{"1": {"fulltext": "B J\\n\u00e2\u0080\u00944-r\\nop\\nSSI\\nDONE\\nXL V Hj iV I\\nDAY\\nAMO:\\n/WELL!\\nTHE\\nDAYS WO\\ns;-~^g*g\u00c2\u00bbio ^v\u00c2\u00a3jL \u00c2\u00bbj", "height": "4795", "width": "3060", "jp2-path": "doneeverydaystra00well_0001.jp2"}, "2": {"fulltext": "LIBRARY OF CONGRESS.\\njg 5\\nChap. *r?_-_. Copyright Ko._\\nShelf_Vj_3;\\nUNITED STATES OF AMERICA.", "height": "4482", "width": "2834", "jp2-path": "doneeverydaystra00well_0002.jp2"}, "3": {"fulltext": "", "height": "4482", "width": "2834", "jp2-path": "doneeverydaystra00well_0003.jp2"}, "4": {"fulltext": "", "height": "4482", "width": "2834", "jp2-path": "doneeverydaystra00well_0004.jp2"}, "5": {"fulltext": "DONE EVERY DAY", "height": "4482", "width": "2834", "jp2-path": "doneeverydaystra00well_0005.jp2"}, "6": {"fulltext": "", "height": "4482", "width": "2834", "jp2-path": "doneeverydaystra00well_0006.jp2"}, "7": {"fulltext": "SHje Bag s SHorfc Series\\nDONE EVERY DAY\\nStraightforward Talks\\non Some Commonplaces of Life\\nBY\\nAMOS R. WELLS\\nBOSTON\\nL. C. PAGE COMPANY\\nMDCCCC", "height": "4482", "width": "2834", "jp2-path": "doneeverydaystra00well_0007.jp2"}, "8": {"fulltext": "34674\\nB3 \\\\s-\u00c2\u00bb\\\\\\n,W33\\nCopyright, iqoo\\nBy L. C. Page Company\\n(incorporated)\\nAll rights reserved\\n74125\\nColonial ^resg\\nElectrotyped and Printed by C. H. Simonds Co.\\nBoston, U. S. A.", "height": "4482", "width": "2834", "jp2-path": "doneeverydaystra00well_0008.jp2"}, "9": {"fulltext": "CONTENTS.\\nI. How to Bow\\nII. The Gift of Gab\\nIII. Ethics of the Door -bell\\nIV. A Good Forgittery\\nV. The Tyranny of Sound\\nVI. Masters of the Mail\\nVII. The Art of Walking\\nVIII. Reading from a Sense of Duty\\n16\\n23\\n3i\\n39\\n45\\n52\\n56", "height": "4482", "width": "2834", "jp2-path": "doneeverydaystra00well_0009.jp2"}, "10": {"fulltext": "", "height": "4482", "width": "2834", "jp2-path": "doneeverydaystra00well_0010.jp2"}, "11": {"fulltext": "PREFACE.\\nThe more frequently a thing must be done, the\\nmore need that it should be done well. The more\\nfrequently a thing must be done, the less do many\\nmen think about it. Often we plan longer, more\\nearnestly and conscientiously, for a single unaccus-\\ntomed deed that will stand alone in our lives, than\\nthrough all our lives together for some of the acts of\\nevery day. This book is an attempt to show how\\nmuch depends upon the points of contact in our\\nsocial machinery, the commonplaces in which men\\nfor the most part meet. As samples I have taken\\nthe acts of bowing, talking, hearing, remembering,\\nwalking, reading, answering the door-bell, and writing\\nletters. If I have been able to say anything helpful\\nconcerning these eight things done every day, it\\nwill be easy to apply the truths to all other daily\\ndoings.\\nThe essays included in this volume originally ap-\\npeared in The Outlook, The Union Signal, The New\\nYork Ledger, The Christian Endeavor World, and\\nThe Illustrated Christian Weekly. I am grateful to\\nthe editors and publishers of those journals for their\\npermission to send them forth in the present form.\\nBoston. Amos R. Wells.", "height": "4482", "width": "2834", "jp2-path": "doneeverydaystra00well_0011.jp2"}, "12": {"fulltext": "", "height": "4482", "width": "2834", "jp2-path": "doneeverydaystra00well_0012.jp2"}, "13": {"fulltext": "DONE EVERY DAY.\\nHOW TO BOW.\\nThe passing and momentary acts of social inter-\\ncourse are more important than those of longer dura-\\ntion, just because they are briefer. The hand-shake\\nwhich is a prelude to a conversation may be cold and\\ndistant, but the conversation may become so cheery\\nthat the hand-shake is forgotten. When, however,\\none merely bows and passes on, much has to be done\\nin a short time. Assurance of sympathy and good-\\nwill, impressions of buoyancy and heartiness, the elec-\\ntric thrill of friendship, fellowship, or love, all these\\nmust be packed into that narrow act. Bowing, there-\\nfore, is one of the fine arts. Why not To bow well\\none must be master of the shorthand of friendship,\\nthe stenography of brotherly kindness. Something\\nof the nervous skill wherewith flying fingers entrap\\nthe winged thoughts of the orator must be his, to\\nread quickly the mood of his friend, and express\\n9", "height": "4482", "width": "2834", "jp2-path": "doneeverydaystra00well_0013.jp2"}, "14": {"fulltext": "IO DONE EVERY DAY.\\nprompt and cordial response to that mood. These\\nfolk of stagnant blood, who require an hour s parley-\\nto bring them to the beaming point, never bow well.\\nSo delicate is this art that I can imagine no nicer\\ntest of the quality of a man than a walk down street\\nwith him in a town where he has many acquaintances.\\nHow the great-hearted minister, or the wise and jolly\\nvillage doctor, or the kindly old maid, everybody s\\nfriend, make royal progresses wherever they go If\\nevery bow were a bank-note and every smile a gem,\\nthey would be Vanderbilts long before their return.\\nOn the contrary, should the Gradgrinds fare abroad\\nunder such a dispensation, their surly necks would\\nbring them hopelessly into debt\\nWhy, I know men upon whose lips no words are\\nso ready as avowals of human brotherhood and argu-\\nments for social democracy, yet they will stand in\\nconverse upon these very topics and permit scores of\\nthose same well-known brothers to pass by, deigning\\nno smile or cheery token, only at best a frigid nod.\\nLess bow-wow, brother, I feel like saying then,\\nless bow-wow and more bow\\nIn truth, it is on the street, and in such incidental\\nfashion, that we touch the greater number of lives.\\nThe president s highway is our open-air parlour, our\\ngenuine reception-room. And it would speak as\\nloudly of a churlish spirit to be glum and absent-\\nminded to callers in one s home, as to walk through", "height": "4482", "width": "2834", "jp2-path": "doneeverydaystra00well_0014.jp2"}, "15": {"fulltext": "HOW TO BOW. II\\nthese thronged sky-parlours of ours in a brown study\\nor a blue sulk.\\nIt was my high privilege once to become acquainted\\nwith a youngster who was just learning to bow, and\\nwho enjoyed it so much that I would have gone out of\\nmy way to get a salutation from him. You could see\\nthe bow dawning while he was yet a long way off. It\\nrose in his face like a sun. The hand on the proper\\nside was cleared of bundles, ready for action. And\\nas you passed, high went his hat into the air, pro-\\nfoundly swayed his body, and from bashful, smiling\\nlips came fitting greeting. I always felt better for\\nthat bow.\\nOn the contrary, there is a salute of the fingertip\\nhand-shake order, one which is like the passage of\\nan iceberg in the Gulf Stream of our cheery streets,\\none which hardly depresses the surly head, barely\\nlowers the supercilious eyebrow, scarcely stirs the air\\nwith a frigid word. When will people learn why we\\nbow with the head We might as well perform the\\nsalutatory gesture with our toes or our elbows we\\nmight as well remove our gloves as our hats, save for\\nthe fact that in the head are the eyes and the mouth\\nand the muscles wherewith we smile.\\nA bow unaccompanied by cheery looks and words\\nis like a fine vase with no flowers in it. If the eyes\\nand the whole face do not bow, it is slight profit to\\nlower the head. We have no time for Eastern, hour-", "height": "4482", "width": "2834", "jp2-path": "doneeverydaystra00well_0015.jp2"}, "16": {"fulltext": "12 DONE EVERY DAY.\\nlong ceremony we have nothing but scorn for the\\nfantastic flourishes of the dandy but there is one\\nglass at which all bowing must be practised, and that\\nis the beaming, answering eye. You can never win\\nthat if you stare straight ahead, if your sullen gaze\\nseek the ground, or if you steal a fluttering glance at\\nyour friend and uneasily shift your eyes aside. An\\nhonest, bright, and steady look from a passing friend\\nhas often been tonic to me for an entire day.\\nThere are two personages engaged in every bow.\\nThere is if I may coin the word without a suspi-\\ncion of euchre reminiscences there is the bow^r,\\nand there is the bow**. And it is as difficult to\\nreceive a bow in the right way as it is to give one\\ngraciously. I suppose there is no doubt whatever\\nthat of the minor vexations of life none is so rasp-\\ning as a chilly return given a warm salutation.\\nRightly is it called a cut, the unkindest cut of all.\\nIf the old Greeks had had their attention directed\\ntoward this social sin, with their usual ingenuity in\\nsuch matters they would have devised a fitting pun-\\nishment for this class of sinners in the realm of\\nHades. They would have set such a man to forg-\\ning horseshoes on an anvil of ice, and such a woman\\nto cooking with ice for fuel. The bower may have\\nall good intentions, but the bowee can thwart them\\ncan quench his flashing eye, smother his cheeriest\\nwords, and chill his friendliest ardour. And there", "height": "4482", "width": "2834", "jp2-path": "doneeverydaystra00well_0016.jp2"}, "17": {"fulltext": "HOW TO BOW. 13\\nare many endurable bowers in this world who are\\nwretched bowees active and cordial in the initiative,\\nbut cold in response. No one is an accomplished\\nbower who is not a skilled bowee.\\nThere are people who are always surprised by a\\nbow. They note it with a start, open incredulous\\neyes, and make flurried return with the air of a con-\\nvicted felon. The blinders of the horse permit it\\nto see only what is ahead, but these persons wear\\nblinders which permit of sudden vision only when\\nyou are at their side. They misname you, and mis-\\nname the time of day, bidding you good morning\\nwhen the sun is far past the meridian.\\nEvery accomplished salutatorian (banish the fair\\nvision this word calls up, of curls and white dresses\\nand beribboned essays prepares himself beforehand\\nfor the salute. He does more than perceive the ap-\\nproach of an acquaintance. He bethinks himself of\\nsome interest of the man or woman, part of whose\\nday he is to enter, some joy or sorrow, sickness or\\nrecovery, late failure or recent success. Thus he has\\nready some word other than weather-remarks.\\nNo gibe at these, however Two beings out amid\\nthe snowflakes, the sunbeams, the wonder of blue\\noverhead and of green underfoot some hearty\\nword of sympathy with each other s joy at the\\nblessed panorama of the seasons is often the most\\nfitting word to be spoken. But, none the less, my", "height": "4482", "width": "2834", "jp2-path": "doneeverydaystra00well_0017.jp2"}, "18": {"fulltext": "14 DONE EVERY DAY.