The
friend was a man of plain life, but of rich mental achievement. He
glanced at the Persian rugs and costly draperies of the boy's quarters
in silence.
"Well," cried the fond father, "don't you think my son has a pretty
room?"
"Sir," said the visitor, with gentle candor, "_you'll never raise a
scholar on that carpet._"
Out of my discomforts, which were small enough, grew one thing for
which I have all my life been grateful--the formation of fixed habits
of work.
I have seldom waited for inspiration before setting about a task to
be done. Life is too short for that. Broken health has too often
interrupted a regimen of study which ought to have been more
continuous; but, so far as I may venture to offer an opinion from
personal experience, I should say that the writers who would be wise
to play hide and seek with their own moods are few.
According to my custom, I said nothing (so far as I can remember) to
any person about the book.
It cannot be said that I had any hope of success with it; or that,
in my most irrational dreams, anything like the consequences of its
publication ever occurred to my fancy. But I did distinctly understand
that I had set forth upon a venture totally dissimilar to the safe and
respectable careers of my dozen Sunday-school books.
I was asked only the other day why it was that, having such a rare
critic at first hand as my father, I did not more often submit my
manuscripts to his judgment.
Pages:
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242