LETTERS TO A FRESHMAN.

IV.

MY DEAR JACK, - Your answer to my last letter is very natural. You say that I am inconsistent; that, while urging you to appear to be a rich man, I have furnished your room in such a manner that, to say the least, it is not superior to those of many of your classmates; and you wind up with a glowing description of the Eastlake glories of the furniture of that eminent Freshman, Smith. In your discontent with the commonplace character of your household gods, you have forgotten one of my express recommendations, - to avoid extravagance; and you have forgotten another thing which I have implied in all my letters, - that you ought to be, and to be known as, a man of taste. A rich fellow who believes that money alone is enough to carry him anywhere, and who lives up to his belief, does not occupy an enviable position. He is treated civilly, for hardly anybody can afford to cut him, but the whole world laughs at him behind his back. Now I don't happen to know your friend Smith, but from your account of him I strongly suspect that he is a brother of my old classmate, of whom you have often heard me speak. He had a great deal more money than he knew what to do with; and, as a natural consequence, he patronized the best (i. e. most expensive) tradesmen that he could find. His clothes were always of the newest cut; his cravats a week or two ahead of anybody else; his cigar-boxes and wine-bottles had the most recherche labels in the world; and his mantel-piece was covered with autograph portraits of the leading theatrical celebrities of the day. But with all this magnificence, Smith knew absolutely nothing. His tailor sent him his clothes, and he hardly knew how they were cut. He could n't tell the difference between cider and champagne, - much less between a real Havana and a domestic descendant of old sogers. He positively was not sure whether Signora Murfini of the Howard Athenaeum was really an Italian, or only a runaway daughter of old Murphy, the Irish tailor. He measured everything by its price, and I need not tell you that he was the most ridiculous young gentleman (citoyen) that I ever had the pleasure of knowing. It is possible, of course, that your friend is not this man's brother. It is possible, too, that his room was fitted up from designs furnished by himself. But it is highly probable that, having heard that Eastlake furniture was the fashion, he employed somebody or other to get up his rooms regardless of expense, and that at this moment he is not able to tell half so much about his own furniture as you can. My old Smith's room was magnificently "gotten up" by a millionnaire upholsterer from New York, but as household art had not been invented at that time, it was full of gilding and bright color. And when I tell you that it contained no less than seven distinct and antagonistic shades of red, you will understand why I used to call it the battle-field.

Your room, to be sure, is furnished plainly; but your worst enemy could not call it shabby. And I flatter myself that it will not generally be pronounced to be in bad taste. The curtains, the paper, the furniture, and the carpet are in keeping with each other; and barring that horrible mantel-piece, which I did my best to conceal with a heavy cloth, there is nothing in it that does not please the eye. So far I have done my best for you. There are two things which I have left to your own taste, - books and pictures. You will of course need to buy a certain number of text-books, and if you take my advice, you will also pick up from time to time any outside books that may suit your fancy. You can't have too large a library, and nothing furnishes a room so well. For my own part, the fellow who lined his walls with boards painted to look like bindings took a step in the right direction. His room looked well, at any rate. At the same time expensive bindings are not the thing. They are well enough on drawing-room tables, but, far from helping you to enjoy a book, they make you afraid to treat it familiarly. And books which look as if you never read them are almost as bad as no books at all. It is a good plan, by the way, to keep one or two volumes on various subjects lying carelessly on your table. As for the choice of books I need not say much. You are not fool enough to throw away your money on second-rate second-hand editions of ancient classics, nor yet to overload yourself with modern English novels. French novels are all right, and a few of them will help your reputation as a linguist. The only rule that I shall bore you with is never to read - far less buy - any book that is not worth talking about. Within that limit you had better pick up anything that you happen to fancy; and in the end you will find that you have a good general library.

I shall trust your taste in pictures, too. Don't overload your walls with old masters, and be called an old fool instead of a young one. Don't waste your money in sporting-prints and third-rate French engravings. But choose pictures that are worth looking at, and at the same time are within the very limited comprehension of the ordinary student. You don't want to seem a prig, nor yet a vulgarian. I should advise you to avoid shingles, for everybody has them; and men who have not taste enough to choose anything better hang them up in place of pictures. Medals, however, are pretty, and the ribbons give a warm color to a wall that nothing else can.

I shall say but one word more. Don't spend too much money on your room, for you will be less and less in it every year. If you become a grind, you will spend half your time in the Library; if you become a man of fashion, in society, societies, and the clubs. And that the latter fate may be yours is the sincere hope of

Your affectionate brother

PHILIP.