etime. This I knew, but
still I pressed on, indifferent of the speed or strain. There were
indications that my strength had not been dissipated, that the years
were merely notches that had not cut deep, that had scarcely scarred the
surface of the trunk. The soul, the mind, the zest of doing--all were
keen and eager.

The conservation of the soul is not so profound a matter as it is
described. It consists in a guardianship of the gateways through which
impressions enter, or pass by; it consists in protecting one's inner
self from wasteful associations.

The influence of what we read is of chief importance to character. At
the beginning of 1888 I received innumerable requests from people all
over New York and Brooklyn for advice on the subject of reading. In the
deluge of books that were beginning to sweep over us many readers were
drowned. The question of what to read was being discussed everywhere.

I opposed the majority of novels because they were made chiefly to set
forth desperate love scrapes. Much reading of love stories makes one
soft, insipid, absent-minded, and useless. Affections in life usually
work out very differently. The lady does not always break into tears,
nor faint, nor do the parents always oppose the situation, so that a
romantic elopement is possible. Excessive reading of these stories makes
fools of men and women. Neither is it advisable to read a book because
someone else likes it. It is not necessary to waste time on Shakespeare
if you have no taste for poetry or drama merely because so many others
like them; nor to pass a long time with Sir William Hamilton when
metaphysics are not to your taste. When you read a book by the page,
every few minutes looking ahead to see how many chapters there are
before the book will be finished, you had better stop reading it. There
was even a fashion in books that was absurd. People were bored to death
by literature in the fashion.

For a while we had a Tupper epidemic, and everyone grew busy writing
blank verse--very blank. Then came an epidemic of Carlyle, and everyone
wrote turgid, involved, twisted and breakneck sentences, each noun with
as many verbs as Brigham Young had wives. Then followed a romantic
craze, and everyone struggled to combine religion and romance, with
frequent punches at religion, and we prided ourselves on being sceptical
and independent in our literary tastes. My advice was simply to make up
one's mind what to read, and then read