\\nChesterfield bower must in some way make personal\\ncontact. There is no better index to the width of\\none s sympathies than these disjointed sentences\\nattached to bows. An analysis of them for a single\\nday would tell me whether you have merely that ab-\\nstract, worthless interest in generalised humanity that\\nhopes everybody is well, or the genuine article, that\\nconcerns itself with Johnny s mumps, Mrs.Broughton s\\ntrip to the city, and Mr. Capperton s lost cow.\\nAnd these whiffs of courtesy and kindness depend\\nmuch for their effect upon the tone of the speaker.\\nLet it be perfunctory and dry, and one of Mrs.\\nJarley s figures might profitably play your part, com-\\nbined with Edison s phonograph. No phonograph\\ncylinder, however, can catch the blessed interest\\nwherewith certain good old ladies of my ken ask\\nfolks how they air. Kindly dames they have\\nbetter memory for our ills than we ourselves, and\\nkeep closer tally of our joys\\nI am glad that I live in a region where every one,\\non passing, nods and speaks to every one else, wait-\\ning for no stupid introduction any more than the\\nwayside flower that bows good-humouredly tow r ard\\nyou as you walk by. Especially are the farmers,\\nthe field-labourers, and the negroes fond of this hale\\ncustom. A walk along our country roads in harvest\\ntime, as the workers return jovially from their toil,\\nought, with its avalanche of cordial greetings, to cure", "height": "4482", "width": "2834", "jp2-path": "doneeverydaystra00well_0018.jp2"}, "19": {"fulltext": "HOW TO BOW. 15\\nthe most confirmed stickler for etiquette and calcula-\\ntor of who should bow first that ever studied the art\\nof politeness w T ith the head and not the heart.\\nThere is no grace about it, save the grace of\\ngeniality there is no subservience of etiquette,\\nexcept the etiquette of kindly interest but yet I\\nmust confess that the most cultured and elegant\\nsalutation I ever witnessed lacks in my eyes the\\ncharm which the old plantation uncles and aunts\\nthrow about the little ceremony. They still totter\\nabout our villages, a few of the old courtly breed,\\nthat learned finer manners from their chivalrous\\nmasters and mistresses than the younger genera-\\ntion is learning at our democratic schools, and then\\nwarmed the fine manners in their tropical hearts.\\nOne of them died in our town recently, soon all\\nwill be gone, and this earth will not see their like\\nagain, whose manner of bowing ahvays impressed\\nme. He was a courtly old vagabond, was old Cuffy,\\nand in his ragged coat and red mittens could tip his\\nbattered hat as elegantly as ever his broadcloth\\nmaster of old. He would stop short to do it effec-\\ntively, bow as well as his rheumatic old body would\\nallow, call you captain, or colonel, or even general if\\nhe felt in spirits, turning to pour out after you fervent\\ninquiries concerning the health of the ole missus and\\nher entire family in detail, if you waited long enough,\\navowing each favourable report to be good hearin", "height": "4482", "width": "2834", "jp2-path": "doneeverydaystra00well_0019.jp2"}, "20": {"fulltext": "1 6 DONE EVERY DAY.\\nThough I often tried to stem this tide by questions\\nregarding his own welfare, I never elicited a word.\\nNow, did you ever hear how Shrewd Sally chose\\nher husband She was a charming girl, with hosts\\nof admirers, and whenever she felt herself a wee bit\\ninterested in one of them, she would manage to walk\\ndown street with him in the daytime. If she found\\nhim curt in saluting his friends, or lazy, or absent-\\nminded (though she should have excused that), if\\nshe saw his arm raised always from etiquette and\\nnever from the heart, and especially if the act was\\nperformed more courteously toward a sealskin sacque\\nthan toward a faded checked shawl, and if there was\\nnever a friendly inquiry to accompany the bow, in\\nshort, if the young man exhibited any of the saluta-\\ntory blemishes I have expatiated upon, she never\\nwalked with that young man again. That is how it\\nchanced that Shrewd Sally is to-day a happy old maid\\nII.\\nTHE GIFT OF GAB.\\nThis is a gift of God, for certainly man does not\\nknow how to give it. And in most of us it lies\\nundeveloped. Some day our schools will develop it.\\nSome rare day a happy conjunction of wisdom and\\nwealth will establish in some university or other a", "height": "4482", "width": "2834", "jp2-path": "doneeverydaystra00well_0020.jp2"}, "21": {"fulltext": "THE GIFT OF GAB. I?\\nprofessorship of conversation, and find a talker fit to\\nfill the chair. And to that favoured spot will crowd\\nour hosts of mute philosophers, bashful wits, and\\ntongue-tied thinkers. In our present colleges we\\nare so taught that the conversational extraction of a\\nfact, idea, or fancy is as difficult as a similar process\\napplied to the beard of wheat, the barbs all pointing\\nthe wrong way This choking, gasping simile is not\\na bit too fantastic. Now I do not know just how\\nour professor of conversation will go to work to\\nemancipate our tongues, but I am tolerably sure of\\nsome of the things he will say. When he comes,\\nhe will find his work greatly simplified, for I have\\nmade a synopsis of a course of lessons, which he will\\nundoubtedly be glad to use\\nHis first lesson will teach his class that conversa-\\ntion is worth while. Beloved mutes, he will begin,\\nyou may be apologising for your muteness by the\\nold saying Speech is silver, silence is gold/ Be it\\nso. But note that a single silver dollar will do more\\nwork, and represent at the end of a day the transfer\\nof more value, than a double eagle in a year. Deep\\nwaters run still/ the proverbs continue. But they\\nare not doing any good then. Set the deepest river\\nto run a mill-wheel, and it plashes like a little brook-\\nlet. An empty kettle makes the most noise. An\\nempty kettle makes no noise at all unless you\\nhammer it. Not till it is full and put to work over a", "height": "4482", "width": "2834", "jp2-path": "doneeverydaystra00well_0021.jp2"}, "22": {"fulltext": "l8 DONE EVERY DAY.\\nstove, does it begin to sing. No, my dear mutes,\\ncease consoling yourselves with Carlyle s apostrophies\\nto the Great Realm of Silence. No man yet had\\nanything worth telling this world and left it untold.\\nA mute, inglorious Milton That were not merely\\ninglorious, but incredible. God does not waste his\\nmessages any more than his matter. Murder will\\nout, but all things good, too, bring their own utter-\\nance. You have been silent, my shrewd scholars,\\nthat fools might hold you wise and wise men call\\nyou fools.\\nAnd have any of you ever said, I know what I\\nwant to say, but can t say it. I can t express my\\nthoughts My charming, deluded mutes, that is\\nbecause you have no thoughts. You mistake emo-\\ntion for thought. Moonstruck lovers, tongue-tied\\nand lock-jawed by darts through the heart, these\\nhave feelingSy hosts of feelings, that they cannot\\neasily express. It is hard to translate feelings into\\nwords. That is the office of the highest poetry.\\nBut any thought worth the utterance seems to come\\ndirect from the higher world, and to gather in its\\ndownward rush a momentum that soon forces it from\\nthe mind through the door of the mouth. Fie, fie,\\nye silent ones Your muteness is token, not of\\nwisdom, but of emptiness. It is a thing to be\\nashamed of, and good talking is a thing to be proud\\nof. Thus ends the first lesson.", "height": "4482", "width": "2834", "jp2-path": "doneeverydaystra00well_0022.jp2"}, "23": {"fulltext": "THE GIFT OF GAB. 1 9\\nIn his second lesson our professor of conversation\\nwill teach his class that talking is far more than\\nwords, or even thought. u But you will quote Shake-\\nspeare, will you Who was it that said, Words\\nwithout thoughts never to heaven go That was\\nsaid by the paltry king of Denmark, and is as false\\nas he was. The commonplace conversation of lovers\\nis proverbial. Think you those words without\\nthoughts never to heaven go Their wings fly\\nstraight upward as fire from the altar. There is an\\nunspoken language which makes eloquent the patter\\nof words/ as sunshine transforms the pattering rain-\\ndrops into an iridescent arch of promise. The true\\ntalker must never forget that.\\nWhy, you can never close the door against a\\nword with a man behind it. What is the difference\\nbetween one of Shakespeare s sonnets read by a lover\\nand by a tax-collector Let Webster speak behind\\na curtain, and to that curtain all souls will turn.\\nWhat if an elocutionist made the most perfect imi-\\ntation of Webster s tones, accents, and inflections\\nOh, words of themselves are meaningless things\\nSay birthplace to a man from Switzerland, who does\\nnot understand English, and it will not move him.\\nExplain the thing which the word embodies, and be-\\nfore his tear-veiled eyes will rise the vision of white\\nmountain peaks lifted into the blue in solemn com-\\npany, and of a rude cottage half-way up the steeps,", "height": "4482", "width": "2834", "jp2-path": "doneeverydaystra00well_0023.jp2"}, "24": {"fulltext": "20 DONE EVERY DAY,\\nwhere the green is overhung by the white. The\\nsheep-bell will tinkle down the slope, the shepherd s\\nsong will echo from the hills, and the lofty heights\\nwill be fingers of a giant hand pointing his soul to\\nheaven.\\nNot words or thoughts make the talker, then,\\nbut what stands back of both. For talking is the\\ntransfer of life. How to talk Let your life speak.\\nThis does not mean to open your soul to the world\\nas a pedler opens his pack, but as an innocent girl\\nlets her heart make eloquent her face. Tom Raisin,\\nthe grocer, may read In Memoriam to his barrel-\\nhead audience, and he will not stir their hearts as by\\nthe announcement that the price of butter has fallen.\\nIf I care for metaphysics, my metaphysical talk will\\ndraw my hearers with it if for reaping-machines,\\nupon reaping-machines I shall be eloquent. If I am\\nwont to breathe air, I can only squeak in an atmos-\\nphere of hydrogen. Talking, effective talking, my\\nattentive mutes, is the outcome of living. That is the\\nsecond lesson.\\nAnd finally will come a lesson on the long and\\nshort of talking. Brevity is the soul of wit, dear\\ntongue-tied folk. That s the reason, by the way,\\nwhy long men can never be funny. It will be given\\nyou in that hour what you shall say. Oh, why is it\\nnever given us when to leave off saying Your best\\ntalkers are masters of epigram-making, an art nearly", "height": "4482", "width": "2834", "jp2-path": "doneeverydaystra00well_0024.jp2"}, "25": {"fulltext": "THE GIFT OF GAB. 21\\nlost. Strange that the mail-coach trundled away,\\nand left to our quick transit age is Johnsonian pro-\\nlixities that, having Pitman s shorthand, we have not\\nBacon s short tongue. I do not mean that in his\\ndesire for brevity our talker is to fall into our nine-\\nteenth-century, polite-society, timid-lazy dread of an\\nargument. No, he will love the keen flash of word-\\nswords in the clear air of thought, the curvetting of\\nthe steeds of evasion, the bright glitter of the armour\\nof facts, the waving plumes of fancy, the final un-\\nhorsing shock of the Q. E. D. And he will groan in\\nspirit as his hostess, at tournament height, dexter-\\nously switches the conversation off on a side track,\\nfearing, forsooth, a quarrel, where was only a con-\\ntest\\nAnd, too, ye mute ones, to be good talkers you\\nmust be good listeners. Men hate tongue-tyranny.