,^^^' '^i' :W ..s^ -^^ A' A^' ^/>. v> ^ % ■^^ .\\\^ ^>r7^\^ .^ ^"^^ ^0 -^ A v^ A^' •> ^ v i. '■ a' ^^ .^^-•^ >. V^^ * c' i° ^^. '■' o' '^b' »■■ /'/ ^'h "' ' T- , ?^ *^ -p. .^' .^^ '^^^ O LV '^. *.•>^o- ^,S^' -c-^^ x\^' ^y> v -^ ■^ '\ oO /'■^>j;^%\_ Z^:^^^ ^0■ :\. -^,# ■'bo'' S I , \' ■% .0 o^ v'?-' \:^^''^y.o •V A /. -'* \L 1^ Copyright, 1893, By EDWARD W. EMERSON. All rights reserved. t t *08 The Riverside Press, Cambridge, 3fass., U.S.A. Electrotyped and Printed by H. O. Houghton and Company. PREFATORY NOTE. iffi I The first two pieces in this volume are lectures rom the " University Courses " on philosophy, ^iven at Harvard College in 1870 and 1871, 3y persons not members of the Faculty. " The Natural History of the Intellect " was the subject hich Emerson chose. He had, from his early jyouth, cherished the project of a new method in metaphysics, proceeding by observation of the Imental facts, without attempting an analysis and /coordination of them which must, from the nature 'of the case, be premature. With this view, he had, at intervals from 1848 to 1866, announced courses on the "Natural History of Intellect," "The Natural Method of Mental Philosophy," and " Philosophy for the People." He would, he said, give anecdotes of the spirit, a calendar of mental moods, without any pretence of system. None of these attempts, however, disclosed any novelty of method, or indeed, after the opening PREFATORY NOTE. .lent of his intention, any marked differenc 3m his ordinary lectures. He had always bee ritixig anecdotes of the spirit, and those whic' he wrote under this heading were used by hir in subsequently published essays so largely that find very little left for present publication. Th lecture which gives its name to the volume w? the first of the earliest course, and it seems to . 1 to include all that distinctly belongs to the pal ticular subject. The lecture on " Memory " is from the samJ course ; that on " Boston " from the course oi| "Life and Literature," in 1861. The other pieces are reprints from the " North American Review ' and the " Dial." To this final volume of Mr. Emerson's writings] an index to all the volumes has been appended. It was prepared by Professor John H. Woods, of Jacksonville, Illinois, but has undergone some alterations for which he is not responsible. J. E. Cabot. September 9, 1893. NATURAL HISTORY OF INTELLECT. NATURAL HISTORY OF INTELLECT. i HAVE used such opportunity as I have had, and lately ^ in London and Paris, to attend scien- tific lectures ; and in listening to Richard Owen's masterly enumeration of the parts and laws of the human body, or Michael Faraday's explanation of magnetic powers, or the botanist's descriptions, one could not help admiring the irresponsible security and happiness of the attitude of the naturalist ; sure of admiration for his facts, sure of their suf- ficiency. They ought to interest you ; if they do not, the fault lies with you. Then I thought — could not a similar enumera- tion be made of the laws and powers of the Intel- lect, and possess the same claims on the student ? Could we have, that is, the exhaustive accuracy of distribution which chemists use in their nomencla- ture and anatomists in their descriptions, apj^lied to a higher class of facts ; to those laws, namely, which are common to chemistry, anatomy, astron- 1 1850. 4 NATURAL HISTORY OF INTELLECT. omy, geometry, intellect, morals, and social life ; — laws of the world ? Why not? These powers and laws are also facts in a Natural History. They also are objects of science, and may be numbered and recorded, like stamens and vertebrse. At the same time they have a deeper interest, as in the order or nature they lie higher and are nearer to the mys- terious seat of power and creation. For at last, it is only that exceeding and univer- sal part which interests us, when we shall read in a true history what befalls in that kingdom where a thousand years is as one day, and see that what is set down is true through all the sciences ; in the laws of thought as well as of chemistry. In all sciences the student is discovering that nature, as he calls it, is always working, in wholes and in every detail, after the laws of the human mind. Every creation, in parts or in particles, is on the method and by the means wbich our mind approves as soon as it is thoroughly acquainted with the facts ; hence the delight. No matter how far or how high science explores, it adopts the method of the universe as fast as it appears ; and this discloses that the mind as it opens, the mind as it shall be, comprehends and works thus ; that is to say, the Intellect builds the universe and is the key to aU it contains. It is not then cities or NATURAL HTSTORY OF INTELLECT. 6 mountains, or animals, or globes that any longer command us, but only man ; not the fact but so much of man as is in the fact. In astronomy, vast distance, but we never go into a foreign system. In geology, vast duration, but we are never strangers. Our metaphysic should be able to follow the flying force through all trans- formations, and name the pair identical through all variety. I believe in the existence of the material world as the expression of the spiritual or the real, and in the impenetrable mystery which hides (and hides through absolute transparency) the mental nature, I await the insight which our advancing knowledge of material laws shall furnish. Every object in nature is a word to signify some fact in the mind. But when that fact is not yet put into English words, when I look at the tree or the river and have not yet definitely made out what they would say to me, they are by no means unimpressive. I wait for them, I enjoy them be- fore they yet speak. I feel as if I stood by an ambassador charged with the message of his king, which he does not deliver because the hour when he should say it is not yet arrived. Whilst we converse with truths as thoughts, they exist also as plastic forces ; as the soul of a man, the soul of a plant, the genius or constitution 6 NATURAL HISTOBY OF INTELLECT. of any part of nature, which makes it what it is. The thought which was in the world, part and parcel of the world, has disengaged itself and taken an independent existence. My belief in the use of a course on philosophy is that the student shall learn to appreciate the miracle of the mind ; shall learn its subtle but immense power, or shall begin to learn it; shall come to know that in seeing and in no tradition he must find what truth is ; that he shall see in it the source of all traditions, and shall see each one of them as better or worse statement of its revela- tions ; shall come to trust it entirely, as the only true ; to cleave to God against the name of God. When he has once known the oracle he will need no priest. And if he finds at first with some alarm how impossible it is to accept many things which the hot or the mild sectarian may insist on his believing, he will be armed by his insight and brave to meet all inconvenience and all resistance it may cost him. He from whose hand it came will guide and direct it. Yet these questions which really interest men, how few can answer. Here are learned facidties of law and divinity, but would questions like these come into mind when I see them? Here are learned academies and universities, yet they have not propounded these for any prize. NATURAL HISTORY OF INTELLECT. 7 Seek the literary circles, the stars of fame, the men of splendor, of bon-mots, will they afford me satisfaction ? I think you could not find a club of men acute and liberal enough in the world. Bring the best wits together, and they are so impatient of each other, so vulgar, there is so much more than their wit, — such follies, gluttonies, partiali- ties, age, care, and sleep, that you shall have no academy. There is really a grievous amount of unavail- ableness about men of wit. A plain man finds them so heavy, dull and oppressive, with bad jokes and conceit and stupefying individualism, that he comes to write in his tablets. Avoid the great man as one who is privileged to be an unprofitable com- panion. For the course of things makes the schol- ars either egotists or worldly and jocose. In so many hundreds of superior men hardly ten or five or two from whom one can hope for a reasonable word. Go into the scientific club and hearken. Each savant proves in his admirable discourse that he and he only knows now or ever did know anything on the subject; "Does the gentleman speak of anatomy ? Who peeped into a box at the Custom House and then published a drawing of my rat ? " Or is it pretended discoveries of new strata that are before the meeting ? This professor hastens to 8 NATURAL HISTORY OF INTELLECT. inform us that he knew it all twenty years ago, and is ready to prove that he knew so much then that all further investigation was quite superfluous ; — and poor nature and the sublime law, which is all that our student cares to hear of, are quite omitted in this triumphant vindication. Was it better when we came to the philosophers, who found everybody wrong ; acute and ingenious to lampoon and degrade mankind ? And then was there ever prophet burdened with a message to his people who did not cloud our gratitude by a strange confounding in his own mind of private folly with his public wisdom ? But if you like to run away from this besetting sin of sedentary men, you can escape all this insane egotism by running into society, where the man- ners and estimate of the world have corrected this folly, and effectually suppressed this overweening self-conceit. Here each is to make room for others, and the solidest merits must exist only for the entertainment of all. We are not in the smallest degree helped. Great is the dazzle, but the gain is small. Here they play the game of conversation, as they play billiards, for pastime and credit. Yes, 'tis a great vice in all countries, the sacrifice of scholars to be courtiers and diners-out, to talk for the amusement of those who wish to be amused, though the stars of heaven must be plucked down NATURAL HISTORY OF INTELLECT. 9 ,and packed into rockets to this end. What with egotism on one side and levity on the other we shall have no Olympus. But there is still another hindrance, namely, practicality. We must have a special talent, and bring something to pass. Ever since the Norse heaven made the stern terms of admission that a man must do something excellent with his hands or feet, or with his voice, eyes, ears, or with his whole body, the same demand has been made in Norse earth. I Yet what we reaUy want is not a haste to act, 'but a certain piety toward the source of action and knowledge. In fact we have to say that there is a certain beatitude, — I can call it nothing less, — to (Which all men are entitled, tasted by them in dif- ferent degrees, which is a perfection of their na- ture, and to which their entrance must be in every way forwarded. Practical men, though they could lift the globe, cannot arrive at this. Something very different has to be done, — the availing our- selves of every impulse of genius, an emanation of ithe heaven it tells of, and the resisting this con- spiracy of men and material things against the sanitary and legitimate inspirations of the intel- lectual nature. What is life but the angle of vision ? A man is nneasured by the angle at which he looks at objects. ( 10 NATURAL HISTORY OF INTELLECT. What is life but what a man is thinking of all day? This is his fate and his employer. Know- ing is the measure of the man. By how much we know, so much we are. The laws and powers of the Intellect have, how-' ever, a stupendous peculiarity, of being at once ob[ servers and observed. So that it is difficult to hold them fast, as objects of examination, or hinder them from turning the professor out of his chair. The wonder of the science of Intellect is that the sub- stance with which we deal is of that subtle and ac- tive quality that it intoxicates all who approach it. Gloves on the hands, glass guards over the eyes, wire-gauze masks over the face, volatile salts in the nostrils, are no defence against this virus, which comes in as secretly as gravitation into and through all barriers. Let me have your attention to this dangerous subject, which we will cautiously approach on dif- ferent sides of this dim and perilous lake, so attrac- tive, so delusive. We have had so many guides and so many failures. And now the world is still uncertain whether the pool has been sounded or not. My contribution will be simply historical. I write anecdotes of the intellect ; a sort of Farmer's Almanac of mental moods. I confine my ambition NATUBAL HISTORY OF INTELLECT. 11 to true reporting of its play in natural action, though I should get only one new fact in a year. I cannot myself use that systematic form which is reckoned essential in treating the science of the mind. But if one can say so without arrogance, I might suggest that he who contents himself with dotting a fragmentary curve, recording only what facts he has observed, without attempting to arrange them within one outline, follows a system also, — a system as grand as any other, though he does not interfere with its vast curves by prema- turely forcing them into a circle or ellipse, but only draws that arc which he clearly sees, or perhaps at a later observation a remote curve of the same orbit, and waits for a new opportunity, well-assured that these observed arcs will consist with each other. I confess to a little distrust of that completeness of system which metaphysicians are apt to affect. 'T is the gnat grasping the world. All these ex- haustive theories appear indeed a false and vain at- tempt to introvert and analyze the Primal Thought. That is up-stream, and what a stream ! Can you swim up Niagara Falls ? We have invincible repugnance to introversion, to study of the eyes instead of that which the eyes see ; and the belief of men is that the attempt is un- natural and is punished by loss of faculty. I share ) 12 NATUBAL BISTOBY OF INTELLECT. the belief that the natural direction of the intellect- ual powers is from within outward, and that just in proportion to the activity of thoughts on the study of outward objects, as architecture, or farm- ing, or natural history, ships, animals, chemistry, — in that proportion the faculties of the mind had a healthy growth ; but a study in the opposite direc- tion had a damaging effect on the mind. Metaphysic is dangerous as a single pursuit. We should feel more confidence in the same results from the mouth of a man of the world. The in- ward analysis must be corrected by rough experi- ence. Metaphysics must be perpetually reinforced by life ; must be the observations of a working-m on working-men ; must be biography, — the recc j of some law whose working was surprised by t j observer in natural action. I think metaphysics a grammar to which, on read, we seldom return. 'T is a Manila full of pe per, and I want only a teaspoonful in a year, admire the Dutch, who burned half the harvest enhance the price of the remainder. I want not the logic but the power, if any, whic it brings into science and literature ; the man wh can humanize this logic, these syllogisms, and giv( me the results. The adepts value only the pure geometry, the aerial bridge ascending from earth t( heaven with arches and abutments of pure reason NATURAL HISTORY OF INTELLECT. 13 I am fully contented if you tell me where are the two termini. My metaphysics are to the end of use. I wish to know the laws of this wonderful power, that I may domesticate it. I observe with curiosity its risings and settings, illumination and eclipse ; its obstructions and its provocations, that I may learn to live with it wisely, court its aid, catch sight of its splendor, feel its approach, hear and save its oracles and obey them. But this watching of the mind, in season and out of season, to see the me- chanics of the thing, is a little of the detective. The analytic process is cold and bereaving and, shall I say it ? somewhat mean, as spying. There is something surgical in metaphysics as we treat it. Were not an ode a better form ? The poet sees wholes and avoids analysis; the metaphysician, dealing as it were with the mathematics of the mind, puts himself out of the way of the inspira- tion ; loses that which is the miracle and creates the worship. I think that philosophy is still rude and element- ary. It will one day be taught by poets. The poet is in the natural attitude ; he is believing ; the philosopher, after, some struggle, having only reasons for believing. What I am now to attempt is simply some 14 NATURAL HISTOBY OF INTELLECT. sketches or studies for such a picture ; 3Iemoin pour servir toward a Natural History of Intellec First I wish to speak of the excellence of th element, and the great auguries that come from notwithstanding the impediments which our sensi civilization puts in the way. Next I treat of the identity of the thought wil Nature ; and I add a rude list of some by-laws the mind. Thirdly I proceed to the fountains of thought Instinct and Inspiration, and I also attempt show the relation of men of thought to the existing religion and civility of the present time. I. We figure to ourselves Intellect as an ethe- real sea, which ebbs and flows, which surges d washes hither and thither, carrying its who: ;• tue into every creek and inlet which it bathes -o this sea every human house has a water i t. But this force, creating nature, visiting who.. will and withdrawing from whom it wiU, mal day where it comes and leaving night when it parts, is no fee or property of man or angel. It as the light, public and entire to each, and on t same terms. What but thought deepens life, and makes i better than cow or cat ? The grandeur of the ii pression the stars and heavenly bodies make on ' NATURAL HISTOBY OF INTELLECT. 15 is surely more valuable than our exact perception of a tub or a table on the ground. To Be is the unsolved, unsolvable wonder. To Be, in its two connections of inward and outward, the mind and nature. The wonder subsists, and age, though of eternity, could not approach a so- lution. But the suggestion is always returning, that hidden source publishing at once our being and that it is the source of outward nature. Who are we and what is Nature have one answer in the life that rushes into us. In my thought I seem to stand on the bank of a iver and watch the endless flow of the stream, oating objects of all shapes, colors and natures ; or can I much detain them as they pass, except by unning beside them a little way along the bank. ,But whence they come or whither they go is not /told me. Only I have a suspicion that, as geolo- / gists say every river makes its own valley, so does this mystic stream. It makes its valley, makes its banks and makes perhaps the observer too. Who has found the boundaries of human intelligence? Who has made a chart of its channel or approached the fountain of this wonderful Nile ? I am of the oldest religion. Leaving aside the question which was prior, egg or bird, I believe the mind is the creator of the world, and is ever creat- ing;— that at last Matter is dead Mind; that \ 16 NATURAL HISTORY OF INTELLECT. mind makes the senses it sees with ; that the( genins of man is a continuation of the power that made him and that has not done making him. I dare not deal with this element in its pure essence. It is too rare for the wings of words. Yet I see that Intellect is a science of degrees, and that as man is conscious of the law of vege- table and animal nature, so he is aware of an Intel- lect which overhangs his consciousness like a sky, of degree above degree, of heaven within heaven. Every just thinker has attempted to indicate these degrees, these steps on the heavenly stai.^^. until he comes to light where language fails liir Above the thought is the higher truth, — truth t \ yet undomesticated and therefore unformulated. J i It is a steep stair down from the essence of In- ' tellect pure to thoughts and intellections. As thes sun is conceived to have made our system by ]mrl-\ ing out from itself the outer rings of diffuse ether ^ which slowly condensed into earths and moons, by a higher force of the same law the mind detaches minds, and a mind detaches thoughts or intellec- tions. These again all mimic in their sphericity the first mind, and share its power. Life is incessant parturition. There are v\\\- parous and oviparous minds ; minds that produce their thoughts complete men, like lu-med soldiers, NATURAL HISTORY OF INTELLECT. 17 ready and swift to go out to resist and conquer all the armies of error, and others that deposit their dangerous unripe thoughts here and there to lie still for a time and be brooded in other minds, and the shell not be broken until the next age, for them to begin, as new individuals, their career. The perceptions of a soul, its wondrous progeny, are born by the conversation, the marriage of souls; so nourished, so enlarged. They are de- tached from their parent, they pass into other minds ; ripened and unfolded by many they hasten to incarnate themselves in action, to take body, only to carry forward the will which sent them but. They take to themselves wood and stone and i!^f)n ; ships and cities and nations and armies of m]en and ages of duration ; the pomps of religion, tjhe armaments of war, the codes and heraldry of states; agriculture, trade, commerce; — these are ijjhe ponderous instrumentalities into which the (iiimble thoughts pass, and which they animate and alter, and presently, antagonized by other thoughts which they first aroused, or by thoughts which are sons and daughters of these, the thought buries it- self in the new thought of larger scope, whilst the old instrumentalities and incarnations are decom- posed and recomposed into new. Our eating, trading, marrying, and learning are mistaken by us for ends and realities, whilst they 18 NATURAL HISTORY OF INTELLECT. are properly symbols only ; when we have come, by a divine leading, into the inner firmament, we are apprised of the unreality or representative character of what we esteemed final. So works the poor little blockhead manikin. He must arrange and dignify his shop or farm the best , he can. At last he must be able to tell you it, o' write it, translate it all clumsily enough into tie new sky-language he calls thought. He canntt help it, the irresistible meliorations bear him fo- ward. II. Whilst we consider this appetite of the mill to arrange its phenomena, there is another ist which makes this useful. There is in natu. a parallel unity which corresponds to the unityu the mind and makes it available. This metho^- ing mind meets no resistance in its attempts. ^3 scattered blocks, with which it strives to forn. t* symmetrical structure, fit. This design following^ after finds with joy that like design went before. Not only man puts things in a row, but things be- long in a row. I It is certain that however we may conceive of\ the wonderful little bricks of which the world is • builded, we must suppose a similarity and fitting and identity in their frame. It is necessary to NATURAL HISTORY OF INTELLECT. 19 suppose that every hose in nature fits every hy- drant; so only is combination, chemistry, vegeta- tion, animation, intellection possible. Without identity at base, chaos must be forever. And as mind, our mind or mind like ours reap- pears to us in our study of nature, nature being everywhere formed after a method which we can well understand, and all the parts, to the most remote, allied or explicable, — therefore our own organization is a perpetual key, and a well-ordered mind brings to the study of every new fact or class of facts a certain divination of that which it shall find. This reduction to a few laws, to one law, is not a choice of the individual, it is the tyrannical in- stinct of the mind. There is no solitary flower and no solitary thought. It comes single like a foreign traveller, — but find out its name and it is related to a powerful and numerous family. Wonderful is their working and relation each to each. We hold them as lanterns to light each other and our present design. Every new thought modifies, in- terprets old problems. The retrospective value of each new thought is immense, like a torch applied to a long train of gunpowder. To be isolated is to be sick, and in so far, dead. The life of the All must stream through us to make the man and the moment great. 20 NATURAL HISTORY OF INTELLECT. Well, having accepted this law of identity per- vading the universe, we next perceive that whilst every creature represents and obeys it, there is diversity, there is more or less of power ; that the lowest only means incipient form, and over it is a higher class in which its rudiments are opened, raised to higher powers ; that there is development from less to more, from lower to superior function, steadily ascending to man. If man has organs for breathing, for sight, for locomotion, for taking food, for digesting, for pro- tection by house-building, by attack and defence, for reproduction and love and care of his young, you shall find all the same in the muskrat. There is a perfect correspondence ; or 't is only man modi- fied to live in a mud-bank. A fish in like manner is man furnished to live in the sea ; a thrush, to fly in the air ; and a mollusk is a cheap edition with a suppression of the costlier illustrations, designed for dingy circulation, for shelving in an oyster- bank or among the sea-weed. If we go through the British Museum or the Jardin des Plantes in Paris, or any cabinet where is some representation of all the kingdoms of nature, we are surprised with occult sympathies ; we feel as if looking at our own bone and flesh through coloring and distorting glasses. Is it not a little startling to see with what genius some peo- NATURAL HISTORY OF INTELLECT. 21 pie take to hunting, with what genius some people fish, — what knowledge they still have of the creature they hunt? The robber, as the police- reports say, must have been intimately acquainted with the premises. How lately the hunter was the poor creature's organic enemy ; a presumption inflamed^ as the lawyers say, by observing how many faces in the street still remind us of visages in the forest, — the escape from the quadruped type not yet perfectly accomplished. From whatever side we look at Nature we seem to be exploring the figure of a disguised man. How obvious is the momentum in our mental his- tory! The momentum, which increases by exact f^aws in falling bodies, increases by the same rate m the intellectual action. Every scholar knows that he applies himself coldly and slowly at first to his task, but, with the progress of the work, the inind itself becomes heated, and sees far and wide l^s it approaches the end, so that it is the common remark of the student. Could I only have begun with the same fire which I had on the last day, I should have done something. The affinity of particles accurately translates the affinity of thoughts, and what a modern experi- menter calls " the contagious influence of chemical action " is so true of mind that I have only to read 22 XATUEAL HISTOEY OF lyTELLECT. the law that its application may be evident : *• A body in the act of combination or decomposition enables another body, with which it may be in contact, to enter into the same state.'* And if one remembers how contagious are the moral states of men. how much we are braced by the presence and a XATUEAL HISTORY OF IXTELLECT. The same funorioiis whioli avo povfoor in our quadrupeds are seen slower performe<.l in pal:\Hni- tology. ^Nlany races it eosr them to achieve tlie completion that is now in the lite of one. Life had not yet so tieive a glow. Shakespeare astonishes by his equality in every play, act, scene or line. One woidd s;u" he must have beeu a thousand years old when he wrote his first line, so thorouglily is his thought familiar to him. and has such scope and so solidly worded, as if it were already a proverb aud not hereafter to become one. Well, that millenium in etYect is really only a little acceleration iu his process of thought. But each power is commonly at the expense of some other. When pace is inerea:ied it will happen tliat the control is in a degree lost. Keason dcves not keep her tirm seat. The Delphian prophetess, when the spirit possesses her, is herself a >-ietim. The excess of individualism, when it is not cor- rected or subordiuat^.... We detect theii* uuuiia NATURAL HISTORY OF INTELLECT. 47 and humor it, so that conversation soon becomes a tiresome effort. You hiugh at the monotones, at the men of one idea, hut if wo look nearly at heroes we may find the same poverty ; and perhaps it is not poverty, hut power. The secret of power, intellectual or physical, is concentration, and all concentration involves of necessity a certain narrowness. It is a law of nature that he who looks at one thing must turn his eyes from every other thing in the uni- verse. The horse goes better with blinders, and the man for dedication to his task. If you ask what compensation is made for the inevitable nar- rowness, why, this, that in learning one thing w^ell you learn all things. Immense is the patience of Nature. You say thought is a penurious rill. Well, we can wait. Nature is immortal, and can wait. Nature having for capital this rill, drop by drop, as it trickles from the rock of ages, — this rill and her patience, — she husbands and hives, she forms reservoirs, were it only a phial or a hair-tube that will hold as it were a drop of attar. Not having enough to sup- port all the powers of a race, she thins her stock and raises a few individuals, or only a pair. Not sufficing to feed aU the faculties synchronously, she feeds one faculty and starves all the rest. I am familiar with cases, we meet them daily, 48 NATURAL HISTORY OF INTELLECT. wherein tlie vital force being insufficient for the constitution, everything is neglected that can be spared ; some one power fed, all the rest pine. 'T is like a withered hand or leg on a Hercules. It makes inconvenience in society, for we presume symmetry, and because they know one thing we defer to them in another, and find them really contemptible. We can't make half a bow and say, I honor and despise you. But Nature can ; she whistles with all her winds, and does as she pleases. It is much to write sentences ; it is more to add method and write out the spirit of your life sym- metrically. But to arrange general reflections in their natural order, so that I shall have one homo- geneous piece, — a Lycidas, an Allegro, a Hamlet, a Midsummer Night's Dream, — this continuity is for the great. The wonderful men are wonderful hereby. Such concentration of experiences is in every great work, which, though successive in the mind of the master, were primarily combined in his piece. But what we want is consecutiveness. 'T is with us a flash of light, then a long darkness, then a flash again. Ah ! could we turn these fugitive sparkles into an astronomy of Copernican worlds. I must think this keen sympathy, this thrill NATURAL HISTORY OF INTELLECT. 49 of awe with which we watch the performance of genius, a sign of our own readiness to exert the like power. I must think we are entitled to pow- ers far transcending any that we possess ; that we have in the race the sketch of a man which no individual comes up to. Every sincere man is right, or, to make him right, only needs a little larger dose of his own per- sonality. Excellent in his own way by means of not apprehending the gift of another. When he speaks out of another's mind, we detect it. He can't make any paint stick but his own. No man passes for that with another which he passes for with himself. The respect and the censure of his brother are alike injurious and irrelevant. We see ourselves ; we lack organs to see others, and only squint at them. Don't fear to push these individualities to their farthest divergence. Characters and talents are complemental and suppletory. The world stands by balanced antagonisms. The more the peculiar- ities are pressed the better the result. The air would rot without lightning ; and without the vio- lence of direction that men have, without bigots, without men of fixed idea, no excitement, no effi- ciency. The novelist should not make any character act absurdly, but only absurdly as seen by others. 50 NATURAL HISTOEY OF INTELLECT. For it is so in life. Nonsense will not keep its unreason if you come into the humorist's point of view, but unhappily we find it is fast becoming sense, and we must flee again into the distance if we would laugh. What strength belongs to every plant and ani- mal in nature. The tree or the brook has no duplicity, no pretentiousness, no show. It is, with all its might and main, what it is, and makes one and the same impression and effect at all times. All the thoughts of a turtle are turtles, and of a rabbit, rabbits. But a man is broken and dissi- pated by the giddiness of his will; he does not throw himself into his judgments ; his genius leads him one way but 't is likely his trade or politics in quite another. He rows with one hand and with the other backs water, and does not give to any manner of life the strength of his constitution. Hence the perpetual loss of power and waste of human life. The natural remedy against this miscellany of knowledge and aim, this desultory universality of ours, this immense ground- juniper falling abroad and not gathered up into any columnar tree, is to substitute realism for sentimentalism ; a certain recognition of the simple and terrible laws which, seen or unseen, pervade and govern. You will say this is quite axiomatic and a little NATURAL HISTORY OF INTELLECT. 51 too true. I do not find it an agreed point. Lit- erary men for the most part have a settled despair as to the realization of ideas in their own time. There is in all students a distrust of truth, a timid- ity about affirming it ; a wish to patronize Provi- dence. We disown our debt to moral evil. To science there is no poison ; to botany no weed ; to chemis- try no dirt. The curses of malignity and despair are important criticism, which must be heeded until he can explain and rightly silence them. ^'Croyez moi, Verreur aussi a son merite^^^ said Voltaire. We see those who surmount by dint of egotism or infatuation obstacles from which the prudent recoil. The right partisan is a heady man, who, because he does not see many things, sees some one thing with heat and exaggeration ; and if he falls among other narrow men, or objects which have a brief importance, prefers it to the uni- verse, and seems inspired and a godsend to those who wish to magnify the matter and carry a point. 'Tis the difference between progress by railroad and by walking across the broken country. Im- mense speed, but only in one direction. There are two theories of life ; one for the de- monstration of our talent, the other for the educa- tion of the man. One is activity, the busy-body, the 62 NATUBAL HISTORY OF INTELLECT. following of that practical talent which we have, in the belief that what is so natural, easy and pleasant to us and desirable to others will surely lead us out safel}^ ; in this direction lie usefulness, comfort, so- ciety, low power of all sorts. The other is trust, religion, consent to be nothing for eternity, en- tranced waiting, the worship of ideas. This is soli- tary, grand, secular. They are in perpetual bal- ance and strife. One is talent, the other genius. One is skill, the other character. We are continually tempted to sacrifice genius to talent, the hope and promise of insight to the lust of a freer demonstration of those gifts we have ; and we buy this freedom to glitter by the loss of general health. It is the levity of this country to forgive every- thing to talent. If a man show cleverness, rhetori- cal skill, bold front in the forum or the senate, people clap their hands without asking more. We have a juvenile love of smartness, of showy speech. We like faculty that can rapidly be coined into money, and society seems to be in conspiracy to utilize every gift prematurely, and pull down gen- ius to lucrative talent. Every kind of meanness and mischief is forgiven to intellect. All is con- doned if I can write a good song or novel. Wide is the gulf between genius and talent. The men we know, poets, wits, writers, deal with NATURAL HISTORY OF INTELLECT. 63 their thoughts as jewellers with jewels, which they sell but must not wear. Like the carpenter, who gives up the key of the fine house he has built, and never enters it again. There is a conflict between a man's private dex- terity or talent and his access to the free air and light which wisdom is ; between wisdom and the habit and necessity of repeating itself which be- longs to every mind. Peter is the mould into which everything is poured like warm wax, and be it as- tronomy or railroads or French revolution or the- ology or botany, it comes out Peter. But there are quick limits to our interest in the personality of people. They are as much alike as their barns and pantries, and are as soon musty and dreary. They entertain us for a time, but at the second or third encounter we have nothing more to learn. The daily history of the Intellect is this alter- nating of expansions and concentrations. The ex- pansions are the invitations from heaven to try a larger sweep, a higher pitch than we have yet climbed, and to leave all our past for this enlarged scope. Present power, on the other hand, requires concentration on the moment and the thing to be done. The condition of sanity is to respect the order of the intellectual world ; to keep down talent in 54 NATURAL HISTORY OF INTELLECT. its place, to enthrone the instinct. There must be perpetual rallying and self -recovery. Each talent is ambitious and self-asserting ; it works for show and for the shop, and the greater it grows the more is the mischief and the misleading, so that pres- ently all is wrong. No wonder the children love masks and cos- tumes, and play horse, play soldier, play school, play bear, and delight in theatricals. The children have only the instinct of the universe, in which becoming somewhat else is the perpetual game of nature, and death the penalty of standing still. 'T is not less in thought. I cannot conceive any good in a thought which confines and stagnates. The universe exists only in transit, or we behold it shooting the gulf from the past to the future. We are passing into new heavens in fact by the move- ment of our solar system, and in thought by our better knowledge. Transition is the attitude of power. A fact is only a fulcrum of the spirit. It is the terminus of a past thought, but only a means now to new sallies of the imagination and new progress of wisdom. The habit of saliency, of not pausing but proceeding, is a sort of importation and domestication of the divine effort into a man. Routine, the rut, is the path of indolence, of cows, of sluggish animal life ; as near gravitation as it NATURAL HISTORY OF INTELLECT. 65 can go. But wit sees the short way, puts together what belongs together, custom or no custom; in that is organization. Inspiration is the continuation of the divine ef- fort that built the man. The same course contin- ues itself in the mind which we have witnessed in nature, namely the carrying-on and completion of the metamorphosis from grub to worm, from worm to fly. In human thought this process is often ar- rested for years and ages. The history of man- kind is the history of arrested growth. This pre- mature stop, I know not how, befalls most of us in early youth ; as if the growth of high powers, the access to rare truths, closed at two or three years in the child, while all the pagan faculties went ripening on to sixty. So long as you are capable of advance, so long you have not abdicated the hope and future of a divine soul. That wonderful oracle will reply when it is consulted, and there is no history or tradition, no rule of life or art or science, on which it is not a competent and the only compe- tent judge. Man was made for conflict, not for rest. In action is his power; not in his goals but in his transitions man is great. Instantly he is dwarfed by self-indulgence. The truest state of mind rested in becomes false. 56 XATUEAL HISTOEY OF IXTELLECT. The spiritual power of man is twofold, niiud and heart, Iiitelleot aiul morals : one respecting truth, the other the will. One is the man, the other the woman in spiritual nature. One is power, tlie other is love. These elements always coexist in every normal individual, but one predominates. And as each is easilv exalted in our thouirhts till it serves to till the univei*se and become the syno- nym of God, the soul in which one predominates is ever watchful and jealous when such inuneuse claims are made for one as seem injurious to the other. Ideal and practical, like ecliptic and equa- tor, ai-e never parallel. Each has its vices, its proper dangers, obvious enough when the opposite element is deticient. Intellect is skeptical, runs down into talent, self- ish working for private ends, conceited, osteut^i- tious and malignant. On the other side the clear- headed thinker complains of souls led hither and thither by atfections which, alone, are blind guides and thriftless workmen, and in the confusion asks the polarity of intellect. But all givat minds and all great liearts have mutually allowed the absolute necessity of the twain. If the first rule is to obey your genius, in the second place the g\x>d mind is knoNm by the choice of what is positive, of what is advancing. AVe must embrace the aiHrmative. But the affirmative of NATURAL HISTOliY OF INTELLECT. 