live when we can. That, for
convention's sake, we call a Vacation.

Your brave note came to-day. Of course, you'll "get" 'em--those
small enemies. The gain of twelve pounds tells the story. The
danger is, your season of philosophy and reverie will be too soon
ended. Don't fret; the work and the friends will be here when you
come down. There's many a long day ahead; and there may not be so
many seasons of rest and meditation. You are the only man I know
who has time enough to think out a clear answer to this: "What
ought to be done with Bryan?" What _can_ be done with Bryan? When
you find the answer, telegraph it to me.

I've a book or two more to send you. If they interest you, praise
the gods. If they bore you, fling 'em in the snow and think no
worse of me. You can't tell what a given book may be worth to a
given man in an unknown mood. They've become such a commodity to me
that I thank my stars for a month away from them when I may come at
'em at a different angle and really need a few old
ones--Wordsworth, for instance. When you get old enough, you'll
wake up some day with the feeling that the world is much more
beautiful than it was when you were young, that a landscape has a
closer meaning, that the sky is more companionable, that outdoor
colour and motion are more splendidly audacious and beautifully
rhythmical than you had ever thought. That's true. The gently
snow-clad little pines out my window are more to me than the whole
Taft Administration. They'll soon be better than the year's
dividends. And the few great craftsmen in words who can confirm
this feeling--they are the masters you become grateful for. Then
the sordidness of the world lies far beneath you and your great
democracy is truly come--the democracy of Nature. To be akin to a
tree, in this sense, is as good as to be akin to a man. I have a
grove of little long-leaf pines down in the old country and I know
they'll have some consciousness of me after all men have forgotten
me: I've saved 'em, and they'll sing a century of gratitude if I
can keep 'em saved. Joe Holmes gave me a dissertation on them the
other day. He was down there "on a little Sunday jaunt" of forty
miles--the best legs and the best brain that ever worked together
in one anatomy.

A conquering New Ye