My brother Frank was sent to the post-office
for a letter. When he came there, the poor
child found a big dog at the door of the office,
and was afraid to go in. It was just the dead
part of the day in a country village, when even
the shops are locked up for an hour, and Frank,
who is very shy, saw no one whom he could call
upon. He tried to make Miss Evarts, the post-
office clerk, hfear ; but she was in the back of the
office. Frank was frightened, but he meant to do
his duty. So he crossed the bridge, walked up to
the butcher's shop in the other village, — which
he knew was open, ^- spent two pennies for a bit
of meat, and carried it back to tempt his enemy.
He waved it in the air, called the dog, and threw
it into the street. The dog was much more
willing to eat the meat than to eat Frankie. He
left his post. Frank went in and tapped on the
glass, and Miss Evarts came and gave him the
letter. Frank came home in triumph, and papa
said it was a finer piece of duty performed than
>'-•(•.■
%•■■
t,^
96 HOW TO DO IT.
the celebrated sacrifice of Casablanca's would
have been, had it happened that Casablanca ever
made it."
That is Tjne shortest of these "compositions."
It is much the best. Miss Winstanley took the
occasion to tell the girls, that, other things being
equal, a short " composition " is better than a long
one. A short ''composition" which shows thought
and care, is much better than a long one which
" writes itseK."
I dislike the word " composition," but I use it,
because it is familiar. I think "essay" or "piece"
or even " theme " a better word.
Will you go over Laura's story and see where it
could be shortened, and what Latin words could
be changed for better Saxon ones ?
Will you take care, in writing yourself, never to
say " commence " or " presume " ?
In the next chapter we will ask each other
How TO BEAD.
HOW TO DO IT. 97
CHAPTEE V.
HOW TO BEAD.
I. — The Choice of Books,
■'VT'OU are not to expect any stories this time.
-■- There will be very few words about Stephen,
or Sybil, or Sarah. My business now is rather to
answer, as well as I can, such questions as youngs
people ask who are beginning to have their
time at their own command, and can make their
own selection of the books they are to read. I
have before me, as I write, a handful of letters
which have been written to the office of "The
Young Folks," asking such questions. And all
my intelligent young friends are asking each other
such questions, and so ask them of me every day.
I shall answer these questions by laying down
some general rules, just as I have done before
but I shall try to put you into the way of choos-
ing your own books, rather than choosing for you
a long, defined list of them.
98 HOW TO DO IT.
I believe very thoroughly in courses of reading,
because I believe in having one book lead to an-
other. But, after the beginning, these courses for
different persons will vary very much from each
other. You all go out to a great picnic, and meet
together in some pleasant place in the woods, and
you put down the baskets there, and leave the
pail with the ice in the shadiest place you can
find, and cover it up with the blanket. Then you
all set out in this great forest, which we call Lit-
erature. But it is only a few of the party, who
choose to start hand in hand along a gravel-path
there is, which leads straight to the Burgesses'
well, and probably those few enjoy less and gain
less from the day's excursion than any of the rest
The rest break up into different knots, and go
some here and some there, as their occasion and*
their genius call them. Some go after flowers7
some after berries, some after butterflies; some
knock the rocks to pieces, some get up where
there is a fine view/some sit down and copy
the stumps, some go into water, some make a fir^
some find a camp of Indians and learn how to
HOW TO DO IT. 99
*
make baskets. Then they all come back to the
picnic in good spirits and with good appetites,
each eager to tell the others what he has seen
and heard, each having satisfied his own taste and
genius, and each and all having made vastly more
out of the day than if they had all held to the
gravel-path and walked in column to the Bur-
gesses' well and back again.
This, you see, is a long parable for the purpose
of making you remember that there are but few
books which it is necessary for every intelligent
boy and girl, man and woman, to have read. Of
those few, I had as lief give the list here.
First is the Bible, of which not only is an intel-
ligent knowledge necessary for your healthy growth
in religious life, but — which is of less conse-
quence, indeed — it is as necessary for your toler-
able understanding of the literature, or even sci-
ence, of a world which for eighteen centuries has
been under the steady iufluence of the Bible.
Around the English version of it, as Mr. Marsh *
* Marsh's Lectures on the English Language : very entertain-
ing books.
100 HOW TO DO IT.
shows SO well, the English language of the last
three centuries has revolved, as the earth revolves
around the sun. He means, that although the
language of one time differs from that of another,
it is always at about the same distcmce from the
language of King James's Bible.
Second, every one ought to be quite well in-
formed as to the history of the country in which
he lives. AU of you should know the general
history of the United States well. You should
know the history of your own State in more
detail, and of your own town in the most detail
of alL
Third, an American needs to have a clear
knowledge of the general features of the history
of England-
Now it does not make so much difference how
you compass this general historical knowledge, if,
in its main features, you do compass it. When
Mr. Lincoln went down to Norfolk to see the rebel
commissioners, Mr. Hunter, on their side, cited, as
a precedent for the action which he wanted the
President to pursue, the negotiations between
HOW TO DO IT. 101
Charles the First and his Parliament. Mr. lin-
coin's eyes twinkled, and he said, "Upon ques-
tions of history I must refer you to Mr. Seward,
for he is posted upon such things, and I do not pro-
fess to be. My only distinct recollection of the
matter is, that Charles lost his head." Now you
see it is of no sort of consequence how Mr. Lin-
coln got his thoroughly sound knowledge of the
history of England, — in which, by the way, he
was entirely at home, — and he had a perfect
right to pay the compliment he did to Mr. Sew-
ard; but it was of great importance to him that
he should not be haunted with the fear that the
other man did know, really, of some important
piece of negotiation of which he was ignorant. It
was important to him to know that, so that he
might be sure that his joke was — as it was —
exactly the fitting answer.
Fourth, it is necessary that every intelligent
American or Englishman should have read care-
fully most of Shakespeare's plays. Most people
would have named them before the history, but I
do not. I do not care, however, how early you
102 HOW TO DO IT.
read them in life, and, as we shall see, they will
be among your best guides for the history of
England.
Lastly, it is a disgrace to read even the news-
paper, without knowing where the places are
which are spoken of. You need, therefore, the
very best atlas you can provide yourself with.
The atlas you had when you studied geography
at school is better than none. But if you can
compass any more precise and full, so much the
better. Colton's American Atlas is good. The
large cheap maps, published two on one roller by
Lloyd, are good ; if you can give but five dollars
for your maps, perhaps this is the best investment.
Mr. Fay's beautiful atlaa costs but three and a
half dollars. For the other hemisphere. Black's
Atlas is good. Eogers's, published in Edinburgh,
is very complete in its American maps. Stieler's
is cheap and relialde.
"When people talk of the "books which no gen-
tleman's library should be without," the list may
be boiled down, I think — if in any stress we
should be reduced to the bread*and-water diet —
HOW TO DO IT. 103
to such books as will cover these five fundamental
•
necessities. If you cannot buy the Bible, the
agent of the County Bible Society will give you
one. You can buy the whole of Shakespeare for
fifty cents in Dicks's edition. And, within two
miles of the place where you live, there are books
enough for all the historical study I have pre-
scribed. So, in what I now go on to say, I shaU
take it for granted that we have all of us made
thus much preparation, or can make it. These are
the central stores of the picnic, which we can fall
back upon, after our explorations in our various
lines of literature.
Now for our several courses x)f reading. How
am I to know what are your several tastes, or the
several lines of your genius ? Here are, as I learn
from Mr. Osgood, some seventy-six thousand five
hundred and forty-three Young Folks, be the same
more or less, who are reading this paper. How
am I to tell what are their seventy-six thousand
five hundred and forty-three tastes, dispositions,
or lines of genius ? I cannot telL Perhaps they
could not tell themselves, not being skilled in self-
104 HOW TO DO IT.
analysis; and it is by no means necessary that
they should be able to telL Perhaps we can set
down on paper what wiU be much better, the rules
or the system by which each of them may read
well in the line of his own genius, and so find ou^
before he has done with this life, what the line of
that genius is, as far as there is any occasion.
Do NOT TEY TO BEAD EVEKYTHINa
That is the first rule. Do not think you must
be a Universal Genius. Do not "read all Ee-
views," as an old code I had bade young men do.
And give up, as early as you can, the passion, "
with which aU yoimg people naturally begin, of
"keeping up with the literature of the tima"
As for the literature of the time, if one were to >
adopt any extreme rule, Mr. Emerson's would be n
the better of the two possible extremes. He says
it is wise to read no book till it has been printed
a year ; that, before the year is well over, many
of those books drift out of sight, which just now ^
oil the newspapers are telling you to read. But y ^
JiT'
HOW TO DO IT. 105
then, seriously, I do not suppose he acts on that
rule himseK. Nor need you and I. Only, we
will not try to read them alL
Here I must warn my young friend Jamie not
to go on talking about renouncing "nineteenth
century trash."
It will not do to use such words about a century
in which have written Groethe, Fichte, Cuvier,
Schleiermacher, Martineau, Scott, Tennyson, Thack-
eray, Browning, and Dickens, not to mention a
hundred others whom Jamie likes to read as
much as I do.
No. We will trust to conversation with the
others, who have had their different paths in this
picnic party of ours, to learn from them just the
brightest and best things that they have seen and
heard. And we will try to be able to tell them,
simply and truly, the best things we find on our
own paths. Now, for selecting the path, -^hat
shall we do, — since one cannot in one little life
attempt them all ?
Tou can select for yourself, if you wiU only
keep a cool head, and have your eyes open. First
106 HOW TO DO rr.
of all, remember that what you want fix>m books
is the information in them, and the stimulus they
give to you, and the amusement for your recreation.
You do not read for the poor pleasure of saying
you have read them. You are reading for the
subject, much more than for the particular book,
and if you find that you have exhausted all the
book has on your subject, then you are to leave
that book, whether you have read it through or
not. In some cases you read because the author's
own mind is worth knowing ; and then the more
you read the better you know him. But these
cases do not affect the ruld You read for what is
in the books, not that you may mark such a book
off from a " course of reading," or say at the next
meeting of the " Philogabblian Society " that you
"have just been reading Kant" or "Grodwin.**
What is the subject, then, which you want to
read upon?
Half the boys and girls who read this have
been so well trained that they know. They know
what they want to know. One is sure that she
wants to know more about Mary Queen o£ Soots ;
HOW TO DO IT. 107
atiother, that he wants to know more about
fly-fishing ; another, that she wants to know more
about the Egyptian hieroglyphics; another, that
he wants to know more about propagating new
varieties of pansies; another, that she wants to
know more about ''The Eing and the Book";
another, that he wants to know more about the
« Tenure of Ofiace bilL'' Happy is this hal£ To
know your ignorance is the great first step to
its relief. To confess it, as has been said before,
is the second. In a minute I wiU be ready to
say what I caa to this happy half; but one
minute first for the less happy half, who know
they want to read something because it is so nice
to read a pleasant book, but who do not know
what that something is. They come to us, aa
their ancestors came to a relative of mine who
was librarian of a town library sixty years ago;
"Please, sir, mother wants a sermon book, and
another book"
To these undecided ones I simply say, now has
the time come for decision. Your school studies
have undoubtedly opened up eo many subjects
108 HOW TO DO IT.
to you that you very naturally find it hard to
select between them. Shall you keep up your
drawing, or your music, or your history, or your
botany,' or your chemistry ? Very well in the
schools, my dear Alice, to have started you in
these things, but now you are coming to be a
woman, it is for you to decide which shall go
forward; it is not for Miss Winstanley, far lesa
for me, who never saw your face, and know
nothing of what you can or cannot do.
Now you can decide in this way. Tell me, or
tell yourself, what is the passage in your reading •
or in your life for the last week which rests
on your memory. Let us see if we thoroughly -
understand that passage. If we do not, we will .
see if we cannot learn to. That will give us a
"course of reading" for the next twelve months,
or if we choose, for the rest of our lives. There
is no end, you will see, to a true course of read-
ing ; and, on the other hand, you may about as
well begin at one place as another. Bemember
that you have infinite lives before you, so you
need not hurry in the details for fear the work
should be never done.
HOW TO DO IT. 109
Now I must show you how to go to'^work,
by supposing you have been interested in some
particular passage. Let us take a passage from
Macaulay, which I marked in the Edinburgh
Eeview for Sydney to speak, twenty-nine years
ago, — I think before I had ever heard Macaulay's
name. A great many of you boys have spoken it
at school since then, and many of you girls have
heard scraps from it. It is a brilliant passage,
rather too ornate for daily food, but not amiss for
a luxury, more than candied orange is after a
state dioner. He is speaking of the worldly
wisdom and skilful human policy of the method
of organization of the Eoman Catholic Church.
He says: —
" The history of that Church joins together the
two great ages of human civilization. No other
institution is left standing which carries the mind
back to the times when the smoke of sacrifice
rose from the Pantheon, when camelopards and
tigers bounded in the Flavian amphitheatre. The
proudest royal houses are but of yesterday, when
compared with the line of the Supreme Pontiffs.
110 HOW TO DO IT.
That line we trace back in an unbroken series,
from the Pope who crowned Napoleon in the
nineteenth century, to the Pope who crowned.
Pepin in the eighth; and far beyond the time of
Pepin the august dynasty extends, till it is lost in
the twilight of fable. The Eepublic of Venice
came next in antiquity. But the Eepublic of
Venice was modem when compared to the Papacy ;
and the Eepublic of Venice is gone, and the Papacy
remains. The Papacy remains, not in decay, not
a mere antique, but full of life and youthful
vigor. The Catholic Church is stiU sending forth
to the farthest ends of the world missionaries as
zealous as those who landed in Kent with Augusr
tine ; and still confronting hostile kings with the
same spirit with which she confronted Attila
"She was great and respected before the Saxon
had set foot on Britain, before the Frank had
passed the Ehine, when Grecian eloquence still
flourished at Antioch, when idols were still
worshipped in the temple of Mecca, And she
may still exist in imdiminished vigor, when some
traveller from New Zealand shall, in the midst of
HOW TO DO IT. Ill
a vast soKtude, take* his stand on a broken arch of
London Bridge to sketch the ruins of St Paul's."
I. We will not begin by considering the wisdom
or the mistake of the general opinion here laid
down. We- will begin by trying to make out
what is the real meaning of the leading words
employed. Look carefully along the sentence,
and see if you are quite sure of what is meant
by such terms as " The Eoman Catholic Church,"
the Pantheon," " the Flavian amphitheatre,"
the Supreme Pontiffs," " the Pope who crowned
Napoleon," " the Pope who crowned Pepin," " the
Bepublic of Venice," " the missionaries who
landed in Kent," "Augustine," "the Saxon had
set foot in Britain," " the Prank had passed the
Ehine," "Grecian eloquence still flourished at
Antioch," " idols in Mecca," " New Zealand,"
"London Bridge," "St. Paul's."
For really working up a subject — and this
sentence, now is to be our subject — I advise a
blank book, and, for my part, I like to write
down the key words or questions, in a vertical
<(
<t
112 HOW TO DO IT.
line, quite far apart from each other, on the
first pages. You will see why, if you will
read on.
II. Now go to work on this list. What do you
really know about the organization of the Eoman
Catholic Church ? If you find you are vague
about it, that such knowledge as you have is
only haK knowledge, which is no knowledge,
read tiU you are clear. Much information is
not necessary, but good, as far as it goes, is neces-
sary on any subject. This is a controverted sub-
ject. You ought to try, therefore, to read some
statement by a Catholic author, and some state-
ment by a Protestant. To find out what to read
on this or any subject, there are different clews.
1. Any encyclopsedia, good or bad, will set
you on the traiL Most of you have or can have
an encyclopaedia at command. There are one-vol-
ume encyclopaedias better than notHng. which are
very cheap. You can pick up an edition of the
old Encyclopaedia Americana, in twelve volumes,
for ten or twelve dollars. Or you can buy Apple-
ton's, which is really quite good, for sixty dollars
HOW TO DO IT. 113
a set. I do not mean to have you rest on any
encyclopaedia, but you will find one at the start
an excellent guide-post. Suppose you have the
old Encyclopaedia Americana. You will find
there that the " Eoman Catholic Church " is
treated by two writers, — one a Protestant, and
one a Catholic. Eead both, and note in your
book such allusions as interest you, which you
want more light upon. Do not note everything
which you do not know, for then you cannot get
forward. But note aU that specially interests
you. For instance, it seems that the Eoman
CathoUc Church is not so called by that church
itself. The officers of that church might call it
the Eoman church, or the CathoUc church, but
would not caU it the Eoman Catholic church.
At the Congress of Vienna, Cardinal Consalyi
objected to the joint use of the words Eoman
Catholic church. Do you know what the Con-
gress of Vienna was ? No ?. then make a mem-
orandum, if you want to know. We might put
in another for Cardinal Consalvi He was a
man^ who had a father and mother, perhaps broth-
8
114 HOW TO DO IT.
ers and sisters. He will give us a little human
interest, if we stop to look him up. But do not
stop for him now. Work through *' Eoman Cath-
olic Church," and keep these memoranda in your
book for another day.
2. Quite different from the encyclopaedia is
another book of reference, " Poole's Index." This
is a general index to seventy-three magazines
and reviews, which were published between the
years 1802 and 1852. Now a great deal of the
best work of this century has been put into such
journals. A reference, then, to " Poole's Index "
is a reference to some of the best separate papers
on the subjects which for fifty years had most
interest for the world of reading men and women.
Let us try " Poole's Index " on " The EepubKc of
Venice." There are references to articles on
Venice in the New England Magazine, in the
Pamphleteer, in the Monthly Eeview, Edinburgh,
Quarterly, Westminster, and De Bow's Eeviews.
Copy all these references carefully, if you have
any chance at any time of access to any of these
journals. It is not, you know, at all necessary to
HOW TO DO IT. 115
have them in the house. Probably there is some
friend's collection or public library where you can
find one or more of them. If you live in or near
Boston, or New York, or Philadelphia, or Charles-
ton, or New Orleans, or Cincinnati, or Chicago, or
St. Louis, or Ithaca, you can find every one.
When you have carefully gone down this origi-
nal list, and made your memoranda for it, you are
prepared to work out these memoranda. You
begin now to see how many there are. You must
be guided, of course, in your reading, by the time
you have, and by the opportunity for getting the
books. But, aside from that, you may choose
what you like best, for a beginning. To make
this simple b7 an iUustration. I wiU suppose you
have been using the old Encyclopaedia Americana,
or Appleton's Cyclopaedia and Poole's Index only,
for your first list. As I should draw it up, it
would look like this: —
116
HOW TO DO IT.
OYOLOFJBDIA. POOLE's INDEX.
ROMAN CATHOLIC CHURCH.
See (for instance)
Council of Trent.
'Chrysostom.
Congress of Vienna.
Cardinal ConsalvL
Eclectic Rey., 4tli S. 18, 485.
Quart. Rev., 71, 108.
For. Quart. Rev., 27, 184.
Brownson's Rev., 2d S. 1, 418;
8, 309.
N. Brit. Rev., 10, 21.
THE PANTHEON.
Built by Agrippa. Consecrated,
607, to St. Mary ad Martyros.
Called Rotunda.
THE FLAVIAN AMPHITHEATRE.
The Coliseum, b, by T. Flavins
Vespasian.
SUPREME PONTIFFS.
Popes. The line begins with
St. Peter, A. D. 42. Ends
with Pius IX., 1846.
New-Englander, 7, 169.
N. Brit. Rev., 11, 136.
POPE WHO CROWNED NAPOLEON.
Pius VII., at Notre Dame, in I For. Quart. Rev., 20, 54.
Paris, Dec. 2, 1804. I
POPE WHO CROWNED PEPIN.
Probably Pepin le Bref is meant.
But he was not crowned by
a Pope. Crowned by Arch-
bishop Boniface of Mayence,
HOW TO DO IT.
