pleasure he had drunk so joyously, and was drawing away from the
multitude and toward the companionship of those who loved books and
bookish things, and who could sympathize with him in the aspirations for
the better work, the consciousness of which had dawned. It was now that
he began to apply himself diligently to the preparation for higher
effort, and it is to the credit of journalism, which has so many sins to
answer for, that in this he was encouraged beyond the usual fate of men
who become slaves to that calling. And yet, though from this time he was
privileged to be regarded one of the sweetest singers in American
literature, and incomparably the noblest bard of childhood, though the
grind of journalism was measurably taken from him, he chafed under the
conviction that he was condemned to mingle the prosaic and the practical
with the fanciful and the ideal, and that, having given hostages to
fortune, he must conform even in a measure to the requirements of a
position too lucrative to be cast aside. From this time also his
physical condition, which never had been robust, began to show the
effects of sedentary life, but the warning of a long siege of nervous
dyspepsia was suffered to pass unheeded, and for five or six years he
labored prodigiously, his mind expanding and his intellect growing more
brilliant as the vital powers decayed.

It would seem that with the awakening of the consciousness of the better
powers within him, with the realization that he was destined for a place
in literature, my brother felt a quasi remorse for the years he fancied
he had wasted. He was too severe with himself to understand that his
comparative tardiness in arriving at the earnest, thoughtful stage of
lifework was the inexorable law of gradual development which must govern
the career of a man of his temperament, with his exuberant vitality and
his showy talents. It was a serious mistake, but it was not the less a
noble one. And now also the influences of home crept a little closer