67 affirmatives is love. Qiufutus amor tantus ani- mus. Sti'oiigtli enters as the moral clement enters. Lovers of men are as safe as the sun. Goodwill makes insight. Sensibility is the secret readiness to believe in all kinds of power, and the contempt of any experience we have not is the opposite pole. The measure of mental health is the disposition to find good everywhere, good and order, analogy, heiilth and benefit, — the love of truth, tendency to be in the right, no lighter for victory, no cockerel. We have all of us by nature a certain divination and parturient vaticination in our minds of some higher good and perfection than either power or knowledge. Knowledge is plainly to be preferred before power, as being that which guides and di- rects its blind force and impetus ; but Aristotle declares that the origin of reason is not reason but something better. The height of culture, the highest behavior, con- sists in the identification of the Ego with the uni- verse ; so that when a man says I hope, I find, I think, he might properly say, The human race thinks or finds or hopes. And meantime he shall be able continually to keep sight of his biograph- ical Ego, — I have a desk, I have an office, I am hungry, I had an ague, — as rhetoric or offset to bis grand spiritual Ego, without impertinence, or ever confounding them. 5S yATrKAL HlSTOl^Y OF lyiEJLLllCT. 1 may Nvell say this is diviuo, the eontinuatiou of the divine et^'ort. Alas I it seems not to W out's, to be quite independent of us. Otteu there is so little at^inity between the man and his works that we think the wind must have writ them. Also its oommunieation from one to another follows its own law and refuses our intrusion. It is in one, it be- longs to all ; yet how to impiirt it ? We neeil all our ivsomves to live in the world whieh is to be useil and dei'orated by us. Soerates kept all his virtues as well as his faeulties well in hand, lie was sineei*ely humble, but he utilized his humanity ehietly as a better eyeglass to pene- ti*ate the vapors that biiiHed the vision of otlier The superiority of the man is in the simplieity of his thought, that he has no obstruetion, but kx^ks sti*aight at the pure faet, with no eolor of option. Pi*ofound siueerity is the only basis of talent as of ehameter. The virtue of the Intellect is its own, its eourage is of its own kind, and at last it will be jiistiiieil, though for the moment it seem hostile to what it most ivveres. We wish to sum up the oonliieting impressions by siiying that all point at last to a unity whieh in- spires all. Our poetry, our ivligion arx^ its skirts NATl'liAl. lllSTOm' OF IXTELLECT. 59 and peiumibnv. Yot the oliariu of life is the liints we derive from this. They overtx)me us like per- fumes from a far-off shore of sweetness, and their meaning- is that no tongue shall syllable it without leave ; that only itself ean name it ; that l>y east- ing ourselves on it and being its voice it rushes eaeh moment to positive eonnnands, creating men and methods, and ties the will of a child to the love of the First Cause. MEMORY. MEMORY. Memory is a primary and fundamental faculty, without which none other can work ; the cement, the bitumen, the matrix in which the other facul- ties are imbedded ; or it is the thread on which the beads of man are strung, making the personal identity which is necessary to moral action. With- out it all life and thought were an unrelated suc- cession. As gravity holds matter from flying off into space, so memory gives stability to knowledge ; it is the cohesion which keeps things from falling into a lump, or flowing in waves. We like longevity, we like signs of riches and extent of nature in an individual. And most of all we like a great memory. The lowest life remem- bers. The sparrow, the ant, the worm, have the same memory as we. If you bar their path, or offer them somewhat disagreeable to their senses, they make one or two trials, and then once for all avoid it. Every machine must be perfect of its sort. It is essential to a locomotive that it can reverse its 64 yiFMOKY. niovomont, aiul run barkwanl ami forward with Oiiual coloritv. The biiililor o{ tho uuud found it nv>t loss noodfiil that it should have ivti\>jvctioii, and oouiuiaud its past aot and dood. IVivoption, thi>ui;h it woro iu\u\onso and oould pioivo through tho univorso, was not sutVu'iont. Mi^niory performs tiio iuipossiblo for man by tho strongth of his divine arms : holds together past and present, beholding both, existing in both, abides in the iUnving, and gives i'ontinuity and dignity to Inunan life. It holds us to our family, to our friends. Hereby a home is possible : hereby iMily a new faet has value. Opportunities of investntent are useful only to those who have eapital. Any pieee of knowledgv I ae<\uire i*.Mlay. a faet that falls under n\y eyes, a book I read, a pieee of news 1 hear, has a value at this moment exaetly pivportioned to my skill to deal with it. To-monvw, when 1 know moiv, I iveall that pieee of knowledge auvl use it better. The Fast has a new value every moment to the aetive n\ind, through the ineessant puritiOiUion and bettor metluxl of it^ memory. Onee it joined its faets by eolor and form and sensuous ivlatious. Some faet that had a ehildish signitieanee to your ehildhooil and was a type in the nursery, when ri^vr intelligeuee ivealls it means moiv and serves you better as an illustratioi\ : and perhaps in your MKMOUY. 66 age h.'iH now iiK^sining. What was an isolated, un- related belief or (;onj(!etuie, our later (ixporionco instruets us liow to pbuje in just eonncction with other views wliich eoniirni and expand it. '^Flie old whim or perccipiion was jin augury of a bro.'ulei- In- siglit, at wliieli we arrive Liter witli scujurer eonvie- tion. Tliis Is tlio (companion, this the tutor, th(5 ])0(it, tlie library, with whieli you ti-av(!l. ltdo(!S not lie, eannot be (joirupted, repoits to you not what you wish but wliat really bofel. You s.-iy, " I (%'in never thiidc of some act of negleet, of HeHlshnciSs, or of ])assion without ])ain." Well, that is as it should be. That is tlie j)olie(5 of the Universe : the ang(^]s are set to punisli you, so long as you are cai)able of such crime. But in the history of chara(;t(!r the day eoni(;s wh(;n you are ineapal)l(; of sueh crime. Then you surf<;r no mon;, you look on it as heaven looks on it, with wonder at th(j deed, and with applause at the pain it has cost you. Memory is not Ji po(;ket, but a living instructor, with a prophetic sense of the values wlii(di lie guards ; a guardian angel set there within you to record your life, and by recording to animate you to uplift it. It is a S(;ripture writt(;n day by day from the birth of the man ; all its records full of meanings which open as he lives on, exjdaining each other, exjdaining the world to him and ex- panding their sense as Ik; adva,nc(;s, until it sliall become the whole law of nature and life. 66 MEMORY. As every creature is furnished with teeth to seize and eat, and with stomach to digest its food, so the memory is furnished with a perfect apparatus. There is no book like the memory, none with such a good index, and that of every kind, alpha- betic, systematic, arranged by names of persons, by colors, tastes, smells, shapes, likeness, unlike- ness, by all sorts of mysterious hooks and eyes to catch and hold, and contrivances for giving a hint. The memory collects and re-collects. AVe figiire it as if the mind were a kind of looking-glass, which being carried through the street of time re- ceives on its clear plate every image that passes ; only with this difference that our plate is iodized so that every image sinks into it, and is held there. But in addition to this property it has one more, this, namely, that of all the million images that are imprinted, the very one we want reappears in the centre of the plate in the moment when we want it. We can tell much about it, but you must not ask us what it is. On seeing a face I am aware that I have seen it before, or that I have not seen \t before. On hearing a fact told I am aware that I knew it already. You say the first words of the old song, and I finish the line and the stanza. But where I have them, or what becomes of them when I am not thinking of them for months and years, that they should lie so still, as if they did not MEMORY. 67 exist, and yet so nigh tliat they come on the in- stant when they are called for, never any man was so sharp-sighted, or could turn himself inside out quick enough to find. 'T is because of the believed incompatibility of tlie affirmative and advancing attitude of the mind with tenacious acts of recollection that people are often reproached with living in their memory. Late in life we live by memory, and in our solstices or periods of stagnation ; as the starved camel in the desert lives on his humps. Memory was called by the schoolmen ■vespertlna cognitio^ evening knowledge, in distinction from the command of the future which we have by the knowledge of causes, and which they called matutma cognitio, or morning knowledge. Am I asked whether the thoughts clothe them- selves in words ? I answer. Yes, always ; but they are apt to be instantly forgotten. Never was truer fable than that of the Sibyl's writing on leaves which the wind scatters. The dift'erence between men is that in one the memory with inconceivable swift- ness flies after and re-collects the flying leaves, — flies on wing as fast as that mysterious whirlwind, and the envious Fate is battled. This command of old facts, the clear beholding at will of what is best in our experience, is our splendid privilege. " He who calls what is van- 68 MEMORY. ished back again into being enjoys a bliss like that of creating," says Niebuhr. The memory plays a great part in settling the intellectual rank of men* We estimate a man by how much he remembers. A seneschal of Parnassus is Mnemosyne. This power will alone make a man remarkable ; and it is found in all good wits. Therefore the poets represented the Muses as the daughters of Memory, for the power exists in some marked and eminent degree in men of an ideal determination. Quin- tilian reckoned it the measure of genius. " Tantum ingenii quantum memoriae." We are told that Boileau having recited to Daguesseau one day an epistle or satire he had just been composing, Daguesseau tranquilly told him he knew it already, and in proof set himself to recite it from end to end. Boileau, astonished, was much distressed until he perceived that it was only a feat of memory. The mind disposes all its experience after its aifection and to its ruling end ; one man by puns and one by cause and effect, one to heroic benefit and one to wrath and animal desire. This is the high difference, the quality of the association by which a man remembers. In the minds of most men memory is nothing but a farm-book or a pocket-diary. On such a day I paid my note ; on the next day the cow calved ; on the next I cut my MEMORY. 69 finger ; on the next the banks suspended payment. But another man's memory is the history of science and art and civility and thought ; and still another deals with laws and perceptions that are the theory of the world. This thread or order of remembering, this classi- fication, distributes men, one remembering by shop- rule or interest ; one by passion ; one by trifling external marks, as dress or money. And one rarely takes an interest in how the facts really stand, in the order of cause and effect, without self-refer- ence. This is an intellectual man. Nature inter- ests him ; a plant, a fish, time, space, mind, being, in their own method and law. Napoleon was such, and that saves him. But this mysterious power that binds our life together has its own vagaries and interruptions. It sometimes occurs that memory has a personality of its own, and volunteers or refuses its informa- tions at its will, not at mine. One sometimes asks himself, Is it possible that it is only a visitor, not a resident ? Is it some old aunt who goes in and out of the house, and occasionally recites anecdotes of old times and persons which I recognize as hav- ing heard before, and she being gone again I search in vain for any trace of the anecdotes ? We can help ourselves to the modus of mental processes only by coarse material experiences. A 70 MEMORY. knife with a good spring, a forceps whose lips accurately meet and match, a steel-trap, a loom, a watch, the teeth or jaws of which fit and play per- fectly, as compared with the same tools when badly put together, describe to us the difference between a person of quick and strong perception, like Frank- lin or Swift or Webster or Richard Owen, and a heavy man who witnesses the same facts or shares experiences like theirs. 'Tis like the impression made by the same stamp in sand or in wax. The way in which Burke or Sheridan or Webster or any orator surprises us is by his always having a sharp tool that fits the present use. He has an old story, an odd circumstance, that illustrates the point he is now proving, and is better than an argu- ment. The more he is heated, the wider he sees ; he seems to remember all he ever knew ; thus cer- tifying us that he is in the habit of seeing better than other people ; that what his mind grasps it does not let go. 'T is the bull-dog bite ; you must cut off the head to loosen the teeth. We hate this fatal shortness of Memory, these docked men whom we behold. We gathered up what a rolling snow-ball as we came idong, — much of it professedly for the future, as capital stock of knowledge. Where is it now ? Look behind you. I cannot see that your train is any longer than it was in childhood. The facts of the last two or MEMORY. 71 three (lays or weeks are all you have with you, — the reading of the last month's books. Your eori- versation, action, your face and manners report of no more, of no greater wealth of mind. Alas! you have lost something for everything you have gained, and cannot grow. Only so much iron will the load-stone draw ; it gains new particles all the way as you move it, but one falls off for every one that adheres. As there is strength in the wild horse which is never regained when he is once broken by training, and as there is a sound sleep of children and of savages, profound as the hibernation of bears, which never visits the eyes of civil gentlemen and ladies, so there is a wild memory in children and youth which makes what is early learned impossi- ble to forget ; and perhaps in the beginning of the world it had most vigor. Plato deplores writing as a barbarous invention which would weaken the memory by disuse. The Rhapsodists in Athens it seems could recite at once any passage of Homer that was desired. If writing weakens the memoiy, we may say as much and more of printing. What is tlie news- paper but a sponge or invention for oblivion ? the i-ule being that for every fact added to the mem- ory, one is crowded out, and that only what the affection animates can be remembered. 72 MEMORY. The mind has a better secret in generalization than merely adding units to its list of facts. The reason of the short memory is shallow thought. As deep as the thought, so great is the attraction. An act of the understanding will marshal and concate- nate a few facts ; a principle of the reason will thrill and magnetize and redistribute the whole world. But defect of memory is not always want of genius. By no means. It is sometimes owing to excellence of genius. Thus men of great presence of mind who are always equal to the occasion do not need to rely on what they have stored for use, but can think in this moment as well and deeply as in any past moment, and if they cannot remem- ber the rule they can make one. Indeed it is remarked that inventive men have bad memories. Sir Isaac Newton was embarrassed when the con- versation turned on his discoveries and results ; he could not recall them ; but if he was asked why things were so or so he could find the reason on the spot. A man would think twice about learning a new science or reading a new paragraph, if he believed the magnetism was only a constant amount, and that he lost a word or a thought for every word he gained. But the experience is not quite so bad. In reading a foreign language, every new word MEMORY. 73 mastered is a lamp lighting up related words and so assisting tlie memory. Apprehension of the whole sentence aids to fix the precise meaning of a particular word, and what familiarity has been ac- quired with the genius of the language and the writer helps in fixing the exact meaning of the sentence. So is it with every fact in a new science : they are mutually explaining, and each one adds transparency to the whole mass. The damages of forgetting are more than com- pensated by the large values which new thoughts and knowledge give to what we already know. If new impressions sometimes efface old ones, yet we steadily gain insight ; and because all nature has one law and meaning, — part corresponding to part, — all we have known aids us continually to the knowledge of the rest of nature. Thus, all the facts in this chest of memory are property at interest. And who shall set a boundary to this mounting value? Shall we not on higher stages of being remember and understand our early his- tory better ? They say in Architecture, " An arch never sleeps ; " I say, the Past will not sleep, it works still. With every new fact a ray of light shoots up from the long buried years. Who can judge the new book? He who has read many books. Who, the new assertion ? He who has heard many 74 MEMORY. the like. Who, the new man ? He that has seen men. The experienced and cultivated man is lodged in a hall hung with pictures which every new day retouches, and to which every step in the march of the soul adds a more sublime perspec- tive. We learn early that there is great disparity of value between our experiences; some thoughts perish in the using. Some days are bright with thought and sentiment, and we live a year in a day. Yet these best days are not always those which memory can retain. This water once spilled cannot be gathered. There are more inventions in the thoughts of one happy day than ages could execute, and I suppose I speak the sense of most thoughtful men when I say, I would rather have a perfect recollection of all I have thought and felt in a day or a week of high activity than read all the books that have been published in a cen- tury. The memory is one of the compensations which Nature gTants to those who have used their days well ; when age and calamity have bereaved them of their limbs or organs, then they retreat on men- tal faculty and concentrate on that. The poet, the philosopher, lamed, old, blind, sick, yet disputing the ground inch by inch against fortune, finds a strength against the wrecks and decays sometimes MEMORY. 75 more invulnerable than the heyday of youth and talent. I value the praise of Memory. And how does Memory praise? By holding fast the best. A thought takes its true rank in the memory by sur- viving other thoughts that were once preferred. Plato remembered Anaxagoras by one of his say- ings. If we recall our own favorites we shall usu- ally find that it is for one crowning act or thought that we hold them dear. Have you not found memory an apotheosis or deification ? The poor, short lone fact dies at the birth. Memory catches it up into her heaven, and bathes it in immortal waters. Then a thou- sand times over it lives and acts again, each time transfigured, ennobled. In solitude, in darkness, we tread over again the sunny walks of youth; confined now in populous streets you behold again the green fields, the shadows of the gray birches ; by the solitary river hear again the joyful voices of early companions, and vibrate anew to the ten- derness and dainty music of the poetry your boy- hood fed upon. At this hour the stream is still flowing, though you hear it not ; the plants are still drinking their accustomed life and repaying it with their beautiful forms. But you need not wander thither. It flows for you, and they grow for you, in the returning images of former sum- 76 MEMORY. mers. In low or bad company you fold yourself in your cloak, withdraw yourself entirely from all the doleful circumstance, recall and surround yourself with the best associates and the fairest hours of your life : — " Passing sweet are the domains of tender memory." You may perish out of your senses, but not out of your memory or imagination. The memory has a fine art of sifting out the pain and keeping all the joy. The spring days when the bluebird arrives have usually only few hours of fine temperature, are sour and unlovely ; but when late in autumn we hear rarely a blue- bird's notes they are sweet by reminding us of the spring. Well, it is so with other tricks of memory. Of the most romantic fact the memory is more ro- mantic ; and this power of sinking the pain of any experience and of recalling the saddest with tran- quillity, and even with a wise pleasure, is familiar. The memory is as the affection. Sampson Reed says, " The true way to store the memory is to develop the affections." A souvenir is a token of love. Remember me means, Do not cease to love me. We remember those things which we love and those things which we hate. The memory of all men is robust on the subject of a debt due to them, or of an insult inflicted on them. " They MEMORY. 77 can remember," as Johnson said, " who kicked them last." Every artist is alive on the subject of his art. The Persians say, " A real singer will never forget the song he has once learned." Michael Angelo, after having once seen a work of any other artist, would remember it so perfectly that if it pleased him to make use of any portion thereof, he could do so, but in such a manner that none could per- ceive it. We remember what we understand, and we understand best what we like ; for this doubles our power of attention, and makes it our own. Captain John Brown, of Ossawatomie, said he had in Ohio three thousand sheep on his farm, and could tell a strange sheep in his flock as soon as he saw its face. One of my neighbors, a grazier, told me that he should know again every cow, ox, or steer that he ever saw. Abel Lawton knew every horse that went up and down through Concord to the towns in the county. And in higher examples each man's memory is in the line of his action. Nature trains us on to see illusions and prodi- gies with no more wonder than our toast and ome- let at breakfast. Talk of memory and cite me these fine examples of Grotius and Daguesseau, and I think how awful is that power and what privilege and tyranny it must confer. Then I 78 MEMOBT. come to a bright school-girl who remembers all she hears, carries thousands of nursery rhymes and all the poetry in all the readers, hymn-books, and pic- torial ballads in her mind ; and 't is a mere drug. She carries it so carelessly, it seems like the pro- fusion of hair on the shock heads of all the village boys and village dogs ; it grows like grass. 'T is a bushel-basket memory of all unchosen knowledge, heaped together in a huge hamper, without method, yet securely held, and ready to come at call; so that an old scholar, who knows what to do with a memory, is full of wonder and pity that this magi- cal force should be squandered on such frippery. He is a skilful doctor who can give me a recipe for the cure of a bad memory. And yet we have some hints from experience on this subject. And first, health. It is found that we remember best when the head is clear, when we are thoroughly awake. When the body is in a quiescent state in the absence of the passions, in the moderation of food, it yields itseK a willing medium to the intel- lect. For the true river Lethe is the body of man, with its belly and uproar of appetite and moun- tains of indigestion and bad humors and quality of darkness. And for this reason, and observing some mysterious continuity of mental operation during sleep or when our will is suspended, 't is an old rule of scholars, that which Fidler records, " 'T is MEMORY. 79 best knocking in the nail overnight and clinching it next morning." Only I should give extension to this rule and say Yes, drive the nail this week and clinch it the next, and drive it this year and clinch it the next. But Fate also is an artist. We forget also according to beautiful laws. Thoreau said, " Of what significance are the things you can forget. A little thought is sexton to all the world." We must be severe with ourselves, and what we wish to keep we must once thoroughly possess. Then the thing seen will no longer be what it was, a mere sensuous object before the eye or ear, but a reminder of its law, a possession for the intellect. Then we relieve ourselves of all task in the matter, we put the 07ius of being remembered on the ob- ject, instead of on our will. We shall do as we do with all our studies, prize the fact or the name of the person by that predominance it takes in our mind after near acquaintance. I have several times forgotten the name of Flamsteed, never that of Newton ; and can drop easily many poets out of the Elizabethan chronology, but not Shakespeare. We forget rapidly what should be forgotten. The universal sense of fables and anecdotes is marked by our tendency to forget name and date and geography. " How in the right are children," said Margaret Fuller, " to forget name and date and place." 80 MEMORY. You cannot overstate our debt to the past, but has the present no claim ? This past memory is the baggage, but where is the troop ? The divine ffift is not the old but the new. The divine is the instant life that receives and uses, the life that can well bury the old in the omnipotency with which it makes all things new. The acceleration of mental process is equivalent to the lengthening of life. If a great many thoughts pass through your mind you will believe a long time has elapsed, many hours or days. In dreams a rush of many thoughts, of seeming expe- riences, of spending hours and going through a great variety of actions and companies, and when we start up and look at the watch, instead of a long night we are surprised to find it was a short nap. The opium-eater says, " I sometimes seemed to have lived seventy or a hundred years in one night." You know what is told of the experience of some persons who have been recovered from drowning. They relate that their whole life's history seemed to pass before them in review. They remembered in a moment all that they ever did. If we occupy ourselves long on this wonderful faculty, and see the natural helps of it in the mind, and the way in which new knowledge caUs upon old knowledge — new giving undreamed-of value to old ; everywhere relation and suggestion, so that what MEMORY. 81 one had painfully held by strained attention and recapitulation now falls into place and is clamped and locked by inevitable connection as a planet in its orbit (every other orb, or the law or system of which it is a part, being a perpetual reminder), — we cannot fail to draw thence a sublime hint that thus there must be an endless increase in the power of memory only through its use ; that there must be a proportion between the power of memory and the amount of knowables ; and since the Universe opens to us, the reach of the memory must be as large. With every broader generalization which the mind makes, with every deeper insight, its retro- spect is also wider. With every new insight into the duty or fact of to-day we come into new posses- sion of the past. When we live by principles instead of traditions, by obedience to the law of the mind instead of by passion, the Great Mind will enter into us, not as now in fragments and detached thoughts, but the light of to-day will shine backward and forward. Memory is a presumption of a possession of the future. Now we are halves, we see the past but not the future, but in that day will the hemisphere complete itself and foresight be as perfect as after- sight. BOSTON. " We are citizens of two fair cities/' said the Genoese gentleman to a Florentine artist, " and if I were not a Genoese, I should wish to be Florentine." "And I," replied the artist, " if I were not Florentine " — " You would wish to be Genoese," said the other. " No," re- plied the artist, " I should wish to be Florentine." The rocky nook with hill-tops three Looked eastward from the farms, And twice each day the flowing sea Took Boston in its arms. The sea returning day by day Restores the world-wide mart ; So let each dweller on the Bay Fold Boston in his heart. Let the blood of her hundred thousands Throb in each manly vein, And the wits of all her wisest Make sunshine in her brain. And each shall care for other. And each to each shall bend, To the poor a noble brother. To the good an equal friend. A blessing through the ages thus Shield all thy roofs and towers ! God with the fathers, so with us, Thou darling town of ours ! BOSTON. The old physiologists said, " There is in the air a hidden food of life ; " and they watched the effect of different climates. They believed the air of mountains and the seashore a potent predisposer to rebellion. The air was a good republican, and it was remarked that insulary people are versatile and addicted to change, both in religious and secu- lar affairs. The air that we breathe is an exhalation of all the solid material globe. An aerial fluid streams all day, all night, from every flower and leaf, from every water and soil, from every rock-ledge ; and from every stratum a different aroma and air ac- cording to its quality. According to quality and according to temperature, it must have effect on manners. There is the climate of the Sahara : a climate where the sunbeams are vertical ; where is day af- ter day, sunstroke after sunstroke, with a frosty shadow between. "There are countries," said 86 BOSTON. Howell, " where the heaven is a fiery furnace, or a blowing bellows, or a dropping sponge, most parts of the year." Such is the assimilating force of the Indian climate, that. Sir Erskine Perry says, " the usage and opinion of the Hindoos so in- vades men of all castes and colors who deal with them that all take a Hindoo tint. Parsee, Mongol, Afghan, Israelite, Christian, have all passed under this influence and exchanged a good part of their patrimony of ideas for the notions, manner of see- ing, and habitual tone of Indian society." He compares it to the geologic phenomenon which the black soil of the Dhakkan offers, — the property, namely, of assimilating to itself every foreign sub- stance introduced into its bosom. How can we not believe in influences of climate and air, when, as true philosophers, we must be- lieve that chemical atoms also have their spiritual cause why they are thus and not other ; that car- bon, oxygen, alum and iron, each has its origin in spiritual nature ? Even at this day men are to be found supersti- tious enough to believe that to certain spots on the surface of the planet special powers attach, and an exalted influence on the genius of man. And it appears as if some localities of the earth, through wholesome springs, or as the habitat of rare plants and minerals, or through ravishing beauties of Na- BOSTON. 87 ture, were preferred before others. There is great testimony of discriminating persons to the effect that Rome is endowed with the enchanting prop- erty of inspiring a longing in men there to live and there to die. Who lives one year in Boston ranges through all the climates of the globe. And if the character of the people has a larger range and greater versa- tility, causing them to exhibit equal dexterity in what are elsewhere reckoned incompatible works, perhaps they may thank their climate of extremes, which at one season gives them the splendor of the equator and a touch of Syria, and then runs down to a cold which approaches the temperature of the celestial spaces. It is not a country of luxury or of pictures ; of snows rather, of east-winds and changing skies ; visited by icebergs, which, floating by, nip with their cool breath our blossoms. Not a luxurious climate, but wisdom is not found with those who dwell at their ease. Give me a climate where peo- ple think well and construct well, — I will spend six months there, and you may have all the rest of my years. What Vasari says, three hundred years ago, of the republican city of Florence might be said of Boston ; " that the desire for glory and honor is 88 BOSTON. powerfully generated by the air of that place, in the men of every profession ; whereby all who pos- sess talent are impelled to struggle that they may not remain in the same grade with those whom they perceive to be only men like themselves, even though they may acknowledge such indeed to be masters ; but all labor by every means to be fore- most." We find no less stimulus in our native air ; not less ambition in our blood, which Puritanism has not sufficiently chastised ; and at least an equal freedom in our laws and customs, with as many and as tempting rewards to toil ; with so many phi- lanthropies, humanities, charities, soliciting us to be great and good. New England is a sort of Scotland. 'T is hard to say why. Climate is much ; then, old accumu- lation of the means, — books, schools, colleges, lit- erary society ; — as New Bedford is not nearer to the whales than New London or Portland, yet they have all the equipments for a whaler ready, and they hug an oil-cask like a brother. I do not know that Charles River or Merrimac water is more clarifying to the brain than the Sa- vannah or Alabama rivers, yet the men that drink it get up earlier, and some of the morning light lasts through the day. I notice that they who drink for some little time of the Potomac water BOSTON. 89 lose their relish for the water of the Charles River, of the Merrimac and the Connecticut, — even of the Hudson. I think the Potomac water is a little acrid, and should be corrected by copious infusions of these provincial streams. Of great cities you cannot compute the influ- ences. In New York, in Montreal, New Orleans and the farthest colonies, — in Guiana, in Guada- loupe, — a middle-aged gentleman is just embarking with all his property to fulfil the dream of his life and spend his old age in Paris ; so that a fortune falls into the massive wealth of that city every day in the year. Astronomers come because there they can find aj)paratus and companions. Chemist, ge- ologist, artist, musician, dancer, because there only are grandees and their patronage, appreciators and patrons. Demand and supply run into every invis- ible and unnamed province of whim and passion. Each great city gathers these values and de- lights for mankind, and comes to be the brag of its age and population. The Greeks thought him un- happy who died without seeing the statue of Jove at Olympia. With still more reason, they praised Athens, the " Violet City." It was said of Rome in its proudest days, looking at the vast radiation of the privilege of Roman citizenship through the then-known world, — " the extent of the city and of the world is the same " (^spatlum et urhls et 90 BOSTON. orhis idem). London now for a thousand years has been in an affirmative or energizing mood ; has not stopped growing. Linnaeus, like a naturalist, esteeming the globe a big egg, called London the punctum saliens in the yolk of the world. This town of Boston has a history. It is not an accident, not a windmill, or a railroad station, or cross-roads tavern, or an army-barracks grown up by time and luck to a place of wealth ; but a seat of humanity, of men of principle, obeying a senti- ment and marching loyally whither that should lead them ; so that its annals are great historical lines, inextricably national ; part of the history of political liberty. I do not speak with any fond- ness, but the language of coldest history, when I say that Boston commands attention as the town which was appointed in the destiny of nations to lead the civilization of North America. A capital fact distinguishing this colony from all other colonies was that the persons composing it consented to come on the one condition that the charter should be transferred from the company in England to themselves; and so they brought the government with them. On the 3d of November, 1620, King James in- corporated forty of his subjects. Sir F. Gorges and others, the council established at Plymouth in the BOSTON. 91 county of Devon for the planting, ruling, ordering and governing of New England in America. The territory — conferred on the patentees in absolute property, with unlimited jurisdiction, the sole power of legislation, the appointment of all officers and all forms of government — extended from the 40th to the 48th degree of north latitude, and in length from the Atlantic to the Pacific. John Smith writes (1624) : " Of all the four parts of the world that I have yet seen not inhab- ited, could I but have means to transplant a colony, I would rather live here than anywhere ; and if it did not maintain itself, were we but once indiffer- ently well fitted, let us starve. Here are many isles planted with corn, groves, mulberries, salvage gardens and good harbours. The sea-coast as you pass shows you all along large cornfields and great troops of well-proportioned people." Massachusetts in particular, he calls " the paradise of these parts," notices its high mountain, and its river, " which doth pierce many days' journey into the entrails of that country." Morton arrived in 1622, in June, beheld the country, and " the more he looked, the more he liked it." In sixty-eight years after the foundation of Bos- ton, Dr. Mather writes of it, " The town hath in- deed three elder Sisters in this colony, but it hath wonderfully outgrown them all, and her mother, 92 BOSTON. Old Boston ill England, also ; yea, witliin a few years after the first settlement it grew to be the metropolis of the whole English America." How easy it is, after the city is built, to see where it ought to stand. In our beautiful bay, with its broad and deep waters covered with sails from every port ; with its islands hospitably shining in the sun ; with its waters bounded and marked by light-houses, buoys and sea-marks ; every foot sounded and charted ; with its shores trending steadily from the two arms which the capes of Massachusetts stretch out to sea, down to the bot- tom of the bay where the city domes and spires sparkle through the haze, — a good boatman can easily find his way for the first time to the State House, and wonder that Governor Carver had not better eyes than to stop on the Plymouth Sands. But it took ten ^^ars to find this out. The col- ony of 1620 had landed at Plymouth. It was De- cember, and the ground was covered with snow. Snow and moonlight make all places alike ; and the weariness of the sea, the shrinking from cold weather and the pangs of hunger must justify them. But the next colonj^ planted itself at Salem, and the next at Weymouth : another at Medford ; be- fore these men, instead of jumping on to the first land that offered, wisely judged that the best point BOSTON. 93 for a city was at the bottom of a deep and islanded bay, where a copious river entered it, and where a bold shore was bounded by a country of rich undulating woodland. The planters of Massachusetts do not appear to have been hardy men, rather, comfortable citizens, not at all accustomed to the rough task of discov- erers ; and they exaggerated their troubles. Bears and wolves were many ; but early, they believed there were lions ; Monadnoc was burned over to kill them. John Smith was stung near to death by the most poisonous tail of a fish, called a sting-ray. In the journey of Rev. Peter Bulkeley and his company through the forest from Boston to Con- cord they fainted from the powerful odor of the sweetfern in the sun ; — like what befell, still ear- lier, Biorn and Thorfinn, Northmen, in their expe- dition to the same coast ; who ate so many grapes from the wild vines that they were reeling drunk. The lions have never appeared since, — nor before. Their crops suffered from pigeons and mice. Na- ture has never again indulged in these exaspera- tions. It seems to have been the last outrage ever committed by the sting-rays or by the sweetfern, or by the fox-grapes ; they have been of peaceable behavior ever since. Any geologist or engineer is accustomed to face 94 BOSTON. more serious dangers than any enumerated, except- ing the hostile Indians. But the awe was real and overpowering in the superstition with which every new object was magnified. The superstition which hung over the new ocean had not yet been scat- tered ; the powers of the savage were not known ; the dangers of the wilderness were unexplored; and, in that time, terrors of witchcraft, terrors of evil spirits, and a certain degree of terror still clouded the idea of God in the mind of the purest. The divine will descends into the barbarous mind in some strange disguise ; its pure truth not to be guessed from the rude vizard under which it goes masquerading. The common eye cannot tell what the bird will be, from the egg, nor the pure truth from the grotesque tenet which sheathes it. But by some secret tie it holds the poor savage to it, and he goes muttering his rude ritual or mythol- ogy, which yet conceals some grand commandment ; as courage, veracity, honesty, or chastity and gen- erosity. So these English men, with the Middle Ages still obscuring their reason, were filled with Chris- tian thought. They had a culture of their own. They read Milton, Thomas a Kempis, Bunyan and Flavel with religious awe and delight, not for en- tertainment. They were precisely the idealists of England ; the most religious in a religious era. An BOSTON. 