,117
at the advice of Pope Zacli- 1
ary. I, @ 715. d, 768. I
REPUBLIC OF VENICE.
452 to 1815. St. Eeal's His-
tory.
Otway's Tragedy, Venice Pre-
served.
Hazlitt's Hist, of Venice.
Buskin's Stones of Venice.
Quart. Bev. 81, 420.
Month. Bev., 90, 525.
West. Bev., 23, 38.
MISSIONABIES IN KENT.
1 Dublin Univ. Mag., 21, 212.
AUGUSTINE.
There are two Augustines. This
is St. Austin, 6. in 5th cen-
tury, d, 604-614.
Southey's Book of Church.
Sharon Turner's Anglo-Saxons.
Wm. of Malmesbury.
Bede's Ecc. History.
SAXON IN BBITAIN.
Turner as above.
Aug. -Saxon Chronicle.
Six old Eng. Chronicles.
Edin. Bev., 89, 79.
Quart. Bev., 7, 92.
Select. Bev., 25, 669.
FBANK PASSED THE BHINE.
Well established on west side,
at the beginning of 5th cen-
tury.
For. Quart. Bev., 17, 139.
GBEEK ELOQUENCE AT ANTIOCH.
Muller^s Antiquitates Antioch-
ianffi.
Greek Orators. Ed. Bev., 86,
62.
118
HOW TO DO IT.
IDOLS IN MECCA.
Burckhardt's Travels.
Burton's Travels.
NEW ZEALAND.
3 islands, as large as Italy. Dis-
covered, 1642 ; taken by Cook
for England, 1769.
Gov. sent out, 1838.
Thomson's story of N. Z.
Cook's Voyages.
Sir G. Gray's Poems, kc, of
Maoris.
N. Am. Bev., 18, 828, '
West. Eev., 45, 138.
Edin. Eev., 91, 281 ; 56, 383.
N. Brit. Bev., 16, 176.
Living Age.
LONDON BEIDGE.
5 elliptical arches. " Presents
an aspect unequalled for in-
terest and animation."
ST. PAUL'S.
Built in thirty years "between
1675 and 1705, by Christ.
Wren.
Now I am by no means going to leave
you to the reading of cyclopsedias. The vice
of cyclopaedias is that they are dulL What is
done for this passage of Macaulay in the lists
above is only preliminary. It could be easily
done in three hours' time, if you went carefuUy
to work And when you have done it, you have
HOW TO DO IT. 119
taught yourself a good deal about your own
knowledge and your own ignorance, — about
what you should read and what you should not
attempt. So far it fits you for selecting your own
course of reading.
I have arranged this only by way of illustra-
tion. I do not mean that I think these a par-
ticularly interesting or particularly important
series of subjects. I do mean, however, to show
you that the moment you will sift any book or
any series of subjects, you will be finding out
where your ignorance is, and what you want to
know.
Supposing you belong to the fortunate half of
people who know what they need, I should advise
you to begin in just the same way.
For instance, Walter, to whom I alluded above,
wants to know about Fly-Fishing, This is the
way his list looks.
(For instance)
W. Scott, Redgauntlet.
FLY-FISHING.
CYOLOP-BDIA. POOLE's INDEX.
Quart. E«v., 69, 121 ; 37, 845.
Edin. Eev., 78, 46, or 87 ; 93,
174, or 340. '
• w^ -I ^ ^* ^ St" ' * ' ' * *■
120
HOW TO DO IT.
Br. Davy's Besearclies, 1839.
Cuvier and Valenciennes, Hist.
Naturelle des Poissons, YoL
XXI.
Bichardson*s Fauna Bor. Amer.
De Kay, ZoSlogy of IT. Y.
Agassiz, Lake Superior.
Am. Whig Rev., 6, 490.
N. Brit. Rev., 11, 32, or 95 ; 1,
326 ; 8, 160 ; or Liv. Age, 2,
291 ; 17, 1.
Blackwood, 51, 296.
Quart. Rev., 67, 98, or 332; 69,
226.
Blackwood, 10, 249; 49, 302;
21, 815 ; 24, 248 ; 35, 775 ;
38, 119 ; 63, 673 ; 5, 123 ; 5,
281 ; 7, 137.
Fraser, 42, 136.
See also,
Izaak Walton, Compleat Angler. (Walton and Cotton first
appeared, 1750.)
Humphrey Day's Salmonia, or The Days of Fly-Fishing.
Blakey, History of Angling Literature.
Oppianus, De Yenatione, Piscatione et Aucupio. (Halieutica
translated. ) Jones's English translation was published in Ox-
ford, 1722.
Bronner, Fischergedichte und Erzahlungen (Fishennen's
Songs and Stories).
Norris, T., American Angler's Book.
Zouch, Life of Iz. Walton.
Salmon Fisheries. Parliamentary Reports. Annual.
** Blackwood's Magazine, an important landmark in English
angling literature." See Noctes Ambrosianse.
H. W. Beecher, N. Y. Independent, 1853.
In the New York edition of Walton and Cotton is a list of
books on Angling, which Blakey enlarges. His list contains
four hundred and fifty titles.
American Angler's Guide, 1849.
Storer, D. H., Fishes of Massachusetts.
Storer, D. H., Fishes of N. America.
HOW TO DO IT. 121
Girard, Fresli- Water Fishes of N. America (Smithsonian
Contributions, Vol. III.).
Richard Penn, Maxims and Hints for an Angler, and Mis-
eries of Fishing, 1839.
James Wilson, The Rod and the Gun, 1840.
Herbert, Frank Forester's Fish of N. America.
Yarrel's British Fishes.
The same, on the Growth of Salmon.
Boy's Own Book.
Please to observe, now, that nobody is obliged
to read up all the authorities that we have lighted
on. What the lists mean is this ; — that you have
made the inquiry for " a sermon book and another
book," and you are now thus far on your way to-
ward an answer. These are the first answers that
come to hand. Work on and you will have more.
I cannot pretend to give that answer for any one
of you, — far less for all those who would be
likely to be interested in all the subjects which
are named here. But with such clews as are
given above, you will soon find your ways into
the different parts that interest you of our great
picnic grove.
Eemember, however, that there are no royal
roads. The difference between a well-educated
person and one not well educated is, that the first
122 HOW TO DO IT.
knows how to find what he needs, and the other
does not. It is not so much that the first is bet-
ter informed on details than the second, though he
probably is. But his power to collect the details
at short notice is vastly greater than is that of the
uneducated or unlearned man.
In different homes, the resources at command
are so different that I must not try to advise
much as to your next stdj) beyond the lists above.
There are many good catalogues of books, with
indexes to subjects. In the Congressional Library,
my friend Mr. Vinton is preparing a magnificent
" Index of Subjects," which wiU be of great use
to the whole nation. In Harvard College Library
they have a manuscript catalogue referring to the
subjects described in the books of that collection.
The " Cross-Eeferences " of the Astor Catalogue,
and of the Boston Library Catalogue, are invalu-
able to all readers, young or old. Your teacher
at school can help you in nothing more than in
directing you to the books you need on any
subject. Do not go and say, *' Miss Winstanley,
or Miss Parsons, I want a nice book " ; but have
HOW TO DO IT. 123
sense enough to know what you want it to be
about. Be able to say, — " Miss Parsons, I should
like to know about heraldry," or " about butterflies,"
or '' about water-color painting," or '' about Eobert
Browning," or " about the Mysteries of TJdolpho."
JMiss Parsons will tell you what to read. And
she will be very glad to tell you. Or if you are
not at school, this very thing among others is
what the minister is for. Do not be frightened.
He will be very glad to see you. Go round to
his house, not on Saturday, but at the time he
receives guests, and say to him: "Mr. Ingham,
we girls have made quite a collection of old por-
celain, and we want to know more about it. Will
you be kind enough to tell us where we can find
anything about porcelain. We have read Miss
Edgeworth's 'Prussian Vase' and we have read
' Palissy the Potter,' and we should like to know
more about Sevres, and Dresden, and Palissy."
Ingham will be delighted, and in a fortnight,
if you wiU go to work, you will know more about
"what you ask for than any one person knows in
America.
124 HOW TO DO IT.
And I do not mean that all your reading ia
to be digging or hard work. I can show that I
do not, by supposing that we carry out the plan of
the list above, — on any one of its details, and
write down the books which that detail suggests
to us. Perhaps Venice has seemed to you the
most interesting head of these which we ha ze
named. If we follow that up only in the refer-
ences given above, we shall find our book list for
Venice, just as it comes, in no order but that of
accident, is : —
St. Real, Belation des Espagnols contre Yenise.
Otway's Venice Preserved.
Shakespeare's Merchant of Venice.
Howells's "Venetian Life.
Blondus. De Origine Yenetonim.
Muratori's Annals.
Raskin's Stones of Venice.
©'Israeli's Contarini Fleming.
Contarina, Delia Republica di Venetia.
Flagg, Venice from 1797 to 1849.
Crassus, De Republica Veneta.
Jai-raot, De Republica Veneta.
Voltaire's General History.
SismoncU'a History of Italy.
Lord Byron's Letters.
Sketches of Venetian History, Fam. library, 26, 27.
Venetian History, Hazlitt.
HOW TO DO rr. 125
Dandolo, G. La Oadnta delta Bepublica di Yenezia fThe Fall <^
the Bepublic of Yenice).
KidolU, C, Lives of the Yenetian Painters.
Monagas, J. T., Late Events in Yenice.
Delavigne^ Marino Faliero, a Historical Drama.
Lord Byron, The same.
Smedley's Sketches from Yenetian History.
Dam, Hist, de hi Bepublique de Yenise.
So mucli for the way in which to choose your
books. As to the choice, you will make it, not I.
If you are a goose, cackling a great deal, silly at
heart and wholly indifferent about to-morrow, you
wiU choose just what you call the interesting titles.
If you are a girl of sense, or a boy of sense, you
wiU choose, when you have made your list, at least
two books, determined to master them. You will
choose one on the side of information, and one for
the purpose of amusement, on the side of fancy.
If you choose in "Venice" the "Merchant of
Venice," you will not add to it "Venice Pre-
served," but you will add to it, say the Venetian
chapters of "Sismondi's Italy." You will read
every day; and you will divide your reading
time into the two departments, — you will read
for fact and you will read for fancy. Boots
126 HOW TO DO IT.
must have leaves, you know, and leaves must
have roots. Bodies must have spirits, and, for
this world at least, spirits must have bodies.
Fact must be lighted by fancy, and fancy must be
balanced by fact. Making this the principle of
your selection, you may, nay, you must, select for
yourselves your books. And in my next chapter
I will do my best to teach you
How TO BEAD THEM.
HOW TO DO IT. 127
CHAPTEE VL
•HOW TO BEAD.
II.
T ISTON tells a stoiy of a nice old lady— I
-*-^ think the foster-sister of the godmother of
his brother-in-laVs aunt — who came to make
them a visit in the country. The first day after
she arrived proved to be much such a day as this
is, — much such a day as the first of a visit in
the country is apt to be, — a heavy pelting north-
easter, when it is impossible to go out, and every
one is thrown on his own resources in-doors. The
different ladies under Mrs. liston's hospitable roof
gathered themselves to their various occupations,
and some one asked old Mrs. Dubbadoe if she
would not like to read.
She said she should.
" What shall I bring you from the library ? "
said Miss EUen. " Do not trouble yourself to go
up stairs."
128 HOW TO DO IT.
" My dear EUen, I should like the same book I
had last year when I was here. It was a very
nice book, and I was very much interested in it."
" Certainly," said Miss Ellen ; ".what was it ? I
will bring it at once."
" I do not remember its name, my dear ; your
mother brought it to me ; I think she would.know."
But, imfortunately, Mrs. Listen, when applied to,
had forgotten.
" Was it a novel, Mrs. Dubbadoe ? "
" I can't remember that, — my memory is not as
good as it was, my dear, — but it wa»^a very inter-
esting book."
"Do you remember whether it had plates?
Was it one of the books of birds, or of natural
history ? "
"No, dear, I can't tell you about that. But,
Ellen, you will find it, I know. The color of the
cover was the color of the top of the baluster ! "
So Ellen went. She has a good eye for color,
and as she ran up stairs she took the shade of the
baluster in her eye, matched it perfectly as she ran
along, the books in the Ubraiy with the Eussia
HOW TO DO IT. 129
half-binding of the coveted volume, and brought
that in triumph to Mrs. Dubbadoe. It proved to
be the right book. Mrs. Dubbadoe found in it
the piece of corn-colored worsted she had left for
a mark the year before, so she was able to go on
where she had stopped then.
listen tells this story to trump one of mine
about a schoolmate of ours, who was explaining to
me about his theological studies. I asked him
what he had been reading.
" 0, a capital book ; King lent it to me ; I will
ask him to lend it to you." i
I said I would ask Eng for the book, if he
would tell me who was the author.
''I do not remember his name. I had not
known his name before. But that made no differ-
ence. It is a capital book. King told me I should
find it so, and I did ; I made a real study of it ;
copied a good deal from it before I returned it.**
I asked whether it was a book of natural
theology.
"I don't know as you would call it natural
theology. Perhaps it was. You had better see
9
130 HOW TO DO IT.
it yourseK. Tell King it was the book he lent
me.
I was a little persistent, and asked if it were a
book of biography.
" Well, I do not know as I should say it was a
book of biography. Perhaps you would say so.
I do not remember that there was much biography
in it. But it was an excellent book. King had
read it himseK, and I found it all he said it was."
I asked if it was critical, — if it explained
Scripture. . ^
"Perhaps it did. I should not like to say
whether it did or not. You can find that out
yourself if you read it. But it is a very interest-
ing book and a very valuable book. King said so,
and I found it was so. You had better read it,
and I know King can tell you what it is."
Now in these two stories is a very good illus-
tration of the way in which a great many people
read. The notion comes into people's lives that
the mere process of reading is itself virtuous.
Because young men who read instead of gamble
are known to be "steadier" than the gamblers, and
HOW TO DO IT. 131
because children who read on Sunday make less
noise and general row than those who will play tag
in the neighbors' front-yards, there has grown up
this notion, that to read is in itself one of the vir-
tuous acts. Some people, if they told the truth,
when counting up the seven virtues, would count
them as Purity, Temperance, Meekness, Frugality,
Honesty, Courage, and Eeading. The consequence
is that there are unnumbered people who read as
Mrs. Dubbadoe did or as Lysimachus did, without
the slightest knowledge of what the books have
contained.
My dear Dollie, PoUie, Sallie, Marthie, or any
other of my young friends whose names end in ie,
who have favored me by reading thus far, the
chances are three out of four that I could take
the last novel but three that you read, change the
scene from England to France, change the time
from now to the seventeenth century, make the
men swear by St. Denis, instead of talking mod-
em slang, name the women Jacqueline and Mar-
guerite, instead of Maud and Blanche, and, if
Harpers would print it, as I dare say they would
132 HOW TO DO IT.
if the novel was good, you would read it through
without one suspicion that you had read the
same book before.
So you see that it is not certain that you know
how to read, even if you took the highest prize
for reading in the Amplian class of Ingham Uni-
versity at the last exhibition. You may pronounce
all the words well, and have all the rising inflec-
tions right, and none of the falling ones wrong,
and yet not know how to read so that your read-
ing shall be of any permanent use to you.
For what is the use of reading if you forget it
all the next day ?
" But, my dear Mr. Hale," sayB as good a girl as
Laura, " how am I going to help myself ? What I
remember I remember, and what I do not remem-
ber I do not. I should be very glad to remember
all the books I have read, and all that is in them ;
but if I can't, I can't, and there is the end of it."
No ! my dear Laura, that is not the end of it
And that is the reason this paper is written.
A child of God can, before the end comes, do any-
thing she chooses to^ with such help as he is
'
.'
HOW TO DO IT. 133
willing to give her ; and he has been kind enongh
so to make and so to train you that you can train
your memory to remember and to recall the
useful or the pleasant things you meet in your
reading. Do you know, Laura, that I have here a
note you wrote when you were eight years old ?
It is as badly written as any note I ever saw.
There are also twenty words in it spelled wrong.
Suppose you had said then, " If I can't, I can't,
and there 's an end of it" You never would have
written me in the lady-like, manly handwriting
you write in to-day, spelling rightly as a matter
of mere feeling and of course, so that you are
annoyed now that I should say that every word is
spelled correctly. Will you think, dear Laura,
what a tremendous strain on menaory is involved
in aU this ? Will you remember that you and
Miss Sears and Miss Winstanley, and your mother,
most of all, have trained your memory tiU it can
work these marvels ? All you have to do now in
your reading is to carry such training forward, and
you can bring about such a power of classification
and of retention that yon shall be mistress of the
134 HOW TO DO XT.
books you have read for most substantial purposes.
To read with such results is reading indeed. And
when I say I want to give some hints how to read,
it is for reading with that view.
When Harry and Lucy were on their journey
to the sea-side, they feU to discussing whether
they had rather have the gift of remembering all
they read, or of once knowing everything, and
then taking their chances for recollecting it when
they wanted it. Lucy, who had a quick memory,
was willing to take her chance. But Harry, who
was more methodical, hated to lose anything he
had once learned, and he thought he had rather
have the good fairy give him the gift of recollect-
ing all he had once learned. For my part, I quite
agree with Harry. There are a great many things
that I have no desire to know. I do not want to
know in what words the King of Ashantee says,
" Cut off the heads of those women." I do not
want to know whether a centipede really has
ninety-six legs or one hundred and four. I never
did know. I never shall. I have no occasion to
know. And I am glad not to have my mind
HOW TO DO IT. 135
lumbered up with the unnecessary information.
On the other hand, that which I have once learned
or read does in some way or other belong to my
personal life. I am very glad if I can reproduce
that in any way, and I am much obliged to any-
body who will help me.
For reading, then, the first rules, I think, are :
Do not read too much at a time ; stop when you
are tired; and, in whatever way, make some re-
view of what you read, even as you go along.
Capel Lofift says, in quite an interesting book,
which plays about the surface of things without
going very deep, which he calls Self-Formation*
that his whole life was changed, and indeed saved,
when he learned that he must turn back at the
end of each sentence, ask himself what it meant,
if he believed it or disbelieved it, and, so to speak,
that he must pack it away as part of his men-
tal furniture before he took in another sentence.
That is just as a dentist jams one little bit of
gold-foil home, and then another, and then another.
He does not put one large wad on the hoUow
^ * Self-Formation. Crosby and Nichols. Boston. 1845.
136 HOW TO DO IT.
tooth, and then crowd it all in at once. Capel
LofiPb says that this reflection — going forward as a
serpent does, by a series of backward bends over
the line — will make a dull book entertaining,
and will make the reader master of every book
he reads, through aU time. For my part, I think
this is cutting it rather fine, this chopping the book
up into separate bits. I had rather read as one of
my wisest counsellors did ; he read, say a page, or
a paragraph of a page or two, more or less ; then
he would look across at the wall, and consider the
author's statement, and fix it on his mind, and
then read on. I do not do this, however. I read
half an hour or an hour, tiU I am ready, perhaps,
to put the book by. Then I examine myself.
What has this amounted to ? What does he say ?
What does he prove ? Does he prove it ? What
is there new in it ? Where did he get it ? If it
is necessary in such an examination you can go
back over the passage, correct your first impression,
if it is. wrong, find out the meaning that the writer
has carelessly concealed, and such a process makes
it certain that you yourself will remember his
thought or his statement
HOW -TO DO IT. 137
I can remember, I think, everything I saw in
Europe, which was worth seeing, if I saw it twice.
But there was many a wonder which I was taken
to see in the whirl of sight-seeing, of which I
have no memory, and of which I cannot force any
recollection. I remember that at Malines — what
we call Mechlin — our train stopped nearly an
hour. 'At the station a crowd of guides were
shouting that there was time to go and see Eu-
bens's picture of , at the church of .