\\nIt must be, however, an active, not a passive listen-\\ning. Such a listening as the dewdrop gives the sun,\\nflashing back his light in a myriad glorious colours\\nsuch a listening the image is absurd but just\\nexactly such a listening as the deep-eyed dog gives,\\nwith ears, eyes, and wagging tail responsive to a\\nword\\nMoreover, you must be on good terms with total\\nsilence, that terrible bugbear. We moderns are so\\nready to translate enthusiasm into noise that it really\\nseems necessary, if one goes into anything with all", "height": "4482", "width": "2834", "jp2-path": "doneeverydaystra00well_0025.jp2"}, "26": {"fulltext": "22 DONE EVERY DAY.\\none s soul, to come out of it with half one s throat.\\nTo be sure, silence is a severe test. Those friends\\nare truly knit with bonds of steel who can sit together\\nmutely for half a day without constraint. When the\\nfriendship is of cobweb, these spiders of words must\\nspin back and forth continually, or the frail bond will\\nbreak. A holy life, prayerless because it has become\\nitself a prayer the teeth-clenched battle-frenzy, ly-\\ning in breathless ambush the applauding hush of a\\nspellbound audience these, and all silences, speak\\nlouder than words when they speak at all.\\nBut there is a dead silence. Wherever warmth\\nof feeling would naturally burst into the flame of\\nwords, silence means the coldness of indifference.\\nAh, the horrible moment when the talking wavers,\\ncongeals, and the benumbed assembly sits helpless\\nas if the conversation were a wintry pond, and they\\nhad been solidly frozen in Then must the good\\ntalker become a chatterbox, a chatterbox with a pur-\\npose, whose cheer will shame the ice to vapour. In\\nsuch an emergency he will not count it a disgrace\\nto discuss the weather. No ignoble subject, that\\nthe ever fresh face the world puts on, now veiled in\\ntears, now wreathed in smiles, now blushing as a\\nyoung bride on her wedding-day, now stern as Lear\\nout in the tempest. Good morning Splendid\\nweather, this Good morning to you Glorious\\nGlorious Such speech is sign of a wider sympathy", "height": "4482", "width": "2834", "jp2-path": "doneeverydaystra00well_0026.jp2"}, "27": {"fulltext": "ETHICS OF THE DOOR-BELL. 2$\\nwith nature than the poets give the rest of us mortals\\ncredit for.\\nHaving reached this topic of the weather, my pro-\\nfessor of conversation will probably deem it wise to\\nstop, and proceed to the practical application of his\\nprinciples by setting the members of his class to\\ntalking together which, if it is a coeducational\\ncollege, will not be at all difficult to accomplish.\\nIII.\\nETHICS OF THE DOOR -BELL.\\nAt the centre of the coat-of-arms which the\\nTwentieth Century should be constructing for him-\\nself should be placed a door-bell. About few things\\ndo so many of the joys and sorrows of our modern\\nlife congregate. Its handle is seized by the postman\\nand by the telegraph messenger. The crafty agent\\ngives it a non-committal pull. One dainty glove of\\nthe caller clasps it, while the other clutches the card-\\ncase, and the fashionable visitor hopes that a bit of\\npasteboard may end the matter. Tramps ring on it\\ntheir supplicatory challenge. Friends with it claim\\nhospitality. It stands for our American accessibility\\nof every one to every one else, the blessed, annoying\\nexpansion and complication of our social life.", "height": "4482", "width": "2834", "jp2-path": "doneeverydaystra00well_0027.jp2"}, "28": {"fulltext": "24 DONE EVERY DAY.\\nEdward Everett Hale has amusingly described the\\nmigration of a family to the wilderness to escape\\nfrom door-bells. The day is not far distant when\\nthe entire human race the civilised part of it\\nmust go off somewhere, and stay until the tantalising\\nwires are rusted through, and the unmerciful steel\\nhemispheres have lost their resonance for ever. For\\nmortal nerves can hardly endure this ceaseless tintin-\\nnabulation much longer. Ting-a-ling, ting-a-ling, ting-\\na-ling, from the early vegetable-man to the late caller\\nor the midnight messenger-boy. One never knows\\nwhat household plan it may interrupt, what train of\\nthought throw off the track, what sweet dream startle\\ninto real terrors.\\nI can think of but one occasion when its din is\\never welcome. That is when the dear one has risen\\nfrom the dreary sick-bed, when the long suspense is\\nover, and the muffler can be taken off. How like a\\nsalvo of happy cannon is its cheerful peal then\\nIn many rural districts, the small boys, keeping up\\nan old custom, for there is no better antiquarian than\\nyour small boy, on All-hallo we en fasten a discreetly\\nlong string to the door-bell, and from giggling ambush\\nin the shrubbery watch the mystified housewife as\\nshe peers into the darkness, wondering who was in\\nsuch a hurry as all that But, in parable, this All-\\nhallowe en emptiness of door-bell appeal endures\\nthroughout the year. People who want to make a", "height": "4482", "width": "2834", "jp2-path": "doneeverydaystra00well_0028.jp2"}, "29": {"fulltext": "ETHICS OF THE DOOR-BELL. 2$\\nmarket of our front door-step, beggars, formal callers,\\nhalf of our door-tendance is fruitless as the metallic\\nvibrations which command it. And our harrassed\\nnerves and weary feet and throttled purposes prompt\\nus to parody a certain all too familiar poem, and cry\\nDoor-bell shall not ring to-day,\\neven though my bleeding hands must hold it\\nBut the majority is too strong for us. With all\\nthe world pulling at the bell, what can we do\\nEither emigrate with Doctor Hale s family, or dance\\nsubmissive attendance. Now there is a wise proverb,\\napproved by all good people, to the effect that what-\\never is worth doing, or must be done anyway, is\\nworth doing well. Upon that proverb I base my\\nplea for door-bell ethics. If it is fixed in the order\\nof things that one half of mankind shall ever be\\ndangling on the bell-handle and the other half running\\nto open the door, let us consider how to do it as\\ngracefully and profitably as possible.\\nWhoever would lay down a system of door-bell\\nethics must have regard to the three factors in the\\nmatter, the bell, the person outside, and the per-\\nson inside. Following this scientifically exhaustive\\ndivision of the subject, let us first consider the bell.\\nIf we must have bells, let us have bells that can\\nbe rung and that will give to the ringer some evi-\\ndence that they have been rung. The door-bell is", "height": "4482", "width": "2834", "jp2-path": "doneeverydaystra00well_0029.jp2"}, "30": {"fulltext": "26 DONE EVERY DAY,\\nthe voice of the house. I know some fine mansions\\nwhose feeble bells always remind me of the effemi-\\nnate voice of a big man I once knew. Others seem\\nto end in a vacuum, while others yield a faint tinkling\\nfrom some posterior region, like an echo from the\\nCliffs of Uncertainty. And not only does the house,\\nhowever imposing the architecture, become inconse-\\nquential when endowed with such an utterance, but\\na like fate befalls the unfortunate visitor, who, no\\nmatter how bold and decisive his ordinary bearing, is\\nmade to announce his approach in a voice like a timid\\nchild s.\\nThen, too, it is somewhat provoking, after one has\\nsolved the Chinese puzzle of the front-gate latch, to\\nbe confronted immediately with another in the shape\\nof a new style of door-bell. I am convinced that\\nthere will yet have to be an international congress\\nto decide upon a uniform door-bell and front-gate\\nlatch. Shall we pull the knob out or push it in\\nShall we rotate the handle or pull it up or down\\nAnd in the meantime we are in danger of breaking\\nthe apparatus or the third commandment. In the\\nlatch-string days they hindered entrance with Gordian\\nknots but now, with Gordian invention. Let us not\\npermit the Patent Office to beguile us into patent dis-\\ncourtesy.\\nOne word about the surroundings of the door-bell.\\nWhen the high-priced man plans your house for you,", "height": "4482", "width": "2834", "jp2-path": "doneeverydaystra00well_0030.jp2"}, "31": {"fulltext": "ETHICS OF THE DOOR-BELL. 27\\ndo not let him omit the shrine of Hospitality. What\\nis it? It is the porch or the storm-door. In this\\nsafe haven, while the elements rage without, we\\ngratefully remove our hats and lower our umbrellas,\\nand ring on the door-bell a paean of praise to our\\nhost. It may not harmonise well with the archi-\\ntecture of your house, but it will place a rare\\nblock in your celestial mansion. Leave unprotected\\ndoor-bells to Polyphemus, and such cold-hearted\\nentertainers.\\nBut if that is the shrine of Hospitality, the cheery,\\nwell-lighted hall is her high temple. At the entrance\\nof an ancient house stood a statue of Hermes, the god\\nof travellers. In our Christian homes, I am sure that\\na bright light in the hallway is no unacceptable offer-\\ning to the Father of Lights. The nature of the visit,\\nwhether it is to be constrained or easy, dull or jolly,\\nis decided, you know, during the two minutes when\\nthe guest is taking off his wraps.\\nThe second factor is the person outside. How\\nimpossible to separate one s character from anything\\none does even the ringing of a door-bell My\\ncaller need send in no card. That importunate peal\\nsignifies Doctor Eager. That is Miss Timid s little\\ntip-tap. And those three jerks can mean no one but\\nMaster Hurry. It is not at all every one that knows\\nhow to ring a door-bell properly. I do not know\\nwhich is worse, the dainty pull which scarcely dis-", "height": "4482", "width": "2834", "jp2-path": "doneeverydaystra00well_0031.jp2"}, "32": {"fulltext": "28 DONE EVERY DAY,\\nturbs the spider in the bell s brass dome, or the im-\\nperial pull which disturbs the entire neighbourhood.\\nOne results in the caller s leaving, unheard and angry,\\nand the other in our angry attendance.