You know, I think I ’ll be a Socialist, too. You would n’t mind, would you, Daddy? They ’re quite different from Anarchists; they don’t believe in blowing people up. Probably I am one by rights; I belong to the proletariat. I have n’t determined yet just which kind I am going to be. I will look into the subject over Sunday, and declare my principles in my next.
I ’ve seen loads of theaters and hotels and beautiful houses. My mind is a confused jumble of onyx and gilding and mosaic floors and palms. I ’m still pretty breathless but I am glad to get back to college and my books—I believe that I really am a student; this atmosphere of academic calm I find more bracing than New York. College is a very satisfying sort of life; the books and study and regular classes keep you alive mentally, and then when your mind gets tired, you have the gymnasium and outdoor athletics, and always plenty of congenial friends who are thinking about the same things you are. We spend a whole evening in nothing but talk—talk—talk—and go to bed with a very uplifted feeling, as though we had settled permanently some pressing world problems. And filling in every crevice, there is always such a lot of nonsense—just silly jokes about the little things that come up—but very satisfying. We do appreciate our own witticisms!
It is n’t the great big pleasures that count the most; it ’s making a great deal out of the little ones—I ’ve discovered the true secret of happiness, Daddy, and that is to live in the now. Not to be forever regretting the past, or anticipating the future; but to get the most that you can out of this very instant. It ’s like farming. You can have extensive farming and intensive farming; well, I am going to have intensive living after this. I ’m going to enjoy every second, and I ’m going to know I ’m enjoying it while I ’m enjoying it. Most people don’t live; they just race. They are trying to reach some goal far away on the horizon, and in the heat of the going they get so breathless and panting that they lose all sight of the beautiful, tranquil country they are passing through; and then the first thing they know, they are old and worn out, and it does n’t make any difference whether they ’ve reached the goal or not. I ’ve decided to sit down by the way and pile up a lot of little happinesses, even if I never become a Great Author. Did you ever know such a philosopheress as I am developing into?
Yours ever,
Judy.
P. S. It ’s raining cats and dogs to-night. Two puppies and a kitten have just landed on the window-sill.
Dear Comrade,
Hooray! I ’m a Fabian.
That ’s a Socialist who ’s willing to wait. We don’t want the social revolution to come to-morrow morning; it would be too upsetting. We want it to come very gradually in the distant future, when we shall all be prepared and able to sustain the shock.
In the meantime we must be getting ready, by instituting industrial, educational and orphan asylum reforms.