Do you want to know how I pass my time? — I rise at eight —
thereabouts — & go to my barn — say good-morning to the horse, & give
him his breakfast. (It goes to my heart to give him a cold one, but it can’t be
helped) Then, pay a visit to my cow — cut up a pumpkin or two for her, &
stand by to see her eat it — for its a pleasant sight to see a cow move her
jaws — she does it so mildly & with such a sanctity. — My own breakfast
over, I go to my work-room & light my fire — then spread my M.S.S. on the
table — take one business squint at it, & fall to with a will. At 2-½ P.M.
I hear a preconcerted knock at my door, which (by request) continues till I
rise & go to the door, which serves to wean me effectively from my writing,
however interested I may be. My friends the horse & cow now demand their
dinner — & I go & give it them. My own dinner over, I rig my sleigh
& with my mother or sisters start off for the village…. My evenings I spend
in a sort of mesmeric state in my room — not being able to read — only now
& then skimming over some large-printed book. -- Can you send me
fast-writing youths, with an easy style & not averse to polishing their
labors? If you can, I wish you would, because since I have been here I have
planned about that number of future works & cant find enough time to think
about them separately — But … a book in a man’s brain is better off than a book
bound in calf — at any rate it is safer from criticism. And taking a book off
the brain, is akin to the ticklish & dangerous business of taking an old
painting off a panel — you have to scrape off the whole brain in order to get
at it with due safety — & even then, the painting may not be worth the
trouble.
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