This seemed to us a droll contrast to the cry at
our stations, " Fifteen minutes for refreshments ! "
It offered such aesthetic refreshment in place of
carnal oysters, that purely for the frolic we went
to see. We were hurried across some sort of
square into the church, saw the picture, admired
it, came away, and forgot it,. — clear and clean
forgot it ! My dear Laura, I do not know what it
was about any more than you do. But if I had
gone to that church the next day, and had seen it
again, I should have fixed it forever on my mem-
ory. Moral : Eenew your acquaintance with
whatever you want to remember. I think Ing-
138 HOW TO DO IT.
ham says somewhere that it is the slight differ-
ence between the two stereoscopic pictures which
gives to them, when one overlies the other, their
relief and distinctness. If he does not say it, I
will say it for him now.
I think it makes no difference how you make
this mental review of the author, but I do think
it essential that, as you pass from one division of
his work to another, you should make it some-
how.
Another good rule for memory is indispensable,
I think, — namely, to read with a pencil in hand.
If the book is your own, you had better make
what I may caU your own index to it on the hard
white page which lines the cover at the end.
That is, you can write down there just a hint of
the things you will be apt to like to see again,
noting the page on which they are. If the book
is not your own, do this on a little slip of paper,
which you may keep separately. These memo-
randa will be, of course, of all sorts of things.
Thus they will be facts which you want to know,
or funny stories which you think wiU amuse some
HOW TO DO IT. 139
one, or opinions which you may have a doubt
about. Suppose you had got hold of that very
rare book, " Veragas's History of the Pacific Ocean
and its Shores " ; here might be your private in-
dex at the end of the first volume: —
Percentage of salt in water, 11 : Gov. EeviUagi-
gedo, 19 : Caciques and potatoes, 23 : Lime water
for scurvy, 29. Enata, Kanaka, dvrip, aval 42:
Magelhaens vs, Wilkes, 57: Coral insects, 72:
Gigantic ferns, 84, &c., &c., &c.
Very likely you may never need one of these
references ; but if you do, it is certain that you
will have no time to waste in hunting for them.
Make your memorandum, and you are sure.
Bear in mind all along that each book will
suggest other books which you are to read sooner
or later. In your memoranda note with care the
authors who are referred to of whom you know
little or nothing, if you think you should like to
know more, or ought to know more. Do not
neglect this last condition, however. You do not
make the memorandum to show it at the Philo-
gabblian; you make it for yourself; and it meajis
140 HOW TO DO IT.
that you yourself need this additional informa-
tion.
Whether to copy much from books or not ?
That is a question, — and the answer is, — *' That
depends." If you have but few books, and
much time and paper and ink; and if you are
likely to have fewer books, why, nothing is nicer
and better than to make for use in later life good
extract-books to your own taste, and for your
own purposes. But if you own your books, or
are likely to have them at command, time is
short, and the time spent in copying would prob-
ably be better spent in reading. There are some
veiy diflfdsive books, difficult because difPdsive,
of which it is well to write close digests, if
you are reaUy studying them. When we read
John Locke, for instance, in college, we had to
make abstracts, and we used to stint ourselves to
a line for one of his chatty sections. That was
good practice for writing, and we remember what
was in the sections to this hour. If you copy,
make a first-rate index to your extracts. They
sell books prepared for the purpose, but you may
just as well make your own.
HOW TO DO IT. 141
Ton see I am not contemplating any very rapid
or slap-dash work. You may put that on your
novels, or books of amusement, if you choose, and
I wiU not be very cross about it; but for the
books of improvement, I want you to improve by
reading them. Do not "gobble" them up so
that five years hence you shall not know whether
you have read them or not. What I advise seems
slow to you, but if you will, any of you, make or
find two hours a day to read in this fashion, you
will be one day accomplished men and women.
Very few professional men, known to me, get so
much time as that for careful and systematic read-
ing. If any boy or girl wants really to know
what comes of such reading, I wish he would read
the life of my friend George Livermore, which
our friend Charles Deane has just now written
for the Historical Society of Massachusetts. There
was a young man, who when he was a boy in a
store began his systematic reading. He never left
active and laborious business ; but when he died,
he was one of the accomplished historical scholars
of America. He had no superior in his special
142 HOW TO DO IT.
lines of study ; lie was a recognized authority and
leader among men who had given their lives to
scholarship.
I have not room to copy it here, but I wish any
of you would turn to a letter of Frederick Eobert-
son's, near the end of the second volume of his
letters, where he speaks of this very matter. He
says he read, when he was at Oxford, but sixteen
books with his tutors. But he read them so that
they became a part of himself," as the iron enters
a man's blood." And they were books by sixteen
of the men who have been leaders of the world.
No bad thing, dear Stephen, to have in your blood
and brain and bone the vitalizing element that
was in the lives of such men.
I need not ask you to look forward so far as to
the end of a life as long as Mr. George livermore's,
and as successful Without asking that, I will
say again, what I have implied already, that any
person who will take any special subject of detail,
and in a weU-provided library will work steadily
on that little subject for a fortnight, wiU at the
end of the fortnight probably know more of tbo<-
J
HOW TO DO IT. 143
detail than anybody in the country knows. If
you will study by subjects for the truth, you have
the satisfaction of knowing that the ground is
soon very nearly all your own.
I do not pretend that books are everything. I
may have occasion some day to teach some of you
" How to Observe," and then I shall say some very
hard things about people who keep their books so
close before their eyes that they cannot see God's
world, nor their feUow-men and women. But
books rightly used are society. Good books are
the best society; better than is possible without
them, in any one place, or in any one time. To
know how to use them wisely and well is to know
how to make Shakespeare and Milton and Theo-
dore Hook and Thomas Hood step out from the
side of your room, at your will, sit down at your
fire, and talk with you for an hour. I have no
such society at hand, as I write these words, ex-
cept by such magic. Have you in your log-cabin
in No. 7 ?
144 HOW TO DO IT.
CHAPTEE VII.
HOW TO GO INTO SOCIETY.
QIOME boys and girls are bom so that they
^^ enjoy society, and all. the forms of society,
from the beginning. The passion they have for
it takes them right through aU the formalities and
stiffness of morning calls, evening parties, visits
on strangers, and the like, and they have no difli-
culty about the duties involved in these things.
I do not write for them, and there is no need, at
aU, of their reading this paper.
There are other boys and girls who look with
half horror and half disgust at aU such machinery
of society. They have been weU brought up, in
intelligent, civilized, happy homes. They have
their own varied and regular occupations, and it
breaks these aU up, when they have to go to the
birthday party at the Glascocks', or to spend the
evening with the young lady from Vincennes who
is visiting Mrs. Vandermeyer.
HOW TO DO IT. 145
When they have grown older, it happens, very-
likely, that such boys and girls have to leave
home, and establish themselves at one or another
new home, where more is expected of them in a
social way. Here is Stephen, who has gone
through the High School, and has now gone over
to New Altona to be the second teller in the
Third National Bank there. Stephen's father was
in college with Mr. Brannan, who was quite a
leading man in New Altona. Madam Chenevard
is a sister of Mrs. Schuyler, with whom Ste-
phen's mother worked five years on the Sanitary
Commission. All the bank of&cers are kind to
Stephen, and ask him to come to their houses, and
he, who is one of these young folks whom I have
been describing, who knows how to be happy at
home, but does not know if he is entertaining or
in any way agreeable in other people's homes,
reaUy finds that the greatest hardship of his new
life consists in the hospitalities with which aU
these kind people welcome him.
Here is a part of a letter from Stephen to me,
— he writes pretty much everything to me :
10
146 HOW TO DO IT.
" , . . , Mrs. Judge Tolman has invited me ■ to
another of her evening parties. Everybody says
they are very pleasant, and I can see that they are
to people who are not sticks and oafs. But I am
a stick and an oaf. I do not like society, and
I never did. So I shall declipe Mrs. Tolman's
invitation; for I have determined to go to no
more parties here, but to devote my evenings to
reading."
Now this is not snobbery or goodyism on Ste-
phen's part. He is not writing a make-believe
letter, to deceive me as to the way in which he is
spending his time. He really had rather occupy
his evening in reading than in going to Mrs. Tol-
man's party, — or to Mrs. Anybody's party, —
and, at the present moment, he. really thinks he
never shall go to any parties again. Just so two
little girls part from each other on the sidewalk,
saving, " I never will speak to you again as long
as I Uve." Only Stephen is in no sort angry with
Mrs. Tolman or Mrs. Brannan or Mrs. Chenevard.
He pnly thinks that their way is one way, and his
way is another. His determination is the same as
HOW TO DO IT. 147
Tom's was, which I described in Chapter 11. But
where Tom thought his failure was want of tak-
ing power, Steve really thinks that he hates so-
ciety.
It is for boys and girls like Stephen, who think
they are " sticks and oafs," and that they cannot
go into society, that this paper is written.
You need not get up from your seats and come
and stand in a line for me to talk to you, — tallest
at the right, shortest at the left, as if you were at
dancing-school, facing M. Labbass^. I can talk to
you just as well where you are sitting ; and, as
Obed Clapp said to me once, I know very well
what you are going to say, before you say
it. Dear children, I have had it said to me four-
score and ten times by forty-six boys and forty-
six girls who were just as dull and just as bright
as you are, — as like you, indeed, as two pins.
There is Dunster, — Horace Dunster, — at this
moment the favorite talker in society in Wash-
ington, as indeed he is on the floor of the House
of Eepresentatives. Ask, the next time you are
at Washington, how many dinner-parties are put
148 HOW TO DO IT.
oflf till a day can be found at which Dunster can
be present. Now I remember very well, how,
a year or two after Dunster graduated, he and
Messer, who is now Lieutenant-Governor of
Labrador, and some one whom I will not name,
were sitting on the shore of the Cattaraugus Lake,
rubbing themselves dry after their swim. And
Dunster said he was not going to any more
parties. Mrs. Judge Park had asked him, be-
cause she loved his sister, but she did not care
for him a Straw, and he did not know the Cat-
taraugus people, and he was afraid of the girls,
who knew a great deal more than he did, and
so he was " no good " to anybody, and he would
not go any longer. He would stay at home and
read Plato in the original. Messer wondered at
aU this ; he enjoyed Mrs. Judge Park's parties,
and Mrs. Dr. Holland's teas, and he could not see
why as bright a feUow as Dunster should not
enjoy them. "But I teU you," said Dunster,
" that I do not enjoy them ; and, what is more,
I tell you that these people do not want me to
come. They ask me because they like my sister,
as I said, or my father, or my mother."
HOW TO DO IT. 149
Then some one else, who was there, whom I do
not name, who was at least two years older than
these young men, and so was qualified to advise
them, addressed them thus : —
"You talk like children. Listen. It is of no
consequence whether you like to go to these places
or do not like to go. None of us were sent to Cat-
taraugus to do what we like to do. We were sent
here to do what we can to make this place cheer-
ful, spirited, and alive, — a part of the kingdom of
heaven. Now if everybody in Cattaraugus sulked
off to read Plato, or to read " The Three Guards-
men," Cattaraugus would go to the dogs very fast,
in its general sulkiness. There must be intimate
social order, and this is the method provided.
Therefore, first, we must aU of us go to these par-
ties, whether we want to or not ; because we are
in the world, not to do what we like to do, but
what the world needs.
" Second," said this unknown some one, " noth-
ing is more snobbish than this talk about Mrs.
Park's wanting us or not wanting us. It simply
shows that we are thinking of ourselves a good
150 HOW TO DO rr.
deal more than she is. What Mrs. Fai^ wants is
as many men at her party as she has women. She
has made her list so as to balance them. As the
result of that list^ she has said she wanted me.
Therefore I am going. Perhaps she does want
me. If she does> I shall oblige her. Perhaps she
does not want me. If she does not, I shall punish
her, if I go, for telling what is not true ; and I
shall go cheered and buoyed up by that reflection.
Anyway I go, not because I want to or do not
want to, but because I am asked ; and in a world
of mutual relationships it is one of the things
that I must do."
No one replied to this address, but they all
three put on their dress-coats and went Dunster
went to every party in Cattaraugus that winter,
and, as I have said, has since shown himself a
most brilliant and successful leader of society.
The truth is to be found in this little sermon.
Take society as you find it in the place where you
live. Do not set yourself up, at seventeen years
old, as being so much more virtuous or grand or
leaxndd than the young people round you, or
HOW TO DO IT. 151
the old people round you, that you cannot asso-
ciate with them on the accustomed terms of the
place. Then you are free from the first diffi-
culty of young people who have trouble in soci-
ety ; for you wiU not be "stuck up," to use a very
happy phrase of your own age. When anybody,
in good faith, asks you to a party, and you have
no pre-engagement or other duty, do not ask
whether these people are above you or below you,
whether they know more or know less than you
do, least of aU ask why they invited you, — but
simply go. It is not of much importance wheiiier,
on that particular occasion, you have what you
call a good time or do not have it. But it is of
importance that you shall not think yourself a
person of more consequence in the commimity
than others, and that you shall easily and kindly
adapt yourself to the social life of the people
among whom you ara
This is substantially what I have written to
Stephen about what he is to do at New Altona.
Now, as for enjoying yourself when you have
come to the party, — for I wish you to understand
152 HOW TO DO IT.
that, though I have compelled you to go, I am not
in the least cross about it, — but I want you to
have what you yourselves call a very good time
when you come there. dear, I can remember
perfectly the first formal evening party at which I
had "a good time.'* Before that I had always
hated to go to parties, and since that I have al-
ways liked to go. I am sorry to say I cannot tell
you at whose house it was. That is ungrateful in
me. But I could tell you just how the pUlars
looked between which the sliding doors ran, for I
was standmg by one of them when my eyes were
opened, as the Orientals say, and I received great
light. I had been asked to this party, as I sup-
posed and as I still suppose, by some people who
wanted my brother and sister to come, and thought
it would not be kind to ask them without asking
me. I did not know five people in the room. It
was in a coUege town where there were five gen-
tlemen for every lady, so that I could get nobody
to dance with me of the people I did know. So it
was that I stood sadly by this pillar, and said to
myself, " You were a fool to come here where no-
HOW TO DO rr. 153
body wants you, and where you did not want to
come; and you look like a fool standing by this
piUar with nobody to dance with and nobody to
talk to." At this moment, and as if to enlighten
the cloud in which I was, the revelation flashed
upon me, which has ever since set me all right in
such matters. Expressed in words, it would be
stated thus : " You are a much greater fool if you
suppose that anybody in this room knows or cares
where you are standing or where you are not
standing. They are attending to their affairs and
you had best attend to yours, quite indifferent as
to what they think of you." In this reflection I
took immense comfort, and it has carried me
through every form of social encounter from that
day to this day. I don't remember in the least
what I did, whether I looked at the portfolios of
pictures, — which for some reason young people
think a very poky thing to do, but which I like
to do, — whether I buttoned some fellow-student
who was less at ease than I, or whether I talked
to some nice old lady who had seen with her
own eyes half the history of the world which is
154 HOW TO DO rr.
worth knowing. I only know that, after I fotmd
out that nobody else at the party was looking at
me or was caring for me, I began to enjoy it as
thoroughly as I enjoyed staying at home.
Not long after I read this in Sartor Resartus,
which was a great comfort to me : " What Act of
Parliament was there that you should be happy ?
Make up your mind that you deserve to be hanged,
as is most likely, and you will take it as a favor
that you are hanged in silk, imd not in hemp." Of
which the application in this particular case is this :
that if Mrs. Park or Mis, Tdman are kind enough
to open their beautiful houses for me, to fill them
with beautiful flowers, to provide a band of music,
to have ready their books of prints and their for-
eign photographs, to light up the walks in the
garden and the greenhouse, and to provide a deli-
cious supper for my entertainment, and then ask,
I will say, only one person whom I want to see, is
it not very ungracious, very selfish, and veiy snob-
bish for me to refuse to take what is, because of
something which is not, — because Ellen is not
there or George is not ? What Act of Parliament
HOW TO DO IT. 155
is there that I should have everything in my own
way?
As it is with most tldngs^ then^ the role for
going into society is not to have any rule at all.
Gro unconsciously ; or, as St. Paul puts it, " Do not
think of yourseK more highly than you ought to
think." Everything but conceit can be forgiven
to a young person in society. St Paul, by the
way, high-toned gentleman as he was, is a very
thorough guide in such affairs, as he is in most
others. If you will get the marrow out of those
little scraps at the end of his letters, you will not
need any hand-books of etiquette.
As I read this over, to send it to the printer, I
recollect that, in one of the nicest sets of girls I
ever knew, they called the thirteenth chapter of
the First Epistle to the Corinthians the " society
chapter." Eead it over, and see how well it fits,
the next time Maud has been disagreeable, or
you have been provoked yourself in the ''Ger-
man."
''The g^tleman is quiet," says Mr. Emerson
whose essay on society you will read with profit.
156 HOW TO DO IT.
" the lady is serene." Beaxing this in mind, you
will not reaUy expect, when you go to the dance
at Mrs. PoUexfen's, that while you are standing
in the library explaining to Mr. Sumner what he
does not imderstand about the Alabama Claims,
watching at the same time with jealous eye the
fair form of Sybil as she is waltzing in that hated
Clifford's arms, — you wiU not, I say, reaUy expect
that her light dress wiU be wafted into the gas-
light over her head, she be surrounded with a
lambent flame, Clifford basely abandon her, while
she cries, " Ferdinand, Ferdinand ! " — nor that
you, leaving Mr. Sumner, seizing Mrs. General
Grant's camel's hair shawl, rushing down the ball-
room, wiU wrap it around Sybil's uninjured form,
and receive then and there the thanks of her father
and mother, and their pressing request for your
immediate union in marriage. Such things do not
happen outside the Saturday newspapers, and it is
a great deal better that they do not " The gen-
tleman is quiet and the lady is serene." In my
own private judgment, the best thing you can do
at any party is the particular thing which your
HOW TO DO IT. 157
host or hostess expected you to do when she made
the party. If it is a whist party, you had better
play whist, if you can. If it is a dancing party,
you had better dance, if you can. If it is a music
party, you had better play or sing, if you can. If
it is a croquet party, join in the croquet, if you
can. When at Mrs. Thomdike's grand party, Mrs.
Colonel Gofife, at seventy-seven, told old Eufus
Putnam, who was five years her senior, that her
dancing days were over, he said to her, " Well, it
seems tq be the amusement provided for the occa-
sion." I think there is a good deal in that At
all events, do not separate yourself from the rest
as if you were too old or too young, too wise or
too foolish, or had not been enough introduced, or
were in any sort of different clay from the rest of
the pottery.
And now I will not imdertake any specific di-
rections for behavior. You know I hate them
all I will only repeat to you the advice which
my father, who was my best friend, gave me
after the first evening call I ever made. The caU
was on a gentleman whom both I and my father
158 HOW TO DO IT.
greatly loved. I knew he would be pleased to
hear that I had made the visit, and^ with sixtLB
pride, I told him, being, as I calculate, thirteen
years five months and nineteen days old. He was
pleased, very much pleased, and he said so. "I
am glad you made the call, it was a proper atten-
tion to Mr. Palfrey, who is one of your true
j&iends and mine. And now that you begin to
make calls, let me give you one piece of advice.
Make them short. The people who see you may
be very glad to see you. But it is certain they
were occupied with something when you came,
and it is certain, therefore, that you have inter-
rupted them."
I was a little dashed in the enthusiasm with
which I had told of my first visit But the ad-
vice has been worth I cannot tell how much to
me, — years of life, and hundreds of friends.
Pelham's rule for a visit is, " Stay till you have
made an agreeable impression, and then leave
immediately." A plausible rule, but dangerous.
