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Literary Friends and Acquaintance; a Personal Retrospect of American Authorship by William Dean Howells
page 59 of 206 (28%)
was in the order of Providence that chattel slavery should cease before
industrial slavery, and the infinitely crueler and stupider vanity and
luxury bred of it, should be attacked. If there was then any prevision
of the struggle now at hand, the seers averted their eyes, and strove
only to cope with the less evil. Thoreau himself, who had so clear a
vision of the falsity and folly of society as we still have it, threw
himself into the tide that was already, in Kansas and Virginia, reddened
with war; he aided and abetted the John Brown raid, I do not recall how
much or in what sort; and he had suffered in prison for his opinions and
actions. It was this inevitable heroism of his that, more than his
literature even, made me wish to see him and revere him; and I do not
believe that I should have found the veneration difficult, when at last I
met him in his insufficient person, if he had otherwise been present to
my glowing expectation. He came into the room a quaint, stump figure of
a man, whose effect of long trunk and short limbs was heightened by his
fashionless trousers being let down too low. He had a noble face, with
tossed hair, a distraught eye, and a fine aquilinity of profile, which
made me think at once of Don Quixote and of Cervantes; but his nose
failed to add that foot to his stature which Lamb says a nose of that
shape will always give a man. He tried to place me geographically after
he had given me a chair not quite so far off as Ohio, though still across
the whole room, for he sat against one wall, and I against the other; but
apparently he failed to pull himself out of his revery by the effort, for
he remained in a dreamy muse, which all my attempts to say something fit
about John Brown and Walden Pond seemed only to deepen upon him. I have
not the least doubt that I was needless and valueless about both, and
that what I said could not well have prompted an important response; but
I did my poor best, and I was terribly disappointed in the result. The
truth is that in those days I was a helplessly concrete young person, and
all forms of the abstract, the air-drawn, afflicted me like physical
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