One or two letters of his already printed
are delightfully straightforward,--even more so in their unabridged
state than as they now stand; showing unconsciousness of the methods
of a devious subtlety of penetration, though sensitiveness to its
influence, as an ox slowly turns his great eye about at the sound of a
bee, but never catches a glimpse of him; showing a restful stupidity
that nevertheless had enough intellectual fire to take a kind, eager
delight in telling, as it were, the sculptor that his clay was gray
and his marble white. To a mind whose subtlety could never bewilder
itself by no matter what intricacies of sudden turning, the solid
stare before his nose of Mr. Pike must have been agreeable, since it
was joined to a capital vision of whatever actually crossed that
patient gaze, and to a tenderness which sprang like purest refreshment
from a hard promise. Anything that can restfully attract a thinker is,
of course, at a premium with him. Mr. Pike might be as plebeian as he
pleased, the more the better, since he was one of the people who could
apprehend truth, talk of love like a troubadour for sincere belief in
it, and say a good thing when one least expected him to do so, which
is the nick of time for brilliancy.
Herman Melville writes, the date being recorded by my father,
"Received July 24, 1851," one of the frolicsome letters which it
requires second-sight to decipher, the handwriting being, apparently,
"writ in water:"--
Tuesday afternoon.
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