What if one should not make an agreeable im-
pression after all ? Did not Beldi stay till near
HOW TO DO IT. 159
three in the morning ? And when he went^ be-
cause I had dropped asleep, did I not think him
more disagreeable than ever ?
For all I can say, or anybody else can say, it
will be the manner of some people to give up
meeting other people socially. I am very sorry
for them, but I cannot help it. All I can say is
that they will be sorry before they are done. I
wish they would read -^op*s fable about the old
man and his sons and the bundle of rods. I wish
they would find out definitely why God gave them
tongues and lips and ears. I wish they would
tal^e to heart the folly of this constant struggle in
which they live, against the whole law of the
being of a gregarious animal like man. What is
it that Westerly writes me, whose note comes
to me from the mail just as I finish this paper?
"I do not look for much, advance in the world
until we can get people out of their own self."
And what do you hear me quoting to you all
the time, — which you can never deny, — but
that " the human race is the individual of which
men and women are so many different mem-
160 HOW TO DO IT.
bers" ? You may kick against this law, but it is
true.
It is the truth around which, like a crystal
round its nucleus, all modem civilization has
taken order.
HOW TO DO IT. 161
CHAPTEE VIII.
HOW TO TRAVEL.
FIEST, as to manneT. You may travel on foot,
on horseback, in a carriage with horses, in a
carriage with steam, or in a steamboat or ship, and
also in many other ways.
Of these, so far as mere outside circumstance
goes, it is probable that the travelling with horses
in a canal-boat is the pleasantest of all, granting
that there is no crowd of passengers, and that the
weather is agreeable. But there are so few parts
of the world where this is now practicable, that
we need not say much of it. The school-girls of
this generation may well long for those old halcyon
days of Miss Portia Lesley's SchooL In that ideal
establishment the girls went to Washington to
study political economy in the winter. They went
to Saratoga in July and August to study the ana-
lytical processes of chemistry. There was also a
course there on the history of the Eevolution.
11
162 HOW TO DO IT.
They went to Newport alternate yeaxs in the same
months, to study the Norse literature and swim-
ming. They went to the White Sulphur Springs
and to Bath, to study the history of chivalry as
illustrated in the annual tournaments. They went
to Paris to study French, to Rome to study Latin,
to Athens to study Greek. In all parts of the
world where they could travel by canals they did
so. While on the journeys they studied their
arithmetic and other useful matters, which had
been passed by at the capitals. And while they
were on the canals they washed and ironed their
clothes, so as to be ready for the next stopping*
place. You can do anything you choose on a
canaL
Next to canal travelling, a journey on horse-
back is the pleasantest It is feasible for girls as
well as boys, if they have proper escort and super*
intendence. You see the country; you know
every leaf and twig; you are tired enough, and
not too tired, when the day is done. When you
are at the end of each day's journey you find you
have, all the way alcmg, been laying up a store of
HOW TO DO IT. 163
pleasant memories. You have a good appetite for
supper, and you sleep in one nap for the tiiup.
hours between nine at night and six in the morn-
ing.
You might try this, PhiUis,— you and Eoberfc.
I do not think your little pony would do, but your
uncle will lend you Throg for a fortnight. There
is nothing your imcle will not do for you, if you
ask him the right way. When Eobert's next
vacation comes, after he has been at home a week,
he will be glad enough to start. You had better
go now and see your Aunt Fanny about it. She
is always up to anything. She and your Uncle
John will be only too glad of the excuse to do this
thing again. They have not done it since they
and I and P. came down through the Dixville
Notch aU four on a hand gallop, with the rain run-
ning in sheets ofif our waterproofs. Get them to
say they will go, and then hold them up to it.
For dress, you, PhiUis, wiU want a regular
bloomer to use when you are scrambling over the
mountains on foot. Indeed, on the White Moun-
tains noWf the ladies best e<j[uipped ride up those
164 HOW TO DO IT.
steep pulls on men's saddles. For that work this
is much the safest Have a simple skirt to but-
ton round your waist while you are riding. It
should be of waterproof, — the English is the best.
Besides this, have a short waterproof sack with a
hood, which you can put on easily if a shower
comes. Be careful that it has a hood. Any crev-
ice between the head cover and the back cover
which admits air or wet to the neck is misery, if
not fatal, in such showers as you are going to ride
through.
You want another skirt for the evening, and this
and your tooth-brush and linen must be put up
tight and snug in two little bags. The old-fash-
ioned saddle-bags will do nicely, if you can find a
pair in the garret. The waterproof sack must be
in another roll outside.
As for Eobert, I shall tell him nothing about his
dress. ''A true gentleman is always so dressed
that he can mount and ride for his Ufe." That
was the rule three hundred years ago, and I think
it holds true now.
Do not tiy to ride too much in one day. At
HOW TO DO IT. 165
the start, in particular, take care that you do not
tire your horses or yourselves. For yourselves,
very likely ten miles will be enough for the first
day. It is not distance you are after, it is the en-
joyment of every blade of grass, of every flying
bird, of every whiff of air, of every cloud that
hangs upon the blue.
Walking is next best. The difficulty is about
baggage and sleeping-places ; and then there has
been this absurd theory, that girls cannot walk.
But they can. School-boys — trying to make im-
mense distances — blister their feet, strain their
muscles, get disgusted, borrow money and ride
home in the stage. But this is all nonsense.
Distance is not the object. Five miles is as good
as fifty. On the other hand, while the riding
party cannot well be larger than four, the more
the merrier on the walking party. It is true, that
the fare is sometimes better where there are but
few. Any number of boys and girls, if they can
coax some older persons to go with them, who can
supply sense and direction to the high spirits of
the juniors, may imdertake such a journey. There
166 HOW TO DO IT,
are but few rules ; beyond them^ each party may
make its own.
First, never walk before breakfast If you like,
you may make two breakfasts and take a mile or
two between. But be sure to eat something be-
fore you are on the road.
Second, do not walk much in the middle of the
day. It is dusty and hot then ; and the landscape
has lost its special glory. By ten o'clock you
ought to have found some camping*ground for the
day ; a nice brook running throi^h a grove, — a
place to draw or paint or tell stories or read them
or write them; a place to make waterfalls and
dams, — to sail chips or build boats, — a place to
make a fire and a cup of tea for the oldsters. Stay
here till four in the afternoon, and then push on
in the two or three hours which are left to the
sleeping-place agreed upon. Four or five hours on
the road is all you want in each day. Even reso-
lute idlers, as it is to be hoped you aU are on such
occasions, can get eight miles a day out of that, — -
and that is enough for a true walking party. Re-
member all along, that you are not running a rarv*
HOW TO DO IT. 167
with the railway train. If you were, you would
be beaten certainly ; and the less you think you
are the better. You are travelling in a method of
which the ment is that it is not fast, and that you
see every separate detail of the glory of the world.
What a fool you are, then, if you tire yourself to
death, merely that you may say that you did in
ten hours what the locomotive would gladly have
finished in one, if by that effort you have lost
exactly the enjoyment of nature and society that
you started for.
The perfection of undertakings in this line was
Mrs. Merriam's famous walking party in the Green
Mountains, with the Wadsworth girls. Wads-
worth was not their name, — it was the name of
her school. She chose eight of the girls when
vacation came, and told them they might get
leave, if they could, to join her m Brattleborough
for this tramp. And she sent her own invitation
to the mothers and to as many brothers. Six of
the girls came. Clara Ingham w^as one of them,
and she told me aU about it. Margaret Tyler and
Etta were there. There were six brothers also.
168 HOW TO DO IT.
and Archie Muldair and his wife, Fanny Muldair's
mother. They two " tended out " in a buggy, but
did not do much walking. Mr. Merriam was with
them, and, quite as a surprise, they had Thur-
lessen, a nice old Swede, who had served* in the
army, and had ever since been attached to that
school as chore-man. He blacked the girls' shoes^
waited for them at concert, and sometimes, for a
slight bribe, bought almond candy for them in
school hours, when they could not possibly live till
afternoon without a supply. The girls said that the
reason the war lasted so long was that Old Thur-
lessen was in the army, and that nothing ever
went quick when he was in it. I believe there
was something in this. Well, Old Thurlessen had
a canvas-top wagon, in which he carried five tents,
five or six trunks, one or two pieces of kitchen
gear, his own self and Will Corcoran.
The girls and boys did not so much as know that
Thurlessen was in the party. That had aU been
kept a solemn secret. They did not know how
their trunks were going on, but started on foot in
the morning from the hotel, passed up that beau-
HOW TO DO IT. 169
tiful village stteet in Brattleborough, came out
through West Dummerston, and so along that
lovely West Eiver. It was very easy to find a
camp there, and when the sun came to be a little
hot, and they had all blown off a little of the
steam of the morning, I think they were all glad
to come upon Mr. Muldair, sitting in the wagon
waiting for them. He explained to them that, if
they would cross the fence and go down to the
river, they would find his wife had planted
herself ; and there, sure enough, in a lovely little
nook, round which the river swept, with rocks and
trees for shade, with shawls to lounge upon, and
the water to play with, they spent the day. Of
course they made long excursions into the woods
and up and down the stream, but here was head-
quarters. Hard-boiled eggs from the haversacks,
with bread and butter, furnished forth the meal,
and Mr. Muldair insisted on toasting some salt-
pork over the fire, and teaching the girls to like
it sandwiched between crackers. Well, at four
o'clock everybody was ready to start again, and
was willing to walk briskly. And at six, what
170 HOW TO DO IT.
should they see but the American flag flying, and
Thurlessen's pretty little encampment of his five
tents, pitched in a horseshoe form, with his wagon,
as a sort of commissary's tent, just outside. Two
tents were for the girls, two tents for the boys, and
the head-quarters tent for Mr. and Mrs. Merriam.
And that night they aU learned the luxury and
sweetness of sleeping upon beds of hemlock
branches. Thurlessen had supper all ready as
soon as they were washed and ready for it. And
after supper they sat round the fire a little while
singing. But before nine o'clock every one of
them was asleep.
So they fared up and down through those lovely
valleys of the Green Mountains, sending Thur-
lessen on about ten miles every day, to be ready
for them when night came. If it rained, of course
they could put in to some of those hospitable Ver-
mont farmers' homes, or one of the inns in the
villages. But, on the whole, they had good
weather, and boys and girls always hoped that
they might sleep out-doors.
These are, however, but the variations and
HOW TO DO IT. 171
amusements of travel. You and I would find it
hard to walk to Liverpool, if that happened to be
the expedition in hand or on foot. And in
ninety-nine cases out of a hundred you and I will
have to adapt ourselves to the methods of travel
which the majority have agreed upon.
But for pleasure travel, in whatever form, much
of what has been said already applies. The best
party is two, the next best four, the next best one,
and the worst three. Beyond four, except in
walking parties, aU are impossible, unless they be
members of one family under the command of a
father or mother. Command is essential when you
pass four. All the members of the party should
have or should make a community of interests.
If one draws, all had best draw. If one likes to
climb mountains, all had best climb mountains.
If one rises early, all had best rise early ; and so
on. Do not tell me you cannot draw. It is quite
time you did. You are your own best teacher.
And there is no time or place so fit for learning as
when you are sitting under the shade of a high
rock on the side of White Face, or looking oflf
172 HOW TO DO IT.
into the village street Crom the piazza of a ho-
tel
The party once determined on and the route, re-
member that the old conditions of travel and the
new conditions of most travel of to-day are pre-
cisely opposite. For in old travel, as on horse-
back or on foot now, you saw the country while
you travelled. Many of your stopping-places
were for rest, or because night had fallen, and you
could see nothing at night. Under the old sys-
tem, therefore, an intelligent traveller might keep
in motion from day to day, slowly, indeed, but
seeing something all the time, and learning what
the country was through which he passed by talk
with the people. But in the new system, popu-
larly called the improved system, he is shut up
with his party and a good many other parties in
a tight box with glass windows, and whirled on
through dust if it be dusty, or rain if it be rainy,
under arrangements which make it impossible to
converse with the people of the country, and al-
most impossible to see what that country is.
There is a little conversation with the natives.
sow TO DO IT. I*t3
But it relates mostly to the price of pond-lilies
ot of erullers or of native diamonds. I once put
my head out of a window in Ashland, and, ad-
dressing a crowd of boys promiscuously, called
"John, John." John stepped forward, as I had
felt sure he would, though I had not before had
the pleasure of his acquaintance. I asked how
his mother was, and how the other chfldren were,
and he said they were very weU. But he did not
say anything else, and as the train started at that
moment I was not able to continue the conversa-
tion, which was at the best, you see, conducted
under difficulties. All this makes it necessary
that, in our modem travelling, you select with
particular care your places to rest, and, when you
have selected them, that you stay in them, at the
least one day, that you may rest, and that you
may know something of the country you are
passing. A man or a strong woman may go from
Boston to Chicago in a little more than twenty-
five hours. If he be going because he has to, it is
best for him to go in that way, because he is out
of his misery the Sooner. Just so it is better to
174 HOW TO DO IT.
be beheaded than to be starved to deatL But a
party going from Boston to Chicago purely on an
expedition of pleasure, ought not to advance more
than a hundred miles a day, and might well spend
twenty hours out of every twenty-four at well-
chosen stopping-places on the way. They would
avoid all large cities, which are for a short stay
exactly alike and equally uncomfortable; they
would choose pleasant places for rest, and thus
when they arrived at Chicago they would have a
real fund of happy, pleasant memories.
Applying the same principle to travel in Europe,
I am eager to correct a mistake which many of
you will be apt to make at the beginning, — hot-
blooded young Americans as you are, eager to
"put through" what you are at, even though it
be the most exquisite of enjoyments, and ignorant
as you all are, till you are taught, of the possibili-
ties of happy life before you, if you will only let
the luscious pulp of your various bananas lie on
your tongue and take all the good of it, instead
of bolting it a3 if it were nauseous medicine.
Because you have but little time in Europe, you
HOW TO DO IT. 175
■will be anxious to see all you can. That is quite
right. Eemember, then, that true wisdom is to
stay three days in one place, rather than to spend
but one day in each of three. If you insist on
one day in Oxford, one in Birmingham, one in
Bristol, why then there are three inns or hotels
to be hunted up, three packings and unpackings,
three sets of letters to be presented, three sets of
streets to learn, and, after it is all over, your memo-
ries of those three places wiU be merely of the
outside misery of traveL Give up two of them
altogether, then. Make yourself at home for the
three days in whichever place of the three best
pleases you. Sleep tfll your nine hours are up
every night. Breakfast all together. Avail your-
selves of your letters of introduction. See things
which are to be seen, or persons who are to be
known, at the right times. Above all, see twice
whatever is worth seeing. Do not forget this
rule; — we remember what we see twice. It is
that stereoscopic memory of which I told you
once before. We do not remember with anything
like the same reality or precision what we have
176 HOW TO DO IT.
obIj seen once. It is in some sliglit appreciation
gI this great fandamental rule^ that you stay-
three days in any place which you really mean
to be acquainted with^ t^at Miss Ferrier lays
down her bright rule for a visit, that a visit ought
"to consist of three days, — the rest day, the
drest day, and the pres^sd day."
And, lastly, dear friends, — for the most enter-
taining of discourses on the most fascinating of
themes must have a "lastly," — lastly, be sure
that you know what you travel for. " Why, we
travel to have a good time,** says tiiaJb incorrigible
Pauline Ingham, who will talk none but the
Yankee language. Dear Pauline, if you go about
the woild expecting to find that same "good time"
of yours ready-made, inspected, branded, stamped,
jobbed by the jobbeis, retailed by the retailers,
and ready for you to buy with your spending-
money, you wiU be sadly mistaken, though you
have for spending-money all that united health,
high spirits, good-nature, and kind heart of yours,
and all papa's lessons of forgetting yesterday,
leaving to-morrow alone, and living with all your
HOW TO DO It. 1T7
might to-day. It will never do, Pauline, to have
to walk up to the innkeeper and say, '' Please, we
have come for a good time, and where shall we
find it ? " Take care that you have in reserve one
object, I do not care much what it is. Be ready
to press plants^ or be ready to collect minerals.
Or be ready to wash in wat^-colors, I do not care
how po(» they are. Or, in Europe, be ready to
inquire about the libraries, or the baby-rnurseries,
or the art-collections, or the botanical gardens.
Understand in your own mind that there is some-
thing you cau inquire for and be interested in,
thou^ you be dumped out of a car at Kew
Smithville. It may, perhaps, happen that yon do
not for weeks or months revert to this reserred
object of yours. Then happiness may come ; for,
as you have found out already, I think, happiness
is somethij]^ ndiich happem^ and is not contrived.
On titiis tl^uie you will find an excellent discourse
in the beginning of Mr. Freeman Clarke's '' Eleveoi
Weeks in Europe."
For directions for the detail of travel, tiiere are
Bona batter tiian those in th» beginning of '' B(dlo
12
1
178 HOW TO DO IT.
in Europe." There is mucli wisdom in the gen-
eral directions to travellers in the prefaces to the
old editions of Murray. A young American will
of course eliminate the purely English necessities
from both sides of those equations. There is a
good article by Dr. Bellows on the matter in the
North American Eeview. And you yourself, after
you have been forty-eight hours in Europe, will
feel certain that you can write better directions
than all the rest of us can, put together.
And so, my dear young friends, the first half of
this book comes to an end. The programme of
the beginning is finished, and I am to say ** Grood
by." If I have not answered all the nice, intelli-
gent letters which one and another of you have
sent me since we began together, it has only been
because I thought I could better answer the mul-
titude of such unknown friends in print, than a
few in shorter notes of reply. It has been to me
a charming thing that so many of you have been
tempted to break through the magic circle of the
printed pages, and come to closer terms with one
HOW TO DO rr. 179
•who has certainly tried to speak as a friend to all
of you. Do we all understand that in talking,
in reading, in writing, in going into society, in
choosing our books, or in travelling, there is no
arbitrary set of rules ? The commandments are
not carved in stone. We shall do these things
rightly if we do them simply and unconsciously,
if we are not selfish, if we are willing to profit by
other people's experience, and if, as we do them,
we can manage to remember that right and wrong
depend much more on the spirit than on the man.
ner in which the thing is done. We shall not
make many blunders if we live by the four rules
they painted on the four walls of the Detroit Club-
housa
Do not you know what those were ?
1. Look up, and not down.
2. Look forward, and not backward.
3. Look out, and not in.
4 Lend a hand.
The next half of the book will be the applica-
tion of these rules to life in school, in vacation,
life together, life alone, and some other details not
yet touched upoa
180 HOW TO DO IT.
CHAPTEE IX.
LIFE AT SCHOOL.
T DO not mean life at a boarding-schooL If
•^ I speak of that^ it is to be at aaoth^ time.
No, I mean life at a regular every-day school^ in
town or in the country, where you go in the morn-
ing and come away at eleven or at noon, and go
again in the afternoon, and come away after two
or three hours. Some young people hate this life,
and some like it tolerably welL I propose to give
some information which shall make it more agree-
able all round. ■
And I beg it may be understood that I do not
appear as counsel for either party, in the instruc-
tion and advice I give. That means that, as the
lawyers say, I am not retained by the teachers^
formerly called schoolmistresses and school-
masters, or by the pupils, f onnerly called boys and
girls. I have been a schoolmaster myself, and
I enjoyed the life very much, and made among
HOW TO DO It. 181
my boys some of the best of the friends of my
life. I have also been a school-boy, — and I
roughed through my school life with comparative
comfort and ease. As master and as boy I
learned some thii^ which I think can be ex-
plained to boys and girls now, so as to make life
at school easier and reaUy more agreeable.
My first rule is, that you
Accept the Situation.
Perhaps you do not know what that means. It
means that, as you are at school, whether you
reaUy like going or not, you determine to make
the very best you can of it, and that you do not
make yourself and everybody else wretched by
sulking and grumbling about it, and wishing
school was done, and wondering why your father
sends you there, and asking leave ta look at tie
clock in the other room, tad so on.