\\nEither, however, is to be preferred to that sum-\\nmons of impatience which repeats itself while we\\nare arising from our chair, and once again while we\\ntraverse the length of the hall. Strange, that people\\nwho would never insult us with their voice, should be\\nso discourteous with our door-bell You have heard\\nthe not incredible story of the philosophical English\\ndoctor, who wrote an entire volume while waiting on\\nhis patients door-steps. If you are addicted to the\\nring of impatience, begin to court the Muse, and\\ncompose at least one sonnet between your pulls on\\nthe bell.\\nBut the crowning virtue of the person outside is to\\nknow when to ring at all. Among the first of our\\nunformulated social beatitudes is this Blessed are\\nthey who know when to visit, for they shall be invited\\nto come again Knowledge of a person s busy\\ndays is a preliminary to calling as necessary as an\\nintroduction. Infelicities of behaviour or of speech\\nmar fewer friendships than infelicitous ringing of\\ndoor-bells. And until we know our friend well\\nenough to know when our visitation will be a joy,\\nand not a visitation in the more uncomplimentary\\nsense of that word, let us stay away altogether.", "height": "4482", "width": "2834", "jp2-path": "doneeverydaystra00well_0032.jp2"}, "33": {"fulltext": "ETHICS OF THE DOOR-BELL. 29\\nAnd finally we come to consider the person on the\\ninside. If the exterior virtue is patience, the interior\\nexcellence is promptness. A memory of my child-\\nhood will ever remain vivid. I was canvassing for\\nsome child s magazine, and felt, as all agents feel,\\nthat I was an outcast from humanity. I had received\\nall degrees and varieties of rebuffs, and the world was\\nvery black, and life not worth living, when in a cer-\\ntain swiftly opened doorway stood the vision of a\\nsmiling young lady, who said at once, in tones whose\\nheartiness makes sweet vibrations in my memory\\nstill, Come right in They did not subscribe to\\nmy magazine, but, as I went away, the world was\\nbright and life worth living again, and I registered\\na vow which I still occasionally think of, that my\\nfront door should be an equally gracious place.\\nThat was a very heretical family, I afterward\\nlearned, but I shall always hold their front door\\nvery orthodox.\\nI cannot help thinking that, in memory of their\\ntardy door-bell attendance on this earth, Saint Peter\\nwill be judiciously slow in admitting through the\\nheavenly portals some otherwise excellent persons.\\nAnd those who in their life allowed their servants\\nto perform that gracious office will the good saint\\nreceive them in person, or send a subordinate And\\nI wonder if we wouldn t make more efficient use of\\nour opportunities, opportunity, you know, means", "height": "4482", "width": "2834", "jp2-path": "doneeverydaystra00well_0033.jp2"}, "34": {"fulltext": "30 DONE EVERY DAY.\\nan open door, if we were more zealous openers of\\nthese wooden doors of ours.\\nIndeed, I begin to see that this difficulty, like so\\nmany others, is conquered by interpreting it. Trans-\\nlate the door-bell s jangle into terms of Christianity,\\nand it makes the sweetest music. I would not lose\\none strain of it, even the book-agent s. It stands now\\nnot merely for the tiresome accessibility of everybody\\nto everybody else, but for neighbourliness and friend-\\nship, for helpful contact with people one would never\\nmeet did they not seek to turn one s front door-steps\\ninto a market in short, for a thousand blessed\\nchances to put Christianity into practice. It is the\\nparable of human intercourse daily read out to us\\nfrom the New New Testament.\\nIf we knew that in the celestial hierarchy was a\\ncertain Angel of the Door-bell, a testing angel,\\nwho made occasional experimental pulls at our bells\\nfor proof of our practical Christianity, would we\\nchange any of our habits in that case? Would\\nwe urge others to go to the door or go slowly and\\nsurlily ourselves Ah in most real truth we are all\\ndoor-keepers in the house of our God. Let us con-\\nsecrate our door-posts with the warm, red love of Him\\nwho is the ever-open Door.", "height": "4482", "width": "2834", "jp2-path": "doneeverydaystra00well_0034.jp2"}, "35": {"fulltext": "A GOOD FORGITTERY. 3 1\\nIV.\\nA GOOD FORGITTERY.\\nMy blessings on the old lady who gave me this\\ntitle I ve a poor memory, but a good forgittery,\\nsaid she. Happy old soul\\nYou know Samuel Rogers s poem, Pleasures of\\nMemory Our grandfathers bound it up with\\nCampbell s Pleasures of Hope, and Akenside s\\nPleasures of the Imagination, and our fathers\\ngave this Book of Pleasures to our mothers in\\ncourting days, when hope and imagination, at least,\\nif not memory, held bliss galore. No one cares for\\npoor Rogers nowadays, but if he had only added to\\nthe trio the Pleasures of Forgetting, how we would\\nall read him\\nAnd yet we are ashamed of a good forgittery.\\nWhat school drill develops it What sermon\\npreaches the duty of oblivion Professor Mnemos-\\nyne enrolls his hundreds in classes for the study\\nof his Great Memory System. Where is Professor\\nLethe? The Art of Never Forgetting, that is\\nthe alluring title of an advertising pamphlet which\\nhas won the tuition fees of thousands.\\nBut the comfort of a good forgittery There\\ncomes a time to every housekeeper when a bottle\\nof water is worth ten bottles of ink, and many a", "height": "4482", "width": "2834", "jp2-path": "doneeverydaystra00well_0035.jp2"}, "36": {"fulltext": "32 DONE EVERY DAY.\\ntime to every soul-keeper when a flask from Lethe s\\nstream were more to be desired than all the writing-\\nfluid of the recording angel. The world has scrawled\\nupon our brain-tablets memories of harsh words, un-\\njust deeds, scowling skies, petulant whimpers, lifted\\neyebrows, cold faces, all in very black ink, and we\\nhave lost the sponge The art of forgetting at will\\nLet us hope that some great philosopher of the\\nfuture will develop it. Until he comes, may not an\\nordinary human being venture upon a few hints\\nIn the first place, my dear Fretter, don t be\\nashamed to forget your worries. Be deaf to the\\nsage s cry Reason them down Argue yourself\\nhappy Suppose you are stifled in bad air.\\nGo to cries the chemist. Let us purify this\\nair. We will absorb the carbon dioxide. We will\\nset free inspiring oxygen. Fetch me my retort\\nBut in the meantime you smother. So philosophy\\ncould transmute your ill to good, could prove the\\nvalue of the drizzle to the plant, of the cold shoulder\\nas a means of grace to your soul. So you would\\nbecome at length optimistic, through logic and dis-\\ncomfort. But common sense is optimistic brightly\\nand readily, through oblivion. Ignoble, do you say\\nWhy, every one would call that tired man a fool who\\nshould painfully concoct a soporific, when the nearest\\nbed would give him sleep, yet many men think hap-\\npiness unworthy, unless one toils for it.", "height": "4482", "width": "2834", "jp2-path": "doneeverydaystra00well_0036.jp2"}, "37": {"fulltext": "A GOOD FORGITTERY. 33\\nAnd in the second place, my dear Fretter, possi-\\nbly your forgittery is poor, because your memory is\\ntoo good. You have probably been taught that\\nevery fact contributes to your science. You have\\nprobably learned to delight in those indiscriminate\\nshovelfuls of truth which are worse than emptiness.\\nDear me if all meat is food to our palate, novels\\nof MacDonald and Ouida, history of the Tartars or\\nthe preeks, how can we learn wisely to receive\\nand reject emotions and unbidden thoughts\\nIn the last place, you have certainly neglected,\\nmy dear Fretter, to develop and train your forgittery.\\nAnd now you are indignant. I can t control my\\nfeelings When you have lived a little longer in\\nthe world, young man, and have had some of my\\nbitter experience, you ll not talk such nonsense\\nThat is as fretful and foolish as the child s I\\ncan t\\nYou can keep from opening your hand, can t you\\neat or not at your pleasure cheat and steal, or re-\\nfrain, as you will So close is the connection\\nbetween this brain and ourselves that we forget that\\nthe brain is just as much one of the soul s instru-\\nments as the hand or the tongue, an upper ser-\\nvant, but still a slave.\\nAnd yet in some ways we do train this slave. We\\nteach him to store away, compactly and curiously, all\\nmanner of rubbish, but entirely neglect to teach him", "height": "4482", "width": "2834", "jp2-path": "doneeverydaystra00well_0037.jp2"}, "38": {"fulltext": "34 DONE EVERY DAY.\\nthe skill and duty of housecleaning and keeping\\nclean. Of course, I know that all the natural cur-\\nrents of this world flow in upon the mind, and it is\\nhard to sweep the rubbish out against them. But\\nit can be done. Let me give you my three rules\\nfor forgetting. They are comprised in the mystic\\nwords Discrimination, Occupation, Supplication.\\nDiscrimination. Every man s mind is his castle.\\nFools give Dame Circumstance the key. They keep\\nopen house to her tribe. A rap at the door is pass-\\nport to entrance and entertainment. In they throng,\\npriest and tramp, king and cutthroat, and the first-\\ncomer gets the best room. My dear Fretter, learn\\nthe use of the drawbridge and the moat. Scan new\\narrivals through the portcullis bars. Send the devils\\naway and let the angels in. But in some unguarded\\nmoment the devils will enter. Then,\\nOccupation. Crowd them out with better folk.\\nEspecially take to heart, my languid Fretter, this\\nrugged maxim Physical hurry best cures mental\\nworry. You have probably run too much to head.\\nYou have no long roots buried in the moist\\nsoil. Every sunbeam wilts your surface growth.\\nGladstone s wood-chopping, Tolstoi s ploughing, are\\nno small part of the lessons those great men teach.\\nWhy, do you know the man of the future whom\\nevolution is to bring forth, evolution and labour-\\nsaving machinery and the higher education A", "height": "4482", "width": "2834", "jp2-path": "doneeverydaystra00well_0038.jp2"}, "39": {"fulltext": "A GOOD FORGITTERY. 35\\ndiminutive creature, spindling legs and arms, hands\\njust able to grasp a pen, dainty jaws, poor teeth,\\nbald head, near-sighted eyes, but with a mighty\\nforehead, and an absolutely unexampled cranial capa-\\ncity. That is, he is to be in perfection what so\\nmany are already becoming, a machine cunningly\\ndevised to generate immense volumes of high-pres-\\nsure steam, but with the safety-valve omitted.\\nMen ought to be built like the Deacon s wonder-\\nful one-horse shay, strong all over, warranted to\\nrun a hundred years to a day, and go to pieces all\\nat once and nothing first no long-drawn-out agony\\nof patching up an organ here, a nerve there no\\nweary dragging around by overworked halves of\\nbodies of decrepit other halves, with squeak and rat-\\ntle and sway. My man of the future must have a\\nsuperb set of teeth to cut up fuel for that superb\\nthought-generator, and limbs which can draw off its\\nsuperabundant energy, or I shall expect an explosion\\nas certainly as if I had put a fulminating cap in the\\npoor creature s upper story, with a lighted fuse at the\\nend of it.