win, an instance of almost complete atrophy of one whole side of the mind at the very time when its scientific action was at its highest point.
Up to the age of thirty, Darwin tells us, he took intense delight in poetry --Milton, Byron, Scott, Wordsworth, and Shelley-while he read Shakespeare with supreme enjoyment.
Pictures and music also gave him much pleasure.
But at sixty-seven he writes that for many years he cannot endure to read a line of poetry ; that he has lately tried Shakespeare, rlock to keep his distance.
We have now the key to that atrophy on one side of Darwin's nature.
It was in his case the Nemesis of Science — the price he paid for his magnificent achievements.
Poetry is not a part of science, but it is, as Wordsworth once said, the antithesis of science ; it is a world outside.
Thus far, as a literary man, I am entitled to go, and feel myself on ground with which I am tolerably familiar.
But the suggestion irresistibly follows-and it is surely a momentous
8, 113, 152.
Weed, Thurlow, 161.
Weitzel. General, 357.
Weldon and Lynchburg railroads, 330, 343.
Welles, Secretary, 354.
West Point and Macon railroads.
343.
Westport, 132, 252, 343.
West Roxbury, 31.
Wheeler, Vice-President, 442.
Whig party, division of, 127.
Whiskey Ring, 425, 426, 435-437, 441, 442, 493.
Whitney, Asa, 104.
Whitney, William C., 475.
Wilderness, 317, 328.
Widow Glen's house, 260.
Williams, General, Seth, 253.
Wilmot Proviso, 98.
Wilson, Bluford, 223, 435, 436.
Wilson, Henry, 153.
Wilson, J. H., 201, 207, 211, 220, 222, 224, 225, 229, 278, 279, 281, 283, 285-287, 294, 304-307, 342, 344, 345, 349, 355, 356, 361, 375, 377, 385, 405.
Winchester, battle of, 344.
Wood, General, 262, 264, 294.
Woods, General, 246.
Woodstock, 21, 22.
Wordsworth, 56.
Wright, Elizur, 59.
Wright, General H. G., 319, 320. 322-324, 334.
Wright & Company, George, 9.
Y.
Yates, Governor, 211.
Yazoo Pass, 205, 207, 209, 215, 225, 230, 231.
tyle of advice?
Not at all. My advice is to follow your own instincts,--to stick to nature, and to avoid what people commonly call the Ideal; for that, and beauty, and pathos, and success, all lie in the simply natural.
We all preach it, from Wordsworth down, and we all, from Wordsworth down, don't practice it. Don't I feel it every day in this weary editorial mill of mine, that there are ten thousand people who can write ideal things for one who can see, and feel, and reproduce nature and chaWordsworth down, don't practice it. Don't I feel it every day in this weary editorial mill of mine, that there are ten thousand people who can write ideal things for one who can see, and feel, and reproduce nature and character?
Ten thousand, did I say?
Nay, ten million.
What made Shakespeare so great?
Nothing but eyes and — faith in them.
The same is true of Thackeray.
I see nowhere more often than in authors the truth that men love their opposites.
Dickens insists on being tragic and makes shipwreck.
I always thought (forgive me) that the Hebrew parts of Dred were a mistake.
Do not think me impertinent; I am only honestly anxious that what I consider a very remarkable genius should have faith in it