252 INDOOR STUDIES 



Words, words, words ! and all struck with the lep- 

 rosy of alliteration. Such poetry would turn my 

 blood to water. "Wan skies and waste white 

 light, " — are there ever any other skies or any 

 other light in Swinburne 1 



But this last is an ill wind which I fear can blow 

 no good to any one. I have lived long enough to 

 know that my own private likes and dislikes do not 

 always turn out to be the decrees of the Eternal. 

 Some writers confirm one and brace him where he 

 stands; others give him a lift forward. I am not 

 aware that more than two American writers have 

 been of the latter service to me, — Emerson and 

 Whitman. Such a spirit as Bryant is confirmatory. 

 I may say the same of Whittier and Longfellow. 

 I owe to these men solace and encouragement, but 

 no new territory. 



Still, the influences that shape one's life are 

 often so subtile and remote, and of such small 

 beginning, that it will not do to be too positive 

 about these matters. At any rate, self-analysis is 

 a sort of back-handed work, and one is lucky if he 

 comes at all near the truth. 



As such a paper must of necessity be egotistical, 

 let me not flinch in any part of my task on that 

 account. 



What little merit my style has is the result of 

 much study and discipline. I have taught myself 

 always to get down to the quick of my mind at 

 once, and not fumble about amid the husks at the 

 surface. Unless one can give the sense of vitality 