\\nI do not recall a single instance of a man busy\\nhabitually at manual labour who seemed unhappy.\\nThe hand-worker has a sense of creation. Contact\\nwith Nature has given him somewhat of her large\\noutlook. He seems transported into a wider life,\\nwith his petty worries far behind. We overwrought", "height": "4482", "width": "2834", "jp2-path": "doneeverydaystra00well_0039.jp2"}, "40": {"fulltext": "36 DONE EVERY DAY.\\nthinkers, careworn men of figures and stocks, anxious\\nhousehold Marthas, how amused and disgusted we\\nare by the contempt with which a farm-hand or a\\nkitchen-maid receives our mental woes A man who\\nis seeing with exultation of soul a trim house grow-\\ning skyward under his hammer and saw, glistening\\nwith fresh wood and firm with its accurate joints,\\nhas scant sympathy with the parson s grief over a\\nchilling prayer-meeting, with the teacher s groaning\\nanent the mental inertia of his pupils, with his wife s\\nfears concerning the next payment on the mortgage,\\nor the wildness of their son John. All these worries\\nseem immaterial and unsubstantial by the side of the\\nsolid joy his hands have builded. The self-satisfied\\noptimism of Nature, with whom he has been so inti-\\nmately at work, has entered his soul.\\nWho that has tried it will deny the efficacy of\\nthis antidote to worry Some brisk, physical task,\\nentered upon, it may be, with shrinking and loathing\\nand a heavy heart, that is a sad sorrow which this\\nwill not cure that is a deep-seated mental malaria\\nwhich will not out with the perspiration those are\\nwell-furrowed wrinkles which Nature s loving hand\\ncannot smooth away.\\nBut there are some papers which receive too faith-\\nfully the impression, and no complete erasure is pos-\\nsible. And there are some sorrows which write with\\nindelible ink. The recourse then is to mark out with", "height": "4482", "width": "2834", "jp2-path": "doneeverydaystra00well_0040.jp2"}, "41": {"fulltext": "A GOOD FORGITTERY. 37\\nother ink. Do you know that the best way to blot\\nout a word is to write over it some other word If\\nphysical work will not erase your worries, you may\\neasily blot them out with fresh thoughts overlaid.\\nHere comes in play the blessed faculty of reading\\nand study. In the good time coming, when that\\nsupersensitive, dainty product of human evolution\\nshall have caused also, by the law of supply and\\ndemand, the appearance of the physician of the\\nmind, to supersede our doctors of the body, books\\nwill be ranked high in the materia medica, and libra-\\nries will be added to the apothecaries shops. For\\nthe careworn housewife with humdrum duties will be\\nprescribed Dickens and Scott, Charles Reade and\\nThackeray. For the nervous scholar, worn out by\\nfailure or success, the druggist will wrap up a copy\\nof George MacDonald, or Charles Lamb, or Emer-\\nson. For the quivering man of ledgers and day-\\nbooks the wise physician will order a course of\\ntreatment in history or science.\\nIt is perfectly possible for any one, in these days\\nof books, to fit up for himself the withdrawing cham-\\nber of some study, however humble, in history or\\nscience or literature or art, the furnishing and adorn-\\ning of which will become an increasingly attractive\\nwork, and which will serve as his all-but-impregnable\\ncastle of defence against ordinary human worries.\\nEach for himself, however, must learn what task,", "height": "4482", "width": "2834", "jp2-path": "doneeverydaystra00well_0041.jp2"}, "42": {"fulltext": "38 DONE EVERY DAY.\\nphysical or mental, is best fitted to withdraw him\\nfrom his vexations. But for all, occupation is the\\nbest mode of forgetting.\\nThis will not be easy. It means the taming of\\nthose intangible, mysterious thoughts and emotions\\nwhich we must conquer and capture, having never\\nseen or touched them, upon which we must learn to\\nplay, having been so long played upon by them.\\nMany a time, at some unexpected moment, the ex-\\npelled cares and worries will sweep back upon us in\\na triumph all the more bitter for our temporary dis-\\nenthrallment. There will be needed many stiffen-\\ning s of the spiritual backbone. There will be needed\\neven the supreme conviction that happiness is a duty,\\nthat peace and equilibrium of soul is the only worthy\\ncondition of spirits born for the calm reaches of\\neternity.\\nYet, with all man can do by work and will to hold\\nin thrall his spirit, there are many sorrows too strong\\nfor him, many defeats too bitter for unaided recovery.\\nHappy his lot if through the unworded mystery of\\nprayer he can summon Omnipotence to his aid.\\nNatural means must be plied at first, for not even\\nthe old pagan would have the gods help the wagon\\nout of the rut, till the wagoner had put his shoulder\\nto the wheel. But if work and will both fail, there\\nis an upward glance, there is an appeal whose weak-\\nness is its strength, there is a power which descends", "height": "4482", "width": "2834", "jp2-path": "doneeverydaystra00well_0042.jp2"}, "43": {"fulltext": "THE TYRANNY OF SOUND. 39\\nalong the trembling line of an honest prayer, in whose\\nmight we may all be able to forget the things that\\nare behind, and reach out to the things that lie\\nbefore us.\\nV.\\nTHE TYRANNY OF SOUND.\\nHearing is the most tyrannical of the senses. We\\neasily shut eyes and mouth against unpleasant sights\\nand tastes. We need not handle what is disagree-\\nable to the touch. Closed windows and deodorisers\\nkeep the nose tranquil. But the tongue can no\\nman tame. Wherever I go, unless it be into a\\nvacuum, sound, the snake, creeps sinuous in, and\\nstings me on the ear.\\nThere is something fearful in its omnipresence.\\nThe poet in his garret would write an elegy, but up\\nfrom a neighbour s piano floats a waltz, and his mind,\\nthat should beat spondaic, flutters off into tricksy\\ntrochees. Annie Laurie plays havoc with the\\naccountant s figures. Shall we have fish for din-\\nner, Edward and the inventor s bright idea is gone\\nfor ever.\\nOf course, the poet may go to the woods, but\\nremoval is always greater interruption than any\\nwaltz could be. The accountant may stop his ears,", "height": "4482", "width": "2834", "jp2-path": "doneeverydaystra00well_0043.jp2"}, "44": {"fulltext": "40 DONE EVERY DAY.\\nbut the resultant interior roar is worse than Annie\\nLaurie. The inventor may tell his wife to shut up,\\nbut his remorse of conscience will check invention for\\nan hour, at least.\\nAnd sound, the snake, has a hundred arms, like the\\nmonster of mythology. You may cut off one arm,\\nbut two spring up to take its place. Whatever proc-\\ness you follow in diminishing the sound increases\\nyour sensitiveness in like ratio. If you still a con-\\nversation in order to think, a whisper will be greater\\nannoyance than the conversation was. If you close\\ndoors and windows upon a street song, the act has\\ndrawn every nerve tenser for magnifying the subdued\\nstrain.\\nAnd if you chance to kill the snake, it haunts you.\\nMusic, when soft voices die, vibrates in the mem-\\nory/ Every one remembers Mark Twain s pathetic\\naccount of the manner in which the ridiculous rhyme,\\nThe conductor when he takes his fare, destroyed\\nthe mental peace of his entire circle of acquaintances.\\nIt is seldom that touches so persecute us, or that\\nsights so harry us with haunting reproductions.\\nRarely do tastes and odours thus resuscitate them-\\nselves. Sound is the most tyrannical of the senses.\\nOf course, this is because sound speaks most fa-\\nmiliarly to the mind. It is the least impersonal of the\\nsenses. It suggests human presence as readily as\\ntouch and taste suggest matter. These air vibrations", "height": "4482", "width": "2834", "jp2-path": "doneeverydaystra00well_0044.jp2"}, "45": {"fulltext": "THE TYRANNY OF SOUND. 4 1\\nare more marvellous than the magic carpet of the\\nArabian Nights, because they not only transport us\\nswiftly, but multiply us. By their mischievous aid,\\nwe can project our individualities at the same time\\ninto the tense thought of the philosopher, the anxious\\nletter of the lover, the complicated designs of the\\ncapitalist. We may send ourselves wherever air is.\\nHow recklessly people use this weird power I\\nshudder at thought of the millions of throbbing heads\\nnow dotting this din-ful world, the piteous closed\\nwindows through which dash victorious floods of\\nnoise, the clattering pavements, grating voices, shrill\\ntones assaulting sick-beds, aching brows knit over\\nbooks in fierce despair, the coarse, imperious thought-\\nlessness of selfish sound, until as I meditate I long\\nto escape out of the quivering air, into the blessedness\\nof still space\\nThank heaven for the quiet people for the\\npeople who do not insist on impressing their mood\\non every one else. I am glad to know that Bess is\\nhappy unto singing, but Bess s bliss is not always a\\nmental stimulus. I rejoice to know that Ben, poor\\nfellow, notwithstanding his trouble, is able to whistle\\nso buoyantly and shrilly but there are many things\\nbesides Ben s cheerfulness about which I should like\\nto think this morning. There is no one who does\\nnot, on occasion, admire and envy the possessor of\\nfine animal spirits. And there is no neighbour", "height": "4482", "width": "2834", "jp2-path": "doneeverydaystra00well_0045.jp2"}, "46": {"fulltext": "42 DONE EVERY DAY.\\nof one so blest who is not made often to wish those\\nspirits a little less animal and more human a little\\nless irrepressibly puppyish, kittenish, and tigrine, and\\nmore self-contained and thoughtful of others.