Speaking of the much that they would hear from these soldier friends of theirs, both Margaret and Mr. Southard urged Mrs. Lewis to resume her long unused pen. It seemed that every one who had the talent to do it ought to preserve thus some of the many incidents of the war. But she was resolute in refusal.
"Of writing many books there is no end," she said. "And I have a terrible vision of a coming deluge of war-literature. Everybody will write, soldiers, nurses, chaplains, (all but you, Mr. Southard!) philanthropists, novelists, rhymsters—all will write without mercy. The dilemma of the old rhyme will seem to be on the point of realization:
'If all the earth were paper,
And all the sea were ink,
And all the trees were bread and cheese,
What should we do for drink?'
"No, don't ask me to join in that rout. Besides, no one but a scribbler knows a scribbler's afflictions. No 'Heavenly Goddess' has yet sung those direful woes. First, there is the printer. You spend all your powers on a certain passage which is to immortalize you, and under his hands, by the addition, or the abstraction, or the changing of a word, that passage has taken the one step more which carries it from the sublime to the ridiculous. Put in a fine bit of color; he changes your umber to amber, and the picture is spoilt. Refer to the well-known fact that Washington Allston put a great deal of character into the hands and feet he painted, and this fell patriot drops the Allston, and gives the credit to the father of his country. Then there are your dear friends. They know all your virtues, so their sole effort is now to find out your defects. It won't do to praise you, lest you should become vain; so, with a noble regard for your truest good, they dissect your writings before your eyes, and prove clearly their utter worthlessness. Then, there are your gushing acquaintances who want you to write about them, and tell you their histories, insisting that they shall be put into print. As if you should carry cherry-stones to a cherry-tree, and say, Here, grow cherries round these! If you should answer ever so humbly, Thank you! but I grow stones to my own cherries, such as they are, people would be disgusted. Of course, if I had a great genius, it would scorch up all these little annoyances. But I have only a pretty talent. Perhaps the worst is, that they will apply your characters. When I was a girl, I wrote a rhymed story, and everybody pointed out the hero. I stared, I bethought myself, I re-read my romance. Imagine my horror when I found that the description fitted the man perfectly, even to the wart on his nose. Then, not long ago, I wrote a little idyl addressed to my first love, and my husband came home with the face of an Othello. You know you did, Charles. The fact was, I never had a first love!"
Mr. Lewis laughed. "And she twitted me with Diana. Diana was a tall, superb, serene woman whom I got acquainted with in Washington, before I was married. I admired her excessively. I didn't know that she was a goose. I would talk, and she would listen, and smile at all my jokes; and I thought that she was very witty. I spoke of books, and she smiled and said 'Yes!' and I was sure that she was a well-read person. I ranted about music, and she smiled and said 'Yes!' and I was positive that she was a fine musician. Presently I began to grow bashful in the society of such a superior woman. I couldn't talk, so she had to. Well, at first I admired her simplicity, then I stared at her simplicity. And at last I saw that there was
'No end to all she didn't know.'
"One day I'd been there, up in the parlor, and when I left, she went down to the door with me. There was a large hat on the entry-table, and we heard a man's voice in the sitting-room.
"'Who's talking with pa?' she asked of a servant.
"'Daniel Webster, miss,' was the answer.
"Daniel Webster was my hero. If our hats had been of the same size, I would have swapped fervently, though mine was new, and Daniel's a little shabby. I remembered what somebody had said of Samuel Johnson; and pointing to the table, I exclaimed with enthusiasm, 'That hat covers a kingdom!'