95 old lady who remembered these pious people said of them that "they had to hold on hard to the huckleberry bushes to hinder themselves from be- ing translated." In our own age we are learning to look as on chivalry at the sweetness of that ancient piety which makes the genius of St. Bernard, Latimer, Scougal, Jeremy Taylor, Herbert, and Leighton. Who can read the fiery ejaculations of St. Augus- tine, a man of as clear a sight as almost any other ; of Thomas a Kempis, of Milton, of Bunyan even, without feeling how rich and expansive a culture — not so much a culture as a higher life — they owed to the promptings of this sentiment ; without con- trasting their immortal heat with the cold complex- ion of our recent wits ? Who can read the pious diaries of the Englishmen in the time of the Com- monwealth and later, without a sigh that we write no diaries to-day? Who shall restore to us the odoriferous Sabbaths which made the earth and the humble roof a sanctity ? This spirit, of course, involved that of Stoicism, as, in its turn. Stoicism did this. Yet how much more attractive and true that this piety should be the central trait and the stern virtues follow, than that Stoicism should face the gods and put Jove on his defence. That piety is a refutation of every skeptical doubt. These men are a bridge to us be- 96 BOSTON. tween the unparalleled piety of the Hebrew epoch and our own. These ancient men, like great gar- dens with great banks of flowers, send out their perfumed breath across the great tracts of time. How needful is David, Paul, Leighton, Fenelon, to our devotion. Of these writers, of this spirit which deified them, I will say with Confucius, " If in the morning I hear of the right way, and in the even- ing die, I can be happy." I trace to this deep religious sentiment and to its culture great and salutary results to the people of New England ; first, namely, the culture of the in- tellect, which has always been found in the Calvin- istic church. The colony was planted in 1620 ; in 1638 Harvard College was founded. The General Court of Massachusetts, in 1647, " To the end that learning may not be buried in the graves of the forefathers, ordered, that every township, after the Lord has increased them to the number of fifty householders, shall appoint one to teach all chil- dren to write and read ; and where any town shall increase to the number of a hundred families, they shall set up a Grammar School, the Masters thereof being able to instruct youth so far as they may be fitted for the University." Many and rich are the fruits of that simple stat- ute. The universality of an elementary education in New England is her praise and her power in the BOSTON. 97 whole world. To the schools succeeds the Tillage Lyceum, — now very general throughout all the country towns of New England, — where every week through the winter, lectures are read and de- bates sustained which prove a college for the young rustic. Hence it happens that the young farmers and mechanics, who work all summer in the field or shop, in the winter often go into a neighboring town to teach the district school arithmetic and grammar. As you know too. New England sup- plies annually a large detachment of preachers and schoolmasters and private tutors to the interior of the South and West. New England lies in the cold and hostile latitude which by shutting men up in houses and tight and heated rooms a large part of the year, and then again shutting up the body in flannel and leather, defrauds the human being in some degree of his relations to external nature ; takes from the mus- cles their suppleness, from the skin its exposure to the air ; and the New Englander, like every other northerner, lacks that beauty and grace which the habit of living much in the air, and the activity of the limbs not in labor but in graceful exercise, tend to produce in climates nearer to the sun. Then the necessity, which always presses the northerner, of providing fuel and many clothes and tight houses 98 BOSTON. and much food against the long whiter, makes him anxiously frugal, and generates in him that spirit of detail which is not grand and enlarging, but goes rather to pinch the features and degrade the character. As an antidote to the spirit of commerce and of economy, the religious spirit — always enlarging, firing man, prompting the pursuit of the vast, the beautiful, the unattainable — was especially neces- sary to the culture of New England. In the midst of her laborious and economical and rude and awk- ward population, where is little elegance and no facility ; with great accuracy in details, little spirit of society or knowledge of the world, you shall not unfrequently meet that refinement which no educa- tion and no habit of society can bestow; which makes the elegance of wealth look stupid, and unites itself by natural affinity to the highest minds of the world ; nourishes itself on Plato and Dante, Michael Angelo and Milton ; on whatever is pure and sublime in art, — and, I may say, gave a hos- pitality in this country to the spirit of Coleridge and Wordsworth, and to the music of Beethoven, before yet their genius had found a hearty welcome in Great Britain. I do not look to find in England better manners than the best manners here. We can show native examples, and I may almost say (travellers as we BOSTON. 99 are) natives who never crossed the sea, who possess all the elements of noble behavior. It is the property of the religious sentiment to be the most refining of all influences. No external advantages, no good birth or breeding, no culture of the taste, no habit of command, no association with the elegant, — even no depth of affection that does not rise to a religious sentiment, can bestow that delicacy and grandeur of bearing which belong only to a mind accustomed to celestial conversa- tion. Ail else is coarse and external ; all else is tailoring and cosmetics beside this ; ^ for thoughts are expressed in every look or gesture, and these thoughts are as if angels had talked with the child. By this instinct we are lifted to higher ground. The religious sentiment gave the iron purpose and arm. That colonizing was a great and generous scheme, manly meant and manly done. When one thinks of the enterprises that are attempted in the heats of youth, the Zoars, New-Harmonies and Brook -Farms, Oakdales and Phalansteries, which have been so profoundly ventilated, but end in a protracted picnic which after a few weeks or months dismisses the partakers to their old homes, 1 " Come dal fuoco il caldo, esser diviso, Non puo'l bel dall' eterno." Michel Angelo. [As from fire heat cannot be separated, — neither can beauty from the eternal.] LOfC 100 BOSTON. we see with new increased respect the solid, well- calculated scheme of these emigrants, sitting down hard and fast where they came, and building their empire by due degrees. John Smith says, " Thirty, forty, or fifty sail went yearly in America only to trade and fish, but nothing would be done for a plantation, till about some hundred of your Brownists of England, Am- sterdam and Leyden went to New Plymouth ; whose humorous ignorances caused them for more than a year to endure a wonderful deal of misery, with an infinite patience." What should hinder that this America, so long kept in reserve from the intellectual races until they should grow to it, glimpses being afforded which spoke to the imagination, yet the firm shore hid until science and art should be ripe to propose it as a fixed aim, and a man should be found who should sail steadily west sixty-eight days from the port of Palos to find it, — what should hinder that this New Atlantis should have its happy ports, its mountains of security, its gardens fit for human abode where all elements were right for the health, power and virtue of man ? America is growing like a cloud, towns on towns. States on States ; and wealth (always interesting, since from wealth power cannot be divorced) is piled in every form invented for comfort or pride. BOSTON. 101 If John Bull interest you at home, come and see him under new conditions, come and see the Jonathanization of John. There are always men ready for adventures, — more in an over-governed, over-peopled country, where all the professions are crowded and all character suppressed, than elsewhere. This thirst for adventure is the vent which Destiny offers ; a war, a crusade, a gold mine, a new country, speak to the imagination and offer swing and play to the confined powers. The American idea, Emancipation, appears in our freedom of intellection, in our reforms, and in our bad politics ; it has, of course, its sinister side, which is most felt by the drilled and scholas- tic, but if followed it leads to heavenly places. European and American are each ridiculous out of his sphere. There is a Columbia of thought and art and character, which is the last and endless sequel of Columbus's adventure. European critics regret the detachment of the Puritans to this country without aristocracy; which a little reminds one of the pity of the Swiss mountaineers when shown a handsome English- man : " What a pity he has no goitre ! " The fu- ture historian will regard the detaclnnent of the Piu-itans without aristocracy the supreme fortune 102 BOSTON, of the colony ; as great a gain to mankind as the opening of this continent. There is a little formula, couched in pure Saxon, which you may hear in the corners of streets and in the yard of the dame's school, from very little republicans : " I 'm as good as you be," which con- tains the essence of the Massachusetts Bill of Rights and of the American Declaration of Inde- pendence. And this was at the bottom of Plym- outh Rock and of Boston Stone; and this could be heard (by an acute ear) in the Petitions to the King, and the platforms of churches, and was said and sung in every tone of the psalmody of the Puritans ; in every note of Old Hundred and Hallelujah and Short Particular Metre. What is very conspicuous is the saucy indepen- dence which shines in all their eyes. They could say to themselves. Well, at least this yoke of man, of bishops, of courtiers, of dukes, is off my neck. We are a little too close to wolf and famine than that anybody should give himseK airs here in the swamp. London is a long way off, with beadles and pur- suivants and horse-guards. Here in the clam- banks and the beech and chestnut forest, I shall take leave to breathe and think freely. If you do not like it, if you molest me, I can cross the brook and plant a new state out of reach of anything but squirrels and wild pigeons. BOSTON. 103 Bonaparte sighed for his republicans of 1789. The soul of a political party is by no means usu- ally the officers and pets of the party, who wear the honors and fill the high seats and spend the salaries. No, but the theorists and extremists, the men who are never contented and never to be con- tented with the work actually accomplished, but who from conscience are engaged to what that party professes, — these men will work and watch and rally and never tire in carrying their point. The theology and the instinct of freedom that grew here in the dark in serious men furnished a certain rancor which consumed all opposition, fed the party and carried it, over every rampart and obsta- cle, to victory. Boston never wanted a good principle of rebel- lion in it, from the planting until now ; there is always a minority unconvinced, always a heresi- arch, whom the governor and deputies labor with but cannot silence. Some new light, some new doctrinaire who makes an unnecessary ado to es- tablish his dogma ; some Wheelwright or defender of Wheelwright ; some protester against the cruelty of the magistrates to the Quakers ; some tender minister hospitable to Whitefield against the counsel of all the ministers ; some John Adams and Josiah Quincy and Governor Andrew to undertake and carry the defence of patriots in 104 BOSTON. the courts against the uproar of all the province ; some defender of the slave against the politician and the merchant; some champion of first prin- ciples of humanity against the rich and luxuri- ous ; some adversary of the death penalty ; some pleader for peace ; some noble protestant, who will not stoop to infamy when all are gone mad, but will stand for liberty and justice, if alone, until all come back to him. I confess I do not find in our people, with all their education, a fair share of originality of thought ; — not any remarkable book of wisdom ; not any broad generalization, any equal power of imagina- tion. No Novum Organon ; no Mecanique Ce- leste ; no Principia ; no Paradise Lost ; no Ham- let ; no Wealth of Nations ; no National Anthem ; have we yet contributed. Nature is a frugal mother and never gives with- out measure. When she has work to do she quali- fies men for that and sends them equipped for that. In Massachusetts she did not want epic poems and dramas yet, but first, planters of towns, fellers of the forest, builders of mills and forges, build- ers of roads, and farmers to till and harvest corn for the world. Corn, yes, but honest corn ; corn with thanks to the Giver of corn ; and the best thanks, namely, obedience to his law ; this was the BOSTON. 105 office imposed on our Founders and people ; liberty, clean and wise. It was to be built on Religion, the Emancipator ; Religion which teaches equality (if all men in view of the spirit which created man. The seed of prosperity was planted. The peo- ple did not gather where they had not sown. They did not try to unlock the treasure of the world except by honest keys of labor and skill. They knew, as God knew, that command of nature comes by obedience to nature ; that reward comes by faithful service ; that the most noble motto was that of the Prince of Wales, — "I serve," — and that he is greatest who serves best. There was no secret of labor which they disdained. They accepted the divine ordination that man is for use ; that intelligent being exists to the utmost use ; and that his ruin is to live for pleasure and for show. And when within our memory some flippant senator wished to taunt the people of this country by calling them, " the mudsills of society," he paid them ignorantly a true praise ; for good men are as the green plain of the earth is, as the rocks, and the beds of rivers are, the foundation and flooring and sills of the State. The power of labor which belongs to the English race fell here into a climate which befriended it, and into a maritime country made for trade, where was no rival and no envious lawgiver. The sailor 106 BOSTON. and the merchant made the law to suit themselves, so that there was never, I suppose, a more rapid expansion in population, wealth and all the ele- ments of power, and in the citizens' consciousness of power and sustained assertion of it, than was exhibited here. Moral values become also money values. When men saw that these people, besides their industry and thrift, had a heart and soul and would stand by each other at all hazards, they desired to come and live here. A house in Boston was worth as much again as a house just as good in a town of timorous people, because here the neighbors would defend each other against bad governors and against troops ; quite naturally house-rents rose in Boston. Besides, youth and health like a stirring town, above a torpid place where nothing is doing. In Boston they were sure to see something going for- ward before the year was out. For here was the moving principle itself, the ijrimum mobile, a liv- ing mind agitating the mass and always afflicting the conservative class with some odious novelty or other ; a new religious sect, a political point, a point of honor, a reform in education, a philan- thropy. From Roger Williams and Eliot and Robinson and the Quaker women who for a testimony walked naked into the streets, and as the record tells us BOSTON. 107 " were arrested and publicly whipped, — the bag- gages that they were ; " from Wheelwright the Antinomian and Ann Hutchinson and Whitefield and Mother Ann the first Shaker, down to Abner Kneeland and Father Lamson and William Gar- rison, there never was wanting some thorn of dis- sent and innovation and heresy to prick the sides of conservatism. With all their love of his person, they took im- mense pleasure in turning out the governor and deputy and assistants, and contravening the coun- sel of the clergy ; as they had come so far for the sweet satisfaction of resisting the Bishops and the King. The Massachusetts colony grew and filled its own borders with a denser population than any other American State (Kossuth called it the City State), all the while sending out colonies to every part of New England ; then South and West, until it has infused all the Union with its blood. We are willing to see our sons emigrate, as to see our hives swarm. That is what they were made to do, and what the land wants and invites. The towns or countries in which the man lives and dies where he was born, and his son and son's son live and die wh^ ^ he did, are of no great account. 108 BOSTON. I know that this history contains many black lines of cruel injustice ; murder, persecution, and execution of women for witchcraft. I am afraid there are anecdotes of poverty and disease in Broad Street that match the dismal statistics of New York and London. No doubt all manner of vices can be found in this, as in every city; infinite meanness, scarlet crime. Granted. But there is yet in every city a certain permanent tone ; a tendency to be in the right or in the wrong ; audacity or slowness ; labor or luxury ; giving or parsimony ; which side is it on ? And I hold that a community, as a man, is entitled to be judged by his best. We are often praised for what is least ours. Boston too is sometimes pushed into a theatrical attitude of virtue, to which she is not entitled and which she cannot keep. But the genius of Boston is seen in her real independence, productive power and northern acuteness of mind, — which is in nature hostile to oppression. It is a good city as cities go ; Nature is good. The climate is electric, good for wit and good for character. What pub- lic souls have lived here, what social benefactors, what eloquent preachers, skilful workmen, stout captains, wise merchants ; what fine artists, what gifted conversers, what mathematicians, what law- BOSTON. 109 yers, what wits ; and where is the middle class so able, virtuous and instructed ? And thus our little city thrives and enlarges, striking deep roots, and sending out boughs and buds, and propagating itself like a banyan over the continent. Greater cities there are that sprung from it, full of its blood and names and traditions. It is very willing to be outnumbered and out- grown, so long as they carry forward its life of civil and religious freedom, of education, of so- cial order, and of loyalty to law. It is very willing to be outrun in numbers, and in wealth ; but it is very jealous of any superiority in these, its natural instinct and privilege. You cannot conquer it by numbers, or by square miles, or by counted millions of wealth. For it owes its existence and its power to principles not of yesterday, and the deeper principle will always prevail over whatever material accumulations. As long as she cleaves to her liberty, her educa- tion and to her spiritual faith as the foundation of these, she will teach the teachers and rule the ru- lers of America. Her mechanics, her farmers will toil better ; she will repair mischief ; she will fur- nish what is wanted in the hour of need ; her sail- ors will man the Constitution ; her mechanics re- pair the broken rail ; her troops will be the first in the field to vindicate the majesty of a free 110 BOSTON. nation, and remain last on the field to secure it. Her genius will write tlie laws and her historians record the fate of nations. In an age of trade and material prosperity, we have stood a little stupefied by the elevation of our ancestors. We praised the Puritans because we did not find in ourselves the spirit to do the like. We praised with a certain adulation the invariable valor of the old war-gods and war-councillors of the Eevolution. Washington has seemed an excep- tional virtue. This praise was a concession of un- worthiness in those who had so much to say of it. The heroes only shared this power of a sentiment, which, if it now breathes into us, will make it easy to us to understand them, and we shall not longer flatter them. Let us shame the fathers, by supe- rior virtue in the sons. It is almost a proverb that a great man has not a great son. Bacon, Newton and Washington were childless. But, in Boston, Nature is more indulgent, and has given good sons to good sires, or at least continued merit in the same blood. The elder President Adams has to divide voices of fame with the younger President Adams. The elder Otis could hardly excel the popular eloquence of the younger Otis ; and the Quincy of the Revolu- tion seems compensated for the shortness of his BOSTON. Ill bright career in the son who so long lingers among the last of those bright clouds, " That on the steady breeze of honor sail In long succession calm and beautiful." Here stands to-day as o£ yore our little city of the rocks ; here let it stand forever, on the man- bearing granite of the North ! Let her stand fast by herself ! She has grown great. She is filled with strangers, but she can only prosper by adher- ing to her faith. Let every child that is born of her and every child of her adoption see to it to keep the name of Boston as clean as the sun ; and in distant ages her motto shall be the prayer of millions on all the hills that gird the town, " As with our Fathers, so God be with us ! " SiCUT PATRIBUS, SIT DeUS NOBIS ! MICHAEL ANGELO. Never did sculptor's dream unfold A form which marble doth not hold In its white block ; yet it therein shall find Only the hand secure and bold Which still obeys the mind. Michael Angelo's Sonnets, NoN ha 1' ottimo artista alcun concetto, Ch'un marmo solo in se non circoscriva Col suo soverchio, e solo a qnello arriva La man che obbedisce all' intelletto. M. Angelo, Sonnetto prirm. MICHAEL ANGELO.i Few lives of eminent men are harmonious ; few that furnish, in all the facts, an image correspond- ing with their fame. But all things recorded of Michael Angelo Buonarotti agree together. He lived one life ; he pursued one career. He accom- plished extraordinary works ; he uttered extraordi- nary words ; and in tliis greatness was so little ec- centricity, so true was he to the laws of the human mind, that his character and his works, like Sir Isaac Newton's, seem rather a part of nature than arbitrary productions of the human will. Especi- ally we venerate his moral fame. Whilst his name belongs to the highest class of genius, his life con- tains in it no injurious influence. Every line in his biography might be read to the human race with wholesome effect. The means, the materials of his activity, were coarse enough to be appreciated, being addressed for the most part to the eye ; the results, sublime and all innocent. A purity severe and even terrible goes out from the lofty productions 1 Reprinted from the North American HevieWf June, 1837. 116 MICHAEL ANGELO. of his pencil and his chisel, and again from the more perfect sculpture of his own life, which heals and exalts. " He nothing common did, or mean," and dying at the end of near ninety years, had not yet become old, but was engaged in executing his grand conceptions in the ineffaceable architecture of St. Peter's. Above all men whose history we know, Michael Angelo presents us with the perfect image of the artist. He is an eminent master in the four j&ne arts. Painting, Sculpture, Architecture and Poetry. In three of them by visible means, and in poetry by words, he strove to express the Idea of Beauty. This idea possessed him and determined all liis ac- tivity. Beauty in the largest sense, beauty inward and outward, comprehending grandeur as a part, and reaching to goodness as its soul, — this to re- ceive and this to impart, was his genius. It is a happiness to find, amid the falsehood and griefs of the human race, a soul at intervals born to behold and create only beauty. So shaU not the indescribable charm of the natural world, the great spectacle of morn and evening which shut and open the most disastrous day, want observers. The an- cient Greeks caUed the world x^^^/^^s, Beauty ; a name which, in our artificial state of society, sounds fanciful and impertinent. Yet, in proportion as man rises above the servitude to wealth and a pursuit of MICHAEL ANGELO. Ill mean pleasures, he perceives that what is most real is most beautiful, and that, by the contemplation of such objects, he is taught and exalted. This truth, that perfect beauty and perfect goodness are one, was made known to Michael Angelo ; and we shall endeavor by sketches from his life to show the di- rection and limitations of his search after this ele- ment. In considering a life dedicated to the study of Beauty, it is natural to inquire, what is Beauty? Can this charming element be so abstracted by the human mind, as to become a distinct and permanent object? Beauty cannot be defined. Like Truth, it is an ultimate aim of the human being. It does not lie within the limits of the understanding. " The nature of the beautiful," — we gladly borrow the language of Moritz, a German critic, — " con- sists herein, that because the understanding in the presence of the beautiful cannot ask, ' Why is it beautiful?' for that reason is it so. There is no standard whereby the understanding can determine whether objects are beautiful or otherwise. What other standard of the beautiful exists, than the en- tire circuit of all harmonious proportions of the great system of nature? All particular beauties scattered up and down in nature are only so far beautiful, as they suggest more or less in themselves this entire circuit of harmonious proportions." 118 MICIIAFL AXi^KLO. This givat AMiolo, the undorstaiiding oaimot em- brace. IVautv may bo felt. It may be produeeil. But it cannot be deliiu\l. The It^Uian artists sanetion this view of l>eanty by deseribing' it as /7^)//) ?n'ir una. ** the many in one," or multitude in unity, inthuating that what is tindy l>eautif ul sooms ivlated to all nature. A boau- tifid pei*son has a kind of universality, imd appears t-i^ have truer eonforuiity to all pleasing objeets in 0>iternal nature than another. Every great work of art seeuis to take up into itself the exoelleneies of all works, and to present, as it weiv. a miniature of natuiv. In ivlation to this element of Beaut}% tlie minds of men divide themselves into two elassos. In tlie fii*st place, all men have an org-aniziition eorivsjxmd- ing more or less to the entiiv system of natuiv, and theivfoiv a power of deriving pleasuiv fivm Ixwuty. This is Taste. In the seeond plaee, cerhiin minds, more olosely harmonized with natuiv, jx^ssess the jxnver of abstraeting l>eauty fivm thing's, and iv- produeiiig it in new forms, on any objeet to which acc*ident may determine theii' iU'tivity; as stone, Cim\'as, song, histcry. This is Art. Since IVauty is thus an abstraetiou of tlie har- mony and pivportiou that reigns in all natuiv, it is tliereforc studioii in nature, and not in what does not exist llenee the celebratCil French miu\im of MICHAEL ANGELO. 119 Khotoric, liioi dc ban/ (luc /c rrai : " Nothing is beautiful but what is true." It has a nuioh wider applieation than to Khetoric : as wide, namely, :is the t^rms of the proposition admit. In art, jNIiehael Aiigelo is himself but a document or veritieation of this maxim. lie labored to express the beauti- ful, in the entire eonvietion that it was only to be attained unto by knowledge of tlie true. The com- mon eye is satisfied with the surface on which it rests. The wise eye knows that it is surface, and, if beautiful, only the result of interior harmonies, which, to him who knows them, compose the image of higher beauty. ^Moreover, he knew well that only by an understanding of the internal mechanism can the outside be faithfully delineated. The walls of houses are ti*ansparent to the architect. The symp- toms disclose the constitution to the physician ; and to the artist it belongs by a better knowledge of anatomy, luid, within anatomy, of life and thought, to acquire the power of true dra^^'ing. ••* The hu- man form," says Goethe, " cannot be comprehended through seeing its surface. It must be stripped of the muscles, its parts separated, its joints observed, its divisions marked, its action and counter action learned ; the hidden, the reposing, the foundation of the apparent, nmst be searched, if one would really see and imitiite what moves as a beautiful insepai*a- ble whole in living waves before the eye." Michael 120 MICHAEL ANGELO. Angelo dedicated himseK, from his childhood to his death, to a toilsome observation of nature. The first anecdote recorded of him shows him to be al- ready on the right road. Granacci, a painter's ap- prentice, ha\dng lent him, when a boy, a print of St. Antony beaten by de\als, together with some colors and pencils, he went to the fish-market to observe the form and color of fins and of the eyes of fish. Car- dinal Farnese one day f oimd him, when an old man, walking alone in the Coliseum, and expressed his surprise at finding him solitary amidst the ruins ; to which he replied, '' I go yet to school that I may continue to learn." And one of the last drawings in his portfolio is a sublime hint of his own feel- ing ; for it is a sketch of an old man with a long beard, in a go-cart, with an hoiu'-glass before him ; and the motto, Ancora wiparo, '* I still learn." In this spirit he devoted himself to the study of anatomy for twelve years ; we ought to say rather, as long as he lived. The depth of his knowledge in anatomy has no parallel among the artists of mod- ern times. Most of his designs, his contemporaries inform us, were made with a pen, and in the style of an engraving on copper or wood ; a manner more expressive but not admitting of correction. When Michael Angelo would begin a statue, he made first on paper the i-:u\is ho had not s^iiigly givvu himsolt*. Tho ^tvlo of his ^wint- iiig^ i$ luoiumioutiU : aiul ovou his iH>otry ^vvrt^vkos of that oharaot<*r. In s^nilptuiw his groat^^st work is tho statiio of Mos^?!;' in tho Ohurx^h of l^oti\> in ViuvvU^ in Komo, It is a fitting st;Uuo of ^\\h^ss;U ^10, aiul is do^ig*i\ovl t\> oniKxly tho Hohrow Law. Tho law\i"iwr is snpjxvsoil tv> gaxo npon tho wv»r- s.hipivi's of tho iiwldon o;\lf, Tho majostio wmth of tho tignro danntjji tho Ivholdor. In tho l^aioa dol Gnu\ l>noa at Floromw stiutdjs in tho o^vn air, his l^ax-id. aKnit u> hnrl tho stono at Gvdiah. lu tho Chnr\'h oalUxl tho Minorx-^i, at Ki>nu\ is his Christ : ai\ objov^t of s^> mnoh do\\>tion to tho jvv>- pU\ that tho riiiht fvxn hivji boon sho^l with a brajxni sandal t\> prownt it frvan boing kis5>od away. In St IVtvr's* is his l^ot?i. or doiul Christ in tho anns of his niothor. In tho Mans<\lomn of tho Moviioi at Floronvw aiv tho tv>n\biS of Loronio aiui ClV^^nl\ with tho gnuul st5iUKxj5 of Niirht and Day, ainl An- rv>n» aJixd Twilight Sowral st^tnos of lo^ faino, aa\vl Ivis-ivUotV, aw iu Homo and Floronco and IVis, His l\unting^ aro in tho Sistino Chapel, v>f whioh ho tir^t oowrtxl tho coiling with tho stwry of tho oroation, in snv\\>*5^i\» ov\n\^vu*tn\ont>s with tho gr««skt s^^rioss of tho lV>phots and Sibyls in altoruato .v/(V/.i/7 .i.V(;/-7.(). 120 tablots, and a sorios o( i;iv:i(or anil snialUn- fancy* piooos in iho Innottos. ThivS is liis capital work paintod in fivseo. Kvorv ono o{ tlioso piooos, ovory lii;niv, ovorv lunul auil t\>ot and tlni^vr, is a shuly o( n.natinnv and ilosiL^n. Slli;litini;- the stH'i>nilarv' arts of oolorini;-, ami all tho aids of i^raoofnl tinish, lio aimed oxolnsivoly, as a storn tlosignor, to ox- piYSs tho vigor and niagnitioonco o( his ooncoptions. I'pon tho wall, ovor tho altar. Is paintiul tho Last dndgniont. Of his ilosigns, tho most oolobratoil is tJio oar- toon ropivsonting soldiors ooming ont in tJie batJi luid anning thonisolvos ; an inoidont of the Will* of Pisa. Tho wondorfnl morit of this drawing, whioh contrasts tho oxtromos of rohvxation and vigor, is oonspimions oven in the coarsest prints. 0( his gonius for Arohitootnro, it is sntlioiont to Siiy that ho bnilt 8t. IVtor's, an ornament of the earth, lie said ho wonhl hang the Pantheon in the air ; and he redeemed his phnlge by snspenil- ing that >i\*t onpola. withont otYonoo to grace or to stability, over the astonished behohlor. He did not live to oompk^to tlie work ; bnt is tJiore not something atVooting in tJie spectacle of an old man, on the verge of ninety years, carrying steadily on- ward with the heat and determination of manhooil, his poetic conooi>tions into progressive exeontion, siu'moimting by the ilignity of his pm*poses all ob- 130 MICHAEL ANGELO, staeles and all enmities, aiul only hindered by the limits of life from fultllling Ids designs? Very slowly eame he, after months and yeai*s, to the dome. At last he began to model it very small in wax. When it was finisheil, he had it copied lai-gvr in woixl, and by this model it was bnilt. Long- after it was completed, and often since, to this day, rumoi*s are oecasionaDy spivad that it is giving way, and it is said to have been injui-ed by nnskiHnl attempts to i-epair it. Benedict XIV., during one of these j)anics, sent for the architect Maivhese Polini, to come to Rome and examine it. Polini put au end to all the various pi*ojects of ivpairs, by the satisfying sentence ; " The cujx>la does not stai-t, and if it should start, nothing can K> done but to pull it down." The impulse of his gi*and style was instantaneous upon his contemjx^niries. Every sti\>ke of his pen- cil moved the pencil in KaphaeFs hand. Kaphael said, *' I bless Goil I live in the times of Michael Ang-elo." Sir Joshua Keynolds, two centuries later, dtvlartxl to the British Institution, '* I feel a self- congTatulation in knowing myself capable of such sensations as he intende io i^xpn^ss his lhi>UL:lil, "IK^ ;iK>m' '* lie siiiil, 'Ms an artist whoso haiuls I'an portVi'tly i^xiH'uto what his niliul has oi>m'olvotl ; *' ai\il suvh was his own luaston , tiiat nuMi salvo tho itloa o( absohito hoantv, \\c was still tlissatistitHl with his own work. Tho thini^s pro^iosiul to him in his iniaL:inatii>n wiM-t* snoh, that, iov not biMn.i;- abli' with his hands to t^xpnvss so i^rand and torriblo oonooptions, \\c i>t'ton ahandonod his work. Vov this ri\ist>n ho ot'ton only Mookinl his statuo, A littlo Ih^'oii* \\c diod, ho hnrnoil a i;"ivat nnnd>or o( di^sii^ns, ski^tohtvs, and i'arttH>ns niado by him, boini;- impatiiMit of thoir dot'oots. (iraoo in livini;" fi>rms, t^xoopt in vorv raiv instanoos, did not satisfy him. IK' novor matlo bnt om* |H>rtrait (^a i'aitoi>n of Mossor 'ri>nnn:'.so ili C\ivaliovi\ booanso ho abhi>rivil io draw a likonoss nnloss it won* of inhnito boanty. Suoh was his doyi>tion to art. Init lot no man snpposo that tho imai;os whioh his spirit worshippi'd woiv moiv transoripts of oxtonial i^raoo, ov that this profound soul was takon or hohlon in tl\o ohains oi suportioial boanty. To him, o( all nuMi, it was transparent. 'rhri>ni;h it ho behold tlu' eter- nal spiritual beauty whieh ovim- idothes itself with i^rand and i^raeefnl outlines, as its ap}>ropriato form, llo called otern;d i;raeo " tlie frail aiul 132 MICHAEL ANGELO. weary weed, in which God dresses the soul which he has called into Time." " As from the fire, heat cannot be divided, no more can beauty from the eternal." He was conscious in his efforts of higher aims than to address the eye. He sought, through the eye, to reach the soul. Therefore, as, in the first place, he sought to approach the Beautiful by the study of the True, so he failed not to make the next step of progress, and to seek Beauty in its highest form, that of Goodness. The sublimity of his art is in his life. He did not only build a di- vine temple, and paint and carve saints and projih- ets. He lived out the same inspiration. There is no spot upon his fame. The fire and sanctity of his pencil breathe in his words. When he was in- formed that Paul IV. desired he should paint again the side of the chapel where the Last Judgment was painted, because of the indecorous nudity of the fig- ures, he replied, " Tell the Pope that this is easily done. Let him reform the world and he will find the pictures will reform themselves." He saw clearly that if the corrupt and vulgar eyes, that could see nothing but indecorum in his terrific prophets and angels, could be i^urified as his own were pure, they would only find occasion for devo- tion in the same figures. As he refused to undo his work, Daniel di Volterra was employed to clothe the figures ; hence ludicrously called II Braghet- MICHAEL ANGELO. 133 tone. When the Pope suggested to him that the chapel would be enriched if the figures were orna- mented with gold, Michael Angelo replied, " In those days, gold was not worn; and the characters I have painted were neither rich nor desirous of wealth, but holy men, with whom gold was an ob- ject of contempt." Not until he was in the seventy-third year of his age, he undertook the building of St. Peter's. On the death of San Gallo, the architect of the church, Paul III. first entreated, then commanded the aged artist, to assume the charge of this great work, which though commenced forty years before, was only commenced by Bramante, and ill continued by San Gallo. Michael Angelo, who believed in his own ability as a sculptor, but distrusted his capacity as an architect, at first refused and then reluctantly complied. His heroic stipulation with the Pope was worthy of the man and the work. He required that he should be permitted to accept this work without any fee or reward, because he undertook it as a religious act ; and, furthermore, that he should be absolute master of the whole de- sign, free to depart from the plans of San Gallo and to alter what had been already done. This disinterestedness and spirit, — no fee and no interference, — reminds one of the reward named by the ancient Persian. When importuned to claim 134 MICHAEL ANGELO. some compensation of the empire for the important services he had rendered it, he demanded, "that he and his should neither command nor obey, but should be free." However, as it was undertaken, so was it performed. When the Pope, delighted with one of his chapels, sent him one hundred crowns of gold, as one month's wages, Michael sent them back. The Pope was angry, but the artist was immovable. Amidst endless annoyances from the envy and interest of the office-holders and agents in the work whom he had displaced, he steadily ripened and executed his vast ideas. The combined desire to fulfil, in everlasting stone, the conceptions of his mind, and to complete his worthy offering to Almighty God, sustained him through numberless vexations with unbroken spirit. In answer to the importunate solicitations of the Duke of Tuscany that he would come to Florence, he replies that " to leave St. Peter's in the state in which it now was, would be to ruin the structure, and thereby be guilty of a great sin ; " that he hoped he should shortly see the execution of his plans brought to such a point that they could no longer be interfered with, and this was the capital object of his wishes, " if," he adds, " I do not com- mit a great crime, by disappointing the cormorants who are daily hoping to get rid of me." A natural fruit of the nobility of his spirit is his MICHAEL ANGELO. 135 admiration of Dante, to whom two of his sonnets are addressed. He shared Dante's " deep contempt of the vulgar, not of the simple inhabitants of lowly- streets or humble cottages, but of that sordid and abject crowd of all classes and all places who ol)- scure, as much as in them lies, every beam of beauty in the universe." In like manner, he pos- sessed an intense love of solitude. Pie lived alone, and never or very rarely took his meals with any person. As will be supposed, he had a passion for the country, and in old age speaks with extreme pleasure of his residence with the hermits in the mountains of Spoleto ; so much so that he says he is " only half in Rome, since, truly, peace is only to be found in the woods." Traits of an almost sav- age independence mark all his history. Although he was rich, he lived like a poor man, and never would receive a present from any person ; because it seemed to him that if a man gave him anything, he was always obligated to that individual. His friend Vasari mentions one occasion on which his scruples were overcome. It seems that Michael was accustomed to work at night with a pasteboard cap or helmet on his head, into which he stuck a candle, that his work might be lighted and his hands at liberty. Vasari observed that he did not use wax candles, but a better sort made of the tal- low of goats. He therefore sent him four bundles 136 MICHAEL ANGELO. of them, containing forty pounds. His servant brought them after night-fall, and presented them to him. Michael Angelo refused to receive them. " Look you, Messer Michael Angelo," replied the man, "these candles have well nigh broken my arm, and I will not carry them back ; but just here, before your door, is a spot of soft mud, and they will stand upright in it very well, and there I will light them all." — " Put them down, then," returned Michael, "since you shall not make a bonfire at my gate." Meantime he was liberal to profusion to his old domestic Urbino, to whom he gave at one time two thousand crowns, and made him rich in his service. Michael Angelo was of that class of men who are too superior to the multitude around them to command a full and perfect sympathy. They stand in the attitude rather of appeal from their contem- poraries to their race. It has been the defect of some great men, that they did not duly appreciate or did not confess the talents and virtues of others, and so lacked one of the richest sources of happi- ness and one of the best elements of humanity. This apathy perhaps happens as often from pre- occupied attention as from jealousy. It has been supposed that artists more than others are liable to this defect. But Michael Angelo's praise on many works is to this day the stamp of fame. Michael MICHAEL ANGELO. 