When Dr. Kane or Captain McClure was lying
on a skin on a field of ice, in a blanket bag buttoned
ov^ his head, with three men one side of him and
thvee the other, and a blanket over them all, —
"<\ /^ . or** ^ •> ,
182 HOW TO DO rr.
*
with the temperature seventy-eight degrees below
zero, and daylight a month and a half away, the
position was by no means comfortable. But a
brave man does not growl or sulk in such a
position. He "accepts the situation." That is,
he takes that as a thing for granted, about which
there is to be no farther question. Then he is in
condition to make the best of it, whatever that
best may be. He can sing " We won't go home
till morning," or he can tell the men the story
of William Fitzpatrick and the Belgian coflFee-
grinder, or he can say " good-night " and imagine
himself among the Kentish hop-fields, — till be-
fore he knows it the hop-sticks begin walking
round and round, and the haycocks to make faces
at him,— and— and— and — he— he — he is
fast asleep. That comfort comes of "accepting
the situation."
Now here you are at school, I will say, for
three hours. Accept the situation, like a man
or a woman, and do not sulk like a fooL As Mr.
Abbot says, in his admirable rule, in BoUo or
Jonas, " When you grant, grant cheerfully." Tou
HOW TO DO IT. 183
have come here to school without a fight, I sup-
pose. When your father told you to come, you
did not insult him, as people do in very poor
plays and very cheap novels. You did not say
to him, " Miscreant and villain, I renounce thee,
I defy thee to the teeth ; I am none of thine, and
henceforth I leave thee in thy low estate." You
did not leap in the middle of the night from a
three-story window, with your best clothes in a
handkerchief, and go and assume the charge of
a pirate clipper, which was lying hidden in a
creek in the Back Bay. On the contrary, you
went to school when the time came. As you
have done so, determine, first of all, to make the
very best of it The best can be made first-rate.
But a great deal depends on you in making it so.
To make the whole thing thoroughly attractive,
to make the time peas quickly, and to have school
life a natural part of your other life, my second
rule is.
Do WHAT YOU DO WITH ALL YOUR MiGHT.
It is a good rule in anything; in sleeping, in
184 ;i HOW TO DO rr.
• •
phyiug, or in whatevOT you have in band. But
nothing tends to m^e school time pass quicker ;
and the great point, as I will acknowledge, is to
get through with the school hours as quickly
as we fairly can.
!N'ow if in written arithmetic, for instance, you
will start instantly on the sums as soon as they
are given out ; if you will bear cm bard chi the
pencil, so as to make clear white marks, instead
of greasy, flabby, pale ones on the slate ; if you
win rule the columns for the answers as carefully
as if it were a bank ledger you wei^ ruling, or
if you will wash the slate so completely that no
vestige of old work is there, you will find that
the mere exercise of energy of manner infuses
spirit and correctness into the thing done.
I remember my drawii^^teacher once snapped
the top of my pencil with his forefinger, gently,
and it flew across the room. He latched and
said, " How can you expect to draw a finai lim
with a pencil held like that?" It was a good
lesson, and it illustrates this rule, — "Do with all
your m%ht the work thai is to be done*"
HOW TO DO IT. .•; 185
When I was at school at the old Latin School
in Boston, — opposite where Ben Franklin went
to school and where his statue is now, — in the
same spot in space where you eat your lunch if
you go into the ladies' eating-room at Parker's
Hotel, — when I was at school there, I say, things
were in that semi-barbarous state, that with a
school attendance of four hours in the morning,
and three in the afternoon, we had but five min-
utes' recess in the morning and five in the after-
noon. We went "out" in divisions of eight or
ten each ; and the worst of all was that the play-
ground (now called so) was a sort of platform, of
which one half was under cover, — all of which
was, I suppose, sixteen feet long by six wide, with
high walls, and stairs leading to it.
Of course we could have sulked away all our
recess there, complaining that we had no better
place. Instead of which, we accepted the situa-
tion, we made the best of it, and with all our
might entered on the one amusement possible
in such quarters.
We provided a stout lope, well knotted. As
186 HOW TO DO IT.
m
soon as recess began, we divided into equal
parties, one under cover and the other out,
grasping the rope, and endeavoring each to
drew the other party across the dividing line.
"Greeks and Trojans" you will see the game
called in English books. Little we knew of
either; but we hardened our hands, toughened
our muscles, and exercised our chests, arms, and
legs much better than could have been ex-
pected, all by accepting the situation and doing
with all our might what our hands found to do.
Lessons are set for average boys at school, —
boys of the average laziness. If you really go
to work with aU your might then, you get a good
deal of loose time, which, in general, you can apply
to that standing nuisance, the "evening lesson."
Sometimes, I know, for what reason I do not know,
this study of the evening lesson in school is pro-
hibited. When it is, the good boys and quick boys
have to learn how to waste their extra time, which
seems to be a pity. But with a sensible master,
it is a thing understood, that it is better for boys
or girls to study hard while they study, and never
HOW TO DO IT. 187
to learn to dawdle. Taking it for granted that you
are in the hands of such masters or mistresses^ I
will take it for granted that, when you have learned
the school lesson, there will be no objection to your
next learning the other lesson, which lazier boys
wiU have to carry home.
Lastly, you will find you gain a great deal by
giving to the school lesson all the color and light
which eveiy-day affairs can lend to it. Do not let
it be a ghastly skeleton in a closet, but let it come
as far as it will into daily life. When you read in
Colbum's Oral Arithmetic, "that a man bought
mutton at six cents a pound, and beef at seven,"
ask your mother what she pays a pound now, and
do the sum with the figures changed. When the
boys come back after vacation, find out where they
have been, and look out Springfield, and the Notch,
and Dead River, and Moosehead Lake, on the map,
— and know where they are. When you get a
chance at the " Republican," before the others have
come down to breakfast, read the Vermont news,
imder the separate head of that State, and find out
how many of those Vermont towns are on your
188 HOW TO DO IT.
** Mitchell** When it is your turn to speak, do not
be satisfied with a piece from the " Speaker," that
all the boys have heard a hundred times ; but get
something out of the " Tribune," or the ** Compan-
ion," or " Young Folks," or from the new " Tenny-
son" at home.
I once went to examine a high school, on a
lonely hillside in a lonely country town. The first
class was in botany, and they rattled oflF from the
book very fast. They said ** cotyledon/' and " syn-
genesious," and "coniferous," and such words, re-
markably well, considering they did not care
two straws about them. Well, when it was my
turn to " make a few remarks," I said, —
*' HxrCKLEBERRT."
I do not remember another word I said, but I
do remember the sense of amazement that a min-
ister should have spoken such a wicked word in a
school-room. What was worse, I sent a child out
to bring in some tmripe huckleberries from th6
roadside, and we went to work on our botany to
some purpose.
My dear children, I see hundreds of boys who
HOW TO DO IT. 189
can tell me what is thirteen seventeenths of two
elevenths of five times one half of a bushel of
wheat, stated in pecks, quarts, and pints ; and yet
if I showed them a grain of wheat, and a grain of
imhnlled rice, and a grain of barley, they would
not know, which was which. Try not to let your
school life sweep you wholly away from the home
life of every day.
190 HOW TO DO IT.
CHAPTEE X.
LIFE IN VACATIOK
TT"OW well I remember my last vacation 1 I
-*— ^ knew it was my last, and I did not lose one
instant of it Six weeks of unalloyed !
True, after school days are over, people have
what are called vacations. Your father takes his
at the store, and Uncle William has the "long
vacation," when the Court does not sit. But a
man's vacation, or a woman's, is as nothing when
it is compared with a child's or a young man's or
a young woman's home from schooL For papa
and Uncle William are carrying about a set of
cares with them all the time. They cannot help
it, and they carry them bravely, but they carry
them all the same. So you see a vacation for
men and women is generally a vacation with its
weight of responsibility. But your vacations,
while you are at school, though they have their
responsibilities, indeed, have none under whi^^
HOW TO DO IT. 191
you ought not to walk ofif as cheerfully as Gretch-
en, there, walks down the road with that pail of
milk upon her head. I hope you will learn to
m
do that some day, my dear Fanchon.
Hear, then, the essential laws of vacation : —
First of all.
Do NOT GET INTO OTHER PeOPLE'S WaY.
Horace and Enoch would not have made such a
mess of it last summer, and got so utterly into
disgrace, if they could only have kept this rule in
mind. But, from mere thoughtlessness, they were
making people wish they were at the North Pole
all the time, and it ended in their wishing that
they were there themselves.
Thus, the very first morning after they had come
home from Leicester Academy, — and, indeed, they
had been welcomed with all the honors only the
night before, — when Margaret, the servant, came
down into the kitchen, she found her fire lighted,
indeed, but there were no thanks to Master Enoch
for that. The boys were going out gunning that
morning, and they had taken it into their heads
192 HOW TO DO rr.
that the two old fowling-pieces needed to be thor-
oughly washed out, and with hot water. So they
had got up, really at half past four ; had made the
kitchen fire themselves ; had put \>n ten times as
much water as they wanted, so it took an age to
boil; had got tired waiting, and raked out some
coals and put on some more water in a skillet ;
had upset this over the hearth, and tried to wipe
it up with the cloth that lay over Margaret's
bread-cakes as they were rising; had meanwhile
taken the guns to pieces, and laid the pieces
on the kitchen table; had piled up their oily
cloths on the settle and on the chairs ; had
spilled oil from the lamp-filler, in trying to
drop some into one of the ramrod sockets, and
thus, by the time Margaret did come down, her
kitchen and her breakfast both were in a very
bad way.
Horace said, when he was arraigned, that he
had thought they should be all through before
half past five ; that then they would have " cleared
up," and have been weU across the pasture, out
of Margaret's way. Horace did not know that
HOW TO DO rr. 193
watched pots are "mighty unsartin" in their times
of boiling.
Now all this row, leading to great unpopularity
of the boys in regions where they wanted to be
conciliatory, would have been avoided if Horace
and Enoch had merely kept out of the way. There
were the Kendal-house in the back-yard, or the
wood-shed, where they could have cleaned the
guns, and then nobody would have minded if
they had spilled ten quarts of water.
This seems like a minor rule. But I have put
it first, because a good deal of comfort or discom-
fort hangs on it.
Scientifically, the first rule would be.
Save Timb.
This can only be done by system. A vacation is
gold, you see, if properly used ; it is distilled gold,
— if there could be such, — to be correct, it is
burnished, double-refined gold, or gold purified.
It cannot be lengtliened. There is sure to be too
little of it. So you must make sure of all there
is ; and this requires system.
18
194 »)W TO DO IT.
It TOqubftis, tiheKefotfe, ttiat, firtt 6f all, — tevaa
before the term time is over, — you all deter-
mixiie V€jy ^oiemnly what the greiat central
business of the f acatioti shall be. ShaU it be
an archery club ? Or will we build the Falcon's
Nest in tlie buttbnwood t)ver on the Strail?
Or iBhall it be some other i^rt or entertain-
ment?
Let this be decided with ^reat care ; and, once
decided, hang to this determination, doing some-
thing detennihed about it every Uving day. In
trvcth, I Tecommend apptication to that business
with a good deal of firmness, on every day, rain
or shine, eveoi at certain feted hours; unless, of
course, there is some general engagement of the
family, or of the neighborhood, which interferes,
if you are til going on a lily party, why, that will
take precedence.
Theai I tecomtdend, ticat, quite distinct from
tiais, you make up your own personal and separate
inind as to what is the ttring which you yourself
iiava knoft bttdgered and thirstcid for in the last
term, but have not bett atfleto do to your mind.
flotr Tb DO ft. 195
T)e6ktiBe thfe fecliodl "t^ork ifitetfetefi SD badly.
Some such thing, I have no dolibt, there is. You
Wanted to niake sotne electwtype medals, as good
as that first-l^te one that Muldait copied t^heu he
lived in Paxton. Oi^ you want to make somfe
plaster casts. Ot you want to read some par-
ticular book or hooks. Or you want to use John's
tool-box for some very definite and attractive pur-
pose. Veiy well ; tkke this up also, for your indi-
vidual or special business. The other is the busi-
ness of the crowd; this is your avocation when
you are away froiSi the crowd. I say away; I
mean it is something you can do without having
to huiit them up, and coax them to go on with
you.
Besides these, of course there is all the home
life. You have the garden to work iU. You can
help your mother wash the tea things. You can
make cake, if you keep on the blind side of old
Rosamond ; and so on.
Thus are you triply aimed. Indfeed, I know no
life which gets dn well, unless it had these three
iaides, whel^er life with tiie others> life by yout-
196 HOW TO DO IT.
self^ or such life as may come without any plan
or effort of your own.
No ; I do not know which of these things you
will choose, — perhaps you will choose none of
them. But it is easy enough to see how fast a
day of vacation will go by if you, Stephen, or you,
Clara, have these several resources or determina-
tions.
Here is the ground-plan of it, as I might steal
it from Fanchon's journals : —
"Tuesday. — Second day of vacation. Fair.
Wind west. Thermometer sixty-three degrees,
before breakfast.
"Down stairs in time." [Mem. 1. Be careful
about this. It makes much more disturbance in
the household than you think for, if you are
late to breakfast, and it sets back the day ter-
ribly.]
" Wiped while Sarah washed. Herbert read us
the new number of ' Tig and Tag,* while we did
this, and made us scream, by acting it with Silas,
behind the sofa and on the chairs. At nine, all
was done, and we went up the pasture to Mont
HOW TO DO IT. 197
Blanc. Worked all the morning on the draw-
hridge. We have got the two large logs into
place, and have dug out part of th& trench. Home
at one, quite tired."
[Mem, 2. Mont Blanc is a great boulder, — part
of a park of boulders, in the edge of the wood-
lot Other similar rocks are named the "Jung-
frau," because unclimbable, the "Aiguilles,** &c.
This about the drawbridge and logs, readers will
imderstand as well as I do.]
'* Had just time to dress for dinner. Mr. links,
or Lynch, was here ; a very interesting man, who
has descended an extinct volcano. He is going
to give me some Pele's hair. I think I shall
make a museum. After dinner we all sat on the
piazza some time, till he went away. Then I
came up here, and fixed my drawers. I have
moved my bed to the other side of the chamber.
This gives me a great deal more room. Then I
got out my palette, and washed it, and my colors.
I am going to paint a cluster of grape-leaves for
mamma's birthday. It is a great secret I had
only got the things well out, when the Fosdicks
^d^ S9W TQ. Da i^
c^m^,^ aoxd p;irQpo8e4 Y^ s^Qvld ali m^ over «i&
tbepi t^ WQr({este[?^ wfe^r^ HqwJmi, the ju^^toe^
vas, Si^cJ^ % 9Ple|^ii4 ^iw© ^ vq have had!
How he does some of the things I d^ not knom
I trou^hJt l?A«ie a^ fl^ a]q4 t]u5%ft gre?^ pepper-
n^ut^ {f>J{ P#. We 4^1 ^0% g^ti }^»xm tm. ^ear^^
lMeW(. 3- piis is pi'oto^ to^ foi^ jowig pe<>^
fid of your 9ge; 1^^, ^ Madama Boland audc^
a good deal has to -be p^nJQU^d to tba spirit ot
lit^(Brty; and, 9a f a^ a^ I feliyQ Qfes»r¥«4> ia this
1<ime, generally is.]
Now if you will aiiajj^ ^^ ^ ^ jfmxmSt,
you wiU a^, fiyst, ^l^^t th|^ da5^ i^ fijH of ijfhafc.
Mf* P^oji^gh QaU%
« The joy of eventful living."
l^iat ^1 neY^r will j^^vq any^l oai^ Ic^ siajr
s^ie is tirei of Jj^ v^iqps, if s^ qj^ gxmdt
then^ in ttat faaJiiiojft. Yo^ ^ift Sfife^ 51^%. tt^ft!^,
it i$ q^, i(j system^ ao4,, aft ^t haj^eiijsju^jr (^ tfee.
systi^i]^ I |)ropo9!^d. fox you :«pp ^l^^e^^ %^
Haw TO DO re 199
the drawbridge, and all that; there is the sepa-
rate plan for Fanchon's self, of the water-color
picture ; and, laajtly, tl^^re ia tJaej iiuplanned sur-
render to the accident of the Fosdicks coming
round to propose Houdin.
Will yon ohiseiire, lastfy, thai Fmchoik is uot
sdfiak in these matters, but leada a h&od where
she finds an opp(arfcumty i
200 HOW TO DO rr.
CHAPTEE XI.
LIFE ALONE. .
W
HEN I was a very young man, I had
occasion to travel two hundred miles
down the vaUey of the Connecticut Eiver. I
had just finished a delightful summer excursion
in the service of the State of New Hampshire
as a geologist, — and I left the other geological
surveyors at HaverhilL
I remembered John Ledyard. Do you, dear
Young America ? John Ledyard, having deter-
mined to leave Dartmouth College, built himself
a boat, or digged for himself a canoe, and sailed
down on the stream reading the Greek Testament,
or " Plutarch's lives," I forget which, on the way.
Here was I, about to go down the same river.
I had ten dollars in my pocket, be the same more
or less. Could not I buy a boat for seven, my
provant for a week for three more, and so arrive
in Springfield in ten days' time, go up to the
HOW TO DO IT. 201
Hardings' and spend the night, and go down to
Boston, on a free pass I had, the next day?
Had I heen as young as I am now, I should
have done that thing. I wanted to do it then,
but there were difficulties.
First, whatever was to be done must be done
at once. For, if I were delayed only a day at
Haverhill, I should have, when I had paid my
bill, but eight dollars and a half left. Then how
buy the provant for three doUars, and the boat
for six?
So I went at once to the seaport or maritime
district of that flourishing town, to find, to my
dismay, that there was no boat, canoe, dug-out,
or hatteau, — there was nothing. As I remember
things now, there was not any sort of coflBn that
would ride the waves in any sort of way.
There were, however, many pundits, or learned
men. They are a class of people I have always
found in places or occasions where something
besides learning was needed. They tried, as is
the fashion of their craft, to make good the lack
of boats by advice.
99^ T<^ D(i 5|.
:f irat, they p??v^d tjjat it wc^ld ^ye. \i^^^ o^
n(x i^Q li^d t\^Te b^^ auy bo^itgL SqQpnd, tii^
y^y^ th^. ^Q pnp ^ver ^iftd go»^ do]v^ %)m
Haverhill p {^ 1^ ^ that reason ol th^ y^ar,^rr
ergo, that no one ought to thiiJf pf going. Third,
they g^v^^ w^^ I \ri^ y^ well before, that
I coidd gp d.ova ^^cl^ qoiiqke? ixi th^ at^iga.
Fpprth^ with aptpj^yn^ uijaniii^y they ^^reg^
that, ijf I woujd only go down ^ far ^ B{%aoY^
thei^ W^d 1^ ^i^lf0 <?f ^#? ^ % 4ver v^^t
have more water in it ; I should be past this fi^
and that fall, tl^ ^^fld, ^d tl^t J^^id ; afid, in
short, th^t, befpre the worlds. :^Qre, it se^m§4. E^.
destined that I shflijld start fip^, ^jnovef .
All this thpy sa^^ in t^ aed|CK5tiye ^j|y i^
Vhich a dry-gopds Q}ffck tell^. you thfit he ^9^ nft
checked gbghapi, and ipk^ yoij think yoif ^^ %
fool thjat yoi^ ask^d fpj cl^J^. gjwI'^araL; ttiat
you i^ever shoul^ l^tye ai^^ Iga^b of a^, sl^9]i^
have asked him.
