“I am not writing to give you news, for there is little to give. I have been having a quiet happy little evening all by myself, and I thought I could not do better than let you into the secret of my happiness. I think I have told you before that I am an admirer of the high-mindedness of Matthew Arnold, ‘the apostle of sweetness and light.’ Latterly, I have been taking a great deal of true pleasure from his poems, and one of the best of them, The Buried Life, I have just finished reading, not for the first time, for they stand many readings; and I am sure you would find it hopeful and inspiring. I wish you would read Matthew Arnold’s works, particularly some of the poems, such as Rugby Chapel, Dover Beach, Self Dependence and The Buried Life; the last, most of all. There is a good deal of the stoical Greek about Matthew Arnold, but his is a beautiful, noble, pure mind whose example makes the pursuit of perfection meaningful, and beautiful to contemplate. There is much in his philosophy with which you doubtless will not agree, but there is a richness, beauty and purity, which you will find most inspiring.
“And this brings me still to another question. Why should not you and E—— turn this winter to profit by spending a part of every day reading aloud to each other, choosing, preferably, such works as The Idylls of the King, Matthew Arnold’s poems, or other writings of the great masters in literature which take one away from the sordidness of life, and tend to develop the best that is in one. This, with an adulteration of fiction, would make the winter very profitable as well as very enjoyable to you both. When E—— can find time, he could read with you, and direct your reading course. My dear L——, I am becoming more and more convinced every day that the most important duty we have is the moulding of our character; for it is in the strength and richness of our character that we obtain the title to self-respect, and are able to influence others. It is by bringing ourselves into closer contact with the highest thought that we are going to be enabled to obtain high-mindedness and purity ourselves. There is a world of truth in the statement, ‘Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God,’ and these things of which I speak are some of the ways of attaining that purity of heart which makes life richer, deeper and happier.
“Longfellow, in his prose romance, Hyperion, has something of what I have in mind, when he says:
“‘It is the part of an indiscreet and troublesome ambition to care too much about fame, about what the world says of us; to be always looking into the faces of others for approval; to be always anxious for the effect of what we do and say; to be always shouting to hear the echo of our own voices. If you look about you, you will see men who are wearing life away in feverish anxiety of fame, and the last we shall ever hear of them will be the funeral bell which tolls them to their early graves! Unhappy men and unsuccessful! because their purpose is, not to accomplish well their task, but to clutch the “fantasy and trick of fame”; and they go to their graves with purposes unaccomplished, and wishes unfulfilled. Better for them, and for the world in their example, had they known how to wait! Believe me, the talent of success is nothing more than doing what you can do well; and doing well whatever you do,—without a thought of fame. If it comes at all, it will come because it is deserved, not because it is sought after. And, moreover, there will be no misgivings, no disappointment, no hasty, feverish, exhausting excitement.’
“This is rather a heavy quotation for a letter, but I wished you to catch the thought, you will find it in the chapter in Hyperion on Literary Fame. You will see the truth of it, if you allow your mind to dwell upon it for a moment. Longfellow has no thought of discouraging ambition. Far from it. He simply wants to emphasize the folly of hoping for fame which is undeserved, and, as he points out, the way to deserve it is by doing well what is to be done. But as you are not fame hunting, it is not the fame part of it that I wish to dwell upon here, so much as the parallel thought, that it is the inner life, the inner strength which comes from resolute effort and familiarity with the best thought, which tells, and which makes for true happiness.
“I have often told you that your worst danger is your tendency to worry, a tendency which is based, I know, upon the depth of the interest which you take in those who are dear to you. What you must do is to prevent that tendency from casting a shadow over your life. I have a picture of you—a copy which W—— enlarged from the little sunbeam of you, with a big white hat, you remember,—in a gold frame over my desk. It is much admired, and I am proud to introduce it as my sister. As I look at it, I can see my dear little sister, bright, happy and devoted, and now I don’t want to think of her with any unnecessary cares. Now do be good, and you and E—— try and make the winter profitable to both of you. Take walks, get exercise in the open air, be cheerful, read, and generally try and make life happier by the means which you have at hand. I am neither scolding nor lecturing, and I have said nothing which you do not already know, but somehow to-night, you have been running in my mind, and I wanted to tell you what I thought and wished, so that, in due course of time, you will look back to the winter of 1901 as one of the happiest chapters in your life. I am sorry that, when we were in Barrie, the shadow of memories and the pressure of many things must have made me seem selfish and not kind enough to my sisters, but I need not tell you, L——, that your happiness is dear to me.
“And now I must close. So good-night, my dear little sister.
“With much love,
“Ever your affectionate brother,
“Bert.”
Just how characteristic this letter is of the interest taken by Harper in the welfare and happiness of those to whom he was united by the closest of ties, will be apparent from another letter, written many months previous, to a brother in New York, after returning from a short visit to that city. It reveals the same earnest endeavour of a life to impart its own secret to the lives of others, and to establish a standard of happiness which could bring no deceptions. Its practical common sense will make it no less commendable as an evidence of the truest affection.