137 Angelo said of Masaccio's pictures that wnen they were first painted they must have been alive. He said of his predecessor, the architect Bramante, that he laid the first stone of St. Peter's, clear, insulated, luminous, with fit design for a vast structure. He often expressed his admiration of Cellini's bust of Altoviti. He loved to express admiration of Titian, of Donatello, of Ghiberti, of Brunelleschi. And it is said that when he left Florence to go to Eome, to build St. Peter's, he turned his horse's head on the last hill from which the noble dome of the Cathedral ( built by Brunel- leschi) is visible, and said, " Like you, I will not build ; better than you I cannot." Indeed, as we have said, the reputation of many works of art now in Italy derives a sanction from the tradition of his praise. It is more commendation to say, " This was Michael Angelo's favorite," than to say, "This was carried to Paris by Napoleon." Mi- chael, however, had the philosophy to say, " Only an inventor can use the inventions of others." There is yet one more trait in Michael Angelo's history, which humanizes his character without les- sening its loftiness ; this is his platonic love. He was deeply enamored of the most accomplished lady of the time, Vittoria Colonna, the widow of the Marquis di Pescara, who, after the death of her husband, devoted herself to letters, and to the writ- 138 MICHAEL ANGELO. mg of religious poetry. She was also an admirer of his genius, and came to Rome repeatedly to see him. To her his sonnets are addressed ; and they all breathe a chaste and divine regard, unparalleled in any amatory poetry except that of Dante and Petrarch. They are founded on the thought that beauty is the virtue of the body, as virtue is the beauty of the soul ; that a beautiful person is sent into the world as an image of the divine beauty, not to provoke but to purify the sensual into an intellectual and divine love. He enthrones his mistress as a benignant angel, who is to refine and perfect his own character. Condivi, his friend, has left this testimony ; " I have often heard Mi- chael Angelo reason and discourse upon love, but never heard him speak otherwise than upon pla- tonic love. As for me, I am ignorant what Plato has said upon this subject ; but this I know very well, that, in a long intimacy, I never heard from his mouth a single word that was not perfectly de- corous and having for its object to extinguish in youth every improper desire, and that his own natiu-e is a stranger to depravity." The poems themselves cannot be read mthout awakening sen- timents of virtue. An eloquent vindication of their philosophy may be found in a paper by Signer Kadici in the London '^ Retrospective Review," and, by the Italian scholar, in the Discourse of MfCUAIJ. ANdELO, 139 fienedetto Varchi upon one Honnot of MIehael Angolo, contained in the volume of hi« poemw pub- lihhed by Biagioli, from which, in Bulistance, the vievvH of Kadi(;i are taken. TowardB his end, there seemH to have grown in him an invincible appetite of dying, for he knew that his Hpirit could only enjoy contentment after (h^ath. So vehement wan this desire tlmt, he says, *' my soul can no longer be appeased Ijy tlie wonted seductions of painting and sculpture." A fine mel- ancholy, not unreli(ived }>y his liabitual heroism, pervades his thoughts on this subject. At the age of eighty years, he wrote to Vasari, sending him various spiritual sonnets he had written, and telb him he " is at the end of his life, that he is careful where he bends his tlioughts, tliat he sees it is al- ready twenty-four o'ehick, and no fancy arose in his mind but death was sculptured on it." In conver- sing upon this subject with one of his friends, that person remarked, tiiat Mif;iiael might well grieve tliat one who was incessant in his creative labors should liave no restoration. " No," replied Michael, *' it is nothing ; for, if life pleases us, death, licing a work of tiie same master, ought not \a) displease us." But a nobler sentiment, uttered by him, is contained in his reply to a letter of Vasari, who had informed him of the rejoicings made at the house of his nephew Lionardo, at 1' lorence, over the birtli 140 MICHAEL ANGELO. of another Buonarotti. Michael admonishes him that "a man ought not to smile, when all those around him weep ; and that we ought not to show that joy when a child is born, which should be re- served for the death of one who has lived well." Amidst all these witnesses to his independence, his generosity, his purity and his devotion, are we not authorized to say that this man was penetrated with the love of the highest beauty, that is, good- ness ; that his was a soul so enamored of grace, that it could not stoop to meanness or depravity ; that art was to him no means of livelihood or road to fame, but the end of living, as it was the organ through which he sought to suggest lessons of an unutterable wisdom ; that here was a man who lived to demonstrate that to the human faculties, on every hand, worlds of grandeur and grace are opened, which no profane eye and no indolent eye can behold, but which to see and to enjoy, demands the severest discipline of all the physical, intellect- ual and moral faculties of the individual ? The city of Florence, on the river Arno, still treasures the fame of this man. There, his picture hangs in every window ; there, the tradition of his opinions meets the traveller in every spot. "Do you see that statue of St. George ? Michael An- gelo asked it why it did not speak." — "Do you see this fine church of Santa Maria Novella ? It MICHAEL ANGELO. 141 is that which Michael Angelo called ' his bride.' " — " Look at these bronze gates of the Baptistery, with their high reliefs, cast by Ghiberti five hun- dred years ago. Michael Angelo said, ' they were fit to be the gates of Paradise.' " — Here is the church, the palace, the Laurentian library, he built. Here is his own house. In the church of Santa Croce are his mortal remains. Whilst he was yet alive, he asked that he might be buried in that church, in such a spot that the dome of the cathe- dral might be visible from his tomb when the doors of the church stood open. And there and so is he laid. The innumerable pilgrims whom the gen- ius of Italy draws to the city, duly visit this church, which is to Florence what Westminster Abbey is to England. There, near the tomb of Nicholas Machiavelli, the historian and philosopher ; of Gali- leo, the great-hearted astronomer; of Boccaccio, and of Alfieri, stands the monument of Michael Angelo Buonarotti. Three significant garlands are sculptured on the tomb ; they should be four, but that his countrymen feared their own partiality. The forehead of the bust, esteemed a faithful like- ness, is furrowed with eight deep wrinkles one above another. The traveller from a distant conti- nent, who gazes on that marble brow, feels that he is not a stranger in the foreign church ; for the great name of Michael Angelo sounds hospitably 142 MICHAEL ANGELO. in his ear. He was not a citizen of any country ; he belonged to the human race ; he was a brother and a friend to all who acknowledge the beauty that beams in universal nature, and who seek by labor and self-denial to approach its source in per- fect goodness. MILTON. I FRAMED his tongue to music, I armed his hand with skill, I moulded his face to beauty, And his heart the throne of wilL MILTON.i The discovery of the lost work of Milton, the treatise "Of the Christian Doctrine," in 1823, drew a sudden attention to his name. For a short time the literary journals were filled with disquisi- tions on his genius ; new editions of his works, and new compilations of his life, were published. But the new-found book having in itself less attraction than any other work of Milton, the curiosity of the public as quickly subsided, and left the poet to the enjoyment of his permanent fame, or to such in- crease or abatement of it only as is incidental to a sublime genius, quite independent of the momen- tary challenge of universal attention to his claims. But if the new and temporary renown of the poet is silent again, it is nevertheless true that he has gained, in this age, some increase of permanent praise. The fame of a great man is not rigid and stony like his bust. It changes with time. It needs time to give it due perspective. It was very easy to remark an altered tone in the criticism ^ Reprinted from the North American Review, July, 1838. 146 MILTON. when Milton re-appeared as an author, fifteen years ago, from any that had been bestowed on the same subject before. It implied merit indisputable and illustrious ; yet so near to the modern mind as to be still alive and life-giving. The aspect of Milton, to this generation, will be part of the history of the nineteenth century. There is no name in English literature between his age and ours that rises into any approach to his own. And as a man's fame, of course, characterizes those who give it, as much as him who receives it, the new criticism indicated a change in the public taste, and a change which the poet himself might claim to have wrought. The reputation of Milton had already undergone one or two revolutions long anterior to its recent aspects. In his lifetime, he was little or not at all known as a poet, but obtained great respect from his contemporaries as an accomplished scholar and a formidable pamphleteer. His poem fell unre- garded among his countrymen. His prose writings, especially the " Defence of the English People," seem to have been read with avidity. These tracts are remarkable compositions. They are earnest, spiritual, rich with allusion, sparkling with innu- merable ornaments ; but, as writings designed to gain a practical point, they fail. They are not effective, like similar productions of Swift and Burke ; or, like what became also controversial MILTON. 147 tracts, several masterly speeches in the history of the American Congress. Milton seldom deigns a glance at the obstacles that are to be overcome before that which he proposes can be done. There is no attempt to conciliate, — no mediate, no pre- paratory course suggested, — but, peremptory and impassioned, he demands, on the instant, an ideal justice. Therein they are discriminated from mod- ern writings, in which a regard to the actual is all but universal. Their rhetorical excellence must also suffer some deduction. They have no perfectness. These writ- ings are wonderful for the truth, the learning, the subtilty and pomp of the language ; but the whole is sacrificed to the particular. Eager to do fit jus- tice to each thought, he does not subordinate it so as to project the main argument. He writes whilst he is heated ; the piece shows all the rambles and resources of indignation, but he has never inte- grated the parts of the argument in his mind. The reader is fatigued with admiration, but is not yet master of the subject. Two of his pieces may be excepted from this de- scription, one for its faults, the other for its excel- lence. The " Defence of the People of England," on which his contemporary fame was founded, is, when divested of its pure Latinity, the worst of his works. Only its general aim, and a few elevated 148 MILTON. passages, can save it. We coidd be well content, if the flames to which it was condemned at Paris, at Toulouse, and at London, had utterly consumed it. The lover of his genius will always regret that he should not have taken counsel of his own lofty heart at this, as at other times, and have written from the deep convictions of love and right, which are the foundations of civil liberty. There is little poetry or prophecy in this mean and ribald scold- ing. To insult Salmasius, not to acquit England, is the main design. What under heaven had Madame de Saumaise, or the manner of living of Saumaise, or Salmasius, or his blunders of grammar, or his niceties of diction, to do with the solemn question whether Charles Stuart had been rightly slain? Though it evinces learning and critical skill, yet, as an historical argument, it cannot be valued with similar disquisitions of Robertson and Hallam, and even less celebrated scholars. But, when he comes to speak of the reason of the thing, then he always recovers himself. The voice of the mob is silent, and Milton speaks. And the perora- tion, in which he implores his countrymen to refute this adversary by their great deeds, is in a just spirit. The other piece is his " Areopagitica," the discourse, addressed to the Parliament, in favor of removing the censorship of the press ; the most splendid of his prose works. It is, as Luther said MILTON. 149 of one of Melancthon's writings, " alive, hath hands and feet, — and not like Erasmus's sentences, which were made, not grown." The weight of the thought is equalled by the vivacity of the expression, and it cheers as well as teaches. This tract is far the best known and the most read of all, and is still a magazine of reasons for the freedom of the press. It is valuable in history as an argument addressed to a government to produce a practical end, and plainly presupposes a very peculiar state of so- ciety. But deeply as that peculiar state of society, in which and for which Milton wrote, has engraved itself in the remembrance of the world, it shares the destiny which overtakes everything local and personal in nature ; and the accidental facts on which a battle of principles was fought have already passed, or are fast ^^assing, into oblivion. We have lost all interest in Milton as the redoubted dispu- tant of a sect ; but by his own innate worth this man has steadily risen in the world's reverence, and occupies a more imposing place in the mind of men at this hour than ever before. It is the aspect which he presents to this gener- ation, that alone concerns us. Milton the polemic has lost his popularity long ago ; and if we skip the pages of " Paradise Lost " where " God the Father argues like a school divine," so did the next age to 150 MILTON. his own. But, we are persuaded, he kindles a love and emulation in us which he did not in foregoing generations. We think we have seen and heard criticism upon the poems, which the bard himself would have more valued than the recorded praise of Dryden, Addison and Johnson, because it came nearer to the mark ; was finer and closer apprecia- tion ; the praise of intimate knowledge and delight ; and, of course, more welcome to the poet than the general and vagaie acknowledgment of his genius by those able but imsympathizing critics. We think we have heard the recitation of his verses by genius which found in them that which itself would say ; recitation which told, in the diamond sharp- ness of every articulation, that now first was such perception and enjoyment possible ;. the perception and enjoyment of all his varied rhythm, and his perfect fusion of the classic and the English styles. This is a poet's right ; for every masterpiece of art goes on for some ages reconciling the world unto itself, and despotically fashioning the public ear. The opposition to it, always greatest at first, con- tinually decreases and at last ends ; and a new race grows up in the taste and spirit of the work, with the utmost advantage for seeing intimately its power and beauty. But it would be great injustice to Milton to con- sider him as enjoying merely a critical reputation. MILTON. 161 It is the prerogative of this great man to stand at this hour foremost of all men in literary liistory, and so (shall we not say ?) of all men, in the power to inspire. Virtue goes out of him into others. Leaving out of view the })retensions of our con- temporaries (always an incalculable influence), we think no man can be named whose mind still acts on the cultivated intellect of England and America with an energy comparable to that of Milton. As a poet, Shakspeare undoubtedly transcends, and far surpasses him in his popularity with foreign nations ; but Shakspeare is a voice merely ; who and what he was that sang, that sings, we know not. Milton stands erect, commanding, still visi- ble as a man among men, and reads the laws of the moral sentiment to the new-born race. There is something pleasing in the affection with which we can regard a man who died a hundred and sixty years ago in the other hemisphere, who, in respect to personal relations, is to us as the wind, yet by an influence purely spiritual makes us jealous for his fame as for that of a near friend. He is iden- tifled in the mind with all select and holy images, with the supreme interests of the human race. If hereby we attain any more precision, we proceed to say that we think no man in these later ages, and few men ever, possessed so great a conception of the manly character. Better than any other he has 152 MILTON. discharged the office of every great man, namely, to raise the idea of Man in the minds of his con- temporaries and of posterity, — to draw after na- ture a life of man, exhibiting such a composition of grace, of strength and of virtue, as poet had not described nor hero lived. Human nature in these ages is indebted to him for its best portrait. Many philosophers in England, France and Germany, have formerly dedicated their study to this prob- lem ; and we think it impossible to recall one in those countries who communicates the same vibra- tion of hope, of self-reverence, of piety, of delight in beauty, which the name of Milton awakens. Lord Bacon, who has written much and with pro- digious ability on this science, shrinks and falters before the absolute and uncourtly Puritan. Ba- con's Essays are the portrait of an ambitious and profound calculator, — a great man of the vulgar sort. Of the vipper world of man's being they speak few and faint words. The man of Locke is virtuous without enthusiasm and intelligent with- out poetry. Addison, Pope, Hume and Johnson, students, with very unlike temper and success, of the same subject, cannot, taken together, make any pretension to the amount or the quality of Milton's inspirations. The man of Lord Chesterfield is un- worthy to touch his garment's hem. Franklin's man is a frugal, inoffensive, thrifty citizen, but sa- MILTON. 153 vors of nothing heroic. The genius of France has not, even in her best days, yet cuhninated in any one head, — not in Rousseau, not in Pascal, not in Fenelon, — into such perception of all the attributes of humanity as to entitle it to any rivalry in these lists. In Germany, the greatest writers are still too recent to institute a comparison ; and yet we are tempted to say that art and not life seems to be the end of their effort. But the idea of a purer existence than any he saw around him, to be real- ized in the life and conversation of men, inspired every act and every writing of John Milton. He defined the object of education to be, " to fit a man to perform justly, skilfully and magnanimously all tlie offices, both private and public, of peace and war." He declared that " he who would aspire to write well hereafter in laudable things, ought him- self to be a true poem ; that is, a composition and pattern of the best and honorablest things, not pre- suming to sing high praises of heroic men or famous cities, unless he have in himself the experience and the practice of all that which is praiseworthy." Nor is there in literature a more noble outline of a wise external education, than that which he drew up, at the age of thirty-six, in his Letter to Samuel Hartlib. The muscles, the nerves and the flesh ' .h which this skeleton is to be filled up and cov- ered, exist in his works and must be sought there. 154 MILTON. For the delineation of this heroic image of man, Milton enjoyed singular advantages. Perfections of body and of mind are attributed to him by his biogTaphers, that, if the anecdotes had come down from a greater distance of time, or had not been in part furnished or corroborated by political enemies, would lead us to suspect the portraits were ideal, like the Cyrus of Xenophon, the Telemachus of F^nelon, or the popular traditions of Alfred the Great. Handsome to a proverb, he was called the lady of his college. Aubrey says, " This harmonical and ingenuous soul dwelt in a beautifid and well-pro- portioned body." His manners and his carriage did him no injustice. Wood, his political opponent, relates that '* his deportment was affable, his gait erect and manly, bespeaking courage and im- dauntedness." Aubrey adds a sharp trait, that ^* he pronoimced the letter E very hard, a certain sign of satirical genius." He had the senses of a Greek. His eye was quick, and he was accomited an excel- lent master of his rapier. His ear for music was so acute, that he was not only enthusiastic in his love, but a skilfiU performer himself ; and his voice, we are told, was delicately sweet and harmonious. He insists that music shall make a part of a generous education. With these keen perceptions, he naturally re- MILTON. 155 ceived a lovo of nature and a rare susceptibility to impressions from exteruid beauty. In the midst of London, he seems, like the creatures of the field and the forest, to have been tuned in concord with the order of the world ; for, he believed, his poetic vein only flowed from the autumnal to the vernal equinox ; and, in his essay on Education, he doubts whether, in the fine days of spring, any study can be accomplished by young- men. '' In those vernal seasons of the year when the air is calm and pleas- ant, it were an injury and sullenness against nature not to go out and see her riches and partake in her rejoicing with heaven and earth." His sensibility to impressions from beauty needs no proof from his history ; it shines through every page. The form and the voice of Leonora Baroni seemed to have captivated him in Rome, and to her he addressed his Italian sonnets and Latin epigrams. To these endowments it must be added that his address and his conversation were worthy of his fame. His house was resorted to by men of wit, and foreigners came to England, we are told, " to see the Lord Protector and Mr. Milton." In a let- ter to one of his foreign correspondents, Emeric Bi- got, and in reply apparently to some compliment on his powers of conversation, he writes : " Many have been celebrated for their compositions, whose com- mon conversation and intercourse have betrayed no 156 MILTON. marks of sublimity or genius. But, as far as possi- ble, I aim to show myself equal in thought and speech to what I have written, if I have written anything well." These endowments received the benefit of a care- ful and happy discipline. His father's care, sec- onded by his own endeavor, introduced him to a profound skill in all the treasures of Latin, Greek, Hebrew and Italian tongues; and, to enlarge and enliven his elegant learning, he was sent into Italy, where he beheld the remains of ancient art, and the rival works of Raphael, Michael Angelo and Correggio ; where, also, he received social and ac- ademical honors from the learned and the great. In Paris, he became acquainted with Grotius ; in Florence or Rome, with Galileo ; and probably no traveller ever entered that country of history with better right to its hospitality, none upon whom its influences could have fallen more congenially. Among the advantages of his foreign travel, Mil- ton certainly did not count it the least that it con- tributed to forge and polish that great weapon of which he acquired such extraordinary mastery, — his power of language. His lore of foreign tongues added daily to his consummate skill in the use of his own. He was a benefactor of the English tongue by showing its capabilities. Very early in life he became conscious that he had more to say to MILTON, 157 his fellow-men than they had fit words to embody. At nineteen years, in a college exercise, he ad- dresses his native language, saying to it that it would be his choice to leave trifles for a grave argu- ment, " Such as may make thee search thy coffers round, Before thou clothe my fancy m fit sound ; Such where the deep transported mind may soar Above the wheeling poles, and at Heaven's door Look in, and see each blissfid deity. How he before the thunderous throne doth lie." Michael Angelo calls " him alone an artist, whose hands can execute what his mind has conceived." The world, no doubt, contains many of that class of men whom Wordsworth denominates " silent poets,^^ whose minds teem with images which they want words to clothe. But Milton's mind seems to have no thought or emotion which refused to be recorded. His mastery of his native tongue was more than to use it as well as any other ; he cast it into new forms. He uttered in it things unheard before. Not imitating but rivalling Shakspeare, he scattered, in tones of prolonged and delicate mel- ody, his pastoral and romantic fancies ; then, soar- ing into unattempted strains, he made it capable of an unknown majesty, and bent it to express every trait of beauty, every shade of thought ; and searched the kennel and jakes as well as the palaces 158 MILTON. of sound for the harsh discords of his polemic wrath. We may even apply to his performance on the in- strument of language, his own description of music ; " — Notes, with mauy a winding bout Of linked sweetness long drawn out, With wanton heed and giddy cunning, The melting voice through mazes rumiing, Untwistmg all the chains that tie The hidden soul of harmony." But, whilst Milton was conscious of possessing this intellectual voice, penetrating through ages and propelling its melodious undulations forward through the coming world, he knew that this mas- tery of language was a secondary power, and he re- spected the mysterious source whence it had its spring; namely, clear conceptions and a devoted heart. " For me," he said, in his " Apology for Smectymnuus," " although I cannot say that I am utterly untrained in those rules which best rhetori- cians have given, or unacquainted with those exam- ples which the prime authors of eloquence have written in any learned tongue, yet true eloquence I find to be none but the serious and hearty love of truth ; and that whose mind soever is fully pos- sessed with a fervent desire to know good things, and with the dearest charity to infuse the knowl- edge of them into others, when such a man would speak, his words, by what I can express, like so MILTON. 159 many nimble and airy servitors, trip about him at command, and in well-ordered files, as he would wish, fall aptly into their own places." But, as basis or fountain of his rare physical and intellectual accomplishments, the man Milton was just and devout. He is rightly dear to man- kind, because in him, among so many perverse and partial men of genius, — in him humanity rights itself ; the old eternal goodness finds a home in his breast, and for once shows itself beautiful. His gifts are subordinated to his moral sentiments. And his virtues are so gTaceful that they seem rather talents than labors. Among so many con- trivances as the world has seen to make holiness ugly, in Milton at least it was so pure a flame, that the foremost impression his character makes is that of elegance. The victories of the conscience in him are gained by the commanding charm which all the severe and restrictive virtues have for him. His virtues remind us of what Plutarch said of Timoleon's victories, that they resembled Homer's verses, they ran so easy and natural. His habits of living were austere. He was abstemious in diet, chaste, an early riser, and industrious. He tells us, in a Latin poem, that the lyrist may indulge in wine and in a freer life; but that he who would write an epic to the nations, must eat beans and drink water. Yet in his severity is no grimace or lt>0 MILTON. eA'ort. lie serves fivm love, not firun fear. lie is mnoiM?nt and exact, Kvauso his taste w-as so pure and delicate. He aeknowleilges to his friend Dio- dati, at the age of twenty-one, that he is enamoi*eil, if e\'er any \s-as, of mon^l perfection : ** For, what- ever the Deity may have bestoweil npon me in other respects, he has certainly inspired me, if any ever were inspireil, with a jx^ssiou for the gooii and fair. Xor did Cores. aivoixUng to the fable, ever seek her daughter Proserpine \\*ith such imceasing solicitude, as 1 have sought this to? koAov iSeui-, this jierfect model of the beautiful in all forms and ajv jvaranoes of thing's.'* AVhen ho ^^-as charged with loose habits of liv- ing, ho declares, that " a certain niceness of na- ture, an honest haughtiness and seK-esteem either of what I was or what T might be, and a mod- esty, kept me still alxn-e those low descentiii of mind K^neath which he must de]\vt and plungv himself, that can agree" to such degnidation. *• Ilis mind gave him, " he s:iid, " that every free imd gentle spirit, without that oath of chastity, ought to bo Kn-n a knight ; nor neeiled to expect the gilt spur, or the laying of a sword ujKm his shoulder, to stir him up, by his ».\>unst4 and his arm, to semuv and pivtoi't " attompteil inno<.vnce. He states those things, he s;\)*s, " to show, that, thouiih Christiauitv had btvn but sliirhtlv tauirht Mfrrox. 161 him, yet a cortmn rosorvodiiess of natural dispo- sition ami moral ilisoipliiie, loarnocl out of tlio noMost philosophy, was oiiongh to keep him in ilisihiiii of far loss inooutinenoos than those, " that had boon oharj>od on him. In like spirit, ho ro[>lios to the suspioions oalimmy vospooting* his moviiin*;* haunts. '* Those moniini;- haunts arc Nvlu>ro they should be, at home ; not sleeping, or eoneoeting the surfeits of an irregular feast, but up and stirring, in winter, often ere the sound of any bell awake men to labor or devotion ; in sum- mer, as oft with the bird that iirst rouses, or not nuieli t^irdier, to read good authors, or eause them to be read, till the attention be weary, or mem- ory have its perfeet fraught : then with useful and generous labors preserving the body's health and hardiness, to render lightsome, elear, and not lum}ush obedienee to the mmd, to the eause of religion and our eountry's liberty, when it shall reipiire tirm hearts in sound bodies to stand and eover their stations. These are the morning prae- tiees. " This native honor never forsook him. It is the spirit of " Conms," the loftiest song in the praise of ehastity that is in any language. It always sparkles in his eyes. It breathed itself over his deeeut form. It refined his amusements, whieh eonsisted in gardening, in exereise with the sword, and in playing on the organ. It engaged 162 MILTON. his interest in cliivalry, in courtesy, in whatsoever savored of generosity and nobleness. This mag- nanimity shines in all his life. He accepts a high impulse at every risk, and deliberately under- takes the defence of the English people, when advised by his physicians that he does it at the cost of sight. There is a forbearance even in his polemics. He opens the war and strikes the first blow. When he had cut down his oppo- nents, he left the details of death and plunder to meaner partisans. He said, " he had learned the prudence of the Roman soldier, not to stand break- ing of legs, when the breath was quite out of the body." To this antique heroism, Milton added the gen- ius of the Christian sanctity. Few men could be cited who have so well understood what is pe- culiar in the Christian ethics, and the precise aid it has brought to men, in being an emphatic affir- mation of the omnipotence of spiritual laws, and, by way of marking the contrast to vulgar 023in- ions, laying its chief stress on humility. The indifferency of a wise mind to what is called high and low, and the fact that true greatness is a perfect humility, are revelations of Christian- ity which Milton well understood. They give an inexhaustible truth to all his compositions. His firm grasp of this truth is his weapon against MILTON. 163 the prelates. He celebrates in the martyrs, " the unresistible might of weakness." He told the bishops that " instead of showing the reason of their lowly condition from divine example and command, they seek to prove their high preemi- nence from human consent and authority." He advises that in country places, rather than to trudge many miles to a church, public worship be maintained nearer home, as in a house or barn. " For, notwithstanding the gaudy superstition of some still devoted ignorantly to temples, we may be well assured, that he who disdained not to be born in a manger, disdains not to be preached in a barn." And the following passage, in the " Rea- son of Church Government," indicates his own perception of the doctrine of humility. "Albeit I must confess to be half in doubt whether I should bring it forth or no, it being so contrary to the eye of the world, that I shall endanger either not to be regarded, or not to be understood. For who is there, almost, that measures wisdom by simplicity, strength by suffering, dignity by lowliness?" Obeying this sentiment, Milton de- served the apostrophe of Wordsworth: " Piu'e as the naked heavens, majestic, free, So didst thou travel on life's common way In cheerful godliness ; and yet thy heart The lowliest duties on itself did lay. " 164 MILTON. He laid on himself the lowliest duties. Johnson petulantly taunts Milton with " great promise and small performance," in returning from Italy be- cause his country was in danger, and then opening a private school. Milton, wiser, felt no absurdity in this conduct. He returned into his revolution- ized country, and assumed an honest and useful task, by which he might serve the state daily, whilst he launched from time to time his formid- able bolts against the enemies of liberty. He felt the heats of that " love " which " esteems no office mean. " He compiled a logic for boys ; he wrote a grammar ; and devoted much of his time to the preparing of a Latin dictionary. But the religious sentiment warmed his writings and conduct with the highest affection of faith. The memorable covenant, which in his youth, in the second book of the " Reason of Church Government," he makes with God and his reader, expressed the faith of his old age. For the first time since many ages, the in- vocations of the Eternal Spirit in the commence- ment of his books are not poetic forms, but are thoughts, and so are still read with delight. His views of choice of profession, and choice in mar- riage, equally expect a divine leading. Thus chosen, by the felicity of his nature and of his breeding, for the clear perception of all that is graceful and all that is great in man, Milton was MILTON. 165 not less happy in his times. His birth fell upon the agitated years when the discontents of the English Puritans were fast drawing to a head against the tyranny of the Stuarts. No period has surj)assed that in the general activity of mind. It is said that no opinion, no civil, religious, moral dogma can be produced, that was not broached in the fertile brain of that age. Questions that in- volve all social and personal rights were hasting to be decided by the sword, and were searched by eyes to which the love of freedom, civil and religious, lent new illumination. Milton, gentle, learned, delicately bred in all the elegancy of art and learn- ing, was set down in England in the stern, almost fanatic society of the Puritans. The part he took, the zeal of his fellowship, make us acquainted with the greatness of his spirit as in tranquil times we could not have known it. Susceptible as Burke to the attractions of historical prescription, of royalty, of chivalry, of an ancient church illustrated by old martyrdoms and installed in cathedrals, — he threw himseK, the flower of elegancy, on the side of the reeking conventicle ; the side of humanity, but un- learned and unadorned. His muse was brave and humane, as well as sweet. He felt the dear love of native land and native language. The humanity which warms his pages begins as it should, at home. He preferred his own English, so manlike he was, 166 MILTON, to the Latin, which contained all the treasures of his memory. " My mother bore me," he said, " a speaker of what God made mine own, and not a translator." He told the Parliament, that " the imprimaturs of Lambeth House had been writ in Latin ; for that our English, the language of men ever famous and foremost in the achievements of liberty, will not easily find servile letters enow to spell such a dictatory presumption." At one time he meditated wTiting a poem on the settlement of Britain, and a history of England was one of the three main tasks which he proposed to liimseK. He proceeded in it no further than to the Conquest. He studied with care the character of his country- men, and once in the " History," and once again in the " Eeason of Church Government," he has recorded his judgment of the English genius. Thus dra^^^l into the gTcat controversies of the times, in them he is never lost in a party. His private opinions and private conscience always dis- tinguish him. That which drew him to the party was his love of liberty, ideal liberty ; this there- fore he could not sacrifice to any party. Toland teUs us, "As he looked upon true and absolute freedom to be the greatest happiness of this life, whether to societies or single person^, so he thought constraint of any sort to be the utmost ml:>e:T ; for which reason he used to teU those about him the MILTON. 167 entire satisfaction of his mind, that he had con- stantly employed his strength and faculties in the defence of liberty, and in direct opposition to slav- ery. " Truly he was an apostle of freedom ; of free- dom in the house, in the state, in the church ; free- dom of speech, freedom of the press, yet in his own mind discriminated from savage license, because that which he desired was the liberty of the wise man, containing itself in the limits of virtue. He pushed, as far as any in that democratic age, his ideas of civil liberty. He proposed to establish a republic, of which the federal power was weak and loosely defined, and the substantial power should remain with primary assemblies. He maintained, that a nation may try, judge, and slay their king, if he be a tyrant. He pushed as far his views of ecclesiastical liberty. He taught the doctrine of unlimited toleration. One of his tracts is writ to prove that no power on earth can compel in mat- ters of religion. He maintained the doctrine of literary liberty, denouncing the censorship of the press, and insisting that a book shall come into the world as freely as a man, so only it bear the name of author or printer, and be responsible for itself like a man. He maintained the doctrine of domes- tic liberty, or the liberty of divorce, on the ground that unfit disposition of mind was a better reason for the act of divorce than infirmity of body, wliich 168 MILTON. was srood jn'ound in law. The tracts he wi'ote on these topics are, for the most part, as fresh and per- tinent tLMlay as they were then. The events whieh pi-odueed them, the practical issues to which thoy tend, ai*e mere occasions for this philanthropist to blow his trumpet for human rights. They are all varied applications of one principle, the liberty of the wise man. lie sought absolute tvurli, not ac- commodating truth. His opinions on all subjects ai-e formed for man as he ought to be, for a nation of Miltons. He would be divorced when he finds in his consort unfit disposition ; knowing that he should not abuse that liberty, because >>'ith his whole heart he abhors licentiousness and loves chas- tity. He defends the slaying of the king, because a king is a king no longer than he gx)verns by the laws ; '* it woidd be right to kill Philip of Spain making an inroad into England, and what right the king of Spain hath to govern us at all, the same hath the king Charles to govern tyrannically." He would remove hii*elings out of the chui*ch, and support preachers by voluntary contributions ; re- quiring that such only should preach as have faith enough to accept so seK-denying and pi*eearious a mcKle of life, scorning to take thought for the aspects of prudence and expediency. The most de- vout man of his time, he frequented no chuivh ; probably from a disgust at the fierce spirit of the .V//.7YXV. 169 pulpitis. And so, throughout all his actions and opinions, is ho a consistont spiritualist, or believer in the (>nniipoteneo of spiritual laws. lie wished (hat his writings should bo connnuuieated only to those who desired to see them, lie thought noth- ing honest was low. lie thought he could bo fa- mous only in proportion as he enjoyed the appro- bation of the good. He admonished his friend *'not to admire military prowess, or tilings in which force is of most avail. For it would not be matter of rational woiuler, if the wethers of our country should be born with horns that could bat- ter down cities and towns. Learn to estimate great characters, not by the amount of animal strength, but by the habituiil justice and temperance of their conduct." Was there not a fitness in the undertaking of such a person to write a poem on the subject of Adam, the first man ? l>y his sympathy with all nature ; by the proportion of his powers ; by great knowledge, and by religion, he would reascend to the height from which our nature is supposed to have descended. From a just knowledge of what man should be, he described what he was. He behohls him as he walked in Eden : — " His fair largo front and oyo siiWiiuo deelai'eil Absolute rule ; ami hyacinthiiie looks Round from his parted forelock manly himg Clustorino-, Init not bonoath his sboiildors broaJ." 170 M It. TON. Ami llu> Houl of (Ills tliviiu^ cnMiliiro 1h (^x<'(^1I«miI an liis lorni. TIh^ Ioiu^ oT IiIm (li()ii<;lil, niul pjiMsioii in lis lionltliriil, MM rv«'ii, niii'(>uM, iiM iM^iits (lif now niid |MM'IV(*|. m«nl(>l of n incc* of ''^oiIm. 'riu^ |K^rr(*pli(»M \v«' linvo nMiilmlxMl lo Milloii, ol' n |Mnrr Idi^nl <»l Imnninily, modirHvs liis |»o(<(,lr ^.n^w- iiiM. iMu' iM.iii is paniiuoinit i<» llio |)0(>t. II'im Immcv is uov(M" 1 i'mikkmmkNmH., j^\I i:iv.i;;niil ; Iml, nn HjumhTm iiun|;inalioii was .said l<> bo '' tlu^ nohlosl. thai (>V(M* (M)M(oiitrd itsoir io inini.siiM' to i luMindtM*- H(audlM<>/' MO Milton's iiilnisiors j,o tli(> clianuMt^r. Millon's .sMhiiiin'Ml. ,somi»;, Imisl'ni;; into li('a\<*n willi its poals oi" nu^iotrnuis lliiinilcM*, is llu^ voict^ oT Mil- ton still. Indisul, lliroiiL;liont his poonis, on(> nniy H(M^ nndtM- a tliin voil, ilu^ opinlouH, tlu> fiMding's, ommi tlu> inoidonts oi' (lie poet's lil'o, still roappt^aiiii!;'. Tho Honn«^ts ar»* all occasional pt»cn»s. " I / \ llc^ro" aiul '' II l*cns(M*oso" ar(^ luit Ji liner antol)i«»!;rapliy of his yoiiiMid iMUcics al llaii'Tudd; tlu^ '"■ ( \Mnns " ii tniiiMcript, in charmin;^' mnnlxMs, of that philoso- phy of chastily, which, in tla^ " Ap«)lo!;v I'oi- SnuH^- lyininnis," and in tlu^ '' lu\Mson <»! (Mnirch (JovtM'U- nuMii," lu^ (h^clarcs to he his dej'cnsc^ anil r«>li«;'i(m. Tlu^ '* Samson A^'onistivs *' is loo hroa«l an i^xproH- Hion of his pi'ivat<^ grit^fs lo h(^ niistaluMi, and is a. vtM'sion ol" th»> " noctrini^and I>isciplin(^ of l>ivorc(\" 'rh(> most alT«H'tin!V passa!;es in " l*aradis(> liost" ar(^ personal allnsions ; and, w lu'n w<^ ar(> ("airly in Mii/roN. Ill fOdcri, A|)ini(>nH. TIiIh may hn tlioii^lil. to .