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were that of the other visitor whose naked knuckles rap at every
door。
Still there are experiences which go far towards repaying all these
inflictions。 My last young man's case looked desperate enough； some
of his sails had blown from the rigging； some were backing in the
wind； and some were flapping and shivering； but I told him which way
to head； and to my surprise he promised to do just as I directed； and
I do not doubt is under full sail at this moment。
What if I should tell my last； my very recent experience with the
other sex？ I received a paper containing the inner history of a
young woman's life； the evolution of her consciousness from its
earliest record of itself； written so thoughtfully； so sincerely；
with so much firmness and yet so much delicacy； with such truth of
detail and such grace in the manner of telling； that I finished the
long manuscript almost at a sitting； with a pleasure rarely； almost
never experienced in voluminous communications which one has to spell
out of handwriting。 This was from a correspondent who made my
acquaintance by letter when she was little more than a child； some
years ago。 How easy at that early period to have silenced her by
indifference； to have wounded her by a careless epithet； perhaps even
to have crushed her as one puts his heel on a weed！ A very little
encouragement kept her from despondency； and brought back one of
those overflows of gratitude which make one more ashamed of himself
for being so overpaid than he would be for having committed any of
the lesser sins。 But what pleased me most in the paper lately
received was to see how far the writer had outgrown the need of any
encouragement of mine； that she had strengthened out of her tremulous
questionings into a self…reliance and self…poise which I had hardly
dared to anticipate for her。 Some of my readers who are also writers
have very probably had more numerous experiences of this kind than I
can lay claim to； self…revelations from unknown and sometimes
nameless friends； who write from strange corners where the winds have
wafted some stray words of theirs which have lighted in the minds and
reached the hearts of those to whom they were as the angel that
stirred the pool of Bethesda。 Perhaps this is the best reward
authorship brings； it may not imply much talent or literary
excellence； but it means that your way of thinking and feeling is
just what some one of your fellow…creatures needed。
I have been putting into shape； according to his request； some
further passages from the Young Astronomer's manuscript； some of
which the reader will have a chance to read if he is so disposed。
The conflict in the young man's mind between the desire for fame and
the sense of its emptiness as compared with nobler aims has set me
thinking about the subject from a somewhat humbler point of view。 As
I am in the habit of telling you； Beloved； many of my thoughts； as
well as of repeating what was said at our table； you may read what
follows as if it were addressed to you in the course of an ordinary
conversation； where I claimed rather more than my share； as I am
afraid I am a little in the habit of doing。
I suppose we all； those of us who write in verse or prose； have the
habitual feeling that we should like to be remembered。 It is to be
awake when all of those who were round us have been long wrapped in
slumber。 It is a pleasant thought enough that the name by which we
have been called shall be familiar on the lips of those who come
after us； and the thoughts that wrought themselves out in our
intelligence； the emotions that trembled through our frames； shall
live themselves over again in the minds and hearts of others。
But is there not something of rest； of calm； in the thought of gently
and gradually fading away out of human remembrance？ What line have
we written that was on a level with our conceptions？ What page of
ours that does not betray some weakness we would fain have left
unrecorded？ To become a classic and share the life of a language is
to be ever open to criticisms； to comparisons； to the caprices of
successive generations； to be called into court and stand a trial
before a new jury； once or more than once in every century。 To be
forgotten is to sleep in peace with the undisturbed myriads； no
longer subject to the chills and heats； the blasts； the sleet； the
dust； which assail in endless succession that shadow of a man which
we call his reputation。 The line which dying we could wish to blot
has been blotted out for us by a hand so tender； so patient； so used
to its kindly task； that the page looks as fair as if it had never
borne the record of our infirmity or our transgression。 And then so
few would be wholly content with their legacy of fame。 You remember
poor Monsieur Jacques's complaint of the favoritism shown to Monsieur
Berthier；it is in that exquisite 〃Week in a French Country…House。〃
〃Have you seen his room？ Have you seen how large it is？ Twice as
large as mine！ He has two jugs； a large one and a little one。 I
have only one small one。 And a tea…service and a gilt Cupid on the
top of his looking…glass。〃 The famous survivor of himself has had his
features preserved in a medallion； and the slice of his countenance
seems clouded with the thought that it does not belong to a bust； the
bust ought to look happy in its niche； but the statue opposite makes
it feel as if it had been cheated out of half its personality； and
the statue looks uneasy because another stands on a loftier pedestal。
But 〃Ignotus 〃 and 〃Miserrimus 〃 are of the great majority in that
vast assembly； that House of Commons whose members are all peers；
where to be forgotten is the standing rule。 The dignity of a silent
memory is not to be undervalued。 Fame is after all a kind of rude
handling； and a name that is often on vulgar lips seems to borrow
something not to be desired； as the paper money that passes from hand
to hand gains somewhat which is a loss thereby。 O sweet； tranquil
refuge of oblivion； so far as earth is concerned； for us poor
blundering； stammering； misbehaving creatures who cannot turn over a
leaf of our life's diary without feeling thankful that its failure
can no longer stare us in the face！ Not unwelcome shall be the
baptism of dust which hides forever the name that was given in the
baptism of water！ We shall have good company whose names are left
unspoken by posterity。 〃Who knows whether the best of men be known；
or whether there be not more remarkable persons forgot than any that
stand remembered in the known account of time？ The greater part must
be content to be as though they had not been； to be found in the
register of God； not in the record of man。 Twenty…seven names make
up the first story before the flood； and the recorded names ever
since contain not one living century。〃
I have my moods about such things as the Young Astronomer has； as we
all have。 There are times when the thought of becoming utterly
nothing to the world we knew so well and loved so much is painful and
oppressive； we gasp as if in a vacuum； missing the atmosphere of life
we have so long been in the habit of breathing。