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Nov 16 1880 329 E 15 Dear Julia I answer you note at once because of what you say about Harry's wish towards journalism. Why not help him that way? You are not poor and can assist him till he gets on his journalistic legs - You know it may be, and is, a distinct profession from literature - I think it is a great a noble one. When one has money, good family such a place as he ought to have is more likely obtained than when the applicant is nobody - Stedman has proposed that his youngest son should be a journalist, but I guess the Devil will dispose otherwise
[on left side of page] here in Indian ethics - kill all the weak writers. Stoddard is off at his desk, Lorry sends his regards please give mine to S Dorr Yours truly EDBS
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I wish to God Lorry would show a determined bent toward something. But he is too like my own family - too clever, too bright and general to be anything in particular - but he is very young yet, and as he has some astonishingly different traits from either of us, he may turn out something of last on his own lathe. We have been struggling along not quite as usual for there was a brilliant prospect, and we had a bitter cruel disappointment. Last week S signed a contract for literary editor for the Mail - salary almost enough to pay grocer, butcher and rent, but for nothing else. I am growing madder and more unreconciled every day. It is a shame for that old white headed man to dig at his daily
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pen - with such a burden of daily wants upon him. As for myself it is almost absent. I find myself among the successful and satisfied, and utterly forgotten. I was at a dinner at the Berkeley the other night. Helen Hunt, Noah Brooks, Dudley Warner etc there - something was said that made something in my Lolly Dinks book - I believe no one there thought of me - and of course I was mum - I read that said book - now here - and I quote a late critic upon that book - it is equal to Alice in Wonderland Mrs Stoddard, and you have the most wonderful sense of allegory But this was one private opinion - but I say it for my own - it is the cleverest child's book written here Think of foolish Mr Moreton's
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Bed Time Stories with a horrid accident in every one. So you see I am indignant - Stoddard's private admiration for my poems is more than his public - he is now overwhelmed with poems and letters from unknown young ones - whose foolishness is unspeakable. The other day a paper with a long biography and portrait came from Illinois - long poem of county kerry was in it - What a poem that is - what grace, and clearness. Very few of the reviews were good for much. Loan wrote pretty well in Appletons - and Congden in the N A Review was better - the Atlantic was funny. Ripley's review was worthless all showy, glittering praise - not a sound, wholesome word in it like all his critisisms on poetry and male belle-lettre literature. Oh if we could have sound criticism in our country - we should have better books but what a wailing and weeping there would be among our American shes. You know I be