•d> fid ;.';<'- fiin [hjukcmh a juxit. It in tnujof llorncrand Sli.'dort of thejr own iittorancoH. We, he-ijtate, to H;i,y Kneh thin^';;<, ;uid H;i,y the.m only to the, nnphjaHiri^ (h(;i,liHrn, wh<;n tfi(5 man ;i,nd the, poet hIiow lilui a doufde, cori- HeiouHn<',HH. l*e,rli;ipH we H[)e,;il{ to no f;ie,t, hut to irnrn; faf)h;H, of ;ui idh-. mendi(!;uit Ih>nie,r, .'ind of u, ShaltHpearo (joritcnt witli a mea/i .'uid joeuh'u* w;i,y of life,. |>e, it lir>w it may, tlie ^eniuH and office, of Mih,on w(;r(; different, njune.ly, to JiHeefid hy the, aidrt of hJH loaniiri^ and liin religion, hy an (Miiial per- 172 MILTON. ception, that is, of tlie past and the future, — to a higher insight and more lively delineation of the heroic life of man. This was his poem ; whereof all his indignant pamphlets and all his soaring verses are only single cantos or detached stanzas. It was plainly needful that his poetry should be a version of his own life, in order to give weight and solem- nity to his thoughts ; by which they might penetrate and possess the imagination and the will of man- kind. The creations of Shakspeare are cast into the world of thought to no further end than to de- light. Their intrinsic beauty is their excuse for being. Milton, fired " with dearest charity to in- fuse the knowledge of good things into others," tasked his giant imagination and exhausted the stores of his intellect for an end beyond, namely, to teach. His own conviction it is which gives such authority to liis strain. Its reality is its force. If out of the heart it came, to the heart it must go. What schools and epochs of common rhymers would it need to make a counterbalance to the severe or- acles of his muse : " In them is plainest taught and easiest learnt, What makes a nation happy, and keeps it so." The lover of Milton reads one sense in his prose and in his metrical compositions ; and sometimes the muse soars highest in the former, because the thought is more sincere. Of his prose in general, MILTON. 173 not the style alone but tlie argument also is poetic ; according to Lord Bacon's definition of poetry, fol- lowing that of Aristotle, " Poetry, not finding the actual world exactly conformed to its idea of good and fair, seeks to accommodate the shows of things to the desires of the mind, and to create an ideal world better than the world of experience." Such certainly is the explanation of Milton's tracts. Such is the apology to be entered for the plea for freedom of divorce ; an essay, which, from the first until now, has brought a degree of obloquy on his name. It was a sally of the extravagant spirit of the time, overjoyed, as in the French Revolution, with the sudden victories it had gained, and eager to carry on the standard of truth to new heights. It is to be regarded as a poem on one of the griefs of man's condition, namely, unfit marriage. And as many poems have been written upon unfit society, commending solitude, yet have not been proceeded against, though their end was hostile to the state ; so should this receive that charity which an angelic soul, suffering more keenly than others from the unavoidable evils of human life, is entitled to. "We have offered no apology for expanding to such length our commentary on the character of John Milton ; who, in old age, in solitude, in neg- lect, and blind, wrote the Paradise Lost ; a man whom labor or danger never deterred from what- 174 MIITON. over (ilTortH a lovci of ilic siipromo interests of lunii ])roin])t(Ml. For Jii'e wo not tlie ])eit('r ; are not all men fortified by the rcniembranee of the l)i*av(;ry, the ])nrity, the teniperanco, the toil, the in- (l('j)('ii(l('n('(^ and tlit^ :ini;clie devotion of this man, wiio, in a rcivohiiionaiy age, lahin^' eounsel only of himself, endeavored, in his writings and in liis life, to carry out the life of man to new heights of spiriliial grace and dignity, without any abatement of its strength ? PAPERS FROM THE DIAL. The tongue is prone to lose the way ; Not so the pen, for in a letter We have not })etter things to say, But surely say them better. PAPERS FROM THE DIAL. THOUGHTS ON MODERN LITERATURE.i In our fidelity to the higher truth we need not disown our debt, in our actual state of culture, in the twilights of experience, to these rude helpers. They keep alive the memory and the hope of a better day. When we flout all particular books as initial merely, we truly express the privilege of spiritual nature, but alas, not the fact and fortune of this low Massachusetts and Boston, of these humble Junes and Decembers of mortal life. Our soids are not self -fed, but do eat and drink of chem- ical water and wheat. Let us not forget the genial miraculous force we have known to proceed from a book. We go musing into the vault of day and night; no constellation shines, no muse descends, the stars are white points, the roses, brick-colored leaves, and frogs pipe, mice cheep, and wagons creak along the road. We return to the house and take up Plutarch or Augustine, and read a few sentences or pages, and lo ! the air swims with 1 The Dial, vol. i. p. 137. 178 PAPERS FROM THE DIAL. life, secrets of magnanimity and grandeur invite us on every hand, life is made up of them. Such is our debt to a book. Observe moreover that we ought to credit literature with much more than the bare word it gives us. I have just been reading poems which now in memory shine with a certain steady, warm, autumnal light. That is not in their grammatical construction which they give me. If I analyze the sentences it eludes me, but is the genius and suggestion of the whole. Over every true poem lingers a certain wild beauty, immeasur- able ; a happiness lightsome and delicious fills the heart and brain, as they say every man walks envir- oned by his proper atmosphere, extending to some distance around him. This beautiful result must be credited to literature also in casting its account. In looking at the library of the Present Age, we are first struck with the fact of the immense mis- cellany. It can hardly be characterized by any species of book, for every opinion, old and new, every hope and fear, every whim and folly has an organ. It exhibits a vast carcass of tradition every year with as much solemnity as a new revelation. Along with these it vents books that breathe of new morning, that seem to heave with the life of millions, books for which men and women peak and pine ; books which take the rose out of the cheek of him that wrote them, and give him to the THOUGHTS ON MODERN LITERATURE. 179 midnight a sad, solitary, diseased man ; which leave no man where they found him, but make him better or worse ; and which work dubiously on so- ciety and seem to inoculate it with a venom before any healthy result appears. In order to any complete view of the literature of the present age, an inquiry should include what it quotes, what it writes and what it wishes to write. In our present attempt to enumerate some traits of the recent literature, we shall have somewhat to offer on each of these topics, but we cannot prom- ise to set in very exact order what we have to say. In the first place it has all books. It reprints the wisdom of the world. How can the age be a bad one which gives me Plato and Paul and Plutarch, St. Augustine, Spinoza, Chapman, Beau- mont and Fletcher, Donne and Sir Thomas Browne, beside its own riches ? Our presses groan every year with new editions of all the select pieces of the first of mankind, — meditations, history, classifications, opinions, epics, lyrics, which the age adopts by quoting them. If we should designate favorite studies in which the age delights more than in the rest of this great mass of the permanent literature of the human race, one or two instances would be conspicuous. First ; the prodigious growth and influence of the genius of Shakspeare, in the last one hundred and fifty years, is itself a 180 rAPERS FROM THE DfAL. fact of the first importance. It almost alone has called out the genius of the German nation into an activity wliich sprc^ading from the poetic into the scientific, religious and pliilosophical domains, has made theirs now at last the paramount intellectual influence of the world, reacting with great energy on England and America. And thus, and not by mechanical diffusion, does an original genius work and spread himself. The poetiy and speculation of the age are marked by a certain philosophic turn, which dis- criminates them from the works of earlier times. The poet is not content to see how " Fair hangs the apple from the rock," " What music a sunbeam awoke in the groves," nor of Ilardiknute, how " Stately steppes he east the way, and stately steppes he west," but he now revolves. What is the apple to me ? and what the birds to me ? and what is Ilardiknute to me ? and what am I ? And this is called subjectiveness, as the eye is with- drawn from the object and fixed on the subject or mind. We can easily concede that a steadfast tendency of this sort appears in modern literature. It is the new consciousness of the one mind, which j^re- dominates in criticism. It is the uprise of the soul, and not the decline. It is founded on that insati- able demand for unity, the need to recognize one THOUGHTS ON MODERN LITERATURE. 181 nature in all the variety of objects, which always characterizes a genius of the first order. Accus- tomed always to behold the presence of the universe in every part, the soul will not condescend to look at any new part as a stranger, but saith, — "I know all already, and what art thou? Show me thy relations to me, to all, and I will entertain thee also." There is a pernicious ambiguity in the use of the term stihjective. We say, in accordance with the general view I have stated, that the single soul feels its right to be no longer confounded with numbers, but itself to sit in judgment on history and literature, and to summon all facts and parties before its tribunal. And in this sense the age is subjective. But, in all ages, and now more, the narrow-minded have no interest in anything but in its relation to their personality. What will help them to be de- livered from some burden, eased in some circum- stance, flattered or pardoned or enriched ; what will help to marry or to divorce them, to prolong or to sweeten life, is sure of their interest ; and nothing else. Every fonn under the whole heaven they be- hold in this most partial light or darkness of in- tense selfishness, imtil we hate their being. And this habit of intellectual selfishness has acquired in our day the fine name of subjectiveness. 182 PAPERS FROM THE DIAL. Nor is the distinction between these two habits to be found in the circumstance of using the first person singular, or reciting facts and feelings of personal history. A man may say I, and never refer to himself as an individual ; and a man may recite passages of his life with no feeling of ego- tism. Nor need a man have a vicious subjective- ness because he deals in abstract propositions. But the criterion which discriminates these two habits in the poet's mind is the tendency of his composition ; namely, whether it leads us to na- tm-e, or to the person of the writer. The great al- ways introduce us to facts ; small men introduce us always to themselves. The great man, even whilst he relates a private fact personal to him, is really leading us away from him to an imiversal experi- ence. His own affection is in nature, in what is, and, of course, all his communication leads out- ward to it, starting from whatsoever point. The o-reat never with their own consent become a load on the minds they instruct. The more they draw us to them, the farther from them or more inde- pendent of them we are, because they have brought us to the knowledge of somewhat deeper than both them and us. The gTcat never hinder us ; for their activity is coincident mth the sun and moon, with the course of the rivers and of the winds, with the sti'eam of laborers in the street and with all THOUGHTS ON MODERN LITERATURE. 183 the activity and well-being of the race. The great lead us to nature, and in our age to metaphysical nature, to the invisible awful facts, to moral ab- stractions, which are not less nature than is a river or a coal-mine, — nay, they are far more nature, — but its essence and soul. But the weak and wicked, led also to analyze, saw nothing in thought but luxury. Thought for the selfish became selfish. They invited us to con- template nature, and showed us an abominable self. Would you know the genius of the writer ? Do not enumerate his talents or his feats, but ask thy- self. What spirit is he of ? Do gladness and hope and fortitude flow from his page into thy heart? Has he led thee to nature because his own soul was too haj)py in beholding her power and love ? Or is his passion for the wilderness only the sensibility of the sick, the exhibition of a talent which only shines whilst you praise it ; which has no root in the character, and can thus minister to the vanity but not to the happiness of the possessor ; and which derives all its eclat from our conventional education, but would not make itself intelligible to the wise man of another age or country? The water we wash with never speaks of itself, nor does fire or wind or tree. Neither does the noble nat- ural man : he yields himself to your occasion and use, but his act expresses a reference to universal srood. 184 PAPERS FROM THE DIAL. Another element of the modern poetry akin to this subjective tendency, or rather the direction of that same on the question of resources, is the Feel- ing of the Infinite. Of the perception now fast be- coming a conscious fact, — that there is One Mind, and that all the powers and privileges which lie in any, lie in all ; that I as a man may claim and ap- propriate whatever of true or fair or good or strong has anywhere been exhibited ; that Moses and Con- fucius, Montaigne and Leibnitz are not so much in- dividuals as they are parts of man and parts of me, and my intelligence proves them my own, — litera- ture is far the best expression. It is true, this is not the only nor the obvious lesson it teaches. A selfish commerce and government have caught the eye and usurped the hand of the masses. It is not to be contested that selfishness and the senses write the laws under which we live, and that the street seems to be built and the men and women in it moving, not in reference to pure and grand ends, but rather to very short and sordid ones. Perhaps no considerable minority, no one man, leads a quite clean and lofty life. What then ? We concede in sadness the fact. But we say that these low cus- tomary ways are not all that survives in human beings. There is that in us which mutters, and that which groans, and that which triumphs, and that which aspires. There are facts on which men THOUGHTS ON MODERN LITERATURE. 185 of the world superciliously smile, wliich are worth all their trade and politics; which drive young men into gardens and solitary places, and cause ex- travagant gestures, starts, distortions of the coun- tenance, and passionate exclamations ; sentiments, which find no aliment or language for themselves on the wharves, in court, or market, but which are soothed by silence, by darkness, by the pale stars, and the presence of nature. All over the modern world the educated and susceptible have betrayed their discontent with the limits of our municipal life, and with the poverty of our dogmas of religion and philosophy. They betray this impatience by fleeing for resource to a conversation with nature, which is courted in a certain moody and explor- ing spirit, as if they anticipated a more intimate vinion of man with the world than has been known in recent ages. Those who cannot tell what they desire or expect, still sigh and struggle with indefi- nite thoughts and vast wishes. The very child in the nursery prattles mysticism, and doubts and philosophizes. A wild striving to express a more inward and infinite sense characterizes the works of every art. The music of Beethoven is said, by those who understand it, to labor with vaster con- ceptions and aspirations than music has attempted before. This feeling of the Infinite has deeply col- ored the poetry of tlie period. This new love of 186 PAPERS FROM THE DIAL. the vast, always native in Germany, was imported into France by De Stael, appeared in England in Coleridge, Wordsworth, Byron, Shelley, Felicia Hemans, and finds a most genial climate in the American mind. Scott and Crabbe, who formed themselves on the past, had none of this tendency ; their poetry is objective. In Byron, on the other hand, it predominates ; but in Byron it is blind, it sees not its true end — an infinite good, alive and beautiful, a life nourished on absolute beatitudes, descending into nature to behold itself reflected there. His will is perverted, he worships the acci- dents of society, and his praise of nature is thiev- ing and selfish. Nothing certifies the prevalence of this taste in the people more than the circulation of the poems, — one would say most incongruously united by some bookseller, — of Coleridge, Shelley and Keats. The only unity is in the subjectiveness and the as- piration common to the three wiiters. Shelley, though a poetic mind, is never a poet. His muse is uniformly imitative; all his poems composite. A good English scholar he is, with ear, taste, and memory ; nuich more, he is a character full of noble and prophetic traits ; but imagination, the original, authentic fire of the bard, he has not. He is clearly modern, and shares with Eichter, Chateau- briand, Manzoni and Wordsworth, the feeling of THOUGHTS ON MODERN LITERATURE. 187 the infinite, which so labors for expression in their different genius. But all his lines are arbitrary, not necessary. When we read poetry, the mind asks, — Was this verse one of twenty which the au- thor miglit have written as well ; or is this what that man was created to say? But, whilst every line of the true poet will be genuine, he is in a boundless power and freedom to say a million things. And the reason why he can say one thing well, is because his vision extends to the sight of all things, and so he describes each as one who knows many and all. The fame of Wordsworth is a leading fact in modern literature, when it is considered how hos- tile his genius at first seemed to the reigning taste, and with what limited poetic talents his great and steadily growing dominion has been established. More than any poet his success has been not his own but that of the idea which he shared with his coevals, and which he has rarely succeeded in ade- quately expressing. The Excursion awakened in every lover of Nature the right feeling. We saw stars shine, we felt the awe of mountains, we heard the rustle of the wind in the grass, and knew again the ineffable secret of solitude. It was a great joy. It was nearer to Nature than anything we had be- fore. But the interest of the poem ended almost with the narrative of the influences of Nature on 188 PAPERS FROM THE DIAL. the mind of the Boy, in the First Book. Obviously for that i)assag'0 the i)oeni was written, and with the exception of this and of a few strains of the like character in the sequel, the whole poem was dull. Here was no poem, but here was poetry, and a sure index where the subtle nuise was about to pitch her tent and find the argument of her song. It was the human soul in these last ages striving for a just publication of itseK. Add to tliis, however, the great praise of Wordsworth, that more than any other contemporary bard he is pervaded with a reverence of somewhat higher than (conscious) thought. There is in him that property conunon to all great poets, a wisdom of humanity, which is superior to any talents which they exert. It is the wisest part of Shakspeare and of Milton. For they are poets by the free course which they allow to the informing soul, which through their eyes be- holdeth again and blesseth the things which it hath made. The soul is superior to its knowledge, wiser than any of its works. With the name of AVordsworth rises to our re- collection the name of liis contemi)orary and friend, Walter Savage Landor — a man working in a very different and peculiar spirit, yet one whose genius and accomplishments deserve a wiser criticism than we have yet seen applied to them, and the rather that his name does not readily associate itself with THOUGHTS ON MODFJiN LITERATURE. 189 any school of writers. Of Thomas Carlylo, alsi>, wt^ shall say nothing;- at this time, since the quality and eiun*«;y of liis intinenee on the yonth of this country will require at our hands, erelong, a distinct and faitlifnl acknowledgment. Hut of all men he who has united in himself, and that in the most extraordinary degree, the tenden- cies of the era, is tlie Cirerman poet, naturalist and i)hilosopher, Goethe. Whatever the age inherited or invented, he made his own. He has owed to Connnerce and to the victories of the Understand- ing, all their spoils. Sui'h was liis capacity, that the magazines of the world's ancient or modern wealth, which arts and intercourse and skepticism could conunand, — he wanted them all. Had thert> been twice so much, he i*ould have used it as well. Ge- ologist, meduuiic, meit^uint, chemist, king, radical, painter, conq^oser, — all worked for him, and a thousand men seemed to look through his eyes. Ho learned as readily as other men breathe. Of all the men of this time, not one has seemed so nuich at home in it as he. He was not afraid to live. And in him this encyclopaHlia of facts, which it has been the boast of tlie age to conq>ile, wrought an equal eft'ect. He was knowing ; he was brave ; he was clean from all narrowness ; he has a perfect pro- priety and taste, — a quality by no means connnon to tlie Germmi writers. Nay, since the earth as we 190 PAPERS FROM THE DIAL. said had become a reading-room, the new opportu- nities seem to have aided him to be that resolute realist he is, and seconded his sturdy determination to see things for what they are. To look at him one would say there was never an observer before. What sagacity, what industry of observation. To read his record is a frugality of time, for you shall find no word that does not stand for a. thing, and he is of that comprehension which can see the value of truth. His love of Nature has seemed to give a new meaning to that word. There was never man more domesticated in this world than he. And he is an apology for the analytic spirit of the period, because, of his analysis, always wholes were the re- sult. All conventions, all traditions he rejected. And yet he felt his entire right and duty to stand before and try and judge every fact in nature. He thought it necessary to dot round with his own pen the entire sphere of knowables ; and for many of his stories, this seems the only reason : Here is a piece of humanity I had hitherto omitted to sketch ; — take this. He does not say so in sylla- bles, — yet a sort of conscientious feeling he had to be up to the universe, is the best account and apol- ogy for many of them. He shared also the subjee- tiveness of the age, and that too in both the senses I have discriminated. With the sharpest eye for form, color, botany, engraving, medals, persons and THOUGHTS ON MODERN LITERATURE. 191 manners, he never stopped at surface, but pierced the purpose of a thing and studied to reconcile that purpose with his own being. What he could so reconcile was good ; what he could not, was false. Hence a certain greatness encircles every fact he treats ; for to him it has a soul, an eternal reason why it was so, and not otherwise. This is the se- cret of that deep realism, which went about among all objects he beheld, to find the cause why they must be what they are. It was with him a favorite task to find a theory of every institution, custom, art, work of art, which he observed. Witness his explanation of the Italian mode of reckoning the hours of the day, as growing out of the Italian cli- mate ; of the obelisk of Egypt, as growing out of a common natural fracture in the granite parallelo- piped in Upper Egypt ; of the Doric architecture, and the Gothic ; of the Venetian music of the gon- dolier, originating in the habit of the fishers' wives of the Lido singing on shore to their husbands on the sea ; of the amphitheatre, which is the en- closure of the natural cup of heads that arranges itself round every spectacle in the street ; of the coloring of Titian and Paul Veronese, which one may verify in common daylight in Venice every af- ternoon ; of the Carnival at Kome ; of the domestic riu'al architecture in Italy ; and many the like ex- amples. 192 PAPERS FROM THE DIAL. But also that other vicious subjectiveness, that vice of the time, infected him also. We are pro- voked with his Olympian self-complacency, the pat- ronizing air with which he vouchsafes to tolerate the genius and performances of other mortals, " the good Hiller," " our excellent Kant," " the friendly Wieland," &c. Sea. There is a good letter from Wieland to Merck, in which Wieland relates that Goethe read to a select party his journal of a tour in Switzerland with the Grand Duke, and their pas- sage through the Yallais and over the St. Gothard. " It was, " says Wieland, " as good as Xenophon's Anabasis. The piece is one of his most masterly productions, and is thought and written with the greatness peculiar to him. The fair hearers were enthusiastic at the nature in this piece ; I liked the sly art in the composition, whereof they saw noth- ing, still better. It is a true poem, so concealed is the art too. But what most remarkably in this, as in all his other works, distinguishes him from Homer and Shakspeare, is, that the Me, the Ille ego^ everywhere glimmers through, although without any boasting and with an infinite fineness." This subtle element of egotism in Goethe certainly does not seem to deform his compositions, but to lower the moral influence of the man. He differs from aU the great in the total want of frankness. Who saw Mil- ton, who saw Shakspeare, saw them do their best, THOUGHTS ON MODERN LITERATURE, 193 and utter their whole heart manlike among their brethren. No man was permitted to call Goethe brother. He hid himself, and worked always to astonish, which is egotism, and therefore little. If we try Goethe by the ordinary canons of criti- cism, we should say that his thinking is of great altitude, and all level ; not a succession of summits, but a high Asiatic table -land. Dramatic power, the rarest talent in literature, he has very little. He has an eye constant to the fact of life and that never pauses in its advance. But the great felici- ties, the miracles of poetry, he has never. It is all design with him, just thought and instructed expression, analogies, allusion, illustration, which knowledge and correct thinking supply ; but of Shakspeare and the transcendent muse, no syllable. Yet in the court and law to which we ordinarily speak, and without adverting to absolute standards, we claim for him the praise of truth, of fidelity to his intellectual nature. He is the king of all schol- ars. In these days and in this country, where the scholars are few and idle, where men read easy books and sleep after dinner^ it seems as if no book could so safel}^ be put in the hands of young men as the letters of Goethe, which attest the incessant activity of this man, to eighty years, in an endless variety of studies, with uniform cheerfulness and greatness of mind. They cannot be read without 194 PAPERS FROM THE DIAL. shaming us into an emulating industry. Let him have the praise of the love of truth. We think, when we contemplate the stupendous glory of the world, that it were life enough for one man merely to lift his hands and cry with St. Augus- tine, " Wrangle who pleases, I will wonder." Well, this he did. Here was a man who, in the feeling that the thing itself was so admirable as to leave all comment behind, went up and down, from ob- ject to object, lifting the veil from every one, and did no more. What he said of Lavater, may true- lier be said of him, that " it was fearful to stand in the presence of one before whom all the boundaries within which Nature has circumscribed our being- were laid flat." His are the bright and terrible eyes which meet the modern student in every sacred chapel of thought, in every public enclosure. But now, that we may not seem to dodge the question which all men ask, nor pay a great man so ill a compliment as to praise him only in the conventional and comparative speech, let us hon- estly record our thought upon the total worth and influence of this genius. Does he represent, not only the achievement of that age in which he lived, but that which it would be and is now becoming ? And what shall we think of that absence of the moral sentiment, that singular equivalence to him of good and evil in action, which discredit his com- THOUGHTS ON MODERN LITERATURE. 195 positions to the pure ? The spirit of his biograpliy, of his poems, of his tales, ie identieal, and we may here set down hy way of comment on liis genius the impressions recently awakened in us by the story of Wilhelm Meister. All great men have written proiully, nor cared to explain. They knew that the intelligent reader would come at last, and would thank them. So did Dante, so did Machiavel. Goethe has done this in INIeister. We can fancy him saying to him- self : — There are poets enough of the Ideal ; let me paint the Actual, as, after years of dreams, it will still api)ear and reappear to wise men. That all shall right itself in the long Morrow, I may well allow, and my novel may wait for the same regeneration. The age, that can danni it as ftUse and falsifying, will see that it is deeply one with the genius and history of all the centuries. I have given my characters a bias to error. Men have the same. I have let mischance befall instead of good fortune. They do so daily. And out of many vices and misfortunes, I have let a great success grow, as I had known in my own and many other examples. Fierce churchmen and effeminate aspi- rants will chide and hate my name, but every keen beholder of life will justify my truth, and will ac- quit me of prejudging the causi^ of humanity by painting it with this morose fidelity. To a pro- 196 PAPFES FPxOM THE DIAL. foimd sonl is not aiistoro truth tlio sweetest flat- tery? Yes, O Goethe ! but tlie ideal is truer than the aetu:il. Tliat is ephemeral, but this ehanges not. Moreover, beeause nature is moral, that mind only can see, in whieh the same order entirely obtains. An interehangeable Truth, Beauty and Goodness, eaeh wholly interfused in the other, must make the humors of that eye wliieh would see eauses reaehing to their last effeet and reprodueing the world for- ever. The least inequality of mixture, the exeess of one element over the other, in that degree duuin- ishes the ti*anspai*ency of thing's, makes tlie world opaque to the observer, and destroys so far the value of his experience. No particular gifts can countervail this defect. In reading Meister, I am charmed ^vith the insight ; to use a phrase of Ben Jonson's, '* it is rammed with life." I find there actual men and women even too faithfully painted. 1 am moreover instructed in the possibility of a highly accomplished society, and taught to look for great talent and culture under a gray coat. But this is all. The limits of artificial society are never quite out of sight. The vicious conventions, which hem us in like prison walls and which the poet should explode at his touch, stand for all they are worth in the newspaper. AVe are never lifted above ourselves, we are not transported cnu ot" the Tuorc/rrs o.x .i/()/)/-7;.v / / rr/:.\ rr/^'r. 107
  • minlon o( i\\o stMist^s, or i'1uhm'(u1 willi :in Intinito t(Mi(l(Miu\ss, or arnuHl with a. i;raii(l trust. (JoiMlio, thiMi, luiist he sot tlowii as tlio poot of i\\c At'lual, not of tlio Idoal; (lu^ \)ovi o{ limitation, not of j)ossil)ility ; of this world, ami not of roli^ion and hopi^ : in slu>rt, if wo may say so, tho })oot of }>roso, and not of [n>otry. llo aoooi)ts tlu» haso doc- trine^ oi' Vi\{i\ and i;U\ins what strai»i;"lini>' joys niay yot rtMnain out o^ its ban. IK* is llki* a hankor or a wt^vvor with a i)assion for t ho country ; ho sttvds out of tho hot str(H^ts bt^l'oro snnriso, or aftor sun- sot, or on a ran^ holiday, to j^vt a. draft of swt^^t air and a i;a/o at tho mai^nilloonoo of snnunor, hut daros not hroak from his slavery and load a man's llfo in a man's ndatiou to nature. In that which should bo his own phioo, ho fools liko a truant, and is scourged back prosontly to his task and his coll. Poetry is with (lootho thus external, tho gildin*; of the chain, the mitigation of his fate ; but tho Muse uevtM' assays those thunder- tones wdiich cause to vibrate tlu^ sun and tlu^ nn>t)n, which dissipate by dreadful meh)ily all this in)u network of eir- enmstant*t\ and abolish the old heavens and the old earth bt^fori^ the freewill or (xodhoad o{ man. That (loetlu* had not a. moral p(M'C(*}>tion propor- tionate to his other powers, is not then merely a. eireumstance, as wo might relate of a man that he liad or had not tlio seuso of tiuio or iiu oyo foi' 198 PAPERS FROM THE DIAL. colors, but it is the cardinal fact of health or dis- ease ; since, lacking this, he failed in the high sense to be a creator, and, with divine endow- ments, drops by irreversible decree into the com- mon history of g-enins. He was content to fall into the track of vulgar i>oets and spend on I'ommon aims his splendid endowments, and has declined the office proffered to now and then a man in many centuries in the power of his g-enius, of a Redeemer of the human mind, lie has written better than other poets only as his talent was subtler, but the ambition of creation \w refused. Life for hiui is prettier, easier, wiser, decenter, has a gem or two more on its robe, but its old eternal burden is not relieved ; no drop of healthier blood tlows yet in its veins. Let him pass. Humanity must wait for its physician still at the side of the i^oad, and con- fess as this man gix\^ out, that they have served it better who assured it out of the innocent hope in their hearts that a Physician will come, than this majestic Artist, with all the treasuries of wit, of science, and of power at his command. The criticism, which is not so nuieh spoken as felt in i*efei*enoe to Goethe, instructs us dii-ectly in the hope of literatui'e. We feel that a man gifted like him should not leave tlie world as he found it. It is true, though somewhat sad, that every tine genius teaches lis how to blame himselt". Ikung so i'l/orcirrs o.v Monrhw i.irrjiArunF. 199 much, wo cannot TorL^ivc hini lor not. bcln^ more. When t)nt> ot* these i;ran(l nionails is IncariiaUul whom natuio seems to (h'sij;ii tor internal ini»n anil draw to her bosom, we think that the old \veai'Iiu*ss of lMnH>pe and Asia, the trivial forms of daily lil\> will now end, and a new mornin*;" bri^ak on ns all. What is Austria? What is Knohmd? What Is our i;railuated and petritled social scale of raidvs and (Muplovments? Shall not a [>oet redetMu us from these idolatries, and }>ale their le«;endai*y bistro bo- foro the lirt»s of tho Divine Wisdom which burn in his heart ? All that in our sovereign moments eai'h of us has divined <">{ the powiM's of thoni;ht, all tlu> hints of onmipresonco and emM-i^y which we have can«;ht, this man should unfold, and constitutt> facts. And this is the insatiable craving which altt^r- nately saddens luid gladdens men at this day. Tlu^ Hoi'trine of the Life of Alan established after the truth through all his faculties ; — this is the thought which the literature of this lumr meditates and labors to say. This is that which tnnes tho tongue and tires the eye and sits in the silence of the youth. A^erily it will not long w^ant articulate and melodi- ous expression. There is nothing in the heart but comes piH>sently to the lips. The very depth of the sentiment, which is the author of all the entaneous life we see, is gnavantee for the riches of si'ience and of song in the age to conio. Ho who doubts 200 iwrFiis FRO}/ Tin: pial. whether tJiis ago ov this eountiy can yiehl any (.h>u- trilnitlon to tho litoratuiv of the worhl, only be- trays his own blindness to the iieeessities of the hu- nitui sonl. lias the power of poetiy eeased, or the need? Have the eyes eeased to see that whieh they wonld have, anil whieh they have not? Have they eeased to see other eyes ? Are there no lone- ly, anxious, wondering ehildren, who nnist telltlieir tale"^ Are we not evermore whi}>ped by thoughts; *'lu sorrow stooped, ami stoopod in lovo Oi tlioughts not vot iiu'arnatod.'' The lieai't beats in this ag"o as of ohl, and the pas- sions are busy as ever. Nature has not lost one ring- let of her beauty, one impulse of resistaiu'e and valor. From the neeessity of loving none are ex- empt, and ho tliat loves must utter his desii*es. A eliarai as radiant as beauty ever beamed, a love that fainteth at the sight of its objeet, is new t(.>-day. '• The world does not niii siiioothor than of oUl, There are sad haps that must be tolil." Man is not so far lost but that he sutYers ever the great Disei>utent whiidi is the elegy of his loss and tlu' predietion of his reeoverv. In the iitiv saloon he laments that these tignres are not what Kaphael and Cuiereino painted. Withered though he stand, and trider though he be, the august spirit of tho WALTER SAVAGE LANDOIt 201 world looks out from his eyes. In his heart he knows the aohe of s])ivitual pain, and his thought can animate the sea and land. AVhat then shall hinder the Genius of the time from speaking its thought ? It cannot be silent, if it would. It will write in a higher spirit and a wider knowledge and witli a grander practical aim than ever yet guided the pen of poet. It will write the annals of a changed world, and record the descent of principles into practice, of love into Government, of love into Trade. It will describe tlie new heroic life of man, the now unbelieved possibility of simple living and of clean and noble relations with men. Religion will bind again these that were sometime frivolous, customary, enemies, skeptics, self-seekers, into a joyful reverence for the circumambient Whole, and that which was ecstacy shall become daily bread. 11. WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR.^ We sometimes meet in a stage coach in New England an erect, muscular man, with fresh com- plexion and a smooth hat, whose nervous speech instantly betrays the English traveller ; — a man nowise cautious to conceal his name or that of his native country, or his very slight esteem for the persons and the country that surroimd him. When 1 The Dial, vol. ii. p. '202. 