CHAPTER V. LAST YEARS IN COLLEGE. 1824-1825.

The question which is put to all undergraduates, both by their friends and by themselves, — " What are you going to do when you leave college?" was beginning to press upon our collegian, and to make its appearance in his letters.

To his Father.

March 13, 1824.

I forgot to tell you in my last that we were reading Horace. I admire it very much indeed, and in fact I have not met with so pleasant a study since the commencement of my college life. Moreover, it is extremely easy to read, which not a little contributes to the acquisition of a thorough knowledge of every line and every ode.

One hour each day during this spring-term, for four days in every week, is employed in attending Professor Cleaveland's chemical lectures. Most of the lectures which we have thus far attended have been very interesting.

There were one or two upon the subject of chemical affinity which were not so. And yet I believe it is considered of the greatest importance for those who would devote themselves to the study of medical science.

I feel very glad that I am not to be a physician, — that there are quite enough in the world without me. And now, as somehow or other this subject has been introduced, I am curious to know what you do intend to make of me, — whether I am to study a profession or not; and if so, what profession. I hope your ideas upon this subject will agree with mine, for I have a particular and strong prejudice for one course of life, to which you, I fear, will not agree. It will not be worth while for me to mention what this is, until I become more acquainted with your own wishes.

I wish you would be kind enough to seal, and direct the enclosed letter to "The Editor of The Christian, care of Mr. John Mortimer, the publisher, Philadelphia." The letter is an acknowledgment, from the Philalethian Society at college, of the reception of the first seven numbers of that paper, presented by the editor. I dare say you have already seen this paper, devoted to "Religion, Morals, and Literature."

To his Father, in Washington.

April 11, 1824.

I have no news to tell you, none at all! In fact, I believe, with Solomon, that " there is no new thing under the sun." I had a letter from home yesterday, and they were all well there, but that was no news.

But I suppose you are curious about college affairs. And with regard to these there is nothing new. Yet I will say something concerning the lectures, — Professor Cleaveland's lectures. The last was upon the galvanic heat produced by Professor Hare's deflagrator. I think the subject of galvanism very interesting, though the experiments with the dead dogs, in producing respiration and endeavoring to restore life (unsuccessfully), were more curious than pleasing. They have been trying the same upon Johnson, lately hung at New York, and with as little effect.

Although we in Brunswick cannot boast the mildness of your Southern winters, yet we should prove ourselves very fastidious, not to be pleased with the delightful spring mornings we have already had. Winter has abandoned us very much in a hurry. For my own part, I heartily wish him good-by. I am glad to tread upon dry land again, and am now able to take more exercise than I could at the commencement of the term. Of course I feel better than I did then. I wish I had a. horse here. I should in that case ride daily, when the weather permitted. This has been a very sickly term in college. However, within the last week, the government, seeing that something must be done to induce the students to exercise, recommended a game of ball now and then; which communicated such an impulse to our limbs and joints, that there is nothing now heard of, in our leisure hours, but ball, ball, ball. I cannot prophesy with any degree of accuracy concerning the continuance of this rage for play, but the effect is good, since there has been a thorough-going reformation from inactivity and torpitude.

Pardon my being so cheap and commonplace in my letter tonight, and also the dilution and dilation of a meager subject which I have been practicing upon you. But do write me soon, lest I become apprehensive that you have forgotten me, — and so forth.

We are all very anxious to see you, but I suppose you cannot tell when Congress will rise.

To his Father.

April 30: 1824. Tour letter of the 21st was particularly acceptable to me, as it was the only one I have received from you for a great many weeks, and I shall keep the cypress from the tomb of Washington, as a sacred relic. But in thinking to make a lawyer of me, I fear you thought more partially than justly. I do not, for my own part, imagine that such a coat would suit me. I hardly think Nature designed me for the bar, or the pulpit, or the dissecting-room. I am altogether in favor of the farmer's life. Do keep the farmer's boots for me!

To George W. Wells.

November — , 1824.

... Somehow, and yet I hardly know why, I am unwilling to study any profession. I cannot make a lawyer of any eminence, because I have not a talent for argument; I am not good enough for a minister, — and as to Physic, I utterly and absolutely detest it....

I have heard nothing of your fellow-student, P , since he was here in August. He was resolute, though feeble enough in health, and though poor, yet he was very generous. I presume he has frequently mentioned to you our little Unitarian Society at Bowdoin. I wish something could be done for us; we are as small as a grain of mustard-seed! There are but six members, now, in college, and our library is limited to a hundred or two volumes. I wish you would exert your influence in our behalf. And I want you to purchase twenty-five or thirty copies of a little work called Objections to Unitarian Christianity Considered. I want to distribute one or two of them in this section of the globe. To these you may add such other works of the Unitarian Tract Society as you think will be useful, together with Mr. Adam's State of Christianity in India, — the whole amount not exceeding two or three dollars, which I will send you as soon as I receive the books.

To his Father.

December 6, 1824.

I take this early opportunity to write to you, because I wish to know fully your inclination with regard to the profession I am to pursue when I leave college.

For my part, I have already hinted to you what would best please me. I want to spend one year at Cambridge for the purpose of reading history, and of becoming familiar with the best authors in polite literature; whilst at the same time I can be acquiring a knowledge of the Italian language, without an acquaintance with which! shall be shut out from one of the most beautiful departments of letters. The French I mean to understand pretty thoroughly before I leave college. After leaving Cambridge, I would attach myself to some literary periodical publication, by which I could maintain myself and still enjoy the advantages of reading. Now, I do not think that there is anything visionary or chimerical in my plan thus far. The fact is — and I will not disguise it in the least, for I think I ought not — the fact is, I most eagerly aspire after future eminence in literature; my whole soul bums most ardently for it, and every earthly thought centres in it. There may be something visionary in this, but I flatter myself that I have prudence enough to keep my enthusiasm from defeating its own object by too great haste. Surely, there never was a better opportunity offered for the exertion of literary talent in our own country than is now offered. To be sure, most of our literary men thus far have not been professedly so, until they have studied and entered the practice of Theology, Law, or Medicine. But this is evidently lost time. I do believe that we ought to pay more attention to the opinion of philosophers, that " nothing but Nature can qualify a man for knowledge."

Whether Nature has given me any capacity for knowledge or not, she has at any rate given me a very strong predilection for literary pursuits, and I am almost confident in believing, that, if I can ever rise in the world, it must be by the exercise of my talent in the wide field of literature. With such a belief, I must say that I am unwilling to engage in the study of the law.

Here, then, seems to be the starting point: and I think it best for me to float out into the world upon that tide and in that channel which will the soonest bring me to my destined port, and not to struggle against both wind and tide, and by...