\\nDear legion of girls, who will sit down this morn-\\ning, light-hearted, deft-fingered, to your practising/*\\n(strange that in this practical age that term should\\nbe all-but-appropriated by you and the doctors be-\\nthink yourselves, as your fresh voices or dainty hands\\nscale up and down with laudable iteration, whether\\nit is only fond mamma or watchful music teacher\\nwhose hours you set beating to your la-la s and\\nturn-turn s/ And if you are practising on a\\nnervous, fretting invalid, on brains trying to think,\\nor even on some ugly bachelor who likes to read his\\nnewspaper in peace, then oh, kind legion, less Chopin\\nand more Beethoven, closed windows, back parlour,\\nsoft pedal, and there will be more music in the\\nworld, after all\\nThe careless question, indifferent to what fruitful\\ncurrent of thought it splashes in droning conversa-\\ntion insistently imposed upon wandering-eyed victims\\nthe loud voice characteristic, they say, of us Ameri-\\ncans the myriad interruptions, so trivial, so potent\\nis the sin less because it is thoughtless Is the\\negotism more pardonable because it is unconscious\\nWhy, suppose our bodies as sensitive to the move-\\nments of others as our ears to their sounds. I dance", "height": "4482", "width": "2834", "jp2-path": "doneeverydaystra00well_0046.jp2"}, "47": {"fulltext": "THE TYRANNY OF SOUND, 43\\nwith joy, and set my neighbour, old Mrs. Rheumatic,\\nto waltzing. I wring my hands, and Jack Jolly must\\nperforce wring his. I shake my fist, and hit that\\nstranger across the street. How long before the\\nlawyers would make us exceedingly careful how our\\nmotions set the wonderful air vibrating But though\\nlegal process is sometimes, rarely, invoked against\\nchurch bells and factory whistles, the air is practically\\nhigh sea to every one, and we may strike blows on\\nnerves, wring them, or set them to dancing, at our\\nlordly will.\\nI can imagine various stout, soft-motioned people\\nreading this with incredulous sneers. What a\\nterrible ado about nothing Yes, I know you,\\ngood folk, that you can sleep through a political\\njollification. I have heard of your writing love-\\nlyrics next door to boiler factories. My probing\\nforefinger has often failed to rouse you from your\\nself-communion. You have heard of Sal, stand-\\ning with bare, horny feet on a live coal. To her\\nfather s exclamation she drawls out, Which foot,\\npaw\\nWe should like such feet, and such ears, we, the\\nsensitive majority. We envy you your blessed\\nstolidity, your abnormal immobility. We must wear\\nboots, and gloves, and dark glasses for aching eyes,\\nbut what shall we wear on our ears, what sound-filter,\\nnoise-stifler How escape the thrall of this tyran-", "height": "4482", "width": "2834", "jp2-path": "doneeverydaystra00well_0047.jp2"}, "48": {"fulltext": "44 DONE EVERY DAY.\\nnical sense, whose chains are made of necessity and\\ncivilisation and neighbourliness and courtesy and\\neven love\\nShall we set out on a crusade of education, and\\nteach all who play with noise-explosives what a com-\\nplex, delicate, sensitive process all thinking is how\\nintangible its tools, how elusive its formulae Ah\\nthat were a task to teach the thoughtless what\\nthinking means for which thinkers yet need many\\na year of quiet meditation. Can we divest sounds of\\ntheir appealing personality, invent some philosophical\\ncharm which shall render them insignificant as the\\ndrone of bees or splash of waves What wealth\\nawaits such an invention\\nNo, I can name but one palliative for sound s\\ntyranny, and that is love. Love, an absorbing love\\nof one s own work, is a castle which the sound-\\nlegions assault in vain. But love for the sounds\\nthemselves, born of love for their makers this\\nopens our castle gates, and the sounds come in like\\nprattling children, to play half noticed about our feet\\ntyrannical still, as a laughing babe is tyrannical.\\nWe are not annoyed by the noise of our own mills,\\nour own children, our own voices. And thus the\\nonly satisfactory conquest of annoying sounds is the\\nloving sympathy which makes them as our own. If\\nwe would not go through this world shrinking mor-\\nbidly from its multiform noises, we must know how", "height": "4482", "width": "2834", "jp2-path": "doneeverydaystra00well_0048.jp2"}, "49": {"fulltext": "MASTERS OF THE MAIL. 45\\nto become interested in the purposes, characters, and\\nlives of all men.\\nAnd then only, I think, shall we begin to learn the\\nblessedness of sound s omnipresence to see how the\\ndemocratic air, pulsating with machine clatter, chil-\\ndren s shouts, maiden s light laughter, church bells\\nand organ tones, interlaced with the myriad voices of\\nnature, is binding all things, with what we have\\ncalled sound s tyranny, close together into the one\\nRepublic of God.\\nVI.\\nMASTERS OF THE MAIL.\\nI do not mean masters of the male. That is not\\na disputed matter, if you consider master of com-\\nmon gender. Nor do I mean postmasters. They\\nare slaves of the mail. But are they the only\\nslaves? Far from it. I shudder when I read the\\nglowing reports of the post-office department. These\\nincreasing millions of stamps sold and letters carried,\\nthese cheapened rates and wider facilities, over which\\ngovernmental authorities are so cheerful and party\\norators so exultant, what are they all but added\\nchains about the necks of hundreds of thousands of\\nmy fellow creatures, whose uneasy lives are more", "height": "4482", "width": "2834", "jp2-path": "doneeverydaystra00well_0049.jp2"}, "50": {"fulltext": "46 DONE EVERY DAY.\\nand more confined to the conscience pigeon-holes\\nof their secretaries\\nSlaves of the mail Why, I wonder whether all\\nthe sighs that ascended from plantation bondmen\\never equalled in bulk of unrest the groans of letter-\\ngalled humanity I wonder if all the bricks ever\\nmade without straw, heaped in one monster pyramid,\\nwould overtop the worlds pile of letters, written\\nwhen one had nothing to say Slaves of the planta-\\ntion, you must remember, did useful work. But our\\nslaves of the post-office what time-wasting, nerve-\\nshredding, life-desolating efforts are most of theirs\\nThe heartless wretch shrieks Miss Sukey Sen-\\ntiment. How could I exist without my weekly\\nletter from Clarinda I should not know what she\\nis wearing, or making over to wear, or how her head-\\naches are, or what calls she is making or receiving.\\nLife would be a blank\\nThe uncouth boor exclaims Mrs. Solomon\\nLittletodo. Doesn t he know that letters cement\\nand perpetuate friendships, that they enrich us with\\nthe thoughts and experiences of others, that they\\ndevelop powers of expression, and by the emulation\\nof friendly example incite us to culture\\nHow he exaggerates cries Mr. Ralph Ready-\\npen. In half a day I can write up my correspond-\\nence for a month, and spend the rest of my time in\\nthe delight of reading the answers. He is evidently", "height": "4482", "width": "2834", "jp2-path": "doneeverydaystra00well_0050.jp2"}, "51": {"fulltext": "MASTERS OF THE MAIL. 47\\none of these lazy empty-heads who spend two hours\\nin thinking how to begin.\\nPardon me, my dear ladies and gentlemen, but I\\nwas not referring to you. Enjoy, if you can, your\\nluxuriant inanities, your prolix sentiments, your light-\\nweight missives of lighter-weight brains. You are\\nnot slaves of the mail, but its fools. You do not\\nknow what it means to have an epistolary conscience.\\nAn epistolary conscience that wakes us up in the\\nnight with a start, in order that accusing bands of\\nunanswered letters may flap their ghostly sheets at\\nus out of the dark that hangs on our necks like\\nan old man of the sea of the seal, I should have\\nsaid in the days of wax and weighs down our\\nspirits after our work is done with thought of other\\nw r ork to be done, work that friendship and fashion\\nand ethics bid us call enjoyment.\\nAn epistolary conscience that will not rest ignobly\\nsatisfied with postal cards or even with a double sheet\\nof personal gossip that scorns the fashionable device\\nof inch-high script that counts procrastination a\\ntreason to friendship that sees ever floating before\\nit the ideal letter-writers of the world, men and\\nwomen whose epistolary wit and wisdom have added\\nall ages to their list of correspondents and made\\nTime himself their postman.\\nTo such people the post-office presents this prob-\\nlem Here am I, a man who delights in making", "height": "4482", "width": "2834", "jp2-path": "doneeverydaystra00well_0051.jp2"}, "52": {"fulltext": "48 DONE EVERY DAY,\\nfriends and keeping them a man who needs the\\nhelp that friendships give, and loves to repay, if\\npossible, 7 the blessed boon. But in the uneasy state\\nof our American population, of which it may with\\ncertainty be said that if a man is here this year it is\\nbecause he was elsewhere last year, I find my friends\\ncontinually exchanging the friendship of the eye, ear,\\nand hand for the friendship of the United States mails.\\nNot many years pass by before, with this yearly\\ntransformation working always outward and never\\nbackward, the accumulation becomes appalling. I\\nreview the throng of them. Were these post-office\\nfriends of mine to return, how many hours a week\\nwould it require to maintain a fair acquaintance with\\nthem More than any toiler could spare. It takes\\nlonger to write a letter than to make the most in-\\nformal call and yet I am expected to maintain an\\nepistolary acquaintance with all these people.\\nThey are noble men and charming women. Yes,\\nindeed. The world would be a dismal place without\\ntheir friendship. But in the days before that meddle-\\nsome Ben Franklin set on foot his pernicious letter-\\nhotbed schemes, did friends forget each other then,\\nI wonder, though sundered fifty stages That\\ntwenty-six-cent letter once a year, when it came, did\\nit not do more to rekindle the fires of love and kindly\\ninterest than all our thirteen two-cent missives I\\ntrow so.", "height": "4482", "width": "2834", "jp2-path": "doneeverydaystra00well_0052.jp2"}, "53": {"fulltext": "MASTERS OF THE MAIL. 49\\nIn its best estate, the letter is a bald substitute\\nfor the living voice, the flashing eye, the eloquent\\nfeatures. Men can help each other little by corre-\\nspondence. What do I care if my friend has just\\nbought a new encyclopedia, or had his house freshly\\nshingled I want to know that he has thoughts of\\nme, that he will turn to me for advice and consolation,\\nwill share with me his greater joys, and give me the\\nsame companionship when I ask. it. But this comes\\nnot by way of a monthly eight-page diary. We lived\\ntogether once, and spoke in no dead language to each\\nother. A letter a year will paint the cable that binds\\nus, will ward off the rust of time, and I ask no more.\\nThink, too, of the injustice these importunate\\nletters do to our present friends. Why, if every one\\nlived up to his mail duties, my friends and I would\\nbe obliged to fix on some time to walk to the post-\\noffice together. We should have no other time for\\nintercourse. Better is a neighbour that is near than\\na brother far off. Thus spoke the wisest of men.\\nBetter is the hearty eye-to-eye of the present than\\nthe penned narration of the past. While I can talk\\nwith my wise neighbour over the fence, I shall not\\nwrite up my journal for my friend over the Rockies.