202 PAPERS FROM THE DIAL. Mr. Bull rides in an American coach, he speaks quick and strong; he is very ready to confess his ignorance of everything about him, persons, man- ners, customs, politics, geography. He wonders that the Americans should build with wood, whilst all this stone is lying in the roadside ; and is aston- ished to learn that a wooden house may last a hun- dred years ; nor will he remember the fact as many minutes after it has been told him : he wonders that they do not make elder-wine and cherry- bounce, since here are cherries, and every mile is crammed with elder-bushes. He has never seen a good horse in America, nor a good coach, nor a good inn. Here is very good earth and water and plenty of them ; that he is free to allow ; to all other gifts of nature or man his eyes are sealed by the inexorable demand for the precise conveniences to which he is accustomed in England. Add to this proud blindness the better quality of great downrightness in speaking the truth, and the love of fair play, on all occasions, and moreover the peculiarity which is alleged of the Englishman, that his virtues do not come out until he quarrels. Transfer these traits to a very elegant and ac- complished mind, and we shall have no bad picture of Walter Savage Landor, who may stand as a favorable impersonation of the genius of his coun- trymen at the present day. A sharp, dogmatic WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR. 203 man, witli a great deal of knowledge, a great deal of worth, and a great deal of pride ; with a pro- found contempt for all that he does not under- stand ; a master of all elegant learning, and capa- ble of the utmost delicacy of sentiment, and yet prone to indulge a sort of ostentation of coarse imagery and language. His partialities and dis- likes are by no means culj)able, but are often whimsical and amusing ; yet they are quite sincere, and, like those of Johnson and Coleridge, are easily separable from the man. What he says of Words- worth is true of liimseK, that he delights to throw a clod of dirt on the table, and cry " Gentlemen, there is a better man than all of you." Bolivar, Mina and General Jackson will never be greater soldiers than Napoleon and Alexander, let Mr. Landor think as he will ; nor will he persuade us to burn Plato and Xenophon, out of our admira- tion of Bishop Patrick, or " Lucas on Happiness," or " Lucas on Holiness," or even Barrow's Ser- mons. Yet a man may love a paradox without either losing his ^vit or his honesty. A less par- donable eccentricity is the cold and gratuitous ob- trusion of licentious images, not so much the sug- gestion of merriment as of bitterness. Montaigne assigns as a reason for his license of speech, that he is tired of seeing his Essays on the work-tables of ladies, and he is determined they shall for the 204 rM'riis from tiu- dial. futiuv put thoin out of si^ht. In Mr. Landor's ooarsonoss tlioro is a certain air oi dotianoo, and tho rndo word soonis soniotinios to arise from a disgust at nieeness and over-reiinenient. Before a well-ilressod eonn>:Hiy he plun«;vs his tinkers in a cesspool, as if to expose tJie whiteness of his hands and the jewels of his ring-. Afterward, he washes them in water, he washes them in wine ; but you are never sei'ure from his freaks. A s^n't of Earl IVterborongh in literature, his eeeentrieity is too decided not to have diminished his gveatness. llo has capital enough to have furnished the brain of fifty stock authors, yet has written no book. But we have spoken all our discontent. Possibly liis writings are open to harvsher censure ; but we k>ve the man, from sympathy as well as for ivasons io be assIguiHl ; and have no wish, if we were able, to put an argument in the mouth of his critics. Now for twenty years we have still found the *' Im- aginary Conversations" a sure resouive in solitude, and it seems to us as original in its form as in its matter. Nay, w hen we remend>er his rich and am- ple i>age, wherein we are always sure to ihid free and sustained thought, a keen and precise undei'- standing, an atlhicut autl ready memory familiar with all chi>sen books, an industrious observation in every department of life, an experience to which notJiing ha^ ocouri*ed iu ViUii, honor for every just WALTER SAVAGK LAN DOR. 205 and gcnovous sentiment and a scourge lilie that of Furies for every oppressor, whether public or pri- vate, — we feel how dignified is this perpetual Cen- sor in his curule chair, and we wish to thank a benefactor of the reading world. Mr. Laiidor is one of the foremost of that small class who make good in the ninetoonth century the claims of pure literature. In these busy days of avarice and ambition, when there is so little dispo- sition to profound thought or to any but the most superficial intellectual entertainments, a faithful scholar, receiving from past ages the treasures of \vit and enlarging them by his own love, is a friend and consoler of mankind. When we pronounce the names of Homer and .T^^schylus ; Horace, Ovid and Plutarch ; Erasmus, Scaliger and INlontaigne ; l)cn flonson and Isaak Walton; Dryden and Pope, — we pass at once out of triviiil associations and enter into a region of the purest pleasure accessi- ble to human nature. We have quitted all beneath the moon and entered tliat crystal sphere in which I everything in the world of matter reappears, but transfigured and immortal. Literature is the effort of man to indcnnufy himself for tlic wrongs of his ' condition. The existence of the poorest play-wright and the humblest scrivener is a good omen. A charm attaches to the most inferior names which have in miy manner got themselves em'oUed in the 206 PAPERS FROM THE DIAL. registers of tlie House of Fame, even as porters and grooms in the courts ; to Creecli and Fenton, Theo- bald and Dennis, Aubrey and Spence. From the moment of entering a library and opening a desired book, we cease to be citizens, creditors, debtors, housekeepers and men of care and fear. What boundless leisure! what original jurisdiction! the old constellations have set, new and brighter have arisen ; an Elysian light tinges all objects : — " In the afternoon we came unto a land In wliicli it seemed always afternoon." And this sweet asylum of an intellectual life must appear to have the sanction of nature, as long as so many men are born with so decided an apti- tude for reading and writing. Let us thankfully allow every f acidty and art which opens new scope to a life so confined as ours. There are vast spaces in a thought : a slave, to whom the religious senti- ment is opened, has a freedom which makes his master's freedom a slavery. Let us not be so illib- eral with our schemes for the renovation of society and nature as to disesteem or deny the literary spirit. Certainly there are heights in nature which command this ; there are many more which this commands. It is vain to call it a luxury, and as saints and reformers are apt to do, decry it as a species of day-dreaming. What else are sanctities, and reforms, and all other things ? Whatever can WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR, 207 make for itself an element, means, organs, servants, and the most profound and permanent existence in the hearts and heads of millions of men, must have a reason for its being. Its excellency is reason and vindication enough. If rhyme rejoices us there should be rhyme, as much as if fire cheers us we should bring wood and coals. Each kind of excel- lence takes place for its hour and excludes every- thing else. Do not brag of your actions, as if they were better than Homer's verses or Eaphael's pic- tures. Raphael and Homer feel that action is piti- ful beside their enchantments. They could act too, if the stake was worthy of them : but now all that is good in the universe urges them to their task. Whoever writes for the love of truth and beauty, and not with ulterior ends, belongs to this sacred class ; and among these, few men of the present age have a better claim to be numbered than Mr. Landor. Wherever genius or taste has existed, wherever freedom and justice are threatened, which he values as the element in which genius may work, his interest is sure to be commanded. His love of beauty is passionate, and betrays itself in all petu- lant and contemptuous expressions. But beyond his delight in genius and his love of individual and civil liberty, Mr. Landor has a per- ception that is much more rare, the appreciation of character. This is the more remarkable con- 208 PAPERS FROM THE DIAL. sidered with his intense nationality, to which we have ah'eady alhided. He is buttoned in English broadcloth to the chin. He hates the Austrians, the Italians, the French, the Scotch, and the Irish. He has the common prejudices of an English land- holder ; values his pedigree, his acres and the syl- lables of his name ; loves all his advantages, is not insensible to the beauty of his watch-seal, or the Turk's head on his mnbrella ; yet with all this mis- cellaneous pride there is a noble nature within him which instructs him that he is so rich that he can well spare aU his trappings, and, leaving to others the painting of circimistance, aspire to the office of delineating character. He draws his own portrait in the costume of a village schoolmaster, and a sailor, and serenely enjoys the victory of nature over for- tune. Not only the elaborated story of Normanby, but the whimsical selection of his heads proves this taste. He draws with evident pleasure the portrait of a man who never said anything right and never did anything wrong. But in the character of Per- icles he has found full play for beauty and great- ness of behavior, where the circumstances are in har- mony with the man. These portraits, though mere sketches, must be valued as attempts in the very highest kind of narrative, which not only has very few examples to exhibit of any success, but very few competitors in the attempt. The word Character WALTER SAVAGE LANDOB. 209 IS in all months ; it is a force which we all feel ; yet who has analyzed it ? AVhat is the natnre of that snbtle and majestic principle whk'h attaches ns to a few persons, not so mnch by personal as by the most spiritnal ties ? AVhat is the qnality of the persons who, withont being pnblic men, or literary men, or ricli men, or active men, or (in the popnlar sense) religions men, have a certain salntary onmi- presence in all onr life's history, almost gi\^ng their own qnality to the atmosphere and the landscape ? A moral force, yet wholly nnmindfnl of creed and catechism, intellectnal, bnt scornful of books, it works directly and without means, and though it may be resisted at any time, yet resistance to it is a suicide. For the person who stands in this lofty re- lation to his fellow-men is always the impersonation to them of their conscience. It is a sufficient proof of the extreme delicacy of this element, evanescing before any but the most sjanpathetic vision, that it has so seldom been employed in tlie drama and in novels. Mr. Landor, almost alone among living- English writers, has indicated his perception of it. These merits make Mr. Landor's position in the republic of letters one of great mark and dignity. He exercises with a grandeur of spirit the office of wi'iter, and carries it with an air of old and unques- tionable nobility. We do not recollect an example of more complete independence in literary history. 210 PAPERS FROM THE DIAL. He has no clanship, no friendships that warp him. He was one of the first to pronounce Wordsworth the great poet of the age, yet he discriminates his faults with the greater freedom. He loves Pin- dar, ^schylus, Euripides, Aristophanes, Demos- thenes, Virgil, yet with open eyes. His position is by no means the highest in literature : he is not a poet or a philosopher. He is a man full of thoughts, but not, like Coleridge, a man of ideas. Only from a mind conversant with the First Phi- losophy can definitions be expected. Coleridge has contributed many valuable ones to modern literature. Mr. Landor's definitions are only enu- merations of particulars ; the generic law is not seized. But as it is not from the highest Alps or Andes but from less elevated summits that the most attractive landscape is commanded, so is Mr. Lan- der the most useful and agreeable of critics. He has commented on a wide variety of writers, with a closeness and extent of view which has en- hanced the value of those authors to his readers. His Dialogue on the Epicurean philosophy is a theory of the genius of Epicurus. The Dialogue between Barrow and Newton is the best of all crit- icisms on the essays of Bacon. His picture of De- mosthenes in three several Dialogues is new and adequate. He has illustrated the genius of Homer, jEschylus, Pindar, Euripides, Thucydides. Then WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR. 211 he has exammed before he has expatiated, and the minuteness of his verbal criticism gives a confidence in his fidelity when he speaks the language of med- itation or of passion. His acquaintance with the English tongue is unsurpassed. He " hates false words, and seeks with care, difficulty and moroseness those that fit the thing." He knows the value of his own words. " They are not," he says, " written on slate." He never stoops to explanation, nor uses seven words where one will do. He is a master of condensation and suppression, and that in no vul- gar way. He knows the wide difference between compression and an obscure elliptical style. The dense writer has yet ample room and choice of phrase, and even a gamesome mood often between his valid words. There is no inadequacy or disa- greeable contraction in his sentence, any more than in a human face, where in a square space of a few inches is found room for every possible variety of expression. Yet it is not as an artist that Mr. Landor com- mends himself to us. He is not epic or dramatic, he has not the high, overpowering method by which the master gives unity and integrity to a work of many parts. He is too wilful, and never abandons himself to his genius. His books are a strange mixture of politics, etymology, allegory, sentiment, and personal history ; and what skill of transition 212 PAPERS FROM THE DIAL. he may possess is superficial, not spiritual. His merit must rest, at last, not on the spirit of the dia- logue or the symmetry of any of his historical portraits, but on the value of his sentences. Many of these will secure their own immortality in Eng- lish literature ; and this, rightly considered, is no mean merit. These are not plants and animals, but the genetical atoms of which both are com- posed. All our great debt to the Oriental world is of this kind, not utensils and statues of the precious metal, but bullion and gold-dust. Of many of Mr. Landor's sentences we are fain to remember what was said of those of Socrates ; that they are cubes, which will stand firm, place them how or where you will. m. PRAYEES.i " Not with fond shekels of the tested gold, Nor gems whose rates are either rich or poor As fancy values them : but with true prayers, That shall be up at heaven and enter there Ere sunrise ; prayers from preserved souls, From fasting maids, whose minds are dedicate To nothing temporal. " Shakspeare. Pythagoras said that the time when men are honestest is when they present themselves before the gods. If we can overhear the prayer we shall know 1 The Dial, vol. iii. p. 77. PRAYERS. 213 the man. But jirayers are not made to be over- heard, or to be printed, so that we seklom have the prayer otherwise than it can be inferred from the man and his fortunes, which are the answer to the prayer, and always accord with it. Yet there are scattered about in the earth a few records of these devout hours, which it would edify us to read, could they be collected in a more catholic spirit than the wretched and repulsive volumes which usurp that name. Let us not have the prayers of one sect, nor of the Christian Church, but of men in all ages and religions who have prayed well. The prayer of Jesus is (as it deserves) become a form for the human race. Many men have con- tributed a single expression, a single word to the language of devotion, which is immediately caught and stereotyped in the prayers of their church and nation. Among the remains of Euripides we have this prayer : " Thou God of all ! infuse light into the souls of men, whereby they may be enabled to know what is the root from whence all their evils spring, and by what means they may avoid them." In the Phaedrus of Plato, we find this petition in the mouth of Socrates : " O gracious Pan ! and ye other gods who preside over this place ! grant that I may be beautiful within ; and that those external things which I have may be such as may best agree with a right internal disposition of mine ; and that 214 PAPERS FROM THE DIAL. I may account him to be rich, who is wise and just." Wacic the Caliph, who died a.d. 845, ended his life, the Arabian historians tell us, with these words : " O thou whose kingdom never passes away, pity one whose dignity is so transient." But what led us to these remembrances was the happy accident which in this undevout age lately brought us acquainted with two or three diaries, which attest, if there be need of attestation, the eternity of the sentiment and its equality to it- self through all the variety of expression. The first is the prayer of a deaf and dumb boy : — " When my long-attached friend comes to me, I have pleasure to converse with him, and I rejoice to pass my eyes over his countenance ; but soon I am weary of spending my time causelessly and unimproved, and I de- sire to leave him, (but not in rudeness), because I wished to be engaged in my business. But thou, O my Father, knowest I always delight to commune with thee in my lone and silent heart ; I am never full of thee ; I am never weary of thee ; I am always desiring thee. I hunger with strong hope and affection for thee, and I thirst for thy grace and spirit. " When I go to visit my friends, I must put on my best garments, and I must think of my manner to please them. I am tired to stay long, because my mind is not free, and they sometimes talk gossip with me. But oh, my Father, thou visitest me in my work, and I can lift PRAYERS. 215 up my desires to thee, and my heart is cheered and at rest with thy presence, and I am always alone with thee, and thou dost not steal my time by foolishness. I al- ways ask in my heart, where can I find thee ? " The next is a voice out of a solitude as strict and sacred as that in which nature had isolated this elo- quent mute : — " My Father, when I cannot be cheerful or happy, I can be true and obedient, and I will not forget that joy has been, and may still be. If there is no hour of soli- tude granted me, still I will commune with thee. If I may not search out and pierce thy thought, so much the more may my living praise thee. At whatever price, I must be alone with thee ; this must be the demand I make. These duties are not the life, but the means which enable us to show forth the life. So must I take up this cross, and bear it willingly. Why should I feel reproved when a busy one enters the room ? I am not idle, though I sit with folded hands, but instantly I must seek some cover. For that shame I reprove my- self. Are they only the valuable members of society who labor to dress and feed it ? Shall we never ask the aim of all this hurry and foam, of this aimless activity ? Let the purpose for which I live be always before me ; let every thought and word go to confirm and illuminate that end ; namely, that I must become near and dear to thee ; that now I am beyond the reach of all but thee. " How can we not be reconciled to thy will ? I wiU know the joy of giving to my friend the dearest treasure 216 iwrFRS rRO^f the dial. I have. I know tliat sorrow i'oiuos not at onoo only. Wo oainiot moot, it and say, now it is ovorconio, but again, and yet again, its llood poui*s over us, ami jus lull JUS at tirst. '* It' Init this tedious battlo could bo fought. Like Sparta's horoos at i>uo nii'kv pass. • Ouo day bo spout iu dyiug, ' uumi had sought Tho spot, aud boou I'ut iK)\vu liko uunvor's grass." Tho noxt is iu a niotrioal t'onii. It is tho aspi- ration of a ditVoiviit niiml, in quito other regions of power and duty, yet they all aeeord at last. "Groat (lod, I ask thoo for no nu\uun' polf Thau that I may not disappoint myself, That iu my aotiou 1 may soar as high. As 1 oau now diseeru with this clear eye. Aud next iu value, which thy kiuduess lends, That 1 may greatly divsappoiut my friends, llowe'or they think or hoj^o that it may be. They may not dream how tbou'st distiuguished mc. . That my weak hand may equal my tirm faith, Autl my life practise n\oiv than my tongue sjiitb ; That my low conduct may not show, Ni>r my relouting Hues. Thai 1 thy purpose tliil not kuow, t>r ovorratoil thy designs. " The last of the four orisons is written in a singu- larly eabu and healthful spirit, and eont;iins tliis petition : — PRAYERS. 217 " My Father : I now come to thee with a desire to tliaiik thee for the continuance of our love, the one for the other. I feel that without thy love in me I should be alone here in the flesh. I cannot express my grati- tude for what thou hast been and continuest to be to me. But thou knowest what my feelings are. When nought on earth seemeth pleasant to me, thou dost make thy- self known to me, and teach that which is needful for me, and dost cheer my travels on. I know that thou hast not created me and placed me here on earth, amidst its toils and troubles and the follies of those around me, and told me to be like thyself when I see so little of thee here to profit by ; thou hast not done tliis, and then left me here to myself, a poor, weak man, scarcely able to earn my bread. No ; thou art my Father and I will love thee, for thou didst first love me, and lovest me still. We will ever be parent and cliild. Wilt thou give me strength to persevere in this great work of redemption. Wilt thou show me the true means of accomplishing it. ... I thank thee for the knowledge that I have attained of thee by thy sons who have been before me, and especially for him who brought me so perfect a type of thy goodness and love to men. ... I know that thou wilt deal with me as I deserve. I place myself therefore in thy hand, knowing that thou wilt keep me from harm so long as I consent to live under thy pro- tecting care." Let these few scattered leaves, which a chance (as men say, but which to us shall be holy) brought under our eye nearly at the same moment, 218 PAPERS FROM THE DIAL. stami as an oxample of iiiimnunable similar expivs- sioiis which no mortal witness has reported, and bo a sign of the times. Might they be snggvstion to many a heart of yet higher seeret experieuees whieh are ineffable ! Bnt we must not tie up the rosary on whieh we have strung these few white beads, without adding a pearl of great prieo from that book of prayer, tiie ** Confessions of Saint Augustine." "And being- admonished to rotloot npon mysolt', I en- tered into the vovy inwanl parts of my sonl. by thy eon- duet ; ai\d I was able to do it, beeause now thou wert boi'ome my helper. I entered and diseevned with tlio eye of my soul (suoh as it was), even Ivyond my soul and mind itself, the Light unchangeable. Not tliis vul- g"nr hght wliieh jUI ilesh may look upon, nov as it were a gi*eater of the same kmd, as though the brightness of this should be manifold greater and with its greatness take up all space. Not such was this light, but other. yea, fai* other from all tliese. Neither was it so above my understaniling as oil swims above water, or as the heaven is above the earth. Init it is above me. Kx^ause it made me ; and 1 am under it, because I was made by it. He that knows truth or verity, knoNx-s what that light is, and he that knows it, kno\>'S eternity, and it is known by charity. C^ eternal Verity ! and true Charity ! and dear Eternity I thou art my God, to thee do I sigh day and night. Thee when I tust knew, thou liftedst me up tliat 1 might see, theiv was what 1 might ACRICULTURF OF MASSACHUSETTS. 219 soo, ami tliat I was not yot siu'h as to soo. Aiul thou didst boat back my \vo;ik sioht upon mysoU', shooting out beams npon mo aftor a vohomont mannor; and I ovon tronibUHl botwoon love ami horror, luid I t'onnd niysolt* to be far olV, and even in the very region of dis- similitude from thee." IV. AGKICITT.TUUE OF IMxVSSACIIUSKTTS.i In ail afternoon in ^Vpvil, after a long walk, I traversed an oreliard where boys were grafting- apple-trees, and fonnd the Farmer in his coru-tleld. He was holding the plow, and his son driving tlie oxen. This man always impresses me with respet't, he is so maidy, so sweet-tempered, so faitlifnl, so disdainfnl of all appearances, — excellent and re- verable in his ohl weather-worn cap and bine frock bedanbed witli the soil of the field ; so honest with- al, that he always needs to be watched lest he shonld cheat himself. I still remember with some shame that in some dealing we had together a long time ago, I fonnd that he had been looking to my inter- est in the affair, and I had been looking to my in- tei'est, and nobody had looked to his part. As I drew near this brave laborer in the midst of his own acres, I conld not help feeling for him the high- est respect. Here is the Ciusar, the Alexander of 1 The Dial, vol. iii. p. 123. 220 /M/V7»\< r/x'OM TllF DIAL. tlio soil, oonquerini;- and to conquor, after liONvmaiiy ami many a hard-foiii^lit snnimor's day and winter's day : not like Naj>oleoii. lioro of sixty battles only, l>nt of six tlionsand, and ont of every one he has oonie vietor: and here he stands, with Atlantic strength and cheer, invincible still. These slight and nseless city limbs of onrs will come to shame before tliis strong soldier, for his have done his own work and onrs too. What good tliis man has or has had, he has earned. No rich father or father- in-law left him any inheritance of land or money. He borrowed the money with which he bonglit his farm, and has bred np a large family, given them a good cdncation, and improved his land in every way year by year, and this withont }>rejndice to lumself the landlord, for here he is. a man every inch of him, and reminds ns of the hero of the Kobin Hood ballad, — " Much, the inillov's son, Tlioi'o w:is no inch of liis body l>ut it >v;is worth a givoiu." Innocence and jnstice have written their names on his brow. Toil has not broken his spirit. His langh rings with the sweetness and hilarity of a child : yet he is a man of a strongly intellectnal taste, of nnieh reading, and of an erect good sense and inde}>endent spirit which can neither brook nsnrpa- tion nor falsehood in any shape. 1 walkcil np and AGRICULTURE OF MASSACHUSETTS. 221 dowii the field, as he ploughed his furrow, and we talked iis we widked. Our eonversation naturally turned on the season and its new labors. He had been reading the Keport of the Agrieultural Survey of the Commonwealtli, and had found good things in it; but it was easy to see that he felt toward the author mueli as soldiers do towards the histori- ographer who follows the cainp, more good-nature thiui reverence for the gownsnuui. The First Report, he said, is better than the last, as I observe the first sermon of a minister is often his best, for every man has one thmg which he spe- ciall}^ wishes to say, and that comes out at first. But who is this book written for ? Not for farmers ; no pains are taken to send it to them ; it was by acci- dent that this volume came into my hands for a few days. And it is not for them. They could not af- ford to follow such advice as is given here ; they have sterner teachers ; their o\vn business teaches them better. No ; tliis was written for the literaiy men. But in that case, the state should not be taxed to pay for it. Let us see. The account of the maple sugar, — that is very good and entertaining, and, I suppose, true. The story of the farmer's daughter, whom education had spoiled for every- thing useful on a farm, — that is good too, and we have much that is like it in Thomas's Almanack. But why this recommendation of stone houses? 222 PAr/':Rs rh'0}f tjjf. dfal. Tlioy arc not so clioap, not so dry, and not so fit for us. Our roads aro always c'haui;iu<>' tlioir direction, and after a. man has budt at groat cost a stone house, a new road is opened, and he finds himself a mile or two from the highway. Then our people are not stationary, like those of old eouutrles, but always alert to better themselves, and will remove from town to town as a new market opens or a better farm is to be had, and do not wish to spend too much on their buildings. The Conunissiouor advises the farmers to sell their cattle and their hay in the f iiU, and buy again in the spring. Hut we farmers always Imow what our interest dictates, and do accordingly. We have no choice in this matter ; our way is but too plain. Down below, where manure is cheap and hay dear, they will sell their oxcmi in Novtimber ; but for me to sell my cattle and my [>roducc in the fall, would be to s<41 my farm, for 1 sliould have no nuuiure to re- new a ('voy \n the s[)riug. And thus Necessity farms it ; necessity finds out when to go to Brighton, and when to feed in the stall, better than INIr. Colnian can tell us. But especially observe what is said throughout these Keports of the model farms and model far- mers. One would think that ^Ir. D. and INlajor S. were thi^ pillars of the Couuuouwcalth. The good Connnissioner takes otf his hat whcu he approaches AGRICULTURE OF MASSACHUSETTS. 223 tlicm, distrusts the value of " his feeble praise," and repeats his compliments as often as their names are introdueed. And yet, in my opinion, Mr. D., with all his knowledge and present skill, would starve in two years on any one of fifty poor farms in this neighborhood, on each of wliich now a farmer man- ages to get a good living. Mr. D. inherited a farm, and spends on it every year from other resources ; otherwise his farm had ruined him long since ; — and as for the Major, he never got rich by his skill in making land produce, but in making men pro- duce. The truth is, a farm will not make an honest man rich in money. I do not know of a single in- stance in which a man has honestly got rich by farm- ing alone. It cannot be done. The way in which men who have farms grow rich, is eitlier by other resources, or by trade, or by getting their labor for nothing, or by other methods of which I could tell you many sad anecdotes. What docs the Agricultu- ral Surveyor know of all this ? Wliat can he know ? He is the victim of the " Eeports," that are sent him, of particular farms. He cannot go behind the estimates to know how the contracts were made, and how the sales were effected. Tlie true men of skill, the poor farmers, who, by the sweat of their face, without an iidieritance and without offence to their conscience have reared a family of valuable citizens and matrons to the state, reduced a stubborn soil to 224 PAPERS FROM THE DIAL. a good farm, — although their buildings are many of them shabby, are the only right subjects of this Report ; yet these make no figure in it. These should be holden up to imitation, and their methods detailed ; yet their houses are very uninviting and inconspicuous to State Commissioners. So with these premiums to farms, and premiums at cattle- shows. The class that I describe must pay the premium which is awarded to the rich. Yet the premium obviously ought to be given for the good management of a poor farm. In this strain the Farmer proceeded, adding many special criticisms. He had a good opinion of the Surveyor, and acquitted him of any blame in the matter, but was incorrigible in his skepticism con- cerning the benefits conferred by legislatures on the agriculture of Massachusetts. I believe that my friend is a little stiff and inconvertible in his own opinions, and that there is another side to be heard ; but so much wisdom seemed to lie under all his statement that it deserved a record. EUROPE AND EUROPEAN BOOKS. 225 V. EUROPE AND EUROPEAN BOOKS.i It was a brighter day than we have often known in our literary calendar, when within a twelvemonth a single London advertisement announced a new volume of poems by Wordsworth, poems by Tenny- son, and a play by Henry Taylor. Wordsworth's nature or character has had all the time it needed in order to make its mark and supply the want of talent. We have learned how to read him. We have ceased to expect that which he cannot give. He has the merit of just moral perception, but not that of deft poetic execution. How would Milton curl his lip at such slipshod newspaper style. Many of his poems, as for example the Rylstone Doe, might be all improvised. Nothing of Milton, noth- ing of Marvell, of Herbert, of Dryden, could be. These are such verses as in a just state of culture should be vers de sociSte., such as every gentleman could write but none would think of printing, or of claiming the poet's laurel on their merit. The Pin- dar, the Shakspeare, the Dante, whilst they have the just and open soul, have also the eye to see the dimmest star that glimmers in the Milky Way, the serratures of ever}^ leaf, the test-objects of the mi- 1 The Dial, vol. iii. p. 511. 226 PAPERS FROM THE DTAL. croscope, and then the tongue to utter the same thin^-H in words that engrave them on all the cars of mankind. Tlie poet demands all gifts, and not one or two oidy. The poet, like the electric rod, must reach from a ])oint nearer the sky than all surrounding objects, down to tlici earth, and into tlie dark wet soil, or neither is of use. The poet must not only converse with pure thought, but he must demonstrate it al- most to the senses. Ilis words must be pictures, his verses must be si)heres and cubes, to be seen and smelled and handled. His fable must be a good story, and its meaning must hold as pure truth. In the debates on the Copyriglit Bill, in the English Parliament, Mr. Sergeant Waliley, the coroner, quoted Wordsworth's poetry in derision, and asked the roaring House of Commons what that meant, and wlietlier a man should liave public reward for writing siieh stuff. Homer, Horace, Milton and Chaucer would defy the coroner. Whilst they have wisdom to the wise, he would see that to the exter- nal they have external meaning. Coleridge excel- lently said of ])()et]y, that i)oetry must first be good sense ; as a i)alace miglit well be magnificent, but first it nuist be a house. Wordsworth is o])en to ridicule of this kind. And yet Wordswoi-th, tliougli satisfied if lie can suggest to a sym2)athetie' mind his own mood, and EUROPE AND EUROPEAN HOOKS. 227 though setting a private and exaggerated value on his compositions ; thougli confounding his acci- dental with the universal consciousness, and taking the public to task for not admiring his poetry, — is really a master of the English language, and his poems evince a power of diction tliat is no more rivalled by his contemporaries than is his poetic in- sight. But the capital merit of Wordsworth is that lie lias done more for the sanity of this generation than any other writer. Early in life, at a (;risis it is said in his private affairs, he made his election between assuming and defending some legal rights, with the; <;hanc(;s of w(5alth and a ])Osition in the world, — and the inward pion)])tings of liis heav(;nly genius ; he took his part ; he accepted the call to be a j)oet, and sat down, far from cities, with coarse clothing and plain fare to obey the heavenly vision. The choice he had made in his will, manif(;sted it- self in every line to be real. We have ])oets who wi'ite the poetry of society, of the patrician and con- ventional Europe, as Scott and Moore, and others who, lik(; Byron or Bulwcr, wiitc; the ])0(!ti'y of vice and disease, l^ut Wordsworth thi'cw himself into his place, made no reserves or stii)ulations ; man and writer were not to be divided. He sat at the foot of Ilelvellyn and on the margin of Windermere, and took their lustrous mornings and thcii' sublime midnights for his theme, and not Marlow, nor Mas- 228 PAPERS FROM THE DIAL. singer, not Horace, nor Milton, nor Dante. He once for all forsook the styles and standards and modes of thinking of London and Paris, and the books read there, and the aims pursued, and wrote Helvellyn and Windermere, and the dim spirits which these haunts harbored. There was not the least attempt to reconcile these with the spirit of fashion and selfishness, nor to show, with great def- erence to the superior judgment of dukes and earls, that although London was the home for men of great parts, yet Westmoreland had these consola- tions for such as fate had condemned to the country life, — but with a complete satisfaction he pitied and rebuked their false lives, and celebrated his own with the religion of a true priest. Hence the antagonism which was immediately felt between his poetry and the spirit of the age, that here not only criticism but conscience and will were parties ; the spirit of literature and the modes of living and the conventional theories of the conduct of life were called in question on wholly new grounds, — not from Platonism, not from Christianity, but from the lessons which the country muse taught a stout pedestrian climbing a mountain and following a river from its parent rill down to the sea. The Cannings and Jeffreys of the capital, the Court Journals and Literary Gazettes were not well pleased, and voted the poet a bore. But that which EUROPE AND EUROPEAN BOOKS. 229 rose in liini so high as to the lips, rose in many- others as high as to the heart. What he said, they were prepared to hear and confirm. The influence was in the air, and was wafted up and down into lone and into populous places, resisting the popular taste, modifying opinions which it did not change, and soon came to be felt in poetry, in criticism, in plans of life, and at last in legislation. In this country it very early found a stronghold, and its effect may be traced on all the poetry both of Eng- land and America. But, notwithstanding all Wordsworth's grand merits, it was a great pleasure to know that Alfred Tennyson's two volumes were coming out in the same ship ; it was a great pleasure to receive them. The elegance, the wit and subtlety of this writer, his rich fancy, his power of language, his metrical skill, his independence on any living masters, his peculiar topics, his taste for the costly and gorgeous, discriminate the musky poet of gardens and con- servatories, of parks and palaces. Perhaps we felt the popular objection that he wants rude truth; he is too fine. In these boudoirs of damask and alabaster, one is farther off from stern nature and human life than in Lalla Rookh and " The Loves of the Angels." Amid swinging censers and per- fumed lamps, amidst velvet and glory we long for rain and frost. Otto-of -roses is good, but wild air 230 PAPFRS FEO^^ the dial. is better. A critical friend of ours affirms that the vice which bereaved modern painters of their power, is the ambition to begin where their fathers ended ; to equal the masters in their exquisite finish, instead of their religious purpose. The painters are not willing to paint ill enough ; they will not paint for their times, agitated by the spirit which agitates tlieir country; so slioidd their picture picture us and draw all men after them ; but they copy the technics of their predecessors, and paint for their predecessors' public. It seems as if the same vice had worked in poetry. Tennj^son's compositions are not so much poems as studies in poetry, or sketches after the stj^les of sundry old masters. He is not the husband, who builds the homestead after his own necessity, from foundation-stone to chim- ney-top and turret, but a tasteful bachelor who col- lects quaint staircases and groined ceilings. We have no right to such superfineness. We must not make our bread of pure sugar. These delicacies and splendors are then legitimate when they are the excess of substantial and necessary expenditure. The best songs in English poetry are by that heavy, hard, pedantic poet, Ben Jonson. Jonson is rude, and only on rare occasions gay. Tennyson is al- ways fine ; but Jonson's beauty is more grateful than Tennyson's, It is a natural manly grace of a robust workman. Ben's flowers are not in pots at EUROPE AND EUROPEAN BOOKS. 231 a city florist's, arranged on a flower-stand, but lie is a countryman at a liarvest-liome, attending his ox-cart from the fields, loaded with potatoes and apples, with grapes and plums, with nuts and ber- ries, and stuck with boughs of hemlock and sweet- briar, with ferns and pond lilies which the children have gathered. But let us not quarrel with our benefactors. Perhaps Tennyson is too quaint and elegant. What then? It is long since we have had as good a lyrist ; it will be long before we have his superior. " Godiva" is a noble poem that will tell the legend a thousand years. The poem of all the poetry of the present age for which we predict the longest term, is " Abou ben Adhem," of Leigh Hunt. Fortune will still have her part in every victory, and it is strange that one of the best poems should be written by a man who has hardly written any other. And " Godiva " is a parable which be- longs to the same gospel. "Locksley Hall" and "The Two Voices" are meditative poems, which were slowly written to be slowly read. " The Talk- ing Oak," though a little hurt by its wit and in- genuity, is beautiful, and the most poetic of the vol- ume. "Ulysses" belongs to a high class of poetry, destined to be the highest, and to be more culti- vated in the next generation. "CEnone" was a sketch of the same kind. One of the best speci- mens we have of the class is Wordsworth's " Lao- 232 PAPERS FROM THE DIAL. 1 damia," of which no special merit it can possess eqnals the total merit of having selected such a sub- ject in such a spirit. Next to the poetry, the novels, which come to us in every ship from England, have an importance in- creased by the immense extension of their circula- tion through the new cheap press, which sends them to so many willing thousands. We have heard it alleged with some evidence that the prominence given to intellectual power in Bulwer's romances has proved a main stimulus to mental cidture in thousands of yoimg men in England and America. The effect on manners cannot be less sensible, and we can easily believe that the behavior of the ball- room and of the hotel has not failed to draw some addition of dignity and grace from the fair ideals with which the imagination of a novelist has filled the heads of the most imitative class. We are not very well versed in these books, yet we have read Mr. Bulwer enough to see that the story is rapid and interesting ; he has really seen London society, and does not draw ignorant carica- tures. He is not a genius, but his novels are marked with great energy and with a courage of experiment which in each instance had its degree of success. The story of Zanoni was one of those world-fables which is so agreeable to the human imagination that it is found in some form in the EUROPE AND EUROPEAN BOOKS. 233 language of every country, and is always reappear- ing in literature. Many of the details of this novel preserve a poetic truth. We read Zanoni with pleasiu'e, because magic is natural. It is implied in all superior culture that a complete man would need no auxiliaries to Jiis personal presence. The eye and the word are certainly far subtler and stronger weapons than either money or knives. Whoever looked on the hero would consent to his will, being certified that his aims were universal, not selfish ; and he would be obeyed as naturally as the rain and the sunshine are. For this reason, chil- dren delight in fairy tales. Nature is described in them as the servant of man, which they feel ought to be true. But Zanoni pains us and the author loses our respect, because he speedily betrays that he docs not see the true limitations of the charm ; be- cause the power with which his hero is armed is a toy, inasmuch as the power does not flow from its le- gitimate fountains in the mind, is a power for Lon- don ; a divine power converted into a burglar's false key or a higliwayman's pistol to rob and kill with. But Mr. Bulwer's rec^ent stories have given us who do not read novels, occasion to think of this department of literature, supposed to be the natural fruit and expression of the age. We conceive that the obvious division of modern romance is into two kinds: first, the novels of costume or of circum- 234 PAPERS FROM THE DIAL. stance, which is the old style, and vastly the most numerous. In this class, the hero, without any particular character, is in a very particidar circimi- stance ; he is greatly in want of a fortune or of a wife, and usually of both, and the business of the piece is to provide him suitably. This is the prob- lem to be solved in thousands of English romances, including the Porter novels and the more splendid examples of the Edgeworth and Scott Romances. It is curious how sleepy and foolish we are, that these tales will so take us. Again and again we have been caught in that old foolish trap. Had one noble thought opening the chambers of the in- tellect, one sentiment from the heart of God been spoken by them, the reader had been made a par- ticipator of their triumph ; he too had been an in- vited and eternal guest ; but this reward granted them is property, all-excluding property, a little cake baked for them to eat and for none other, nay, a preference and cosseting which is rude and insult- ing to all but the minion. Except in the stories of Edgeworth and Scott, whose talent knew how to give to the book a thou- sand adventitious graces, the novels of costume are all one, and there is but one standard English novel, like the one orthodox sermon, which with slight variation is repeated every Sunday from so many pulpits. EUROPE AND EUROPEAN BOOKS. 