ing this year in Baltimore Richard's letters show that he
paid considerable attention to such important subjects as political
economy and our own labor problems, but they also show that he did not
neglect football or the lighter social diversions. In a short space of
time he had made many friends, was very busy going to dinners and
dances, and had fallen in love with an entirely new set of maids and
matrons. Richard had already begun to send contributions to the
magazines, and an occasional acceptance caused him the satisfaction
common to all beginners. It was in regard to one of these early
contributions that my mother wrote Richard the following letter:

PHILADELPHIA

January 1887.

DEAR BOY:

What has become of The Current? It has not come yet. If it has
suspended publication be sure and get your article back. You must not
destroy a single page you write. You will find every idea of use to
you hereafter.

Sometimes I am afraid you think I don't take interest enough in your
immediate success now with the articles you send. But I've had thirty
years experience and I know how much that sort of success depends on
the articles suiting the present needs of the magazine, and also on the
mood of the editor when he reads it.

Besides--except for your own disappointment--I know it would be better
if you would not publish under your own name for a little while. Dr.
Holland--who had lots of literary shrewdness both as writer and
publisher--used to say for a young man or woman to rush into print was
sure ruin to their lasting fame. They either compromised their
reputations by inferior work or they made a great hit and never played
up to it, afterwards, in public opinion.

Now my dear old man this sounds like awfully cold comfort. But it is
the wisest idea your mother has got. I confess I have GREAT faith in
you--and I try to judge you as if you were not my son. I think you are
going to take a high place among American authors, but I do not think
you are going to do it by articles like that you sent to The Current.
The qualities which I think will bring it to you, you don't seem to
value at all. They are your dramatic eye. I mean your quick
perception of character and of the way character shows itself in looks,
tones, dress, etc., and in your keen sympathy--with all kinds of
people--Now, these are the requisites for a novelist. Added to that
your humour.

You ought to make a novelist of the first class