\\nThis is selfish, you cry in horror, forgetting that\\nmy friend over the Rockies has, or should have, his\\nown fence-comrade, also. Should have, I say, for I\\nhave small sympathy with those past-tense natures", "height": "4482", "width": "2834", "jp2-path": "doneeverydaystra00well_0053.jp2"}, "54": {"fulltext": "50 DONE EVERY DAY.\\nwhich think any second set of friendships rank\\ntreason to the first. They are ceaselessly dreaming\\nof old friends far o er the sea. Old friends may be\\nbest, together with the proverbial old wine and old\\nbooks, but if a man has not brotherly kindness enough\\nto be making new friends ever, he has not enough\\nbrotherly kindness to deserve to retain an old friend.\\nHold to the old friendships, I preach and I practise,\\nbut hold to them by something stronger than the\\nthread which surrounds a packet of trivial letters.\\nOh, fie indignant lover, I am not talking to you.\\nHer letters are not trivial, though they contain\\nnothing more weighty than reports of the weather.\\nThe most aimless scribbling of that dear hand is\\nworth its weight in diamonds, I agree with you.\\nMail-trains should run with extra speed, and mail-\\nclerks give heavy bonds for the safe transmission of\\nsuch precious freight. There cannot be too much of\\nit, though the big earth be filled with the letters that\\nshould be writ.\\nAnd oh, fie homesick boy, I am not talking to\\nyou, either. You may sit up two hours a day, after\\nwork is done, and jerk your eager, yearning pen over\\nmore space than separates you from father and\\nmother, sister and home. It will be good for you,\\nand good for them. What a terrible thing homesick-\\nness must have been before Ben Franklin s couriers\\nand our express train furnished swift alleviation.", "height": "4482", "width": "2834", "jp2-path": "doneeverydaystra00well_0054.jp2"}, "55": {"fulltext": "MASTERS OF THE MAIL. 5 I\\nMy voice is raised for those, and those alone, who\\nwith brain and body wearied by long hours of service,\\napproach that pigeon-hole crammed with unanswered\\nletters as a worn-out slave falters toward a treadmill.\\nFriends, let us be slaves no longer, but masters of\\nthe mail There is no greater treason to friendship\\nthan allowing its joys to become duties. Far better\\na postal card where zest is, than twenty pages inter-\\nlined with groans. Far better a circular letter (would\\nthey were fashionable) with good-will, than a dozen\\nspecial letters with halting will. Far better the im-\\npersonal typewriter, if it means love, than the most\\ncharacteristic chirography, spun by indifferent fingers.\\nLet us say frankly to our correspondents, Friends,\\nas when you were in my town you did not gauge my\\nlove to you by the number of hours I spent at your\\nhouses, or the number of words I spoke to you, so\\nlet us not adopt such mean standards now that we\\nare parted. When you were here we passed far\\nbeyond that uncomfortable stage of formal calls,\\nprimly alternating, far beyond the time when width\\nof smile must match width of smile and each took\\njealous note of the pressure of hands. As in that\\nhappy time, let us speak only when the heart moves\\nus, and for the rest be silent, understood.\\nThen, the writing of true letters will begin. Then,\\nno bank-messenger will carry loads as valuable as the\\npostman s. Then, letters will be prized for their", "height": "4482", "width": "2834", "jp2-path": "doneeverydaystra00well_0055.jp2"}, "56": {"fulltext": "52 DONE EVERY DAY.\\nrarity as now they are dreaded for their frequency.\\nThey will be handed down as precious heirlooms.\\nAll slave-work degenerates, but free work grows\\nnobler. Then, epistolary giants will appear again on\\nearth, for we shall be masters of the mail.\\nVII.\\nTHE ART OF WALKING.\\nIf men and women were as stupid in their brains\\nas in their feet, how ashamed they would be If\\ntheir hands so lacked deftness, their tongues alacrity,\\nand their souls the faculty of continuance\\nThe foot is the brain s minister of introduction to\\nthings fair and worthy. Is the forest a balm for the\\nheart-ache, is the hilltop a soul-tonic, the sunset\\ndoubt s medicine, are fresh air and sunshine the com-\\npound elixir of life Then how shall they be wealthy\\nwith health and wisdom whose feet are clogged with\\nthe criminal cannon-balls of sloth or carelessness, or\\nthe weakness and disease which spring from these\\nHardly greater is the distance that parts the creep-\\ning baby from the strutting man than that between\\nthe ordinary walker and the owner of real feet. Feet\\nare real when, unpierced by venomed stangs, they\\nare able for a series of springing, glad contacts with\\nold earth, stretching out over forty miles, say, for a", "height": "4482", "width": "2834", "jp2-path": "doneeverydaystra00well_0056.jp2"}, "57": {"fulltext": "THE ART OF WALKING. 53\\nday s delight able to do it the next day and the\\nnext, up hill, down dale, over stone, log, or furrow,\\nwithout poisoning the eye s enjoyment or the\\nthought s musings with sharp reminders of their\\nexistence.\\nThe wise men are now much concerned with dis-\\ncussions of manual training. Not at all amiss would\\nbe as vigorous a discussion of pedal training. In\\nanticipation of it, I offer the following pedestrian\\nmaxims. Let him who reads walk\\nImprimis A purposeful walk is a delightful walk.\\nThose who do not know why they walk will never\\nknow that they enjoy it.\\nHealth is adequate object for a walk and whither-\\nsoever he walks, the pedestrian always walks toward\\nhealth.\\nA fine view is object sufficient. And the more\\nmiles one has travelled to see fine views, the fewer\\nmiles does he need to go to see them. Eyes open\\nwith seeing.\\nOne does not become a good musician without a\\nliking for music, nor a good walker without a love for\\nnature. That is the pedestrian appetite.\\nThe Christian is the best lover of nature therefore\\nthe Christian makes the best walker.\\nAs the months succeed each other in the year s\\ntransformations, precisely the same road will furnish\\na dozen different walks. Yes, three dozen one for", "height": "4482", "width": "2834", "jp2-path": "doneeverydaystra00well_0057.jp2"}, "58": {"fulltext": "54 DONE EVERY DAY,\\nmorning s freshness, one for the open noon, and one\\nfor the holy evening.\\nProud science, too, is a handmaid of pedestrianism.\\nHave those rock scratches a meaning to you? Is\\nthere language in the river s windings and the ra-\\nvine s incision Can you talk with the stony deni-\\nzens of yonder ledge Have you a passport into the\\ninsect world, and a letter of introduction to the\\nflowers Are the stars your friends, so that you\\ncan tell their faces, this, Saturn that, a double\\na nebula yonder Then every walk is a crowded\\npanorama of wonder and delight.\\nI propose some novel societies. Why not a Sun-\\nset Society, to view the great colour revel from Three-\\nmile Hill or even, for the more daring, a Sunrise\\nLeague Why not a Crispin Club, for the indirect\\nbenefit of the shoemakers, or a Five-mile-a-day Fra-\\nternity\\nHe who walks with a friend sees with four eyes,\\nand walks with four feet doubles the distance and\\nhalves the fatigue. A selfish pedestrian walks in a\\ntunnel, with muffled eyes and weighted feet.\\nIn default of a friend, let a book be your walking\\ncompanion. Emerson is for hilltops, Browning for\\nroadsides, Lowell for forests, and Shakespeare for\\neverywhere. To a wise walker the whole township\\nis sacred. By that brook I read In Memoriam\\non that eminence, Heroes and Hero Worship/ No", "height": "4482", "width": "2834", "jp2-path": "doneeverydaystra00well_0058.jp2"}, "59": {"fulltext": "THE ART OF WALKING. 55\\none has truly read the Book who has not read it with\\nits unprinted commentary open before him read\\nDavid and the meadows together, and let the sun-\\nshine make marginal notes on John.\\nThe skilled walker regards the quality more than\\nthe quantity of his walking, and knows that a wise\\nmile outvalues a foolish league. One whose walking\\nis a race, whose watch is ever out to time his speed,\\nwalk swiftly as he may, w r ill never reach the pedes-\\ntrian s goal. He has weighted his mind with a ped-\\nometer. On the contrary, all ailments and worries\\nkeep up with the languid walker. If he moved\\nmore briskly, they would fall behind.\\nIf you would walk well, you must eat well, and\\ndress well, and think well.\\nYou must eat well. A walk has higher duties than\\nthose of the stomach, nobler tasks than to drive away\\ndyspepsia.\\nYou must dress well dress for the walk. There\\nare those who do not take long walks because of the\\nwear of leather Body is worth more than boots\\nthe soul, than the sole. And, by the way, (no by\\nthe way for the highways!) to walk in spike-toed\\nshoes is as foolish as to play the piano with buckskin\\ngloves or paint a picture blindfold.\\nYou must think well. Not even a professional\\nwalker, not even Weston himself, could walk away\\nfrom a bad conscience.\\nLrfC.", "height": "4482", "width": "2834", "jp2-path": "doneeverydaystra00well_0059.jp2"}, "60": {"fulltext": "$6 DONE EVERY DAY.\\nOne further requirement, and only one you must\\nhave a regular time for walking. What may be done\\nat any time will probably be done at no time. If\\nmen should set apart time for walking as carefully\\nas for eating, they would set a much later date for\\nthe visit of the doctor and the old gentleman with the\\nscythe.\\nWalking, it will be seen, has ethics, the ethics of\\nself-forgetfulness it has science, the science of com-\\nmon sense it has logic, the logic of action it has\\nreligion, the religion of nature. And this is the test\\nof it all On your return do you find that this fair\\nworld and a little brisk activity in it has beguiled you\\naway from your gloomy self, and into a more sensible\\nand cheerful mood Then you have learned the art\\nof walking.\\nVIII.\\nREADING FROM A SENSE OF DUTY.\\nThere was a small boy once, who, like most small\\nboys, was an ideal reader. He had never heard of\\nthe One Hundred Best Books, and it wouldn t have\\nspoiled him if he had. Flat on the floor in the sun,\\nreclined on a slanting roof, or (fantastic but delect-\\nable posture roosting midway up a tall ladder, he\\nread from love, not duty.", "height": "4482", "width": "2834", "jp2-path": "doneeverydaystra00well_0060.jp2"}, "61": {"fulltext": "READING FROM A SENSE OF DUTY. 57\\nEvery boy is his own critic. And so this young\\nliterary dictator set on his right hand Fanny Fern\\nand on his left Charles Dickens seated Thackeray\\nat the foot of the table, and sent George Eliot out\\nto eat in the kitchen. If he read Kenilworth many\\ntimes, he read Major Jones s Courtship at least as\\noften. If he yielded his heart to Mrs. Stowe, it was\\nwith the reservation of a large part of it for Holmes\\n(Mary J., not the wise Doctor).