235 But tlie otlier novel, of which " Wilhehn Meister" is the best specimen, the novel of character.^ treats the reader with more respect ; the development of character being the problem, the reader is made a partaker of the whole prosperity. Everything good in such a story remains with the reader when the book is closed. A noble book was Wilhelm Meis- ter. It gave the hint of a cultivated society which we found nowhere else. It was founded on power to do what was necessary, each person finding it an indispensable qualification of membership that he could do something useful, as in mechanics or agri- culture or other indispensable art ; then a probity, a justice was to be its element, symbolized by the insisting that each property should be cleared of privilege, and should pay its full tax to the State. Then a perception of beauty was the equally indis- pensable element of the association, by which each was dignified and all were dignified ; then each was to obey his genius to the length of abandonment. They watched each candidate vigilantly, without his knowing that he was observed, and when he had given proof that he was a faithful man, then all doors, all houses, all relations were open to him ; high behavior fraternized with high behavior, without question of heraldry, and the only power recognized is the force of character. The novels of Fashion, of D'Israeli, Mrs. Gore, 236 PAPERS FROM THE DIAL. Mr. Ward, belong to the class of novels of costume, because the aim is purely external success. Of the tales of fashionable life, by far the most agreeable and the most efficient was Vivian Grey. Young men were and still are the readers and victims. Byron ruled for a time, but Vivian, with no tithe of Byron's genius, rules longer. One can distin- guish the Vivians in all companies. They would quiz their father and mother and lover and friend. They discuss sun and planets, liberty and fate, love and death, over the soup. They never sleep, go nowhere, stay nowhere, eat nothing, and know no- body, but are uj) to anything, though it were the genesis of nature, or the last cataclysm, — Festus- like, Faust-like, Jove-like, and could ^vrite an Iliad any rainy morning, if fame were not such a bore. Men, women, though the greatest and fairest, are stupid things ; but a rifle, and a mild pleasant gun- powder, a spaniel, and a cheroot, are themes for Olympus. I fear it was in part the influence of such pictures on li\dng society which made the style of manners of which we have so many pictures, as, for example, in the following account of the Eng- lish f ashionist. " His highest triumph is to apj)ear with the most wooden manners, as little polished as will suffice to avoid castigation, nay, to contrive even his civilities so that they may appear as near as may be to affronts ; instead of a noble high-bred PAST AND PRESENT. 237 ease, to have the courage to offend against every restraint of decorum, to invert the relation in which our sex stand to women, so that they appear the attacking, and he the passive or defensive party." We must here check our gossip in mid volley and adjourn the rest of our critical chapter to a more convenient season. VI. PAST AND PRESENT.i Heee is Carlyle's new poem, his Iliad of English woes, to follow his poem on France, entitled the History of the French Revolution. In its first aspect it is a political tract, and since Burke, since Milton, we have had nothing to compare with it. It grapples honestly with the facts lying before all men, groups and disposes them with a master's mind, and, with a heart full of manly tenderness, offers his best counsel to his brothers. Obviously it is the book of a powerful and accomplished thinker, who has looked with naked eyes at the dreadful political signs in England for the last few years, has conversed much on these topics with such wise men of all ranks and parties as are drawn to a scholar's house, until such daily and nightly medi- The Dial, vol. iv. p. 96. 238 PAPERS FROM THE DIAL. tation has grown into a great connection, if not a system of thoughts ; and the topic of English poli- tics becomes the best vehicle for the expression of his recent thinking, recommended to him by the de- sire to give some timely counsels, and to strip the worst mischiefs of their plausibility. It is a brave and just book, and not a semblance. "No new truth," say the critics on all sides. Is it so ? Truth is very old, but the merit of seers is not to invent but to dispose objects in their right places, and he is the commander who is always in the mount, whose eye not only sees details, but throws crowds of details into their right arrangement and a larger and juster totality than any other. The book makes great approaches to true contemporary history, a very rare success, and firmly holds up to daylight the absurdities still tolerated in the English and European system. It is such an appeal to the con- science and honor of England as cannot be forgot- ten, or be feigned to be forgotten. It has the merit which belongs to every honest book, that it was self- examining before it was eloquent, and so hits all other men, and, as the country people say of good preaching, " comes bounce down into every pew." Every reader shall carry away something. The scholar shall read and write, the farmer and me- chanic shall toil, with new resolution, nor forget the book when they resume their labor. PAST AND PRESENT. 239 Though no theocrat, and more than most philos- ophers a believer in political systems, Mr. Carlyle very fairly finds the calamity of the times, not in bad bills of Parliament, nor the remedy in good bills, but the vice in false and superficial aims of the peo- ple, and the remedy in honesty and insight. Like every work of genius, its great value is in telling such simple truths. As we recall the topics, we are struck with the force given to the plain truths ; the picture of the English nation all sitting en- chanted, the poor, enchanted so that they cannot work, the rich, enchanted so that they cannot enjoy, and are rich in vain ; the exposure of the progress of fraud into all arts and social activities ; the prop- osition that the laborer must have a greater share in his earnings ; that the principle of permanence shall be admitted into all contracts of mutual ser- vice ; that the state shall provide at least school- master's education for all the citizens ; the exhorta- tion to the workman that he shall resj)ect the work and not the wages ; to the scholar that he shall be there for light ; to the idle, that no man shall sit idle ; the picture of Abbot Samson, the true gov- ernor, who " is not there to expect reason and no- bleness of others, he is there to give them of his own reason and nobleness ; " and the assumption throughout the book, that a new chivalry and no- bility, namely the dynasty of labor, is replacing the 240 PAPERS FROM THE DIAL. old nobilities. These things strike us with a force which reminds us of the morals of the Oriental or early Greek masters, and of no modern book. Truly in these things is great reward. It is not by sitting still at a grand distance and calling the hu- man race larvce^ that men are to be helped, nor by helping the depraved after their own foolish fashion, but by doing unweariedly the particular work we were born to do. Let no man think him- self absolved because he does a generous action and befriends the poor, but let him see whether he so holds his property that a benefit goes from it to all. A man's diet should be what is simplest and readi- est to be had, because it is so private a good. His house should be better, because that is for the use of hundreds, perhaps of thousands, and is the prop- erty of the traveller. But his speech is a perpetual and public instrument ; let that always side with the race and yield neither a lie nor a sneer. His man- ners, — let them be hospitable and civilizing, so that no Phidias or Eaphael shall have taught any- thing better in canvas or stone ; and his acts should be representative of the human race, as one who makes them rich in his having, and poor in his want. It requires great courage in a man of letters to handle the contemporary practical questions; not because he then has all men for his rivals, but be- PAST AND PRESENT. 241 cause of the infinite entanglements of the problem, and the waste of strength in gathering unripe fruits. The task is superhuman ; and the poet knows well that a little time will do more than the most puis- sant genius. Time stills the loud noise of opinions, sinks the small, raises the great, so that the true emerges without effort and in perfect harmony to all eyes ; but the truth of the present hour, except in particulars and single relations, is unattainable. Each man can very well know his own part of duty, if he will ; but to bring out the truth for beauty, and as literature, surmounts the powers of art. The most elaborate history of to-day will have the oddest dislocated look in the next generation. The historian of to-day is yet three ages off. The poet cannot descend into the turbid present without in- jury to his rarest gifts. Hence that necessity of isolation which genius has always felt. He must stand on his glass tripod, if he would keep his elec- tricity. But when the political aspects are so calamitous that the sympathies of the man overpower the hab- its of the poet, a higher than literary insj)iration may succor him. It is a costly proof of character, that the most renowned scholar of England should take his reputation in his hand and shoidd descend into the ring ; and he has added to his love what- ever honor his opinions may forfeit. To atone for 242 PAPERS FPO}r THE DIAL. this departure from tlie vows of the schohir and his eternal duties to this seeular charity, we have at least tliis gain, that here is a message which those to whom it was addressed cannot choose but hear. Though they die, thoy nuist listen. It is plain that whether by hope or by fear, or were it only by de- light in this panorama of brilliant images, all the great classes of English society must read, even those whose existence it proscribes. Poor Queen Victoria, — poor Sir Robert Peel, poor Primate and Bishops, — poor Dukes and Lords ! There is no help in place or pride or in loe^king another way : a grain of wit is more penetrating than the lightning of the night-storm, which no curtains or shutters will keep out. Here is a book which will be read, no thanks to anybody but itself. What pains, what hopes, what vows, shall come of the reading ! Here is a book as full of treason as an egg is full of meat, and every lordship and worship and high form and ceremony of English conservatism tossed like a foot-ball into the air, and kept in the air, with merciless kicks and rebounds, and yet not a word is punishable by statute. The wit has eluded all otTicial zeal : and yet these dire jokes, these cunning thrusts, this tiaming sword of Cherubim waved high in air, illuminates the whole horizon, and shows to the eyes of the universe every wound it inflicts. Worst of all for the party attacked, it PAST AXn PRESENT. 243 bereaves tliem beforehand of all synipatliy, by an- ticipating the plea of poetic and humane conserva- tism, and impressing the reader witli the conviction that the satirist himself has the truest love for everj-thing old and excellent in English land and institutions, and a genuine respect for the basis of truth in those whom he exposes. We are at some loss how to state what strikes us as the fault of this remarkable book, for the vari- ety and excellence of the talent displayed in it is pretty sure to leave all special criticism in the wrono". And we mav easily fail in expressino; the general objection which we feel. It appears to us as a certain disproportion in the picture, caused by the obtrusion of the whims of the painter. In this work, as in his former labors, ]\Ir. Carlyle reminds us of a sick giant. His humors are expressed with so much force of constitution that his fancies ai'c more attractive and more credible than the san- ity of duller men. But the habitual exaggeration of the tone wearies whilst it stimulates. It is felt to be so much deduction from the universality of tlie picture. It is not serene sunshine, but every- tliing is seen in lurid storm-lights. Every object attitudinizes, to the very mountains and stars al- most, imder the refraction of this wonderful humor- ist : and instead of the conmiou earth and sl^, w^e have a Martin's Creation or Judgment T>aj. A 244 PAPERS FROM THE DIAL. crisis has always arrived which requires a deics ex machind. One can hardly credit, whilst under the spell of this magician, that the world always had the same bankrupt look, to foregoing ages as to us, — as of a failed world just re-collecting its old withered forces to begin again and try to do a little business. It was perhaps inseparable from the at- tempt to write a book of wit and imagination on English politics, that a certain local emphasis and love of effect, such as is the vice of preaching, should appear, — producing on the reader a feeling of forlornness by the excess of value attributed to circumstances. But the splendor of wit cannot outdazzle the calm daylight, which always shows every individual man in balance with his age, and able to work out his own salvation from all the fol- lies of that, and no such glaring contrasts or sever- alties in that or this. Each age has its own follies, as its majority is made up of foolish young people ; its superstitions appear no superstitions to itself ; and if you should ask the contemporary, he would tell you, with pride or with regret, (according as he was practical or poetic), that he had none. But after a short time, down go its follies and weak- ness and the memory of them ; its virtues alone remain, and its limitation assumes the poetic form of a beautiful superstition, as the dimness of our sight clothes the objects in the horizon with mist PAST AND PRESENT. 245 and color. The revelation of Ecason is this of the unchangeableness of the fact of humanity under all its subjective aspects ; that to the cowering it al- ways cowers, to the daring it opens great avenues. The ancients are only venerable to us because dis- tance has destroyed what was trivial ; as the sun and stars affect us only grandly, because we cannot reach to their smoke and surfaces and say. Is that all ? And yet the gravity of the times, the manifold and increasing dangers of the English State, may easily excuse some over-coloring of the picture ; and we at this distance are not so far removed from any of the specific evils, and are deeply participant in too many, not to share the gloom iind thank the love and the courage of the counsellor. This book is full of humanity, and nothing is more excellent in this as in all Mr. Carlyle's works, than the atti- tude of the writer. He has the dignity of a man of letters, who knows what belongs to him, and never deviates from his sphere ; a continuer of the great line of scholars, he sustains their office in the highest credit and honor. If the good heaven have any good word to impart to this unworthy genera- tion, here is one scribe qualified and clothed for its occasion. One excellence he has in an age of Mammon and of criticism, that he never suffers the eye of his wonder to close. Let who will be the dupe of trifles, he cannot keep his eye off from that gracious Infinite which enbosoms us. 246 rArFK< fhom thf niAL. As a lit ovary artist ho has groat luorit.s Wgiii- nfni:- with tho main ono that ho novor \\i\-»to one dull lino. How woU-roavl. how aclroii, what thou- sanil arts in his ono art of writing : with his oxpe- diont for oxpivssing those nnprovon opinions which ho ontortains bnt will not endorse, by snmmoning ono of his nuM\ of straw fron\ tho ooU. — and tho re- speotablo Sanortoig. or Toufolsdrivkh, or Drva^dnst^ or Piotnresqno Traveller, s:\ys what is pnt into his n\onth. and disappeai'S. That morbid tomponvment has i^ivon his rhotorio a somewhat bloatoti ohan\e- tor ; a luxnry to n\any imaginative and learned persons, like a showery south-wind with it^ sim- bursts and rapid ohasing of lights and glooms over the laiidseape. and vot its otTensiveness to nndti- tudes of ivlnotant lovers makes ns often wish some eonoession were possible on the jv^rt of the humor- ist. Yet it must not bo forgotten that in all his fun of oastanots. or playing of tunes with a whijv lash like son\e ivnowned oharioteei's, — in all this i^lad and noinlfnl venting of his iwhuidant spirits, he iloes yet ever and anon, as if eatohing the glam^ of ono wise man in the orowd, quit his temjx'stiioiis key. and lanoe at him in clear level tone tho \-try woixl. and then with new* glee ivturn to his g":mio. He is like a lover or an outlaw who wraps up his mess;\gv in a serenade, which is nonsense to the sentinel, but s;\h-;Uion to the ear for wliieh it is PAST AND PRESENT. 247 meant. He does not dodge the question, but gives sineerity where it is due. One word more respeeting this remarkable style. We have in literature few specimens of magnifi- eenee. Plato is the purple aneient, and Baeon and Milton the moderns of the riehest strains. Burke sometimes reaches to that exuberant fullness, though deficient in depth. Carlyle, in his strange, half- mad way, has entered the Field of the Cloth of Gold, and shown a vigor and wealth of resource which has no rival in the tourney-play of these times ; — the indubitable champion of England. Carlyle is the first domestication of the modern system, with its infinity of details, into style. We have been civilizing very fast, building London and Paris, and now planting New England and India, New Holland and Oregon, — and it has not appeared in literature ; there has been no analogous expansion and recomposition in books. Carlyle's style is the first emergence of all this wealth and labor with which the world has gone with child so long. London and Europe, tunnelled, graded, corn-lawed, with trade-nobility, and East and West Indies for dependencies ; and America, with the Rocky Hills in the horizon, have never before been conquered in literature. This is the first invasion and conquest. How like an air-balloon or bird of Jove does he seem to float over the coutineut, and 248 PAPi':ns from the dial. stooping here and tliere pounce on a fact as a sym- bol which was never a symbol before. This is the first experiment, anil something of rudeness and liaste nuist be pardoned to so great an achievement. It will be done again and again, sharper, simpler ; but fortunate is he who did it first, though never so giant-like and fabulous. This grandiose character pervades his wit and his imagination. We have never had anything in literature so like earthquakes as the laughter of Carlyle. He " shakes with his mountain mirth." It is like the laughter of the Genii in the horizon. These jokes shake down Parliament-house and Windsor Castle, Temple and Tower, and the future shall echo the dangerous peals. The other particular of magnificence is in his rhymes. Carlyle is a poet who is altogether too burly in his frame and habit to submit to the limits of metre. Yet he is full of rhythm, not only in the perpetual melody of his periods, but in the burdens, refrains, and grand returns of his sense and nuisic. Whatever thought or motto has once appeared to him fraught with meaning, becomes an omen to him henceforward, and is sure to return with deeper tones and weightier import, now as threat, now as confirmation, in gigantic reverbera- tion, as if the hills, the horizon, and the next ages returned the sound. A LETTER. 249 VII. A LETTER.i As we are very liahlo, in common with the letter- writing world, to fall behind - hand in our correspondence ; and a little more liable because in consequence of our editorial function we receive more epistles than our individual share, we have thought that we might clear our account by writing a quai-terly catholic letter to all and several who have honored us, in verse or prose, with their confi- dence, and expressed a curiosity to know our opin- ion. We shall be compelled to dispose very rap- idly of quite miscellaneous topics. And first, in regard to the writer who has given us his specidations on Rail-roads and Air-roads, our correspondent shall have his own way. To the rail- way, we must say, — like the courageous lord mayor at his first hunting, when told the hare was com- ing, — " Let it come, in Heaven's name, I am not afraid on 't. " Very unlooked-for political and so- cial effects of the iron road are fast appearing. It will require an expansion of the police of the old world. When a rail-road train shoots through Eu- rope every day from Brussels to Vienna, from Vienna to Constantinople, it cannot stop every 1 The Dial, vol. iv. p. 202. 250 iwri'ins hiioM Tin: dial. Iwoiity oi' ililriy inik'S at ii (loniuin ciistoin-house, for oxami nation of property and passports. Hut wIuMj our conospondont proceeds to flying-machines, we lia.v(^ no longiu* tlie smallest taper-light of credi- ble information and experience left, and nuist speak on a priori grounds. Shortly then, wv iliinlc the population is not yet quite lit for them, and therefore there will bii none. Our friend suggests so many inconveniences from j)iracy out of the high air to orchards and lone houses, and also to otluM* high iliers ; and the total inadequacy of the present system of de- fence, that we have not the heart to break the sleep of the good i)ublic by the repetition of these details. When children come into the library, we })ut the inkstand and the watch on the high shelf until they be a little older ; and Nature has S(*t the sun and moon in plain sight and use, but laid them on tlu^ high shelf where her roystering boys may not in some mad Saturday afternoon })nll them down or burn their lingers. The sea and the iron road are safer toys for such ungrown people ; we are not yet ripe to be birds. In the next jdace, to iifteen letters on Conmmni- ties, and the l*ros})ects of Culture, and the destin- ies of the cultivated class, — what answer ? Excel- lent reasons have becni shown us why the writers, obviously persons of sincerity luid elegance, should A r.ETTKIl. 251 1)0 (lissatisliod with llio lifo tlioy load, and with tlioir 0()iii])aiiy. Tlioy liavo oxhaustcHl all its bonc- fit, and will not boar it nuioli longcu'. Kxoollont roasons tlioy liavo sliown why .soniothing' bettor shonld bo triod. Thoy want a friond to whom thoy can spoak and from whom thoy may hoar now and thon a roasonablo word. Thoy aro willing; to work, so it bo with frionds. TJioy do not ontortain any- thing absnrd or oven diftionlt. Thoy do not wish to forco socioty into hated reforms, nor to break with society. They do not wish a townsliij), or any large (expenditure, or incorporated association, but sim])ly a contn^ntration of chosen people. By the slightest possible conc(n't, persevered in through fonr or five years, they think tliat a neighborhood miglit be formed of friends who would i)rovoke each other to the best activity, Tluey believe that this society would (ill u[» the terrific^ cliasm of ennui, and would give their genius tliat ins2)iration wliich it seems to wait in vain. But, ' the s(elfishness ! ' One of the writers relontingly says, " What shall my uncles and aunts do witliout mo? " and desires distinctly to bo under- stood not to propose the Indian mode of giving decrepit relatives as much of the mud of holy Ganges as they can swallow, and more, but to be- gin the enterprise of concentration by concentrating all uncles and aunts in one delightful village by 252 PAPERS FROM THE DIAL. themselves ! — so heedless is our coiTesj)ondent of putting all the dough into one pan, and all the leaven into another. Another objection seems to have occurred to a subtle but ardent advocate. Is it, he writes, a too great wilfulness and intermed- dling with life, — with life, which is better accepted than calculated ? Perhaps so ; but let us not be too curiously good. The Buddhist is a practical Necessitarian ; the Yankee is not. We do a great many selfish things every day ; among them all let us do one thing of enlightened selfishness. It were fit to forbid concert and calculation in this particu- lar, if that were our system, if we were up to the mark of self-denial and faith in our general activity. But to be prudent in aU the particulars of life, and in this one thing alone religiously forbearing ; pru- dent to secure to ourselves an injurious society, temptations to folly and despair, degrading exam- ples, and enemies; and only abstinent when it is proposed to provide ourselves with guides, examples, lovers ! We shall hardly trust ourselves to reply to argu- ments by which we would too gladly be persuaded. The more discontent, the better we like it. It is not for nothing, we assure ourselves, that our people are busied with these projects of a better social state, and that sincere persons of all parties are de- manding somewhat vital and poetic of our stagnant A LETTER. 253 society. How fantastic and unpresentable soever the theory has hitherto seemed, how swiftly shrink- ing from the examination of practical men, let us not lose the warning of that most significant dream. How joyfully we have felt the admonition of larger natures which despised our aims and pursuits, con- scious that a voice out of heaven spoke to us in that scorn. But it would be unjust not to remind our younger friends that whilst this aspiration has always made its mark in the lives of men of thought, in vigorous individuals it does not remain a detached object, but is satisfied along with the satisfaction of other aims. To live solitary and unexpressed, is painful, — painful in proportion to one's consciousness of ripeness and equality to the offices of friendship. But herein we are never quite forsaken by the Divine Providence. The loneliest man, after twenty years, discovers that he stood in a circle of friends, who will then show like a close fraternity held by some masonic tie. But we are impatient of the tedious introductions of Destiny, and a little faithless, and would venture something to accelerate them. One thing is plain, that discontent and the luxury of tears will bring nothing to pass. Regrets and Bohemian castles and aesthetic villages are not a very seK-helping class of productions, but are the voices of debility. Especially to one importunate correspondent we 254 PAPERS FROM THE DIAL. must say that there is no chance for the aesthetic village. Every one of the villagers has committed his several blunder ; his genius was good, his stars consenting, but he was a marplot. And though the recuperative force in every man may be relied on infinitely, it must be relied on before it will exert itself. As long as he sleeps in the shade of the present error, the after-nature does not betray its resources. AYhilst he dwells in the old sin, he will pay the old fine. More letters we have on the subject of the posi- tion of young men, which accord well enough with what we see and hear. There is an American dis- ease, a paralysis of the active faculties, which falls on young men of this country as soon as they have finished their college education, which strips them of all manly aims and bereaves them of ani- mal spirits ; so that the noblest youths are in a few years converted into pale Caryatides to uphold the temple of conventions. They are in the state of the young Persians, when "that mighty Yezdam prophet" addressed them and said, "Behold the signs of evil days are come ; there is now no longer any right course of action, nor any self-devotion left among the Iranis." As soon as they have arrived at this term, there are no employments to satisfy them, they are educated above the work of their times and country, and disdain it. Many of the A LETTER. 255 more acute minds pass into a lofty criticism of these things, which only embitters their sensibility to the evil and widens the feeling of hostility between them and the citizens at large. From this cause, companies of the best-educated young men in the Atlantic states every week take their departure for Europe ; for no business that they have in that coun- try, but simply because they shall so be hid from the reproachful eyes of their countrymen and agree- ably entertained for one or two years, with some lurking hope, no doubt, that something may turn up to give them a decided direction. It is easy to see that this is only a postponement of their proper work, with the additional disadvantage of a two years' vacation. Add that this class is rapidly in- creasing by the infatuation of the active class, who, whilst they regard these young Athenians with sus- picion and dislike, educate their own children in the same courses, and use all possible endeavors to secure to them the same result. Certainly v/e are not insensible to this calamity, as described by the observers or witnessed by our- selves. It is not quite new and peculiar; though we should not know where to find in literature any record of so much unbalanced intellectuality, such undeniable apprehension without talent, so much power without equal applicability, as our young men pretend to. Yet in Theodore Mundt's account 256 PAPERS FROM THE DIAL, of Frederic Holderlin's " Hyperion," we were not a little struck with the following Jeremiad of the despair of Germany, whose tone is still so familiar that we were somewhat mortified to find that it was written in 1799. " Then came I to the Germans. I cannot conceive of a people more disjoined than the Germans. Mechanics you shall see, but no man. Is it not like some battle-field, where hands and arms and all members lie scattered about, whilst the life-blood runs away into the sand ? Let every man mind his own, you say, and I say the same. Only let him mind it with all his heart, and not with this cold study, literally, hypocritically, to ap- pear that which he passes for, — but in good ear- nest, and in all love, let him be that which he is ; then there is a soul in his deed. And is he driven into a circumstance where the spirit must not live ? Let him thrust it from him with scorn, and learn to dig and plough. There is nothing holy which is not desecrated, which is not degraded to a mean end among this people. It is heartrending to see your poet, your artist, and all who still revere genius, who love and foster the Beautiful. The Good ! They live in the world as strangers in their own house ; they are like the patient Ulysses whilst he sat in the guise of a beggar at his own door, whilst shameless rioters shouted in the hall and asked, Who brought the ragamuffin here ? Full of love, A LETTER. 257 talent and hope, spring up the darlings of the muse among the Germans ; some seven years later, and they flit about like ghosts, cold and silent ; they are like a soil which an enemy has sown with poison, that it will not bear a blade of grass. On earth all is imperfect ! is the old proverb of the German. Aye, but if one should say to these God-forsaken, that with them all is imperfect only because they leave nothing pure which they do not pollute, noth- ing holy which they do not defile with their fum- bling hands ; that with them nothing prospers be- cause the godlike nature which is the root of all prosperity they do not revere ; that with them, truly, life is shallow and anxious and full of discord, be- cause they despise genius, which brings power and nobleness into manly action, cheerfulness into en- durance, and love and brotherhood into towns and houses. Where a people honors genius in its ar- tists, there breathes like an atmosphere a universal soul, to which the shy sensibility opens, which melts self-conceit, — all hearts become pious and great, and it adds fire to heroes. The home of all men is with such a people, and there will the stranger glad- ly abide. But where the divine nature and the ar- tist is crushed, the sweetness of life is gone, and every other planet is better than the earth. Men deteriorate, folly increases, and a gross mind with it; drunkenness comes with a disaster; with the 258 PAPERS FROM THE DIAL. wantonness o£ the tongue and with the anxiety for a livelihood the blessing of every year becomes a curse, and all the gods depart." The steep antagonism between the money-getting and the academic class must be freely admitted, and perhaps is the more violent, that whilst our work is imposed by the soil and the sea, our culture is the tradition of Europe. But we cannot share the des- peration of our contemporaries ; least of all should we think a preternatural enlargement of the intel- lect a calamity. A new perception, the smallest new activity given to the perceptive power, is a victory won to the living universe from Chaos and old Night, and cheaply bought by any amounts of hard fare and false social position. The balance of mind and body will redress itself fast enough. Super- ficialness is the real distemper. In all the cases we have ever seen where people were supposed to suf- fer from too much wit, or, as men said, from a blade too sharp for the scabbard, it turned out that they had not wit enough. It may easily happen that we are grown very idle, and must go to work, and that the times must be worse before they are better. It is very certain that speculation is no succedaneum for life. What we would know, we must do. As if any taste or imagination could take the place of fidelity ! The old Duty is the old God. And we may come to this by the rudest teaching. A friend A LETTER. 259 of ours went five years ago to Illinois to buy a farm for his son. Though there were crowds of emi- grants in the roads, the country was open on both sides, and long intervals between hamlets and houses. Now after ^ve years he had just been to visit the young farmer and see how he prospered, and reports that a miracle had been wrought. From Massachu- setts to Illinois the land is fenced in and builded over, almost like New England itself, and the proofs of thrifty cultivation abound; — a result not so much owing to the natural increase of j^opulation, as to the hard times, which, driving men out of cities and trade, forced them to take off their coats and go to work on the land ; which has rewarded them not only with wheat but with habits of labor. Perhaps the adversities of our commerce have not yet been pushed to the wholes omest degree of sever- ity. Apathies and total want of work, and reflec- tion on the imaginative character of American life, etc., etc., are like seasickness, and never wiU obtain any sympathy if there is a wood-pile in the yard, or an unweeded patch in the garden ; not to mention the graver absurdity of a youth of noble aims who can find no field for his energies, whilst the colossal \vrongs of the Indian, of the Negro, of the emigrant, remain unmitigated, and the religious, civil and judicial forms of the country are confessedly effete and offensive. We must refer our clients back to 260 PAPERS FROM THE DIAL. themselves, believing that every man knows in his heart the cure for the disease he so ostentatiously bewails. As far as our correspondents have entangled their private griefs with the cause of American Literature, we counsel them to disengage themselves as fast as possible. In Cambridge orations and elsewhere there is much inquiry for that great absentee Amer- ican Literature. What can have become of it? The least said is best. A literature is no man's private concern, but a secular and generic result, and is the affair of a power which works by a prod- igality of life and force very dismaying to behold, — every trait of beauty purchased by hecatombs of private tragedy. The pruning in the wild gardens of nature is never forborne. Many of the best must die of consumption, many of despair, and many be stupid and insane, before the one great and fortunate life which they each predicted can shoot up into a thrifty and beneficent existence. VIII. THE TRAGIC.i He has seen but half the universe who never has been shewn the house of Pain. As the salt sea 1 From the course on " Human Life," read in Boston, 1839-40. PubUshed in The Dial, vol. iv. p. 515. THE TRAGIC. 261 covers more than two-thirds of the surface of the globe, so sorrow encroaches in man on felicity. The conversation of men is a mixture of regrets and apprehensions. I do not know but the preva- lent hue of things to the eye of leisure is melan- choly. In the dark hours, our existence seems to be a defensive war, a struggle against the encroach- ing All, which threatens surely to engulf us soon, and is impatient of our short reprieve. How slen- der the possession that yet remains to us; how faint the animation ! how the spirit seems abeady to contract its douiain, retiring within narrower walls by the loss of memory, leaving its planted fields to erasure and annihilation. Already our own thoughts and words have an alien sound. There is a simultaneous diminution of memory and hope. Projects that once we laughed and leapt to execute, find us now sleepy and preparing to lie down in the snow. And in the serene hours we have no courage to spare. We cannot afford to let go any advantages. The riches of body or of mind which we do not need to-day, are the reserved fund against the calamity that may arrive to-morrow. It is usually agreed that some nations have a more sombre temperament, and one would say that his- tory gave no recorci oi any society m which de- spondency came so readily to heart as we see it and feel it in ours. Melancholy cleaves to the English 202 rArj':ns from TUh: niAL. mind 111 botli lioiiiisplievos as closely as to the strlii«»s of an il^^olian harp. Men and women at thirty years, and even earlier, have lost all spring' and vivacity, and if they fail in their first enter- prizes they throw up the game. But whether we and those who are next to us are more or less vul- nerable, no theory of life can have any right which leaves out of account the values of vice, pain, disease, poverty, insecurity, disunion, fear and death. What are the conspicuous tragic elements in hu- man nature ? The bitterest tragic clement in life to be derived from an intellectual source is the belief in a brute Fate or Destiny ; the belief that the order of nature and events is controlled by a law not adapted to man, nor man to that, but which holds on its way to the end, serving him if his wishes chance to lie in the same course, crushing him if his wishes lie contrary to it, and heedless whether it serves or crushes him. This is the terrible meaning that lies at the foundation of the old Greek tragedy, and makes the G^]dipus and Antigone and Orestes objects of such hopeless com- miseration. They must perish, and there is no over- god to stop or to mollify this hideous enginery that grinds or thunders, and snatches them up into its terrific system. The same idea makes the paralyz- ing terror with which the East Indian mythology 77//'; TUAdK!. 