The Collected Letters of Henry Northrup Castle. Henry Northrup Castle

wants a lot of stuff for the Review, and so it goes. This last job is just off my hands (I wrote a couple of editorials in Bible Class), and now I can turn to my home mail again—and a very slim one it will be this time, I fear. By the way, Reky tells me that Julia and Ida B. spoke of the small amount of writing I did. Does it seem to you at home that I don’t write much? If it does, I will write more. But I have thought that I wrote a good deal. I know that very commonly I have written home alone more than all the letters to me combined. I think since last summer I have averaged as much as twelve or thirteen sheets a mail. I know that often I have felt as though I wrote too much, and have stopped through sheer shame, because I covered so many sheets of paper to so little effect. I have supposed that lately I had written as much as any of the boys had ever done; because I remember distinctly our astonishment and joy at the longest letter Will ever wrote us (I think it was eight sheets of letter paper), and I have written about that amount two or three times.

      Yesterday our Junior Exhibition came off, and I will enclose a programme of the exercises. Yesterday morning Ben called me downstairs, where we found Reky making merry over a mock programme! I will enclose a copy of that also. Keep it carefully, as I may not be able to secure another. You, Bowen, will be especially interested in it. It is highly edifying. We do not suspect the Sophomores, but our beloved ex-classmates, J. C. M. and Mr P. The whole thing doesn’t trouble me a bit, and wouldn’t a whit more if I were one of the speakers. Indeed, I believe I should rather enjoy it, especially if I happened to have a good piece. I got as much fun out of it as any one as it was, and made money out of it too. I sold three of the mock programmes, and got 35 cents for them. You see they were distributed in the night, and our boys got hold of almost all of them. They got wind of it somehow, and ran all over town, and managed to get almost all of them by morning. I was appointed one of the boys to parade up and down the streets near the church to see that none of the programmes were distributed or sold, and while so doing I embraced the opportunity to sell one myself for 15 cents. How’s that for an example of corruption in high places? Think of it, a Junior selling mock programmes on his own class! Such degradation is sad—sad! But after all they would have them, and why shouldn’t a man turn an honest penny? You will be especially edified, Bowen, by the motto. Your prediction seems to have come true. But I have discoursed enough on this sad subject. Turn, my muse, to happier themes. Sing of parties at Prof. Ellis’s, of happy Juniors and bewitching third-years, of the delights of biscuits and sliced ham, cake and ice cream, and of all the sweet joys of social converse. I am ashamed to say that I did not attend the party in the evening. It is a disgrace. I never could have had a better chance, and at the Ellises too. But I could not muster up my courage. So I missed it. I must go into society, there is no use talking. I have got to come to it. Somehow or other, I do not seem to have much to say. It ought not to be so, because this month seems to have been quite eventful—mock programmes, Kyle, Reky’s moving, Longfellow’s death —which, I believe, I haven’t expanded on, a fire which really didn’t amount to much, and which I have not mentioned before, Edward’s visit, etc., etc.; notwithstanding them all, I am at the end of my rope, and there is nothing left for me to do but to hang myself. I am going to send a whole load of things this time. A programme of Alpha Zeta Special Quarterly for one. It was that occasion which made my reputation. You will see the criticism on it in the Review. I was merely elected in place of a Senior who had resigned, as the only available man, the only Seniors left being an old stick about forty years old (name Wood) and a colored fellow, who was not available. I have had the misfortune to be elected Society Editor of the Review, and also one of the orators for the Contest. But the first evil will end at the close of this term, and I will expire with the other next winter. I have learned to take things easy, Bowen, and so these woes do not trouble me much—astonishingly little in fact. Not long ago every thought of them would have given me a horrible sinking at the stomach. I felt sorry yesterday that I had resigned my Junior Ex. It would have tickled my vanity to be one of the speakers, while the inducement which led me to resign, viz., hatred of the worry, no longer has any influence over me. That thirst for honors from which a year ago I was so free, has now attacked me. Not that I have much of it in comparison with others. It is not a fever with me, as with some. But in comparison with my condition about one year ago to-day (the day of the Junior Ex. election), I have a touch of it. O that I might have a thirst for real honor, instead of for these vain and empty titles, which my mind tells me are as meaningless and worthless as the popular favor ever is—that popular favor which passes over true worth to fix upon and exalt those qualities which are conspicuous, not noble. I guess I will send you my Review, Helen, as I have a couple of extra ones, and you may be interested to see what I write. My editorials are hastily written and bungling, and make but a poor appearance beside the graceful sentences and smooth style of Miss McKelvey, with whom I divide the labor of the department. As to our Junior Ex., all the language orations were excellent, better than any I ever remember to have heard. I am afraid, Father, that I shall not send any account home this mail, but I will try to get one in next month. I should like very much to go to Chatauqua, and will look the subject up. I have noticed some of the subjects of the lecture courses. Most of them I should not care to attend, but some I should judge would be very valuable—for instance, those on the “History of Music.” Probably I shall work a little on my contest oration next vacation, and I hope to get somewhere where I can take a good deal of light exercise. Chatauqua will be just the place for that, I expect. One objection to going there will be that there will be enormous crowds there, which will be very disagreeable. I don’t care to go visiting round at any relatives. Besides, I have had no invitations. I should think though, from what you said of the prices there, Father, that it would cost about as much as to go to the White Mountains. Perhaps I can get a chance to camp somewhere part of the vacation. I like the Chatauqua plan, however, very much. I send heaps and heaps of love for Mother. I hope and trust that by the time this reaches you, she will be almost well. I have got a splendid Burns. It only cost $1.40, is absolutely complete, good print, good paper, pretty binding, one volume, not bulky, with a great deal of information concerning the circumstances of the writing of many of his poems, etc. I am busier than I have ever been before, and have read almost nothing this term. I am intending to read the best models of British oratory—Burke, Pitt, Fox, Chatham, Sheridan, etc. My health is excellent. I am going to take a great deal of exercise too and enjoy life generally, and I am going to send a better mail home next month if I can. Love to all, from

      Your Affectionate Brother and Son, etc.,

      HENRY N. CASTLE.

      OBERLIN, Monday, May 22, ’82.

      MY DEAR, PRECIOUS MOTHER,