told you on Saturday, but I know you will understand. Your two good
letters came this evening, one to Mamma and one to Nora. They were a
good deal to us all, most, of course, to your dear mother and sister,
who have a fond, foolish fancy or love for you--strange--isn't it?
Yes, dear boy, I liked the new story very, very much. It was in your
best book and in fine spirit, and I liked, too, the dedication of the
book--its meaning and its manner. I am glad to be associated with my
dear boy and with his work even in that brief way. You may not yet
thought about it after this fashion, but I have thought a good deal
about it. Reports come to me of you from many sources, and they are
all good, and they all reflect honor upon me-- Upon me as I'm getting
ready to salute the world, as our French friends say. It is very
pleasant to me as I think it over to feel and to know that my boy has
honored my name, that he has done something good and useful in the
world and for the world. I have something more than pride in you. I
am grateful to you. If this is a little prosie, dear old fellow,
forgive it. It is late at night and I am a little tired, and being
tired stupid. You saw The Atlantic notice of your work. I wish you
could have heard Nora on the author of it, who would not have been
happy in his mind if he had unhappily heard her. She went for that
Heathen Chinee like a wild cat. No disrespect to her, but, all the
same, like a wild cat. To me it was interesting. I did not agree with
it, but here and there I saw the flash of truth even in the adverse
praise. I should have had more respect for the author's opinion if he
had liked that vital speck, Raegen. If he could not see the divine,
human spark in that--a flash from Calvary, what is the use of
considering him? My greatest pride in you, that which has added some
sweetness and joy to my life, has been the recognition that something
of the divine element was given you, and that your voice rang out sweet
and pure at a time when other voices were sounding the fascinations of
impurity. That, like Christ, you taught humanity. Don't be afraid of
being thought "fresh," fear to be thought "knowing." Life isn't much
worth at best,--it is worth nothing at all unless some good be done in
it---the more, the better. Don't make it too serious either. Enjoy it
as you go, but after a fashion that will bring no reproach to your
manhood. Don't be afraid to preach the truth an