So I left th^ beacl^. at ipayj^^hijl, di?c<?nf^^;^
folly, and, as I was bid, took V^§gj/^ ^ii^'^f^
mw TQ DQ. m 909
gpa^ cpaph &r Hanayer, giving gorqbrst <^ Z
I was c^lljed ia the Qioiiup^ I ini^ujited iim
stag§-Qoa(^ and J. t}iink WQ caipQ tp Hwp^^
9l)piit hal£ pa§t teux, — mj fir^t^ wd laat viidt ^ tiiai
sbrine of learning. I^retty hojb it was op Hx^ top
of the cojBudi, aftd I was pi:^ty tired, and ^ gpod
deal chafed as I saw from that eyij tbe loY^y,. qqqSI
liver oil thQ ^ra.y ;it my side. I toofe Sfime qjHisge
when. I 8aw White's cUgn ond Broil's (iajp, car
Smifli'Q dean a»d Jones's <teni, oif whatey^?? the
dams were, and^persuadec^ myself that it wan]4
hftVQ been haid vork hgjulipg i;oimd th^nj.
KatUess, I wa9 worn and vi^ee^ wJaei^ t aniy^
at BfenQVQr, and was UM ft^re T^^onld be aiji loQjjix
brft>re th^ Trf^grajdi w^t forvsswL -^ga^ft {
Ifnxiied to th^ isyti^n/d.
This time I found a bo^fe 4. BPP5 craf^ it -^fti,
but probably as good as Le^ard's. Let^, bj^
could be. caulksd Destitute of xowrlodjs,, but
they could be m^a
I fojaftdt 4^ oTO?Br» ¥ss, be wqiM aatt few. to
h J } V J^ .-.
V ^^
204 HOW TO DO IT.
Perhaps he knew that she was not worth any-
thing. But, with that loyalty to truth, not to say
pride of opinion, which is a part of the true New-
Englander's life, this- sturdy man said, frankly,
that he did not want to sell her, because he did
not think I ought to go that way.
Vain for me to represent that that was my
affair, and not his.
Clearly he thought it was his. Did he think I
was a boy who had escaped from parental care ?
Perhaps. For at that age I had not this mus*
tache or these whiskers.
Had he, in the Laccadives Islands, some worth-
less son who had escaped from home to go a
whaling ? Did he wish in his heart that some
other shipmaster had hindered him, as he now
was hindering me ? Alas, I know not ! Only
this I know, that he advised me, argued with me,
iMty> hegged me not to go that way. I should get
aground. I should be upset. The boat would be
swamped. Much better go by the Telegraph.
Dear reader, I was young in life, and I accepted
the reiterated advice, and took the Tel^grapL It
HOW TO DO rr. 205
was one of about four prudent things which I
have done in my life, which I can remember now,
all of which I regret at this moment.
Now, why did I give up a plan, at the solicita-
tion of an utter stranger, which I had formed
intelligently, and had looked forward to with
pleasure ? Was I afraid of being drowned ? Not
L Hard to drown in the upper Connecticut the
boy who had, for weeks, been swimming three
times a day in that river and in every lake or
stream in upper or central New Hampshire. Was
I afraid of wetting my clothes ? Not L Hard
to hurt with water the clothes in which I had
slept on the top of Mt. Washington, swam the
Ammonoosuc, or sat out a thunder-shower on Mi
Jefferson.
Dear boys and girls, I was, by this time, afraid
of myself. I was afraid of being alone.
This is a pretty long text. But it is the text
for this paper. You see I had had this four or
five hours' pull down on the hot stage-coach. I
had been conversing with myself all the time,
and I had not found it the best of company. I
20^ HOW XO I^ IX.
Maybe it wou^d cost j^qif^ 4^d I yasr ^fi^ftiii
that I should be yery tiw^ of it anpl pf. Qiyisfelf
before tbQ tbii^g ^a^ doi^a So I luepkly ^tjipjed
to the Telegraph, faintly tirie^ tl^e same experi-
ment at Windspj;, foi? the last t^n^, and then took
the Telegraph for tbp n^ht^ and brought ng next
day at Greenfield.
" Can I, pejrhaps, give som^ hi^s tq, yo^, boy§
and §irls, 3?rhich will saye you froj» snqh a mi^
tak§ as I made ttiep?"
I do nqt pretend that you ^hould Qomt spjitwjp.
That is aip. noi^nsQ, though thei:e is a good d^al
of ijb in the boQ)$:s, as Uiere is of otbe^: pon^eps^
Yoi; a.T^ made for society, for cfjnverse, syn^gatljy,
and communion. Tongues are made to t^l^ Gif^i
ews aire made to listeif. Sp aj:e eyes wde to ^'
Yet night faljs sometime?, when you cannot i^e,
And, ag^ ypu ought not be afptid of ijoght, you
ought not. be afraid of sojitude, whe^. yojf §?^Q^
taiik OT listen.
TSThat is the^e,^ thp, t]tot ^e cp. df}. ^hgj^.
90^ TO. JX^, «. M
Mjmj tyngsf. 0{ wWch no^ ijt will Im Qi^^Pfi^
tp spe^ a little in (tetii^l of fiva W^ caoj, tl^iq]^
w^ can re^ we oan write,, w^ pan d^w, v^ cw
^ing. Of these we wiE speak s^pars^^. Of
t^Q rest I will say a word, and bp^diy mprse*
First, ve cg^ think And tfeere are some
places wlfere y® ^^^^ do nothing ds^ In a ra^-
-^^ray carri^i^, for instance, oijt ^ r^^y 0^ ^ frosty
day, you cannot s^ th$ country. If yojn 8^
without cprnpanioj^^ yo^ Ci^pnot talk, — ought nf^%
indeed, taljc ijmch, if you Ijad thpift. You wgfet
not read, be^caaiSQ reading in the traiiit put^ you?
eyes out, sooner or later. You cannot "^tj^.
And in mo^t kains thQ usages are sucdi t^at you
Qannpt sing. Or, whe?^ t^ey siifg in tEain§f, the
whole compi^^- generally ^g^ so th§bt rules for
solitude np long^ WV^J-
What c^ yoTj. do tjje^.? You cap tl^iik.
Lejin^ to think c^ajefuUy, xegi;%ly, so fja to.
tjiink with pleasure.
I ]^w some young peopj^p, Tjdio ha^ *^o 9?^
threna s^a^tp ir^ggini^Ty livei?, ^M^lf^ tbpy tpcdj:
208 HOW TO DO IT.
in the Shenandoah Valley in Virginia. Eoberfc
used to plan the whole house and grounds ; just
what horses he would keep, what hounds, what
cows, and other stock. He planned all the
neighbors* houses, and who should live in them.
There were the Fairfaxes, very nice, but rather
secesh; and the Sydneys, who had been loyal
through and through. There was that plucky
Frank Fairfax, and that pretty Blanche Sydney.
Then there were riding parties, archery parties^
picnics on the river, expeditions to the Natural
Bridge, and once a year a regular "meet" for a
fox-hunt. _
"Springfield, twenty-five minutes for refresh-
ments," says the conductor, and Eobert is left to
take up his history some other time.
It is a very good plan to have not simply
stories on hand, as he had, but to be ready to
take up the way to plan your garden, the ar-
rangement of your books, the order of next' year's
Beading Club, or any other truly good subjects
which have been laid by for systematic thinking,
the first time you are alone. Bear this in mind as
HOW TO DO IT. 209
you read. If you had been General Sullivan, at
the battle of Brandywine, you are not quite cer-
tain whether you would have done as he did.
No. Well, then, keep that for a nut to crack the
first time you have to be alone. What would
you have done?
This matter of being prepared to think is really
a pretty important matter, if you find some night
that you have to watch with a sick friend. You
must not read, write, or talk there. But you must
keep awake. Unless you mean to have the time
pass dismally slow, you must have your regular
topics to think over, carefully and squarely.
An imaginary conversation, such as Madame
de Genlis describes, is an excellent resource at
such a time. . " ,
Many aad many a time, as I have been grinding
along at night on some railway in the Middle
States, when it was too early to sleep, and too
late to look at the scenery, have I called into
imaginary council a circle of the nicest people
in the world.
''Let me suppose," I would say to myself, "that
u
I
21Q ^0W TO DO IS.
WQ were all at Mia Tile^toix's in the fix)iit piirlo^
where the light falls so beautifully on th^ l^^^*:
log face and shoulder of that Bacchai^t^. X/^t mf^
suppose that besides I^ilrs. Til^tpn, Edith w£^
there^ and Emily an4 Carrie and Halibustoii s^i
Fred. Suppose just then the door-bell rang, a^d
Mr. Char^ ^umner came up st^in^ ^e^ ^roon
Washington. What should we all say and da?,
" Why, of course we sho^hi be ^ad to see h^
and we should ask hii^i about Washington and tb^
Session, — what sort of ^ perspn 14<ly Bcucg ^s^
— and whether it was re%Uy true) th^t GeneiQl
Butler said that bright thing about th^ Gpvernoc
of Arkansas^
''And Mr. Sumner -^ould aoy th^t Cf^^ral
Butler said a much better thing than th^t. "E^
said that m-m-m-mr-m — :
" Then Mrs. Ti^toi^ would say, ' 0, 1 thought,
that srs-s-e-s — *
" Thj^ I should say, f Q no^ I I am wr% tbat$
U-Ur-U-U — , &c.*
" Then Edith would laugh and say,. • Why, Vlc^
Mr. Qalcy. I m S3u;e t^ &p,, ^, &p., ^' ''
HOW %0 DO m 211
Yqu will finfl that the d^Tyiog out an inaagi*
nary conversation, wh.erQ yoi^ really fill the^^
Idanks, and n^iako the remarks o( th^ diJGfer^t
people in chjaractea:^ ^ a YjEsry good entertainment,
— what we called very good fun when you and I
were at siehQol,— ajad helps along tb^ hour^ of
your watching or of yqifr travel greatly.
Second, as I oaid, there i^ reading. Ijfqw X
have already gone into some detail in this ntdic
ter. Bi;t under the head, of spUtude, this ift to
be added, that one i& oftei^ alone^ when he can
read. And hooks^ of course,, are suph a lu;8:ury.
But do you know tbalj if you expect tp be alonOi^
you had better ta]^e with you only books enough,
and not too many ? It is an " embarr^sment of
richies/* spmetiuj^es, to find yourself with too many
books. You are tempted to lay dpwn o|ie and
take up ap^Qther; jw are te^ipted tp skip and
skim too mx|icb, 9Q that you really ^t the good
of none of them.
There is np time^ so good as the forced stopping-
pl»p.e» of tr^Yd iqx mding ^^ the b^rd. heavy
r^^^ding vWfib pustj fee dqngj^ Ijut Tyhich nfjhody
212 HOW TO DO IT.
m
wants to do. Here, for two years, I have been
trying to make you read Gibbon, and you would
not touch it at home. But if I had you in the
mission-house at Mackinaw, waiting for days for
a steamboat, and you had finished ''Blood and
Thunder," and *' Sighs and Tears,'* and then found
a copy of Gibbon in the house, I think you would
go through half of it, at least, before the steamer
came.
Walter Savage Landor used to keep five books,
and only five, by him, I have heard it said. When
he had finished one of these, and finished it com-
pletely, he gave it away, and bought another. I
do not recommend that, but I do recommend the
principle of thorough reading on which it is
founded. Do not be fiddling over too many
books at one time.
Third, " But, my dear Mr. Hale, I get so tired,
sometimes, of reading." Of course you do. Who
does not ? I never knew anybody who did not
tire of reading sooner or later. But you are alone,
as we suppose. Then be all ready to write. Take
care that your inkstand is filled as regularly as
HOW. TO DO IT. 213
■
the wash-pitcher on your washstand. Take care
that there are pens and blotting-paper, and every-
thing that you need. These should be looked to
every day, with the same care with which every
other arrangement of your room is made. JVben
I come to make you that long-promised visit, and
say to you, before my ttunk is open, " I want to
write a note, Blanche," be all ready at the instant.
Do not have to put a little water into the ink-
stand, and to run down to papa's ofl&ce for some
blotting-paper, and get the key to mamma's desk
for some paper. Be ready to write for your life,
at any moment, as Walter, there, is ready to ride
for his.
"Dear me ! Mr. Hale, I hate to write. What
shaHIsay?"
Do not say what Mr. Hale has told you, what-
ever else you do. Say what you yourself may
want to see hereafter. The chances are very small
that anybody else, save some dear friend, will
want to see what you write.
But, of course, your journal, and especially your
letters, are matters always new, for which the day
2i4 HOW TO DO rir.
iteelf ^ves plenty of subjects, and these two are
an admirable regular resort when you are alone.
As to drawing, no one can have a better draw-
ing-teacher than himsett Eemember that. And
whoever can learn to write can learn to draw.
Of all the boys who have ever entered at the
Worcester Technical School, it has proved that all
could draw, and I think the same is true at West
Point Keep your drawings, not to show to oth^r
people, but to show yourself whether you are im-
proving. And thank me, ten years hence, that I
advised yon to do so.
You do not expect me to go into detail as to
the method in which you can teach yourself.
This is, however, snre. If you will determine to
learn to see things truly, you will begin to draw
them truly. It is, for instance, almost never that
the wheel of a damage really is rbund to your
eye. It is round to your thought. But unless
your eye is exactly opposite the hub of the wheel
in the line of the axle> the #heel does not make
a circle on the retina of your eye, and etight not
to be rept^dsented by ia eirele m your drawing.
^a# TO DO IT. 215
Tb flmw well, the first resolution and the first
duty is to *ee ^ell. Second, do not suppose that
mere technical method has much te do with real
success. Soft pencil rather than hard ; sepia rather
than India ink. It h pure truth thistt tells in
drawing, and that is what you can gain. Take
perfectly simple objects, at a little distance, to
begin with. Yes, the gate-posts at the garden
gate are as good as anything. Draw the outline
as accurately as you can, but remember there is
no outline in nature, and that the outline in draw-
ing is simply conventional; represent — which
means present again, or re-present — the shadows
as well as you can. Notice is the shadow under
the cap of the post deeper than that of the side.
Then let it be re-presented so on your paper.
Do this honestly, as well as you can. Keep it to
compare with what you do next week or next
month. And if you have a chance to see a good
draughtsman work, quietly watch him, and re-
member. Do not hurry, nor try hard things at
the beginning. Above aU, do not begin with
large landscapes.
216 HOW TO DO IT.
As for singing, there is nothing that so lights
up a whole house as the strain, through the open
windows, of some one who is singing alone. We
feel sure, then, that there is at least one person in
that house who is well and is happy.
HOW TO DO IT. 217
CHAPTER XII.
HABITS IN CHUKCH.
T^ERHAPS I can fill a gap, if I say something
"^ to young people about their habits in church-
going, and in spending the hour of the church ser-
vice.
When I was a boy, we went to school on week-
days for four hours in the morning and three in
the afternoon. We went to church on Sunday at
about half past ten, and church "let out" at twelve.
We went again in the afternoon, and the service
was a little shorter. I knew and know precisely
how much shorter, for I sat in sight of the clock,
and bestowed a great deal too much attention on
it But I do not propose to tell you that.
Till I was taught some of the things which I
now propose to teach you, this hour and a half
in church seemed to me to correspond precisely
to the four hours in school, — I mean it seemed
just as long. The hour and twenty minutes of
218 HOW TO DO IT.
the aftemoon seemed to me to correspond pre-
cisely with the three hours of aftemoon schooL
After I learned some of these things, qhurch-
going seemed to me very natural and simple, and
the time I spent there was very short and very
pleasant to me.
I should say, then, that there are a great
many reasonably good boys and girls, reasonably
thoughtful, also, who find the confinement of a
pew oppressive, merely because they do not
know the best way to get the advantage of a
service, which is really of profit to children as
it is to grown-up people, — and which never has
its full value as it does when children and grown
people join together in it.
Now to any young people who are reading this
paper, and are thinking about their own habits
in church, I should say very much what I should
about swimming, or drawing, or gardening ; that,
if the thing to be done is worth doing at aU, you
want to do it with your very best power. You
want to give yourself up to it, and get the very
utmost from it
HOW TO DO IT. 210
You go to churcli, I will suppose, twice a day
on Sunday. Is it not clearly best, then, to carry
out to the very best the purpose with which you
are there ? You are there to worship God. Steadily
and simply determine that you wiU worship him,
and you wiU not let such trifles distract you as
often do distract people from this purpose.
What if the door does creak ? what if a dog
does bark near by ? what if the horses outside do
neigh or stamp ? You do not mean to confess
that you, a child of God, are going to submit to
dogs, or horses, or creaking doors !
If you will give yourself to the service with all
your heart and soul, — with all your might, as a
boy does to his batting or his catching at base-
ball ; if, when the congregation is at prayer, you
determine that you will not be hindered in your
prayer; or, when the time comes for singing,
tliat you will not be hindered from joining in
the singing with voice or with heart, — why, you
can do so. I never heard of a good fielder in
base-ball missing a fly because a dog barked, or a
horse neighed, on the outside of the ball-ground.
220 HOW TO DO IT.
■
If I kept a high school, I would call together
the school once a month, to train all hands in
the habits requisite for listeners in public assem-
blies. They should be taught that just as row-
ers in a boat-race row and do nothing else, — as
soldiers at dress parade present arms, shoulder
arms, and the rest, and do nothing else, no mat-
ter what happens, during that half-hour, — that
so, when people meet to listen to an address or
to a concert they should listen, and do nothing
else.
It is perfectly easy for people to get control
and keep control of this habit of attentioa If I
had the exercise I speak of, in a high school,
the scholars should be brought together, as I
say, and carried through a series of discipline in
presence of mind.
Books, resembling hymn-books in weight and
size, should be dropped from galleries behind
them, till they were perfectly firm under such
scattering fire, and did not look round ; squeak-
ing doUs, of the size of large children, should be
led squeaking down the passages of the school-
HOW TO DO IT. 221
Toom, and other strange objects should be intro-
duced, until the scholars were all proof, and did
not turn towards them once. Every one of those
scholars would thank me afterwards.
Think of it You give a dollar, that you may
hear one of Thomas's concerts. How little of
your money's worth you get, if twenty times, as
the concert goes on, you must turn roimd to see if
it was Mrs. Grundy who sneezed, or Mr. Bundy ;
or if it was Mr. Golightly or Mrs. Heavyside who
came in too late at the door. And this attention
to what is before you is a matter of habit and
discipline. You should determine that you will
only do in church what you go to church for,
and adhere to your determination xmtil the habit
is formed.
If you find, as a great many boys and girls do,
that the sermon in church comes in as a stum-
bling-block in the way of this resolution, that you
cannot fix your attention steadily upon it, I recom-
mend that you try taking notes of it. I have never
known this to fail
It is not necessary to do this in short-hand.
222 HOW TO DO IT.
though that is a very charming accomfdishmeni.
Any one of you can teach himself how to write
short-hand^ and there is no better practice than
you can make for yourself at church in taking
notes of sermons.
But supposing you cannot write short-hand.
Take a little book with stiff covers, such as you
can put in your pocket. The reporters use books
of ruled paper, of the length of a school writing-
book, but only two or three inches wide, and open-
ing at the end. That is a very good shape. Then
you want a pencil or two cut sharp before you go
to church. You wiU learn more easily what you
want to write than I can teach you. You cannot
write the whole, even of the shortest sentence,
without losing part of the next But you can
write the leading ideas, perhaps the leading words.
When you go home you will find you have
a " skeleton," as it is called, of the whole sermon.
And, if you want to profit by the exercise, you
may very well spend an hour of the afternoon in
writing out in neat and finished form a sketch
of some one division of it
HOW TO DO IT. 223
But, even if you do nothing with the notes
after you come home, you will find hat they
have made the sermon very short for you ; that
you have been saved from sleepiness, and that
you afterwards remember what the preacher
said, with unusual distinctness. You will also
graduaUy gain a habit of Ustening, with a view
to remembering; noticing specially the course
and train of the argument or of the statement of
any speaker.
