230 LITEEAET VALUES 



it to US. If -we could not love the man, is it prob- 

 able that we can love his book ? 



Of our New England poets, I find myself taking 

 down Emerson oftener than any other ; then Bryant; 

 occasionally Longfellow for a few poems ; then 

 Whittier for "The Playmate" or "Snow-Bound" ; 

 and least of all, Lowell. I am not so vain as to 

 think that the measure of my appreciation of these 

 poets is the measure of their merit ; but as this 

 writing is so largely autobiographical, I must keep 

 to the facts. As the pathos and solemnity of life 

 deepen with time, I think one finds only stray 

 poems, or parts of poems, in the New England an- 

 thology that adequately voice them ; and these he 

 finds in Emerson more plentifully than anywhere 

 else, though in certain of Longfellow's sonnets there 

 is adequacy also. The one on " Sumner," begin- 

 ning, — 



River, that stealest irith such silent pace, 



easily fixed itself in my mind. 



I think we go back to books not so much for the 

 amount of pleasure we have had in them, as the kind 

 of pleasure. There is a pleasure both in books and in 

 life that is inconsistent with health and wholeness, 

 and there is a pleasure that is consistent with these 

 things. The instinct of self-preservation makes us 

 cleave to the latter. I do not think we go back to 

 the exciting books, — they do not usually leave a 

 good taste in the mouth ; neither to the dull books, 

 which leave no taste at all in the mouth ; but to 

 the quiet, mildly tonic and stimulating books, — 