\\nAh me The sad revolution of a few years That\\nhappy dictator, tumbled headlong from his quondam\\nthrone, now sits quaking on its bottom step at the\\nfeet of a sceptred hobgoblin, Onehundredbestbooks\\nRex. He has learned that Tolstoi is approved by\\nsuperior intellects. In an evil hour he has heard\\nof Ibsen. He crunches, with long teeth, clerks,\\nsociety belles, social problems, and theological mys-\\nteries, dubbed novels, though all the while he is\\nhalf devoured with unconfessed hunger for dark\\nmoats and clanking armour and secret dungeons, and\\nSir Gilbert to the rescue, ho\\nBut in a moment of sublime daring he has risen\\nfrom that lower step and cries, in desperation, Why\\nread from a sense of duty Duty to whom\\nCome, tell me Duty to whom\\nIs it to the author Oh, those ill-starred books,\\nup among the bottles of the literary apothecary s\\nshop, ready to be portioned out in doses, though", "height": "4482", "width": "2834", "jp2-path": "doneeverydaystra00well_0061.jp2"}, "62": {"fulltext": "58 DONE EVERY DAY.\\nthey wish (as every book that has meat in it must\\nwish) to be in the fragrant pantry, to be nibbled at\\nby the small boy on the sly\\nAn author wants to be read from a sense of duty\\nWhat must be the sensations of some large-hearted\\nman, who had hoped that the product of his thought\\nwould become the very staff of life of mental life\\nto others, when he finds it become merely a yard-\\nstick, up against which one s discernment and liter-\\nary taste are measured Heigh-ho There s so\\nmuch talk about this R 1 El e, I suppose\\nI must seven hundred pages Oh, dear me\\nIs that fame\\nAnd what of the poor, dead authors, whose works\\nhave become duty-branded classics What if dear\\nLamb, from some heavenly window, is able to see\\nthe dozen, more or less, who are constantly yawning\\nover his delicious pages, because, forsooth, he is in\\nthe course, excellent people, devoid of humour,\\ntenderness, and imagination, yawning over Lamb\\nHow must his placid spirit be tempted to utterance\\nof words not suited to the environment\\nIf, then, one need not read from a sense of duty\\nto authors, possibly one should read from a sense of\\nduty to other people Never Never Who that\\nis a lover of good books has not been annoyed by\\nthe rabble who are toadies to good books who\\nput them in conspicuous places in their conversation,", "height": "4482", "width": "2834", "jp2-path": "doneeverydaystra00well_0062.jp2"}, "63": {"fulltext": "READING FROM A SENSE OF DUTY. 59\\nas they push the visiting-cards of the upper two\\nhundred into prominence on their tables. The insuf-\\nferable, unwarranted conceit of these readers from\\nduty Why, a book-lover is charmed into a blessed\\nhumility in the presence of his author, and mentions\\nhim in conversation as one would lift the curtain of\\nsome precious shrine. Brag of having read Augus-\\ntine Birrell As soon brag of a savoury stroll through\\na sunny, rich-laden orchard.\\nAnd besides, though some few can talk showily as\\na result of this duty-goaded reading, none can talk\\nto edification. Usually the conversation of such\\nreaders amounts to this Have I read the Inmost\\nRevelations of Susy Thrilling? Why, of course I\\nEvery one reads it, you know. Gladstone wrote a\\nreview of it, you know. Let s see. It came out in\\nthe Seavell Square Library, didn t it Number\\n2139. Double number, and forty cents. Splendid,\\nwasn t it\\nWhen will people learn that they can t talk help-\\nfully or entertainingly about what they do not under-\\nstand, and that they cannot understand through a\\nsense of duty, or in any way except through sympa-\\nthy and love What pleasure in hearing people talk\\nabout their literary loves All the world loves a\\nlover. But what is more insipid than an account\\nof a literary flirtation\\nAnd finally, if one is not to read from a sense of", "height": "4482", "width": "2834", "jp2-path": "doneeverydaystra00well_0063.jp2"}, "64": {"fulltext": "60 DONE EVERY DAY.\\nduty to the author or to society, it remains to ask\\nwhether one is not to read from a sense of duty to\\none s self. No, again, and many times, no In the\\nfirst place, such reading is not done with the under-\\nstanding, but with the conscience. Foreign interests\\nand thoughts float above the pages of the unlucky\\nvolume like a shimmering, tantalising veil, through\\nwhich one reads confusedly enough.\\nAnd then, one can t remember books read from\\nduty. Ah, mute confession of the book-mark or the\\nleaf turned down A small boy doesn t forget how\\nfar he has gone through the dinner, whether he\\nhas yet eaten pie or not, for instance, though, to\\nbe sure, he may feign forgetfulness, for reasons well\\nknown to himself. And in the same way one who has\\nread with an appetite knows well how far he has read.\\nHow often we hear the confession, I have read\\nthat book, but forgotten all about it If there is\\nadded the statement, and yet I liked it very\\nmuch, you may respectfully and silently demur.\\nFor if there is forgetfulness when interest and\\ntherefore attention are aroused, the sufferer mani-\\nfests a weakness of mind suggestive of an asylum.\\nNo, take my word for it, though it defies mythology\\nMemory and Love are sister muses.\\nThen, too, reading from a sense of duty is directly\\ninjurious to the reader, because it cultivates an in-\\nsidious sort of insincerity. We go into hiding from", "height": "4482", "width": "2834", "jp2-path": "doneeverydaystra00well_0064.jp2"}, "65": {"fulltext": "READING FROM A SENSE OF DUTY. 6 1\\nourselves and others. We put the Atlantic Monthly\\non our library table when Life, Puck, or Judge are in\\nour heart, and most often in our hands. We pretend\\nto admire realism, when we know we idolise romance.\\nWe bow with a traitor s lying heart at the throne of\\nOnehundredbestbooks Rex. We speak finically of a\\nchaste literary conscience, while our own honest\\nmonitor is imploring us to make a clean breast of\\nour fondness for Mark Twain and our detestation of\\nTolstoi. And we lie so often to others that at last\\nwe convince ourselves.\\nAnd now by insisting thus that reading should\\nspring from liking and not from a sense of duty, I\\nseem to have plunged into a dilemma, an alarming\\none. For suppose we do not like the right kind\\nof literature? I do not take into consideration\\nvicious and criminal books, mark you. Probably\\neven reading from a sense of duty is less of a crime\\nthan the reading of such books But in case one\\ndoes not like the best books, should he not read\\nthem, anyway, from a sense of duty, and try to\\nlearn to like them\\nBefore I answer that question, let me say that\\nyour dislike may not be your fault, but the author s.\\nWe should have less reading from a sense of duty, if\\nthe best authors always had a realising sense of their\\nduty, which is, at starting, to interest. Yes, even to\\nmake prefaces attractive, high though the ideal be.", "height": "4482", "width": "2834", "jp2-path": "doneeverydaystra00well_0065.jp2"}, "66": {"fulltext": "62 DONE EVERY DAY.\\nDid not Lowell succeed in writing for the Biglow\\nPapers a preface whose wit was worthy of the vol-\\nume, and, marvel of marvels, a witty index\\nBut if the author has character and force and\\nsparkle, and should interest you, but does not, then\\nmust you not read from a sense of duty No, not\\neven then. But will not the best books, you ask,\\nread dutifully though painfully, develop a taste for\\nthemselves Develop a taste Is good literature\\nbuttermilk or tobacco I do not like your meta-\\nphor. I will answer your question with a pleasanter\\none. I believe that while a young man is in love\\nwith a certain young woman, no course of forced\\nacquaintance and marriage with another girl will\\ndevelop a union worth the parson s fee. In other\\nwords, to which I ask your best attention, because\\nthey make my climax and conclusion\\nI believe that when one likes inferior books and\\ndoes not like the best, no easy process of substituting\\nbest books for inferior reading will lead to right love\\nof the best, but that the life must be changed, and\\nthe books will follow the life. No one ever led an\\nOld Sleuth life and read Shakespeare to profit, or\\na Shakespeare life and liked Old Sleuth. If you\\nhave the Forum on your table and the Police Gazette\\nin your heart, don t put the Police Gazette on the\\ntable, that is not the moral of this essay, I hope!\\nbut get the Forum into your heart.", "height": "4482", "width": "2834", "jp2-path": "doneeverydaystra00well_0066.jp2"}, "67": {"fulltext": "READING FROM A SENSE OF DUTY. 63\\nBook-likings follow life, they seldom lead it. Your\\nchoice of books is an index to your character, and if\\nyou change your index without changing your char-\\nacter, you have gained only a lying index. Become\\nmodest, simple, thoughtful, and you will demand\\nthese qualities in your books. Develop an affec-\\ntionate interest in human life about you, its humour,\\npathos, and tragedy, and you will come to like Shake-\\nspeare and history. Try to help others and to pray,\\nand you will hunger for the Bible. Use your eyes,\\nand you will require science.\\nSo that one must live one s way into a love for\\ngood literature, and it must come gradually. Yet\\never as it comes, by a subtle reaction which it would\\nbe folly to deny, the helpful books stimulate the life,\\nenlarge it, concentrate it, make it sincere and thor-\\nough and enjoyable. Book-reviewers used to say\\nthat such a book was one which every gentleman\\nshould have in his library. Now they have advanced\\nto the eulogy, a book which every one should read.\\nAnd there s a good time coming when the formula\\nof highest praise will run It s a book which every\\none should like\\nTHE END.", "height": "4482", "width": "2834", "jp2-path": "doneeverydaystra00well_0067.jp2"}, "68": {"fulltext": "", "height": "4482", "width": "2834", "jp2-path": "doneeverydaystra00well_0068.jp2"}, "69": {"fulltext": "", "height": "4482", "width": "2834", "jp2-path": "doneeverydaystra00well_0069.jp2"}, "70": {"fulltext": "15 Ibuu\\nDeacidified using the Bookkeeper proc\\nNeutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide\\nTreatment Date: Dec. 2004\\nPreservationTechnologi\\nA WORLD LEADER IN PAPER PRESERVAT\\n1 1 1 Thomson Park Drive\\nrranhorrv Tnwnshin PA 16066", "height": "4482", "width": "2834", "jp2-path": "doneeverydaystra00well_0070.jp2"}, "71": {"fulltext": "", "height": "4482", "width": "2834", "jp2-path": "doneeverydaystra00well_0071.jp2"}, "72": {"fulltext": "LIBRARY OF CONGRESS\\ninn i i\\n013 610 203 5", "height": "4686", "width": "2924", "jp2-path": "doneeverydaystra00well_0072.jp2"}}