Of course I need not say that in church you
must be reverent in manner, must not disturb
others, and must not occupy yourself intentionally
with other people's dress or demeanor. If you really
meant or wanted to do these things, you would not
be reading this paper.
But it may be worth while to say that even
children and other young people may remember to
advantage that they form a very important part
of the congregation. If, therefore, the "custom of
worship where you are arranges for responses to
be read by the people, you, who are among the
people, are to respond. If it provides for congre-
224 HOW TO DO IT.
gational singing, and you can sing the tune, you
are to sing. It is certain that it requires the
people all to be in their places when the service
begins. That you can do as well as the oldest of
them.
When the service is ended, do not huny away.
Do not enter into a wild and useless competition
with the other boys as to which shall leap off
the front steps the soonest upon the grass of the
churchyard. You can arrange much better races
elsewhere.
When the benediction is over, wait a minute in
your seat ; do not look for your hat and gloves till
it is over, and then quietly and without jostling
leave the church, as you might pass from one room
of your father's house into another, when a large
number of his friends were at a great party. That
is precisely the condition of things in which you
are all together.
Observe, dear children, I am speaking only of
habits of outside behavior at church. I inten-
tionally turn aside from speaking of the com-
munion with God, to which the church wiU help
HOW TO DO IT. 225
you, and the help from your Saviour which the
church will make real These are very great
blessings, as I hope you will know. Do not run
the risk of losing them by neglecting the lit-
tle habits of concentrated thought and of devout
and simple behavior which may make the hour in
church one of the shortest and happiest hours of
the week.
15
226 EK)w TO 4)0 rr.
CHAPTER XIII.
LIFE WITH CHILDKEN.
rriHERE is a good deal of the life of boys and
-*- girls which passes when they are with other
boys and girls, and involves some difficulties with
a great many pleasures, all its own. It is gen-
erally taken for granted that if the children are
by themselves, all will go weU. And if you
boys and gurls did but know it, many very com-
plimentary things are said about you in this veiy
matter. "Children do understand each other so
well" '^ Children get along so well with each
other/* " I feel quite relieved when the children
find some companions." This sort of thing is said
behind the children's backs at the very moment
when the same children, quite strangers to each
other, are wishing that they were at home them-
selves, or at least that these sudden new com-
panions were.
There is a well-studied picture of this mixed-
HOW^O DO IT. 227
up life of boys and girls with other boys and girls
who are quite strangers to them in the end of Miss
Edgeworth's " Sequel to Frank," — a book which I
cannot- get the young people to read as much as
I wish they would. And I do not at this moment
remember any other sketch of it in fiction quite
so well managed, with so little overstatement, and
mth so much real good sense which children may
remember to advantage.
Of course, in the first place, you are to do as
you would be done by. But, when you have said
this, a question is still involved, for you do not
know for a moment how you would be done by ;
or if you do know, you know simply that you
would like to be let off from the company of
these new-found friends. "If I did as I would
be done by," said Clara, ''I should turn round
and walk to the other end of the piazza, and I
should leave the whole party of these strange
girls alone. I was having a very good time
without them, and I dare say they would have
a better time without me. But papa brought
m6 to them, and said their fathet was in college
228 HOW T(S%0 IT.
with him, and that he wanted that we should
know each other. So I could not do, in that case,
exactly as I would be done by without displeasing
papa, and that would not be doing to him at all
as I would be done by."
The English of all this is, my dear Clara,
that in that particular exigency on the piazza at
Newbury you had a nice book, and you would
have been glad to be left alone; nay, at the
bottom of your heart, you would be glad to be
left alone a good deal of your life. But you do
not want to be loft alone all your life. And
if your father had taken you to Old Point Com-
fort for a month, instead of Newbury, and you
were as much a stranger to the ways there as this
shy Lucy Percival is to our Northern ways at
Newbury, you would be very much obliged to
any nice Virginian girl who swallowed down her
dislike of Yankees in general, and came and wel-
comed you as prettily as, in fact, you did the Per-
civals when your father brought you to thenL
The doing as you would be done by requires a
study of all the conditions, not of the mere out-
side accident of the moment.
HOW » DO IT. 22s/
The direction familiarly given is that We should
meet strangers half-way. But I do not find that
this wholly answers. These strangers may be
represented by globules of quicksilver, or, in-
deed, of water, on a marble table. Suppose you
pour out two little globules of quicksilver at
each of two points • • like these two. Sup-
pose you make the globules just so large that they
meet half-way, thus, 00. At the points where
they touch they only touch. It even seems as
if there were a little repulsion, so that they
shrink away from each other. But, if you will
enlarge one of the drops never so little, so that
it shall meet the other a very little beyond half-
way, why, the two will gladly run together into
one, and will even forget that they ever have been
parted. That is the true rule for meeting stran-
gers. Meet them a little bit more than half-way.
You will find in life that the people who do this
are the cheerful people, and happy, who get the
most out of society, and, indeed, are everywhere
prized and loved. All this is worth saying in
a book published in Boston, Jt{|g|9(m||^=iittl«:^ng-
/'^^^ or "xii' ' M x
'^ or rii '
(Miiiv&r.
»* .5
230 HOW T* DO Tt.
landers inherit a great deal of the English shy-
ness, — ivhich the French call " manvaise honte,"
or " bad shame/* — and they need to be cautious
particularly to meet strangers a little more than
half-way. Boston people, in particular, are said
to suffer from the habits of " distance " or " re-
serve/*
" But I am sure I do not know what to say to
them,*' says Eobert, who with a good deal of diffi-
culty has been made to read this paper thus far.
My dear Bob, have I said that you must talk to
them ? I knew you pretended that you could not
talk to people, though yesterday, when I was
trying to get my nap in the hammock, I certainly
heard a great deal of rattle from somebody wha
was fixing his boat with Clem Waters in the
woodhouse. But I have never supposed that you
were to sit in agreeable conversation about the
weather, or the opera, with these strange boys and
girls. Nobody but prigs would do that, and I am
glad to say you are not a prig. But if you were
turned in on two or three boys as Clara was oh
the Percival gids, a good thing to say would h^.
HOW Tt DO m 231
"Would you like to go in swimming ? ** ot "How
would you like to see us clean our fish ? " or " I
am going up to set snares for rabbits ; how would
you like to go ? " Give them a piece of youiselfl
That is what I mean by meeting more than half-
way. Frankly, honorably, without unfair reserve,
— which is to say, like a gentleman, — share with
these strangers some part of your own life which
makes you happy. Clara, there, will do the
same thing. She will take these girls to ride, or
she will teach them how to play " copack," or she
will tell them about her play of the "Sleeping
Beauty," and enlist some of them to take parts.
This is what I mean by meeting people more than
half-way.
It may be that some of the chances of life
pitchfork in upon you and your associates a bevy
of little children smaller than yourselves, whom
you are expected to keep an eye upon. This is a
much severer trial of your kindness, and of your
good sense also, than the mere introduction to
strange boys and girls of your own age. Little
chiltben seam vary exacting. They are not so to
232 HOW TO DO rr.
a person who understands how to manage them.
But very likely you do not imderstand, and,
whether you do or do not, they require a constant
eye. You will find a good deal to the point in
Jonas's directions to RoUo, and in Beechnut's
directions to those children in Vermont ; and per-
haps in what Jonas and Beechnut did with the
boys and girls who were hovering round them
all the time you will find more light than in their
directions. Children, particularly little children,
are very glad to be directed, and to be kept even
at work, if they are in the company of older per-
sons, and think they are working with them.
Jonas states it thus : '^ Boys will do any amount
of work if there is somebody to plan for them,
and they will like to do it." K there is any un-
dertaking of an afternoon, and you find tihat there
is a body of the younger children who want to be
with you who are older, do not make them and
yourselves unhappy by rebuking them for "tag-
ging after" you. Of course they tag after you.
At their age you were glad of such improving com-
pany as yours is. It has made you what you aze.
HOW TO DO IT. 233
Instead of scolding them, then, just avail your-
selves of their presence, and make the occasion
comfortable to them, by giving them some occupa-
tion for their hands. See how cleverly Fanny is
managing down on the beach with those four little
imps. Fanny really wants to draw, and she has
her water-colors, and Edward Holiday has his and
is teaching her. And these four children from
the hotel have " tagged " down after her. You
would say that was too bad, and you would
send them home, I am afraid. Fanny has not
said any such thing. She has " accepted the posi-
tion," and made herself queen of it, as she is
apt to do. She showed Reginald, first of all, how
to make a rainbow of pebbles, — violet pebbles,
indigo pebbles, blue pebbles, and so on to red
ones. She explained that it had to be quite large
so as to give the good effect. In a minute EUen
had the idea and started another, and then little
Jo began to help Ellen, and Phil to help Rex.
And there those four children have been tramp-
ing back and forth over the beach for an hour,
bringing and sorting and arranging colored peb-
234 ' HOW TO DO IT.
bles, while Edward and Fanny have gone on
quietly with their drawing.
In short, the great thing with children, as with
grown people, is to give them something to do.
You can take a child of two years on your knee,
while there is reading aloud, so that the company
hopes for silence. WeU, if you only tell that
child to be stiU,he will be wretched in one minute,
and in two will be on the floor and rushing wildly
all round the room. But if you will take his
little plump hand and " pat a cake " it on yours, or
make his little fat fingers into steeples or letters
or rabbits, you can keep him quiet without say-
ing a single word for half an hour. At the end of
the most tiresome railway journey, when every-
body in the car is used up, the children most of
all, you can cheer up these poor tired little things
who have been riding day and night for six days
from Pontchatrain, if you will take out a pair of
scissors and cut out cats and dogs and dancing-
girls from the newspaper or from the back of a
letter, and will teach them how to parade them
along on the velvet c^ the car. Indeed, I am not
HOW TO DO IT. 235
quite sure bnt you will aitertain jrourseK as
much as any of them.
In any acting of charades, any arrangement of
tableaux vivans, or similar amusements, you will
always find that the little children are well
pleased, and, indeed, are fully satisfied, if they also
can be pressed into the service as " slaves " or " sol-
diers," or, as the procession-makers say, " citizens
generally," or what the stage-managers call super-
numeraries. They need not be intnisted with
*' speaking parts" ; it is enough for them to know
that they are recognized as a part of the company.
I do not think that I enjoy anything more than
I do watching a birthday party of children who
have known each other at a good Kinder-Garten
school like dear Mrs. Heard's. Instead of sitting
wearily around the sides of the room, with only
such variations as can be rendered by a party of
rude boys playing tag up and down the stairs and
in the hall, these children, as soon as four of them
arrive, begin to play some of the games they have
been used to playing at school, or branch off into
other games which neither school nor recess has
236 HOW TO DO IT.
all the appliances for. This is because these chil-
dren are trained together to associate with each
other. The misfortune of most schools is that,
to preserve the discipline, the children are trained
to have nothing to do with each other, and it is
only at recess, or in going and coming, that they
get the society which is the great charm and only
value of school life. In college, or in any good
academy, things are so managed that young men
study together when they choose ; and there is no
better training. In any way you manage it, bring
that about. If the master will let you and Sachel
sit on the garden steps while you study the Te-
lemachus, — or if you, Robert and Horace, can
go up into the beKry and work out the Algebra
together, it will be better for the Telemachus, bet-
ter for the Algebra, and much better for you.
HOW TO DO IT. 237
CHAPTEE XIV.
LIFE WITH YOUR ELDERS.
TTAVE you ever read Amyas Leigh ? Amyas
-^ — ■- Leigh is an historical novel, written by
Charies Kingsley, an English author. His object,
or one of his objects, was to extol the old system
of education, the system which trained such men
as Walter Raleigh and Philip Sidney.
The system was this. When a boy had grown
up to be fourteen or fifteen years old, he was sent
away from home by his father to some old friend
of his father, who took him into his train or com-
pany for whatever service or help he could render.
And so, of a sudden, the boy found himself con-
stantly in the company of men, to learn, as he
could, what they were doiDg, and to become a
man himself under their contagion and sympa-
thy.
We have abandoned this system. We teach
boys and girls as much from books as we can, and
238 HOW TO DO IT.
we give them all the fewer chances to learn from
people or from life.
None the less do the boys and girls meet men
and women. And I think it is well worth our
while, in these papers, to see how much good and
how much pleasure they can get from the com-
panionship.
I reminded you, in the last chapter, of Jonas
and Beechnut's wise advice about little children.
Do you remember what Jonas told Eollo, when
Eollo was annoyed because his father would not
take him to ride ? That instruction belongs to our
present subject. Eollo was very fond of riding
with his father and mother, but he thought he did
not often get invited, and that, when he invited
himself, he was often refused. He confided in
Jonas on the subject. Jonas told him substan-
tially two things : First, that his father would not
ask him any the more often because he teased bim
for an invitation. The teazing was in itself wrong,
and did not present him in an agreeable light to
his father and mother, who wanted a pleasant com-
panion, if they wanted any. This was the first
HOW TO DO IT. 239
thing. The second was that Eollo did, not make
himseK agreeable when he did ride. He soon
wanted water to drink. Or he wondered when
they should get home. Or he complained because
the sun shone in his eyes. He made what the
inn-keeper called " a great row generally," and so
when his father and mother took their next ride,
if they wanted rest and quiet, they were very apt
not to invite him. Eollo took the hint. The next
time he had an invitation to ride, he remembered
that he was the invited party, and bore himself
•
accordingly. He did not " pitch in " in the con-
versation. He did not obtrude his own affairs.
He answered when be was spoken to, listened
when he was not spoken to, and found that he
was well rewarded by attending to the things
which interested his father and mother, and to the
matters he was discussing with her. And so it
came about that Eollo, by not offering himself
again as captain of the party, became a frequent
and a favorite companion.
Now in that experience of Eollo*s there is in-
volved a good deal of the philosophy of the inter-
240 HOW TO DO IT.
course between young people and their elders.
Yes, I know what you are saying, Theodora and
George, just as well as if I heard you. You are
saying that you are sure you do not want to go
among the old folks, — certainly you shall not go
if you are not wanted. But I wish you to observe
that sometimes you must go among them, whether
you want to or not ; and if you must, there are
two things to be brought about, — first, that you
get the utmost possible out of the occasion;
and, second, that the older people do. So, if you
please, we will not go into a huff about it, but
look the matter in the face, and see if there
is not some simple system which governs the
whole.
Do you remember perhaps, George, the first time
you found out what good reading there was in
men's books, — that day when you had sprained
your ankle, and found Mayne Eeid palled a lit-
tle bit, — when I brought you Lossing's Field-Book
of the Revolution, as you sat in the wheel-chair,
and you read away upon that for hours ? Do you
remember how, when you were getting well, you
HOW TO DO IT. 241
used to limp into my room, and I let you hook
down books with the handle of your crutch, so
that you read the English Parrys and Captain
Back, and then got hold of my great Schoolcraft
and Catlin, and finally improved your French a
good deal, before you were well, on the thirty-
nine volumes of Gramier's " Imaginary Voyages " ?
You remember that? So do I. That was your
first experience in grown-up people's books, —
books that are not written down to the supposed
comprehension of children. Now there is an ex-
perience just like that open to each of you, The-
odora and George, whenever you will choose to
avail yourselves of it in the society of grown-up
people, if you will only take that society simply
and modestly, and behave like the sensible boy
and girl that you really are.
Do not be tempted to talk among people who
are your elders. Those horrible scrapes that Frank
used to get into, such as Hsury once got into, arose,
like most scrapes in this world, from their want
of ability to hold their tongues. Speak when you
are spoken to, not till then^ and then get off
16
242 HOW TO DO IT.
with as little talk as you can. After the second
French revolution, my young friend Walter used
to wish that there might be a third, so that he
might fortunately be in the gallery of the revolu-
tionary convention just when everything came to
a dead lock ; and he used to explain to us, as we
sat on the parallel bars together at recess, how he
would just spring over the front of the gallery,
swing himseK across to the canopy above the
Speaker's seat, and slide down a column to the
Tribune, there "where the orators speak, you
know," and how he would take advantage of
the surprise to address them in their own lan-
guage ; how he would say **Frangais, — mesfrhres "
(which means. Frenchmen, — brothers); and how,
in such strains of burning eloquence, he would set
all right so instantaneously that he would be pro-
claimed Dictator, placed in a carriage instantly, and
drawn by an adoring and grateful people to the
Palace of the Tuileries, to live there for the rest
of his natural life. It was natural for Walter to
think he could do all that if he got the chance. But
I remember, in planning it out, he never got much
HOW TO DO IT. 243
beyond " Francis, — mes frhresl' and in forty
years this summer, in which time four revolu-
tions have taken place in France, Walter haa
never found the opportunity. It is seldom,
very seldom, that in a mixed company it is
necessary for a boy of sixteen, or a girl of fifteen,
to get the others out of d difl&culty. You may
bum to interrupt, and to cry out "Frangais, — rties
fr^res" but you had better bite your tongue, and
sit stilL Do not explain that Rio Janeiro is the
capital of BraziL In a few minutes it will appear
that they all knew it, though they did not mention
it, and, by your waiting, you will save yourseK
horrible mortification.
Meanwhile you are learning things in the nicest
way in the world. Do not you think that Amyas
Leigh enjoyed what he learned of Guiana and the
Orinoco River much more than you enjoy aU you
have ever learned of it ? Yes. He learned it all
by going there in the company of Walter Ralqigh
and sundry other such men. Suppose, George,
that you could get the engineers, Mr. Bumell and
Mr. Philipson, to take you with them when they
244 QOW TO DO IT.
ran the new railroad line^ this summer, through
the passes of the Adirondack Monntains. Do you
not think you shall enjoy that more even than
reading Mr. Murray's book, {ai more than studying
levelling and surveying in the first class at the
High School Get a chance to carry chain for
them, if you can. No matter if you lose at school
two medals, three diplomas, and four double pro-
motions by your absence. Come round to me
some afternoon, and I will tell you in an hour all
the school-boys learned while you were away in
the mountains ; all, I mean, that you cannot make
up in a well-used month after your return.
And please to remember this, all of you, though
it seems impossible. Eemember it as a fact, even
tf you cannot account for it, that though we all
seem so old to you, just as if we were dropping
into our graves, we do not, in practice, feel any
older than we did when we were sixteen. True,
we have seen the folly of a good many things
which you want to see the folly of We do not,
therefore, in practice, sit on the rocks in the spray
quite so near to the water as you do ; and we go
HOW TO DO IT. 245
to bed a little earlier, even on moonlight nights.
This is the reason that, when the whole merry
party meet at breakfast, we are a little more apt
to be in our places than — some young people I
know. But, for all that, we do not feel any older
than we did when we were sixteen. We enjoy
building with blocks as well, and we can do it a
great deal better; we like the "Arabian Nights"
just as well as we ever did ; and we can laugh at
a good charade quite as loud as any of you can.
So you need not take it on yourselves to suppose
that because you are among "old people," — by
which you mean married people, — all is lost, and
that the hours are to be stupid and forlorn,. .The
best series of parties, lasting year in and out, that
I have ever known, were in Worcester, Massachti-
setts, where old and young people associated to-
gether more commonly and frequently than in
any other town I ever happened to live in, and
where, for that very reason, society was on the
best footing. I have seen a boy of twelve take
a charming lady, three times his age, down Pearl
Street on his sled. And I have ridden in a riding
246 H(^ TO DO IT.
party to. Paradise with twenty other horsemen an:d
with twenty-one horsewomen, of whom tiie young-
est, Theodora, was younger than you are, and quite
as pretty, and the oldest very likely was a judge
on the Supreme Bench. I will not say that she
did not like to have one of the judges ride up and
talk with her quite as well as if she had been left
to Ferdinand Fitz-Mortimer. I will say that some
of the Fitz-Mortimer tribe did not ride as well as
they did ten years after.
