r I read
no periodical literature--not even the "Atlantic," which is the best
periodical I know--unless my attention is very especially called to it,
and often, to tell the truth, do not heed the call when it is given.
Where I am at present I have not access to back numbers of the
"Atlantic," but shall have soon. The essay that you sent me I read
carefully twice, but unfortunately left it in Boston, where it reached
me. I can therefore only speak of it generally. It certainly shows
in you, if my judgment may be trusted, unusual gifts of pure
intellect--unusual, I mean, among scholars and literary men; and the
literary execution is creditable, though by no means of the same grade
with the mental power evinced. You must become a fine literary worker
to be equal to the demands of such an intellect as yours. For the
deeper the thought, the more difficult to give it a clear and attractive
expression. You can write so as to command attention. I am sure you can.
Will you? that is the only question. Can you work and wait long enough?
Have you the requisite patience and persistency? If you have, there is
undoubtedly an honorable future before you.

But I will not conceal from you that I think you too young to have
written "numerous essays" of the class you attempt, or to publish a
book consisting of such. No other kind of writing requires such mental
maturity; stories may be written at any age, though good ones are seldom
written early. Even poems and works of art have been produced by some
Raphael or Milton at a comparatively early season of life, and have not
given shame to the author at a later age; though this is the exception,
not the rule. But the purely reflective essay belongs emphatically to
maturer life. Your twenty-four years have evidently been worth more
to you than the longest life to most men; but my judgment is that you
should give your genius more time yet, and should wait upon it with more
labor. This is my frank counsel. I will respect you so much as to offer
it without disguise. Let me fortify it by an example or two. Mr. Emerson
published nothing, I think, until he was past thirty, and his brother
Charles, now dead, who was considered almost superior to him, maintained
that it is almost a sin to go into print sooner. Yet both these had all
possible educational advantages, and were familiar with the best books
and the best results of American culture from infancy almost. I myself
printed nothing--saving some