poetical indiscretions--until I was
twenty-seven, and this was only a criticism on Dr. Isaac Barrow--not a
subject, you see, that made great demands upon me. Two years later an
article on Lord Bacon, for which I had been indirectly preparing more
than two years, and directly at least one; and even then I would say
little respecting his philosophy, and confined myself chiefly to a
portraiture of his character as a man. At thirty-two years of age I sent
to press an essay similar in character to those I write now--and am at
present a little ashamed of it. I am now thirty-nine years old, and all
that I have ever put in print would not make more than one hundred
and thirty or one hundred and forty pages in the "Atlantic." Upon
reflection, however, I will say two hundred pages, including pamphlet
publications. I would have it less rather than more. But for this
illness it would have been even less, for this has led me to postpone
larger enterprises, which would have gone to press much later, and
prepare shorter articles for the "Atlantic." Yet my literary interest
began at a very early age.

In writing essays such as it seems to me you have a genius for, I
require:--

1. That one should get the range--the largest _range_--of the laws he
sets forth. This is the _sine qua num_. Every primary law goes through
heaven and earth. Go with it. This is the business and privilege of
intellect.

2. When one comes to writing, let his discourse have a beginning and an
end. Do not let the end of his essay be merely the end of his sheet,
or the place where he took a notion to stop writing, but let it be
necessary. Each paragraph, too, should represent a distinct advance,
a clear step, in the exposition of his thought. I spare no labor in
securing this, and reckon no labor lost that brings me toward this
mark. I reckon my work ill done if a single paragraph, yes, or a single
sentence, can be transposed without injuring the whole.

3. Vivid expression must be sought, must be labored for unsparingly.
This you, from your position, will find it somewhat hard to attain,
unless you have peculiar aptitude for it. Expression in the country is
far less vivacious than in cities.

I have spoken frankly; now you must decide for yourself. You have mental
power enough; if you have accessory qualities (which I think you must
possess), you cannot fail to make your mark.

The brevity that I promised you will not find in this letter, but you
will find