Above all, dear children, work out in life the
problem or the method by which you shall be a
great deal with your father and your mother.
There is no joy in life like the joy you can have
with them. Fun or learning, sorrow or jollity, you
can share it with them as with nobody beside.
You are just like your father, Theodora, and you,
Greorge, I see your mother's face in you as you
stand behind the bank coimter, and I wonder
what you have done with your curls. I say
you are just like. I am tempted to say you
are the same. And you can and you will draw
in from them notions and knowledges, lights
I
HOW TO DO jr.
247
on life, and impulses and directions which no
books will ever teach you, and which it is a
shame to work out from long experience, when
you can — as you can — have them as your birth-
right
:^.
^i;rp
y^'
213 HOW TO DO IT.
CHAPTEE XV.
HABITS OF KEADma
X HAVE devoted two chapters of this book to
"^ the matter of Eeading, speaking of the selec-
tion of books and of the way to read them. But
since those papers were first printed, I have had
I know not how many nice notes from young peo^
pie, in all parts of this land, asking all sorts of ad-
ditional directions. Where the matter has seemed
to me private or local, I have answered them in
private correspondence. But I believe I can bring
together, under the head of "Habits of Eeading,"
some additional notes, which will at least rein-
force what has been said already, and will perhaps
give clearness and detail
All young people read a good deal, but I do not
see that a great deal comes of it. They think
they have to read a good many newspapers and a
good many magazines. These are entertaining, —
they are very entertaining. But it is not always
HOW TO DO IT. 249
certain that the reader gets from them just what
he needs. On the other hand, it is certain that
people who only read the current newspapers and
magazines get very little good from each other's
society, because they are all fed with just the
same intellectual food. You hear them repeat to
each other the things they have all read in the
" Daily Trumpet," or the " Saturday Woodpecker."
In these things, of course, there can be but little
variety, all the Saturday Woodpeckers of the
same date being very much like each other.
When, therefore, the people in the same circle
meet each other, their conversation cannot be
called very entertaining or very improving, if
this is all they have to draw upon. It reminds
one of the pictures in people's houses in the days
of " Art Unions." An Art Union gave you, once
a year, a very cheap engraving. But it gave the
same engraving to everybody. So, in every house
you went to, for one year, you saw the same men
dancing on a flat-boat. Then, a year after, you
saw Queen Mary signing Lady Jane Grey's death-
warrant. She kept signing it all the time. You
250 HOW TO DO IT.
•
might make seventeen visits in an afternoon.
Everywhere you saw her signing away on that
death-warrant. You came to be very tired of the
death-warrant and of Queen Mary. Well, that is
much the same way in which seventeen people
improve each other, who have all been reading
the " Daily Trumpet " and the " Saturday Wood-
pecker/* and have read nothing beside.
I see no objection, however, to light reading,
desultoiy reading, the reading of newspapers, or
the reading of fiction, if you take enough ballast
with it, so that these light kites, as the sailors
call them, may not carry your ship over in some
sudden gale. The principle of sound habits of
reading, if reduced to a precise rule, comes out
thus: That for each hour of light reading, of
what we read for amusement, we ought to take
another hour of reading for instruction. Nor have
I any objection to stating the same rule backward ;
for that is a poor rule that will not work both
ways. It is, I think, true, that for every hour we
give to grave reading, it is well to give a corre-
sponding hour to what is light and amusiog.
HOW TO DO IT. 251
Now a great deal more is possible under this
rule than you boys and girls think at first Some
of the best students in the world, who have ad-
vanced its affairs farthest in their particular lines,
have not in practice studied niore than two hours
a day. Walter Scott, except when he was goaded
to death, did not work more. Dr. Bowditch trans-
lated the great MScanique CSleste in less than two
hours' daily labor. I have told you already of
George livermore. But then this work was regu-
lar as the movement of the planets which Dr.
Bowditch and La Place described. It did not stop
for whim or by accident, more than Jupiter stops
in his orbit because a holiday comes round.
" But what in the world do you suppose Mr.
Hale means by 'grave reading,* or 'improving
reading ' ? Does he mean only those stupid books
that ' no gentleman's library should be without ' ?
I suppose somebody reads them at some time, or
they would not be printed ; but I am sure I do
not know when or where or how to begin."
This is what Theodora says to Florence, when
they have read thus far.
252 HOW TO DO IT.
Let VLB see. In the first place> you are not,
all of you, to attempt everything. Do one thing
well, and read one subject well; that is much
better than reading ten subjects shabbily and
carelessly. What is your subject ? It is not hard
to find that out. Here you* are, living perhaps on
the very road on which the English troops marched
to Lexington and Concord. In one of the beams
of the bam there is a hole made by a musket-ball,
which was fired as they retreated. How much do
you know of that march of theirs ? How much
have you read of the accounts that were written
of it the next day? Have you ever read Ban-
croft's account of it? or Botta's? or Frothing-
ham*s ? There is a large book, which you can
get at without much difficulty, called the " Amer-
ican Archives." The Congress of this country
ordered its preparation, at immense expense, that
you and people like you might be able to study,
in detail, the early history in the original docu-
ments, which are reprinted there. In that book
you will find the original accounts of the battle
as they were published in the next issues of the
HOW TO DO IT. 253
Massachusetts newspapers. You will find the
official reports written home by the English offi-
cers. You will find the accounts published by
order of the Provincial Congress. When you
have read these, you begin to know something
about the battle .of Lexington.
Then there are such books as General Heath's
Memoirs, written by people who were in the bat-
tle, giving their account of what passed, and how
it was done. If you really want to know about a
piece of history which transpired in part under
the windows of your house, you will find you
can very soon bring together the improving and
very agreeable solid reading which my rule de-
mands.
Perhaps you do not live by the road that leads
to Lexington. Everybody does not. Still you
live somewhere, and you live next to something.
As Dr. Thaddeus Harris said to me (Yes, Harry,
the same wh# made your insect-book), "If you
have nothing else to study, you can study the
mosses and lichens hanging on the logs on the
woodpile in the woodhouse." Try that winter
254 HOW TO DO rr.
botany. Observe for yourself, and bring together
the books that will teach you the laws of growth
of those wonderful plants. At the end of a win-
ter of such careful study I believe you could have
more knowledge of God*s work in that realm of
nature than any man in America now has, if I
except perhaps some five or six of the most dis'
tinguished naturalists.
I have told you about making your own index
to any important book you reetd. I ought to have
advised you somewhere not to buy many books.
If you are reading in books from a library, never,
as you are a decently well-behaved boy or girl,
never make any sort of mark upon a page which
is not your own. All you need, then, for your
index, is a little page of paper, folded in where
you can use it for a book-mark, on which you
will make the same memorandum which you
would h^tve made on the fly-leaf^ were the book
your own. In tins case you will li^p these mem-
orandum pages together in your scrap-book, so
that you can easily find them. And if, as is
very likely, you have to refer to the book after-
HOW TO DO IT. 255
ward, in another edition, you will be glad if your
first reference has been so precise that you can
easily find the place, although the paging is
changed. John Locke's rule is this : Eefer to
the page, with another reference to the num-
ber of pages in the volume. At the same time
tell how many volumes there are in the set you
use. You would enter Charles II.'s escape from
England, as described in the Pictorial History of
England, thus : —
" Charles II. escapes after battle of Worcester.
« Pictorial Hist. Eng. gl. Vol. |"
You will have but little difficulty in finding
your place in any edition of the Pictorial History,
if you have made as careful a reference as this is.
My own pupils, if I may so call the young
friends who read with me, wiU laugh when they
see the direction that you go to the original au-
thorities whenever you can do so. For I send
them on very l|*rd-working tramps, that they may
find the original authorities, and perhaps they
think that I am a little particular about it Of
course, it depends a good deal on what your cir-
256 HOW TO DO IT.
cumstances are, whether you can go to the origi-
nals. But if you are near a large library, the
sooner you can cultivate the habit of looking in the
original writers, the more will you enjoy the study
of history, of biography, of geography, or of any
other subject. It is stupid enough to learn at
school, that the Bay of God's Mercy is in K Lati-
tude 73^ W. Longitude 117®. But read Captain
McClure''s account of the way the Eesolute ran
into the Bay of God*s Mercy, and what good rea-
son he had for naming it so, and I think you will
never again forget where it is, or look on the
words as only the answer to a stupid " map ques-
tion."
I was saying very much what I have been
writing, last Thursday, to Ella, with whom I had
a nice day's sail ; and she, who is only too eager
about her reading and study, said she did not
know where to begin. She felt her ignorance so
terribly about every separate thing that she
wanted to take hold everywhere. - She had been
reading Lothair, and found she knew nothing
about Garibaldi and the battle of Aspramonte.
HOW TO DO IT. 257
Then she had been talking about the long Arctic
days with a traveller, and she found she knew
nothing about the Arctic regions. She was
ashamed to go to a concert, and not know the dif-
ference between the lives of Mozart and of Men-
delssohn. I had to tell Ella, what I have said to
you, that we cannot all of us do all things. Far
less can we do them all at once. I reminded her
of the rule for European travelling, — which you
may be sure is good, — that it" is better to spend
three days in one place than one day each in three
places. And I told Ella that she must apply the
same rule to subjects. Take these very instances.
If she really gets well acquainted with Mendels-
sohn's life, — -"feels that she knows him, his habit of
writing, and what made him what he was, — she
will enjoy every piece of his music she ever hears
with ten times the interest it had for her before.
But if she looks him out in a cyclopaedia and for-
gets him, and looks out Mercadante and forgets
him, and finally mixes up Mozart and Merca-
dante and Mendelssohn and Meyerbeer,^ because
all four of these names begin with M, why, she
17
258 HOW TO DO IT.
will be where a great many very nice "boys and
girls are who go to concerts, but where as sensible
a girl as Ella does not want to be, and where I
hope none of you want to be for whom I am
writing.
But perhaps this is more than need be said
after what is in Chapters V. and VI. Now you
may put down this book and read for recreation.
Shall it*be the "Bloody Dagger," or shall it be
the " Injured GranAnother " X
HOW TO DO IT. 259
CHAPTEE XVI.
GETTING READY.
"TTTHEKT I have written a quarter part of this
paper the horse and wagon will be brought
round, and I shall call for Ferguson and Putnam
to go with me for a swim. When I stop s,t Fer-
guson's house, he will himself* come to the door
with his bag of towels, — I shall not even leave
the wagon, — Ferguson will jump in, and then we
shall drive to Putnam's. When we come to Put-
nam's house, Ferguson wiU jump out and ring
the belL A girl will come to the door, and Fer-
guson wiU ask her to teU Horace that we have
come for him. She will look a little confused, aa
if she did not know where he was, but she will
go and find him. Ferguson and I will wait in the
wagon three or four minutes and then Horace wiU
come. Ferguson will ask him if he has his towels,
and he will say, " no, I laid them down when I
was packing my lunch," and he will run and get
260 HOW TO DO IT.
them. Just as we start, he will ask me to exctsb^^
him just a moment, and he will run back for a
letter his father wants him to post as we come
home. Then we shall go and have a good swim
together.*
Now, in the regular line of literature made and
provided for young people, I should go on and make
out that Ferguson, simply by his habit of prompt-
nessaad by being in the right place when he is
needed, would riae rapidly to the highest posts
of honor and command, becoming indeed Khan of
Tartary, or President of the United States, as the
exigencies and costume of the story might requira
But Horace, merely from not being ready on oc-
casion, would miserably decline, and come to a
wretched felon's end; owing it, indeed, only to
the accident of his early acquaintance with Fer-
guson, that, when the sheriff is about to hang him,
a pardon arrives just in time from him (the Presi-
dent). But I shall not carry out for you any such
horrible picture of these two good fellows' fates.
* P. S« — We have been and returned, and all has happened
substantially as I said.
HOW TO DO IT. 261
In my judgment, one of these results is almost as
horrible as is the other. I will tell you, however,
that the habit of being ready is going to make
for Ferguson a great deal of comfort in this world,
and bring him in a great deal of enjoyment. And,
on the other hand, Horace the Unready, as they
would have called him in French history, will
work through a great deal of discomfort and mor-
tification before he rids himself of the habit which
I have illustrated for you. It is true that he has
a certain rapidity, which somebody calls " shifti-
ness," of resolution and of performance, which
gets him out of his scrapes as rapidly as he gets
in. But there is a good deed, of vital power
lost in getting in and getting out, which might
be spent to better purpose, — for pure enjoy-
ment, or for helping other people to pure en-
joyment
The art of getting ready, then, shall be the clos-
ing subject of this little series of papers. Of
course, in the wider sense, all education might be
called the axt of getting ready, as, in the broad-
est sense of all, I hope all you children remember
262 HOW TO DO IT.
every day that the whole of this life is the get-
ting ready for life beyond this. Bear that in mind,
and you will not say that this is a trivial aocom-
plishment of Ferguson's, which makes him always
a welcome companion, often and often gives him
the power of rendering a favor to somebody who
has forgotten something, and, in short, in the twen-
ty-four hours of every day, gives to him " all the
time there is." It is also one of those accomplish-
ments, as I believe, which can readily be learned
or gained, not depending materially on tempera-
ment or native constitution. It comes almost of
course to a person who has his various powers
well in hand, — who knows what he can do, and
what he cannot do, and does not attempt more
than he can perform. On the other hand, it is an
accomplishment very difficult of acquirement to a
boy who has not yet found what he is good for,
who has forty irons in the fire, and is changing
from one to another as rapidly as the circus-rider
changes, or seems to change, from Mr. Pickwick to
Sam WeUer.
Form the habit, then, of looking at to-morrow
HOW TO DO IT. 263
as if yon were the master of to-morrow, and not
its slave. " There 's no such word as fail ! " That
is 'v^at Eichelieu says to the boy, and in the real
conviction that you can control such circum-
stances as made Horace late for our ride, you have
the power that will master them. As Mrs. Henry
said to her husband, about leaping over the high
bar, — "Throw your heart over, John, and your
heels will go over." That is a very fine remark,
and it covers a great many problems in Ufe besides
those of circus-riding. You are, thus far, master
of to-morrow. It has not outflanked you, nor
circumvented you at any point. You do not pro-
pose that it shall. What, then, is the first thing
to be sought by way of "getting ready," of prepa-
ration ?
It is vivid imagination of to-morrow. Ask in
advance. What time does the train start ? Answer,
" Seven minutes of eight." What time is break-
fast ? Answer, " For the family, half past seven."
Then I will now, lest it be forgotten, ask Mary to
give me a cup of coffee at seven fifteen ; and, lest
she should forget it, I will write it on this card.
264 HOW TO DO IT.
kad she may tuck the card in her kitchen-clock
case. What have I to take in the train ? Ansiuer,
*' Father's foreign letters, to save the English tfxaiL,
my own "Young Folks " to be bound, and Fanny's
breast-pin for a new pin." Then I hang my hand-
bag now on the peg under my hat, put into it the
" Young Folks " and the breast-pin box, and ask
father to put into it the English letters when they
are done. Do you not see that the more exact the
work of the imagination on Tuesday, the less petty
strain will there be on memory when Wednes-
day comes ? If you have made that preparation,
you may lie in bed Wednesday morning till the
ver}'- moment which shall leave you time enough
for washing and dressing; then you may take
your breakfast comfortably, may strike your train
accurately, and attend to your commissions
easily. Whereas Horace, on his method of life,
would have to get up early to be sure that his
things were brought together, in the confusion
of the morning would not be able to find No. 11
of the " Young Folks," in looking for that would
lose his breakfast, and afterwards would lose
HOW TO DO IT. 265
the train, and, looking back on his day, would
find that he rose early, came to town late, and
did not get to the bookbinder's, after aU. The
relief from such blunders and annoyance comes,
I say, in a lively habit of imagination, fore-
casting the thing that is to be done. Once fore-
cast in its detail, it is very easy to get ready
for it.
Do you not remember, in " Swiss Family Eobin-
Bon," that when they came to a very hard pinch
for want of twine or scissors or nails, the mother,
Elizabeth, always had it in her " wonderful bag " ?
I was young enough when I first read " Swiss
Family " to be really taken in by this, and to think
it magic. Indeed, I supposed the bag to be a
lady's work-bag of beads or melon-seeds, such as
were then in fashion, and to have such quantities
of things come out of it was in no wise short of
magic. It was not for many, many years that I
observed that Francis sat on this bag in his tub, as
they sailed to the shore. In those later years,
however, I also noticed a sneer of Ernest's which
I had overlooked before. He says, '' I do not see
266 HOW TO DO IT.
HHything very wonderful in taking out of a bag
the same thing you have put into it" But his
wise father says that it is the presence of ndnd
which in the midst of shipwreck put the right
things into the bag which makes the wonder.
Now, in daily life, what we need for the comfort
and readiness of the next day is such forecast and
presence of mind, with a vivid imagination of the
various exigencies it will bring us to.
Jo Matthew was the most prompt and ready
person, with one exception, whom I have ever had
to deal with. I hope Jo will read this. If he
does, will he not write to me ? I said to Jo
once when we were at work together in the bam,
that I wished I had his knack of laying down a
tool so carefully that he knew just where to find
it. "Ah," said he, laughing, "we learned that
in the cotton-milL When you are running four
looms, if something gives way, it will not do
to be going round asking where this or where
that is." Now Jo's answer really fits all life
very well. The tide will not wait, dear Pauline,
while you are asking, "Where is my blue bow ? "
HOW TO DO IT. 267
Nor will the train wait, dear George, while you
are asking, "Where is my Walton's Arithme-
tic »"
We are all in a great mill, and we can master
it, or it will master us, just as we choose to be
ready or not ready for the opening and shutting
of its opportunities.
I remember that when Haliburton was visiting
General Hooker's head-quarters, he arrived just
as the General, with a brUliant staff, was about
to ride out to make an interesting examination of
the position. He asked Haliburton if he would
join them, and, when Haliburton accepted the
invitation gladly, he bade an aid mount him.
The aid asked Haliburton what sort of horse
he would have, and Haliburton said he would —
and he knew he could — " ride anything." He is
a thorough horseman. You see what a pleasure it
was to him that he was perfectly ready for that
contingency, wholly unexpected as it was. I like
to hear him tell the story, and I often repeat it to
young people, who wonder why some persons get
forward so much more easily than others. War-
268 HOW TO DO IT.
burton, at the same moment, would have had to
apologize, and say he would stay in camp writing
letters, though he would have had nothing to say.
For Warburton had never ridden horses to water or
to the blacksmith's, and could not have mounted on
the stupidest beast in the head-quarters encamp-
ment. The diflference between the two men is
simply that the one is ready and the other is
not.
Nothing comes amiss in the great business
of preparation, if it has been thoroughly well
learned. And the strangest things come of use,
too, at the strangest times. A sailor teaches you
to tie a knot when you are on a fishing party,
and you tie that knot the next time when you are
patching up the Emperor of Eussia's carriage for
him, in a valley in the Ural Mountains. But *' get-
ting ready" does not mean the piling in of a heap of
accidental accomplishments. It means sedulously
examining the coming duty or pleasure, ima-
gining it even in its details, decreeing the ut-
most punctuality so far as you are concerned,
and thus entering upon them as a knight armed
HOW TO DO IT.
269
from head to foot This is the man whom Words-
worth describes, —
'* Who, if he be called upon to face
Some awfiil moment to which Heaven has joined
Great issaes, good or bad for human kind.
Is happy as a Lover ; and attired
With sadden brightness, like a man inspired ;
And through the heat of conflict keeps the law
In cahnness made, and sees what he foresaw ;
Or if an unexpected call succeed,
Come when it wiU, is equal to the need.'*
THE END.
Cunbridge : Printed by Welch, Bigeloir, ft Cow
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