203 haiintH tlio imagination. Tlic Hani(3 tlioiiglil; ih ilic, predestination of the Turk. And miivci.sally, in uneducated and unreflecting perwonH on whf)m too the religious Hcntimcnt exerts little forc(i, w(; dln- cover traits of tlu; same superstition: "Jf you baulk water you will be drowned tlie next time ; " "if you count ten stars you will fall down dead ; " "if you spill the salt;" " if yoni- fork sticks up- right in the floor ; " " if you say tin; Lord's prayei- backwards ; " — and so on, a s(5veral jxinalty, nowis(5 grounded in the nature of the thing, but on an ar}>i- trary will. \\\\\> this terror of contravening an lui- ascei-tained and unjis(MU'tairiable will, cannot co-(;xist with reflection: it disappears with civilization, and can no more be reprodu(;ed than the f(;ai' of ghosts after childhood. It is discriminated from tlic doc- trine of Philoso|)hical Necessity herein : that tlu; last is an r)ptlmisrn, and therefon; the suffering individual finrls his good consulted in the good of all, of which Ikj is a part. But in destiny, it is not the good of th(3 whole or tin; hoM vrlll that is en- acted, but only ova 'partindar vrUl. Destiny prop- erly is not a will at all, but an immense whim ; and this the only ground of terror and despair in the rational mind, and of tragedy in litcjrature. Hence the antique tragedy, wliich was foinidcd on this faith, can never be reproduced. After reason and faith have introduced a better 264 PAPERS FROM THE DIAL. piil)Ho jind private tradition, tlio tra<;ic clement is Konicwliat circumscribed. There must always re- main, however, the hindrance of our private satis- faction by the laws of the world. The law which establishes ntiture and the luunan race, continually tliwarts the will of ignorant individuals, and this in the particulars of disease, want, insecurity and dis- union. But the essence of tragedy does not seem to me to lie in any list of particular evils. After we have enumerated famine, fever, inaptitude, mutilation, rack, madness and loss of friends, we have not yet included the proper tragic element, which is Terror, and which docs not respect definite evils but indefi- nite ; an ominous spirit which haunts the after- noon and the night, idleness and solitude. A low, haggard sprite sits by our side, " casting the fashion of uncertain evils " — a sinister present- iment, a power of the imagination to dislocate things orderly and cheerful and show them in start- ling array. ITark! what sounds on the night wind, the cry of Murder in that friendly house ; sec these marks of stamping feet, of hidden riot. The whis- per overheard, the detected glance, the glare of malignity, ungrounded fears, suspicions, half -knowl- edge and mistakes, darken the brow and chill the heart of men. And accordingly it is natures not clear, not of quick and steady perceptions, but im- THE TRAGTC, 2C5 perfect characters from which somewhat is hidden that all others see, who suffer most from these causes. In those persons who move the profoundest pity, tragedy seems to consist in temperament, not in events. There are people who have an appetite for giief, pleasure is not strong enough and they crave pain, mithridatic stomachs which must be fed on poisoned bread, natures so doomed that no pros- perity can soothe their ragged and dishevelled des- olation. They mis-hear and mis-behold, they sus- pect and dread. They handle every nettle and ivy in the hedge, and tread on every snake in the meadow. " Come bad chance, And we add to it our strength, And we teach it ai-t and length. Itself o'er us to advance." Frankly, then, it is necessary to say that all sorrow dwells in a low region. It is superficial ; for the most part fantastic, or in the appearance and not in things. Tragedy is in the eye of the observ^er, and not in the heart of the sufferer. It looks like an insupportable load under which earth moans aloud. But analyze it ; it is not I, it is not you, it is always another person who is tormented. If a man says, Lo I I suffer — it is apparent that he suffers not, for grief is dumb. It is so flistributed as not to destroy. That 266 PAPERS FROM THE DIAL, which would rend you falls on tougher textures. That which seems intolerable reproach or bereave- ment, does not take from the accused or bereaved man or woman appetite or sleep. Some men are above grief, and some below it. Few are capa- ble of love. In plilegmatic natures calamity is unaffecting, in shallow natures it is rhetorical. Tragedy must be somewhat which I can respect. A querulous habit is not tragedy. A panic such as frequently in ancient or savage nations put a troop or an army to flight without an enemy ; a fear of ghosts ; a terror of freezing to death that seizes a man in a winter midnight on the moors ; a fright at uncertain sounds heard by a family at night in the cellar or on the stairs, — are terrors that make the knees knock and the teeth clatter, but are no tragedy, any more than seasickness, which may also destroy life. It is full of illusion. As it comes, it has its support. The most exposed classes, soldiers, sailors, paupers, are nowise desti- tute of animal spirits. The spirit is true to it- self, and finds its own support in any condition, learns to live in what is called calamity as easily as in what is called felicity ; as the frailest glass- beU will support a weight of a thousand pounds of water at the bottom of a river or sea, if filled with the same. A man should not commit his tranquillity to THE TRAGIC. 267 things, but should keep as much as possible the reins in his own hands, rarely giving way to ex- treme emotion of joy or grief. It is observed that the earliest works of the art of sculpture are countenances of sublime tranquillity. The Egyptian sphinxes, which sit to-day as they sat when the Greek came and saw them and departed, and when the Eoman came and saw them and departed, and as they will still sit when the Turk, the Frenchman and the Englishman, who visit them now, shall have passed by, — " with their stony eyes fixed on the East and on the Nile," have countenances expressive of complacency and repose, an expression of health, deserving their longevity, and verifying the primeval sentence of history on the permanency of that people, " Their strength is to sit still." To this architectural stability of the human form, the Greek genius added an ideal beauty, without disturbing the seals of serenity ; permitting no violence of mirth, or wrath, or suffering. This was true to human nature. For, in life, actions are few, opinions even few, prayers few ; loves, hatreds, or any emissions of the soul. All that life demands of us through the greater part of the day, is an equilibrium, a readiness, open eyes and ears, and free hands. Society asks this, and truth, and love, and the genius of our life. There is a fire in some men which de- 2G8 PAPERS FROM THE DIAL. luaiids an outlet in some rude action ; tliey betray their impatience of quiet by an irregular Catali- narian gait ; by irregular, faltering, disturbed speech, too emphatic for the occasion. They treat trifles with a tragic air. This is not beautiful. Could they not lay a rod or two of stone wall, and work oft' this superabundant irritability? When two strangers meet in the highway, what each demands of the other is that the aspect should shew a Arm mind, ready for any event of good or ill, prepared alike to give death or to give life, as the emergency of the next moment may require. We must wallt as guests in nature ; not impassioned, but cool and disengaged. A man should try Time, and his face should wear the expression of a just judge, who has nowise made up his opinion, who fears nothing, and even hopes nothing, but who puts nature and fortune on their merits: he will hear the case out, and then decide. For all melancholy, as all passion, belongs to the exterior life. Whilst a nitin is not grounded in the divine life by his proper roots, he clings by some tendrils of aft'ection to society — mayhap to what is best and greatest in it, and in calm times it will not appear that he is adrift and not moored ; but let any shock take place in society, any revolution of custom, of law, of opinion, and at once his type of permanence THE TEA aw. 269 is shaken. The disorder of his neighbors ap- pears to him universal disorder ; chaos is come again. But in truth he was aheady a driving wreck, before the wind arose which only revealed to him his vagabond state. If a man is centred, men and events appear to him a fair image or reflection of that which he knowcth beforehand in himself. If any perversity or profligacy break out in society, he will join with others to avert the mischief, but it will not arouse resentment or fear, because he discerns its impassable limits. He sees already in the ebullition of sin the simul- taneous redress. Particular reliefs also, fit themselves to human calamities ; for the world will be in equilibrium, and hates all manner of exaggeration. Time, the consoler. Time, the rich carrier of all changes, dries the freshest tears by obtruding new figures, new costumes, new roads, on our eye, new voices on our ear. As the west wind lifts up again the heads of the wheat which were bent down and lodged in the storm, and combs out the matted and dishevelled grass as it lay in night-locks on the ground, so we let in time as a drying wind into the seed-field of thoughts which are dark and wet and low bent. Time restores to them temper and elasticity. How fast we for- get the blow that threatened to cripple us. Nar 270 PAPERS FROM THE DIAL. ture will not sit still ; the faculties will do some- what; new hopes spring, new affections twine and the broken is whole again. Time consoles, but Temperament resists the impression of pain. Nature proportions her de- fence to the assault. Our human being is won- derfully plastic ; if it cannot win this satisfaction here, it makes itself amends by running out there and winning that. It is like a stream of water, which if dammed up on one bank, overruns the other, and flows equally at its own convenience over sand, or mud, or marble. Most suffering is only apparent. We fancy it is torture ; the patient has his own compensations. A tender American girl doubts of Divine Providence whilst she reads the horrors of " the middle passage ; " and they are bad enough at the mildest ; but to such as she these crucifixions do not come : they come to the obtuse and barbarous, to whom they are not horrid, but only a little worse than the old suf- ferings. They exchange a cannibal war for the stench of the hold. They have gratifications which would be none to the civilized girl. The market-man never damned the lady because she had not paid her bill, but the stout Irishwoman has to take that once a month. She however never feels weakness in her back because of the slave-trade. This self-adapting strength is espe- THE TRAGIC. 271 cially seen in disease. " It is my duty," says Sir Charles Bell, " to visit certain wards of the hos- pital where there is no patient admitted but with that complaint which most fills the imagination with the idea of insupportable pain and certain death. Yet these wards are not the least re- markable for the composure and cheerfulness of their inmates. The individual who suffers has a mysterious counterbalance to that condition, which, to us who look upon her, appears to be attended with no alleviating circumstance." Analogous supplies are made to those individuals whose char- acter leads them to vast exertions of body and mind. Napoleon said to one of his friends at St. Helena, " Nature seems to have calculated that I should have great reverses to endure, for she has given me a temperament like a block of marble. Thunder cannot move it; the shaft merely glides along. The great events of my life have slipped over me without making any demand on my moral or physical nature." The intellect is a consoler, which delights in de- taching or putting an interval between a man and his fortune, and so converts the sufferer into a spec- tator and his pain into poetry. It yields the joys of conversation, of letters and of science. Hence also the torments of life become tuneful tragedy, solemn and soft with music, and garnished with rich 272 PAPERS FROM THE DIAL. dark pictures. But higher still than the activities of art, the intellect in its purity and the moral sense in its purity are not distinguished from each other, and both ravish us into a region whereinto these passionate clouds of sorrow cannot rise. GENERAL INDEX. Note. Titles of essays and poems are in small capitals. The followiug list gives the titles of the volumes to which the Roman numerals refer : — VIII Letters and Social aims,- IX. Poems. X. Lectures and Biographical Sketches. XL Miscellanies. XII. Natural History op the In- tellect. I. Nature, Addresses, and Lec- tures. II. Essays, First Series. III. Essays, Second Series. IV. Representative Men. V. English Traits. VI. Conduct of Life. VII. Society and Solitude. Abandonment, no greatness without, vii. 173 ; the way of life, ii. 300. Abdel Kader, and Daumas, vii. 256; on nobility, vi. 170. Able men, have respect for justice, i. 160 ; ask only for ability, no matter of what kind, iv. 256. Abolition, bigot in, ii. 53 ; the church appears in, iii. 239; church hostile to, X. 114 ; shadow of Clarkson, ii. 62 ; conventions, ii. 129 ; effect of, xi. 132 ; trausceudentalists and, i. 328, 329. See below. Abolitionist, every man an, xi. 106, 236 ; farmer the true, vii. 137 ; love the arch-, xi. 263 ; made by slavery, xi. 263. Aboriginal man not an engaging fig- ure, viii. 256. Aboriginal power, ii. 333 ; \i. 73. Aboriginal races, incapable of im- provement, xii. 24. Aboriginal, the State not, iii. 191. Absolve you to yourself, ii. 52. Absolute and relative, iv. 144. Abstemious, of criticism, vii. 173 ; spir- it's teachings are, iv. 134. Abstemiousness, quiddling, vi. 148. Abstinence, i. 205. Abstract truth, free from local and personal reference, u. 304, 309. Abstraction, of scholars, viii. 273. Abstractionists, Nature furnishes, iii. 226 ; iv. 148, 149. Absurdity, difference from me, the measure of, iv. 29. Abu Ali Seeua, iv. 93. Abu Taleb, vi. 258. Abul Khain, iv. 93. Abury, temple at, v. 263, 266. Abuses block the ways to lucrative employments, i. 220. Abyss, replies to abyss, vii. 164 ; of be- ing, ii. 116 ; iv. 84. Accidents, not to be feared, vi. 221 ; insurance oflSce increases, ii. 84 ; there are no, vii. 127 ; lovely, of na- ture, iii. 221 ; resisting, vi. 29. Accomplishments, vi. 138 ; of the scholar, x. 265. Accuracy essential to beauty, x. 145. Achievement, power of, x. 264; not computed by time, ii. 296. Achilles, in every nation, vii. 241 ; vul- nerable, ii. 103. Achromatic lens, needful to see real- ity, X. 162. Acorn, a thousand forests in one, ii. 10. Acquaintances, high, the great happi- ness of life, vii. 288. Acquainted, be not too much, iii. 133. Acre, cleave to thine, vi. 232 ; my, ix. 126. Acres, black, of the night, ix. 283; mystic fruit, 127 ; sitfast, 36. Acrostic, a character like, ii. 59, 141. Action, Actions, honest and natu- ral, agree, ii. 59 ; transfigured as thoughts, i. 97 ; of infinite elastici- ty, ii. 55 ; dispose to greater con- clusions, ui. 186 ; not rashly ex- plained, 106 ; future not to be decided beforehand, xi. 196 ; iudif- ferency of, ii. 296 ; in hfe, few, xii. 267 ; what are called good, ii. 54 ; 274 GENERAL INDEX. X. 254 ; great, do not let us go be- hind them, ii. 236 ; heroic, are beau- tiful, i. 25 ; original, necessary, x. 254 ; steps to power, ii. 285 ; a trick of the senses, 154 ; we shrink from actions of our own, xi. 404 ; not m- different, ii. 116, 296; tlieir influ- ence not measured by miles, iii. 76 ; inscribe themselves, iv. 249; inte- grate themselves, ii. 100; intellec- tual quality, vi. 151 ; we put our life in, ii. 99; magnetism of, 64; leave no mark in the world, i. 264 ; measured by depth of sentiment, ii. 147; iv. 255; mechanical, ii. 129; men of, iv. 144, 254; men wanted more than, i. 264 ; and misaction, X. 255 ; natural, i. 25 ; every neces- sary action pleases, vi. 276 ; Nelson on, viii. 291 ; are pearls to discourse, i. 96 ; need perspective, ii. 11 ; pic- ture-book of creed, viii. 27 ; a great pleasure, vii, 42 ; is prayer, ii. 77 ; reaction, 94 ; resounding, iii. 44 ; a resource, i. 99 ; satellites to nature, 44 ; essential to scholar, i. 95 ; self- rewarding, ii. 100 ; is in silent mo- ments, 152 ; right speech not distin- guished from, viii. 94 ; spontaneous, strong, ii. 132, 306 ; iii. 51, 70; steps in ladder, ii. 285; should rest on substance, iii. 100 ; partiality, the tax on, iv. 254 ; timely, ii. 216 ; with the scholar subordinate but es- sential, i. 95 ; be not cowed by the name of, ii. 154 ; not overdoing and busy-ness, x. 254 ; and thought, iv. 254 ; not better than verses or pic- tures, xii. 207 ; give vocabulary, i. 98; preexist in the actor, iii. 96; give a return of wisdom, i. 98; ii. 214. Activity, amiable, x. 49 ; children and thoughtless people like, 169 ; conta- gious, ^v. 18 ; frivolous, x. 254 ; too great, vii. 293 ; miscellaneous, to be stopped off, vi. 74 ; makes room for itself, V. 33. Actors, the worst provincial better than the best amateur, vi. 78. Actual, dwarfish, i. 271 ; Goethe, poet of, xii. 195, 197 ; ideal truer than, 196 ; the imposing, xi. 190. Adam, age, ix. 280 ; hide ourselves as, iii. 132 ; Milton's, xii. 109, 171 ; ev- ery man a new, x. 136 ; i. 79 ; per- fect, iii. 213. Adamant, of nature, i. 165 ; passes into smoke, vii. 140; x. 72; Eng- land moves on a splinter of, v. 64 ; wax to artist, ii. 335 ; ix. 66. Adamantine, bandages, vi. 21 ; govern- ment, iii. 254 ; limitations, iv. 131 ; necessity, vii. 58 ; syllable, iii. 235. Adamhood, ix. 27. Adamitic capacity, Webster in his, xi. 209. Adams, John, courage, xii. 103 ; ele- vation, vi. 154,' fame, xii. 110; old age, vii. 304 ; patriotism, x. 238 ; no backward-creeping crab, xi. 418; visit to, vii. 312. Adams, John Q., company for kings, X. 307 ; courage, xi. 163 ; eloquence, ii. 60; vii. 85; audacious indepen- dence, xi. 404; on literature, viii. 120 } reading, 119. Adams, Samuel, vii. 113. Adaptation, none in man, iii. 60 ; the peculiarity of human nature, iv. 154 ; of nature, vi. 42 ; we are victims of, 134. Addition, the world not to be analyzed by, ii. 316. Adirondacs, ix. 159-170. Adjustments, Nature's, vi. 41. Admetus, ii. 34 ; vii. 108. Admiration, strain to express, viii, 85 ; not forgiven, xii. 27. Adrastia, law of, iii. 85. Adsched of Meru, viii. 231. Adultery, vi. 16. Advance, the history of nature, vi, 39 ; xi. 408. Advantage, has its tax, ii. 116. Advantages, each envies those he has not, vi. 139 ; cannot afford to miss, X. 71. Adventure, love of, vi. 69; xii. 101. Adventurer, well-received, vi. 202. Adversity, the prosperity of the great, vi. 222 ; viii. 220. Advertisement, most of life mere, iii. 75. Aeolian Harp, poems, ix. 203-207, 220 ; dumb, viii. 259 ; in nature, iii. 106, 168 ; viii. 272 ; ix. 199, 264 ; x. 129 ; melancholy, xii. 262. Aeolus, steam his bag, i. 19. Aeons, vi. 83 ; vii. 172 ; ix. 102. Aerolites, Shakespeare's, iv. 199. Aeschylus, we are civil to, viii. 68 ; in earnest, vii. 56 ; Eumenides, iii. 83 ; grandest of Greek tragedians, vii. 189; counterpart in Scott's Bride of Lanunermoor, xi. 375; quoted, xi. 225. Aesop, his price, x. 51 ; knew the real- ities of life, vi. 247, 248 ; viii. 9; a man of the world, v. 147. Aesop's Fables, iii. 35 ; iv. 192. Affections, the pathetic region of, vi. GENERAL INDEX. 275 299 ; beauty, i. 100 ; benefits, vii. 17 ; exhilaratiou, ii. 183 ; geomet- ric, viii. 104; Heraclitus said were colored mists, ii. 304 ; increases in- teUect, 184 ; viii. 217 ; xii. 41 ; jets, ii. 185 ; and memory, xii. 76 ; meta- morphosis, ii. 185 ; tent of a night, 178 ; sweetness of life, 183 ; make the web of life, vii. 283 ; essential to will, vi. 32 ; associate us, 1. 123 ; vii. 19, 20. Afl&nities, in conversation, ii. 198 ; per- ception of, makes the poet, i. 59 ; essential to man of the world, iii. 123; to great men, iv. 43; between man and works, xii. 58 ; neglect of, ii. 143 ; of persons, 53 ; range, vi. 132 ; reciprocity, vii. 20 ; of thoughts, xii. 21 ; of virtue with itself in dif- ferent persons, ii. 186 ; women's, iii. 146 ; world enlarged by, vii. 284. Affirmative, being is, ii. 110; we love the, iv. 163 ; viii. 134 ; class, vi. 72 ; forces, vi. 59; good mind chooses, xii. 56 ; vii. 289 ; incessant, 291 ; love is, 291 ; xii. 56 ; in manners, etc., vii. 290; philosophy, x. 234; power, 225, 226 ; principle, iii. 49 ; sacred, x. 211. Afraid, do what you are afraid to do, ii. 245. Afrasiyab, viii. 229. Africa, civilization, xi. 169, 173. See ' Negro, Slavery. Africanization of U. S., xi. 278. Afternoon men, ii. 216 ; saunterings, i. 158. Agamemnon, ii. 28. Agaric, self-planting, iii. 27. Agassiz, Louis, viii. 208 ; ix. 169 ; mu- seum, viii. 146 ; theories, 13 ; xi, 332. Age, old. See Old Age. Age, the characteristics of different ages, i. 108, 272 ; of the present, the interest in familiar things, 110, 258, 267 ; vi. 9 ; of fops, ix. ISO ; of gold, iii. 87 ; ix. 231 ; of omnibus, xi. 419; walks about in persons, i. 251 ; vi. 42 ; of reason in a patty- pan, x. 343 ; retrospective, i. 9 ; riddle of, vi. 10 ; of analysis, x. 308. Ages, of belief, great, vi. 207 ; equiva- lence of, viii. 203 ; instruct the hours, ii. 10 ; ideas work in, xi. 187 ; not idle, i. 293. Agiochook, i. 104 ; ix. 72. Agitation, blessed, xi. 415. Agitators, i. 270. Agricultural Report, xii. 221. Agriculture, praise of, i. 346 ; attacks on, 240; aids civilization, vii. 26, 146 ; Euglisli, v. 95, 181 ; check on nomadism, ii. 26 ; oldest ijrofession, i. 229 ; respect for, 225, 359 ; vii. 133 ; steam in, v. 95 ; thrift in, ii. 221. See, also, Farming. Agriculture op Massachusetts, xii. 219-224. Aids, casting off, iii. 247 ; xi. 222. Aim, high, i. 206; iii. 254; vi. 221; X. 66; aggrandizes the means, vii. 257 ; men of, x. 42 ; mind own, ix. 32 ; want of, vi. 199. Air, artful, Lx. 157 ; exhalation, xii. 85 ; fame, ix. 190 ; food of life, xii. 85 ; gifts, X. 72 ; inspiration, iii. 33 ; intellectual, vii. 164 ; effect on man- ners, xii. 85 ; is matter subdued by heat, vii. 140 ; full of men, vi. 22 ; moral sentiment in, i. 48 ; music, iii. 13 ; an ocean, i. 18 ; receptacle, vii. 140 ; of mountains, a good repub- lican, xii. 85 ; like a river, u 49 ; salubrity, vi. 231 ; coined into song, ii. 167 ; sovmds, xii. 30 ; useful and hurtful, ii. 316 ; forged into words, i. 46 ; works for man, vii. 140 ; worth, X. 262. Air-ball, thought, \-i. 273. Air-bells of fortune, ix. 199. Air-lord, poet, iii. 45. Air-pictures, iii. 211. Air-sown words, ix. 191. Airs, logs sing, ii. 214. Airs, putting on, xii. 102. Aisles, forest, ix. 45 ; monastic, 15 ; of Rome, 16. Akhlak-y-jalaly, iv. 42. Aladdin's lamp, oil, viii. 137. Alarmists, vi. 62. Alchemy, is in the right direction, vi. 268. Alcibiades, iii. 260. Alcott, A. B.,x. 354. Alderman, dreariest, vi. 296. Alembert, Jean d', quoted, vi. 296 ; x. 111. Alexander, and Aristotle, x. 290; a gentleman, iii. 123 ; x. 300 ; xi. 267 ; estimate of life, iii. 200 ; and Napo- leon, xii. 203 ; not representative, viii. 286 ; victories, xi. 181. Alexander of soil, xii. 219. Algebra, iii. 34. 38. Ali, Caliph, quoted, i. 211 ; ii. 86 ; success, X. 60 ; vigor, i. 299. All whom he knew, met, viii. 91. All-confounding pleasure, ii. 200. Allies, best, viii. 219. Alliugham, William, quoted, viii. 265. AUstou, Washington, Coleridge on, v. 276 GENERAL INDEX. 14, 17 ; design, vii, 50 ; habits, viii, 275 ; house, vi. 110. Almanac, of birds, ix. 154 ; man an, vi. 127 ; of mental moods, xii. 10 ; Thomas's, 221. See, also, Calendars. Alms-giving, i. 122 ; vii. 112. Almshouse, world an, ii. 310. Alone, ilight of, to the alone, iv. 95 ; must go, ii. 71 ; none, vi. 216. Alphabet, boy and, viii. 161. Alphonso op Castile, ix. 27-29 ; ad- vice, iii. 227. Alpine air, ix. 158 ; cataracts, 124 ; dis- trict, vi. 207. Alps, ix. 282 ; Dante etched on, 190 ; fires under, 279 ; globe-girdling, 60 ; landscape, xii. 210 ; love eats through, ix. 242 ; pedestals of, 108 ; shadow, ii. 140 ; snowy shower, ix. 295. Alternation, law of nature, ii. 189 ; vii. 213,235; viii. 51, 144, 145. Amateurs and practitioners, vi. 79. Ambassadors, objects like, xii. 5. Amber of memory, ii. 166. Ambient cloud, x. 57. Ambition, errors from, vi. 20S ; pure, lii. 261 ; vii. 118 ; of scholar, i. 167 ; thieving, vi. 266 ; ix. 234. Amelioration, principle of, i. 352 ; iv. 38, 79. See Melioration. Amen, obsolete, i. 237. America, advantages, viii. 102, 197 ; xi. 328, 418 ; architecture, viii. 202 ; aris- tocracy, i. 249 ; arts, ii. 81 ; vii. 59 ; bUl of rights, xi. 400; Carlyle on, V. 19 ; chanticleer, xi. 330 ; civili- zation, viii. 102 ; xi. 153, 327, 419 ; clubs, xi. 409; colossal, 327; Con- gress, vii. 89 ; Constitution, i. 201 ; iii. 202 ; courts, vi. 63 ; crisis, xi. 399 ; democracy, 408 ; destiny, 325 ; discovery, vii. 169 ; xi. 192, 399 ; domestic service, vi. 260 ; econo- mists, v. 146; education, vii. 116; viii. 221 ; xi. 409 ; and England, v. 55, 117, 119, 146 ; and Europe, ii. 26 ; vii. 155 ; expensiveness, vi. 201 ; extent dazzles the imagination, iii. 41 ; vi. 243 ; flag, ix. 173, 179 ; xi. 413 ; fortune, xi. 412 ; genius, iii. 220 ; V. 39 ; xi. 327 ; the geography sublime, the men not, vi. 243 ; viii. 137 ; government, theory of, xi. 244, 411, 412 ; growth, xii. 100 ; an immense Halifax, xi. 415; history short, i. 370 ; idea, v. 272 ; imitative, i. 152 ; ii. 81 ; vii. 172 ; xi. 327 ; im- migration, X. 232 ; xi. 399 ; a nation of individuals, 412 ; influence, i. 350 ; institutions, iii. 198 ; landscape, v. 273 ; life, viii. 137 ; literature opta- tive, i. 323 ; xii. 260 ; materialism, i. 183; X. 04, 232; xi. 326, 413; mendicant, vii. 172 ; names, v. 172 ; newness, viii. 202 ; means opportu- nity, 98, 137 ; xi. 279, 422 ; a poem, iii. 40, 41 ; political economy, xi. 402 ; politics, viii. 220 ; xi. 329, 401, 405 ; country of poor men, xi. 408 ; progress, vii. 34, 207 ; xi. 412 ; radi- calism, iii. 201 ; reform, i. 256 ; xi. 411 ; religion, x. 203 ; resources, viii. 102, 137, 148 ; xi. 404 ; scholar- ship, i. 152 ; sentiment, 344 ; want of sincerity in leading men, xi. 270 ; slavery, see Slavery ; vanity, i. 369 ; xi. 412 ; wealth, shame for, v. 149 ; women, iii. 145 ; Wordsworth on, v. 22 ; country of young men, vii. 312. See, also, American, Americans, United States. American Civil War. See under United States. American Civilization, xi. 275-290. American, model, viii. 101 ; x. 429. American Revolution, i. 209 ; ix. 185 ; xi. 71, 103. American Scholar, i. 81-115. American, Young, i. 341-372. Americanism, shallow, vii. 273. Americans, activity, character, xi. 329 ; conservatism, iii. 201 ; conver- sation, v. 112 ; crime no shock to, xi. 216 ; deeds, vii. 267 ; depression, i. 270; vii. 276; xi. 414; destiny, 325, 418; value dexterity, 211; Dickens on, vi. 167 ; x. 235 ; rely on dollar, i. 237 ; dress with good sense, viii. 86 , energy, 138 ; con- trasted with English, v. 125, 135, 261, 290 ; xi. 412 ; deference to Eng- lish, i. 161, 370; vi. 03; xi. 153, 415, 416 ; ethics in money-paying, X. 64 ; passion for Europe, i. 113, 343 ; ii. 26, 204 ; vi. 140, 252 ; vii. 172, 275 ; xi. 415 #; lack faith, i. 237 ; choked by forms, xi. 244 ; fury, 329 ; gentlemen, 419 ; lack idealism, 418 ; idlers, 415, 417 ; im- pulsiveness, 414 ; independence, xii. 102; intellect, x. 264, 347; levity, 244 ; xi. 414 ; life, 417 ; manners, vi. 167 ; viii. 79 ; melioration, 137 ; and New Zealanders, ii. 83 ; perception, 215 ; poetic genius, iii. 40 ; practi- cality, X. 254 ; deaf to principle, xi. 225; a puny and a fickle folk, i. 183 ; no purists, x. 64 ; lack repose, i. 270 ; vi. 139 ; vii. 270 ; xi. 414 ; lack reverence, x. 198 ; self-asser- tion, i. 343; xi. 404, 410; sensual- GENERAL INDEX. 211 ism, 413 ; no sentiment, i. 237 ; shop-keepers, xi. 153; society, vii. 35; viii. iOO, 110; x. 43; sover- eigut}', xi. 32G ; speech-making pro- pensities, vi. 14G ; students, v. Ii02 ; success, vii. 272 ; xi. 414 ; superfi- cialness, vi. 11 ; respect for talent, iv. 267 ; x. 2G4 ; love of travel, ii. 79 ; V. 260, 261 : vii. 172 ; xi. 325, 415 ; youth, vi. 144 ; viii. 84. Ames, Fisher, quoted, iii. 202. Amici, Prof., v. 12. Amita, x. 373, note. Amphibious, men are, iii. 219. Amphion, iii. 189 ; ix. 230. Amphitheatre, Roman, origin of the shape, vii. 57 ; xii. 191. Amulet, The, Lx. 88. Amulets, ix. 33 ; x. 21. Amurath, Sultan, iv. 251. Amusements, aim of society, vi. 235 ; education of, 137 ; forbidden, 139 ; need of, viii. 145 ; x. 109 ; safeguard of rulers, iii. 255 ; vi. 37. Analogy, i. 33, 87 ; v. 227, 241 ; viii. IS, 186 ; X. 177. Analysis, iii. 64 ; vi. 294 ; xii. 13. Anarchy, value of, i. 304; iii. 202, 228 ; in the church, vi. 195 ; xi. 247. Anatomy, in art, i. 49 ; xii. 119 ; mor- bid, vii. 260, 290 ; of national tenden- cies, v. 134 ; sympathetic, vi. 219. Ancestors, escape from, vi. 15; face represents, v. 53 ; reverence for, vii. 170 ; a man represents each of sev- eral ancestors, vi. 15 ; independence of, i. 167. Anchors, easy to twist, vi. 262. Ancients, why venerable, xii. 245. Andersen, Hans C, quoted, viii. SO. Andes, vi. 258 ; viii. 128. Angelo, Michael, xii. 113 ; on beauty, i. 62 ; cardinal in picture, iv. 131 ; cartoons, v. 194; conscience of It- aly, viii. 206 ; on death, 313 ; on eye of artist, vi. 171 ; frescoes, ii. 331 ; Laudor on, v. 11 ; influence on Mil- ton, xii. 156 ; sonnet translated, ix. 244 ; xii. 113 ; on the test of sculp- ture, ii. 146 ; self-conMeuce, vii. 274 ; Sistine chapel, vi. 73 ; xii. 126, 128 ; solitude, vii. 13 ; viii. 206 ; xii. 135 ; beauty the purgation of super- fluities, vi. 279. Angels, past actions are, i. 97 ; asp or, i. 322 ; of the body, ii. 177 ; vii. 163 ; of children, iv. 33 ; for cook, vi. 261 ; shown in crises, i. 146 ; disguised, i. 276; our ancestors' familiarity with, X. 107; favoritism, 21 ; flutes, ix. 156; food, i. 319; gossip keeps them in the proprieties, vi. 212 ; guardian, x. 20, 79 ; hope, iii. 237 ; language, ii. 323 ; let go, 120 ; take liberties with letters, iii. 217 ; mem- ory, xii. (jo\ poems, viii. 74, 263; power, X. 26 , praise, i. 146 ; preach- ers, i. 144; iv. 136; pride, ix. 12; lead men out of prison, iii. 269 ; punisliers, xii. 65 ; shoon, ix. 240 ; skirts, 235 ; Svvedeuborg ou, iv. 121, 136 ; vii. 12 ; viii. 221 ; talk, xii. 99 ; thrones, ii. 287 ; blind to trespass, X. 207 ; walking among, iv. 136 ; wandering, x. 371 ; whisperings, iii. 69 ; words, i. 46 ; of youth, vii. 117 ; X. 240. Angles, veracity of, iv. 15 ; at which we look at things, xii. 9. Anglomania, ii. 26. Anglo-Saxons, vi. 146; xi. 225. See, also, Saxons. Angularity of facts, ii. 14. Animal, every efScient man a fine ani- mal, V. 72 ; novice, iii. 174. Animal consciousness in dreams, x. 12. Animal courage, vii. 242. Animal magnetism, i. 76; x. 26, 29. See Mesmerism. Animal spirits, vii. 17, 18. Animalcules, our bodies built up of, vi. 109. Animals, dreams of nature, x. 12 ; features in men, 13 ; good sense, viii. 152; xii. 20; growth, iv. 104; viii. 15 ; memory in, xii. 63 ; moral sen- timent in, X. 178 ; pantomime, i. 48 ; Plutarch ou, x. 19; not progres- sive, 126; pugnacity, vii. 242; sa- cred, X. 19; scavengers, vii. 260; truthfulness, v. 115. Anne, of Russia, snow palace, viii. 319. Annoyances, viii. 274. Answers, vii. 222, 226. Answers to Correspondents, xii. 249. Antagonisms, ii. 199, 201 ; vi. 27, 242 ; vii. 20. Antenor, vii. 73. Anthropometer, x. 52. Anthropomorphism, we baptize the daylight by the name of John or Joshua, viii. 27 ; x. 17, 195 ; xii. 121. Anti-masonry, i. 257. Antinomiamsm, i. 317 ; ii. 73 ; iii. 241. Antiquity, i. 155, 287 ; ii. 16 ; v. 62, 108, 203 ; vii. 170. Anti-Slavery, i. 204 ; xi. 165, 172, 229, 347. See, also. Slavery. 278 GENEBAL INDEX. Antouiuus, Marcus Aureliiis, ^^. 156, 228, 246; viii. 295, 313; x. 94, 115, 121. Apathy, ii. 191 ; x. 377. Apollo, iii. 83 ; vii. 170. Apologies, ii. Gl, G7, 152, 154, 245 ; do not apologize, iii. 101, 208 ; vi. 225 ; viii. 8ti Apologv, The, ix. 105/. Apoplexy, viii. 101. Apparatus, vi. 97 ; xi. 191. Appearances and realities, i. 52 ; ii. 00, 05, 210 ; iii. 39 ; iv. 170 ; xi. 191 ; the attempt to make a favorable ap- pearance vitiates the effect, i. 123. Appetite, ii. 219 ; iv. 175 ; vi. 148. Apple-tree, vi. 102. Apprenticeships, iii. 44. Approbation, we love but do not for- give, ii. 286; X. 62. Approximations, we live in, iii. 182. Appnlses, iii. 12. Apkil, Lx. 219; ix. 27, 87, 125, 148. Aptitudes, vii. 274 ; x. 47 ; xii. 28. Arabian Nights, vii. 71, 104. Arabs, civilization, v. 51 ; x. 172 ; enthusiasm, i. 239 ; barb not a good roadster, vi. 77 ; love of poetry, viii. 227 ; do not count days spent in the chase, 265, 206 ; sheiks, ii. 201 ; vii. 271 ; victories, i. 239. Arch, gothic, ii. 24 ; never sleeps, xii. 73. Architect, i. 49 ; iv. 186 ; xii. 119. Architecture, American, viii. 202 ; bond of arts, xii. 122 ; fitness in, vi. 47, 280 ; Carlyle on, v. 200 ; French, vii. 229 ; Greek, ii. 19 ; Greenough on, V. 10 ; length of line in, 271 ; compared to music, i. 49 ; viii. 176 ; and nature, ii. 24 ; origin, i. 71 ; ii. 24 ; vii. 56 ; viii. 178 ; rhyme in, 48, 54 ; of snow, ix. 43. Arctic expeditions, ii. 84. Argument, forbear, ii. 225 ; vii. 214 ; viii. 97 ; ix. 14. Akistocracy, X. 33-07 ; American, i. 249 ; beauties, 370 ; English, v. 100 ; X. 403; European, iii. 143; follies, xi. 400 ; inevitable, iii. 120 ; justi- fied where its foundation is merit, X. 42; literature of, vii. 190; man- ners, vi. 168 ; Puritans without, xii. 101 ; of trade, i. 357 ; traits, x. 35. Aristophanes, xi. 347. Aristotle, his definitions, 1. 59; ii. 139 ; iii. 34 ; v. 132 ; vii. 43, 151 ; viii. 151, 264; x. 145, 445; xii. 57, 173. Arithmetic, ii. 238, 295 ; iii. 197 ; iv. 228 ; vi. 99 ; vii. 171 ; x. 145, 309, 328. Ark of God, iii. 235. Armiuianism, x. 311. Armor, vi. 214; truth our, 219; x. 261. Army, discipline, vi. 134 ; English, v. 65 ; Napoleon's, ii. 85 ; iv. 228. Arnim, Bettine von, iii. 58 ; vi. 156. Arrangement, viii. 271. Arsenal of forces, x. 71. Akt, ii. 325-343 ; vii. 39-59 ; ix. 235 ; baubles, iii. 168; beauty, i. 28; ii. 329 ; vi. 279 ; the best in work of, i. 201 ; Carlyle on, v. 200 ; lives in contrasts, vi. 242; courage in, vii. 253 ; creation, iii. 41 ; deification of, iii. 223 ; defined, i. 11 ; vii. 42, 43 ; xii. 118 ; devotion to, ii. 219 ; col- lections in England, v. 180 ; epitome of world, i. 29 ; source of excel- lence in, iv. 09 ; in rude people, x. 82 ; galleries, vi. 97 ; vii. 125 ; human form in, xii. 121 ; immobility in, iii. 69 ; industrial, is but initial, ii. 337 ; jealous, vi. 112 ; Landor on, v. 11 ; love of, vii. 277 ; attuned to moral nature, 54 ; is nature working through man, i. 29 ; a complement to nature, iii. 107 ; vii. 44,51, 54, 280 ; ix. 17, 194 ; nature predominates in, vii 59 ; is free necessity, 52 ; prop- erty in, 125; proportion, iii. 223; refining influence, vi. 97 ; success in, 73; universal, xii. 118; is con- scious utterance of thought, vii. 42 : woman in, xi. 340 ; works of, should be public property, vii. 126. Arthur, King, legends, v. 57 ; vii. 119- 299; viii. 61, 275; ix. 204. Artist, dift'erence from artisan, vi. 220 ; disjoined from his object, xii. 41 ; English, v. 241 ; exemptions, X. 25S ; idealize by detaching, ii. 330 ; inspirations, 335 ; inspirers, vii. 50 ; intoxication, iii. 31 ; life, ii. 335 ; materials, 335 ; models, 81 ; morality, 219 ; motive, x. 244 ; power not spontaneous, ii. 313 ; stimulants, vi. 213 ; surroundings, viii. 275 ; syn- thesis, iv. 50. Arts, creation their aim, ii. 327 ; sec- ond childhood, i. 347 ; disease, iii. 08 ; distinction, ii. 342 ; vii. 46 ; xii. 122 ; draperies, vii. 203 ; expensive- ness, X. 235 ; initial, ii. 337 ; know- ledge, iii. 9 ; law, vii. 46 ; lost, viii. 171 ; materials, iv. 15 ; morality, vii. 159 ; and nature, i. 19 ; new, de- stroy old, ii. 282 ; Oriental, x. 172 ; origin, vii. 58 ; of savage nations, GENERAL INDEX, 279 viii. 204 ; not satisfactory but sug- gestive, iii. IS'2. Aryan legends, viii. ITS. Ascension, tlie poet's, iii. 28 ; iv. 36, G8 ; vi. 39, 121. Asceticism, i. 170, ISO ; ii. 240 ; iii. 66 ; X. 172. Ashley, Lord, viii. 125. Asia, kept out of Europe, vii. 257 ; im- migrations, iv. 4S ; in the mind, ii. 15 ; iv. 62 ; nomadism, ii. 26 ; ran- cor, ix. 67 ; country of fate, iv. 53. Asinine expression, ii. 56 ; resistance, i. 2S3, Asmodeus, vi. 167 ; viii. 144 ; ix. 277. Aspasia, vi. 179. Aspiration, xi. 354 ; xii. 1S5, 253 ; and not eli'ort also, ii. 268. Assacombuit, xi. 1S6. Assessors, divine, vi. 216. Assimilating power, viii. 170, 181, 191. Association of ideas, xii. 68. Associations, i. 360 ; iii. 127 ; x. 309 ; compromise, ii. 190, 247 ; iii. 250. See Communities. Assyria, i. 23. Aster, ix. 106. Astley, John, anecdote, viii. 162. ASTRAEA, ix. 75/. Astrology, vi. 268 ; x. 18. Astronomy, belittled, viii. 10; con- cords, ix. 126 ; and creeds, viii. 201 ; discoveries, vi. 209 ; espionage, vii. 173 ; fortmie-telling, ix. 123 ; in iMind, viii. 28; miracles, x. 18; nat- ural forces, vii. 32 ; no foreign sys- tem, xii. 5 ; and sectarianism, viii. 201 ; spiritual, ii. 205 ; teachings, vi. 153 ; X. 317. Atheism, iii. 264 ; vi. 193 ; xi. 215. Athenians, x. 249. Athens, genius, iv. 53 ; Mercury's statues, X. 106; thousiuid-eyed, iii. 104. Atlautean shoulders, iv. 20. Atlantic, roll, v. 237 ; pumped through the ship, X. 167 ; strength and cheer, xii. 220. Atmosphere, of the planet, vi. 221 ; of men, iii. 219 ; vii. 207 ; x. 57 ; re- sistance to, iii. 202 ; vi. 29 ; must be two to make, x. 57 ; westerly cur- rent, vi. 32 ; of women, xi. 343. Atom, not isolated, vii. 139 ; viii. 211 ; genetical, xii. 212 ; journeying, ix. 10 ; march in tune, 65 ; every atom carries the whole of nature, vi. 303 ; self-kiudled, iii. 161 ; yawus from atom, ix. 280. Atomies, xi. 182. Attention, ii. 137. Attractions proportioned to destinies, viii. 44. Auburn dell, ix. 148. Audibilities of a room, v. 130. Audience, a meter, vii. 67, 82, 84, 93 ; viii. 34, 277. Augur and bird, x. 19. Augustine, St., vii. 198; viii. 53, 329; ix. 17; X. 289; xi. 388; xii. 95, 194, 218. Aunts, viii. 81, 143 ; x. 24 ; xii. 69. Auricular air, vi. 40. Aurora, Guide's, ii. 21. Authority, ii. 276 ; x. 311. Authors, the company of, v. 8 ; writ- ten out, i. 98; spirit of, xii. 183; interruptions, viii. 276 ; mutual Hattery, ii. 273 ; write better under a mask, viii. 187 ; we want only a new word from, iii. 229. See, also, Writers. Autobiography, vii. 198. Autumn, vii. 281. Auxiliaries, man's, vi. 235. Avarice, slavery not foimded on, xi. 148. Avenger, the, xi. 224. Averages, we are, iv. 154. Aversation, ii. 57 ; x. 429. Awkwardness, healed by women, vi. 282; comes from want of thought, viii. 82. Axis of vision and of things, i. 77. Azure, come out of the, vi. 188. Babe, descriptions, vii. 101, 243; ix. 10 ; viii. 81 ; power, ii. 50 ; thou- sand years old, vii. 299. Baboon, descent fx-om, v. 52 ; vi. 197. Bacchus, ix. 111#; viii. 71; xi. 390. Bachelors, iii. 175. Backbone, imprisoned in, xi. 419. Bacon, Delia, viii. 188. Bacon, IVancis, analogist, v. 227 ; de- light m, iii. 58 ; eloquence, vii. 83 ; English language from, v. 99 ; fame, i. 254 ; generalizations, v. 229 ; idealist, iv. 42 ; v. 227 ; imagina- tion, 235 ; xii. 170 ; on immortality, viii. 323 ; Jonson on, v. 231 ; on manners, vii. 18; and Milton, xii. 152 ; and Newton, v. 236 ; on para- doxes, 93 ; doctrine of poetry, 230 ; viii. 24 ; xii. 173 ; and Shakespeare, iv. 193 ; viii. 188 ; style, xii. 247 ; symbolism in, iv. 113 ; on time as reformer, v. 109 ; universality, 228, 232. Bacon, Roger, discoveries and predic- tions, V. 153 ; viii. 204. 280 GENERAL INDEX. Bad, bark against, vii. 291 ; some- times a better doctor than good, vi. 241. Bad news, x. IGO. Bad times, x. 237. Bad world, the way to mend, vi. 214. Badges, ii. 52, 154, 195 ; iii. 21 ; Eng- lish no taste for, v. 87. Badness is death, i. 124. Bag of bones, v. 288. Balances, ii. 96 ; vi. 41 ; viii. 44 ; ix. 22. Ball, Alexander, vii. 247. Ballads, ii. 331 ; viii. 68. Balloons, v. 15G. Balls, vi. 139. Bancroft, George, v. 277. Banishment to the rocks and echoes, vii. 15. Bank-days, vi. 235. Bankers, i. 359 ; vi. 99. Bank-notes, ii. 222 ; vi. 102 ; xi. 281. Banquets, iv. 122 ; vii. 115. Banshees, x. 27. Banyan, ii. 122 ; xii. 109. Baptism, x. 109. Baptizing daylight, x. 195. Barbarism, vii. 23, 37. Barcena, viii. 296. Bards, i. 131, 143 ; iii. 35. Bakds and TEOirsEUKS, viii. 58-C4. Bar-rooms, iii. 04 ; xi. 402. Barrows, iii. 10. Basle, monk, vi. 185. Battery of nature, viii. 72. Battle, eye in, ii. 224; of fate, 75; courage in, vii. 246, 247 ; Napoleon on, iv. 236 ; verdict, x. 52. Baubles, ^d. 297. Be, privilege to, i. 45. Be, not seem, ii. 151 ; x. 267. Beads, life a string of, iii. 53 ; viii. 71. Beatitudes, ii. 329 ; iii. Ill ; iv. 95 ; X. 251. Beaumarchais, vii. 227. Beaumont and Fletcher, ii. 231 ; quoted, 58; ii. 45, 168/*, 231, 241; viii. 56, 312. Beautiful, the highest, escaping tlie dowdtness of the good and the heart- lessness of the true, i. 3.35; com- mon offices made, iii. 235 ; who are, X. 57 ; within, xii. 213. Beautiful, the, must carry it with us, ii. 334 ; defined, vi. 274 ; exalts, xii. 117; God the, ii. 185; good the cause of, iv. 57 ; never plentiful, xi. 419 ; takes out of surfaces, vi. 274 ; useful, ii. 341. Beauty, i. 21-30. Beauty, Ode to, ix. 81-84, 263, Jio/e. Beauty, is m expression, ii. 334 ; vi. 285 ; accuracy essential to, x. 145 ; of affection, i. 100 ; escapes analy- sis, vi. 287 ; Michael Augelo on, xii. 99, 116 ; art the creation of, i. 28 ; ii. 329, 341 ; vi. 279 ; vii. 43 ; bow of, ix. 53 ; comes not at call, ii. 342 ; we find what we carry, 334 ; vi. 140; of character, i. 324; x. 38; childhood's cheat, ix. 15 ; in neces- sary facts, ii. 343 ; corpse has, i. 22 ; creator, iii. 13 ; culture opens the sense of, vi. 152 ; never alone, i. 29 ; definition of, vi. 274 ; xii. 117 ; des- ert, i. 164 ; details, iii. 223 ; die for, vi. 266; ix. 233; disgust, 242; an end in itself, i. 29 ; elusive, iii. 185 ; makes endure, vi. 280 ; excuse for, ix. 39 ; xii. 172 ; without expres- sion, vi. 284 ; eye makes, 50 ; face, moulded to, xii. 143 ; the mark of fitness, vi. 47, 275, 279 ; vii. 55 ; xi. 341 ; of form better than of face, iii. 144 ; unity with goodness, iv. 57 ; vii. 291 ; xii. 117, 132 ; grace, viu. 79; Greek delighted in, 309; is health, x. 46 ; immersed in, ii. 125, 330 ; iii. 166 ; inexplicable, iii. 21 ; inspiration, x. 250 ; object of intellect, i. 28 ; xi. 153 ; intoxicates, x. 55 ; of landscape, i. 164 ; iii. 170 ; rides lion, vi. 279, 286 ; leads love, vi. 275 ; love of, iii. 12, 120 ; vi. 281; vii. Ill, 284; in manners, vi. 187 ; X. 38, 57 ; love of measure, iii. 135 ; has a moral element, vi. 207, 290; of nature, a mirage, i. 25 ; a necessity of nature, ii. 341 ; iii. 19, 170, 225; iv. 12; vi. 279; occasional, vii. 122 ; pilot of young soul, vi. 275 ; power, iii. 143 ; vii. 165 ; suggests relation to the whole world, vi. 287 ; rose of, 51 ; ix. 215 ; noble sentiment the highest form of, X. 57, 261 ; standard, xii. 117 ; stone grew to, ix. 16; sufficient to itself, ii. 169 ; law of table, viii. 97 ; temperance, ii. 19 ; snaps ties, ix. 97 ; is in the moment of transition, ii. 277 ; bought by tragedy, xii. 260 ; trinity with truth and goodness, i. 30 ; xii. 119 ; truth in, vi. 279 ; xii. 119 ; universaUty, i. 29 ; ii. 218 ; iv. 42 ; vi. 50, 283, 288 ; in use, ii. 342 ; iii. 153, 157 ; vi. 274 ; mark set on virtue, i. 25 ; weed, i. 02 ; is whole- ness, i. 21 ; iii. 23 ; xii. 118 ; wo- men, vi. 281; world, xii. 116; lo-ve of, keeps us young, ii. 256. Becket, Thomas a, v. 211 ; viii. 207. GENERAL INDEX. 281 Beckford, "William, v. IGO ; vi. 94. Bede, Venerable, v. 77 ; vii. 197. Bedford, Duke of, v. 170, 174. Beech, x. 450. Bees, bell of, ix. 55 ; cell, vi. 279 ; dis- turbing, ii. 21G; familiarity with, X. 440; nothing good for the bee that is bad for the hive, 183 ; honey- making, viii. 21 ; hunters, iii. G5 ; men compared to, v. 83 ; xi. 247 ; orchards resonant with, ix. 12G ; Plato's, iv. 55; leave life in sting, V iii. 260 ; tawny hummers, ix. 8G. Beggar, the soul a, vii. 289. Beginnings, heap of, vii. 309. Behavior, vi. lGi-189; finest of fine arts, iii. 144; laws cannot reach, vi. 1G6 ; dress mends, viii. 87 ; a garment, 80 ; laws of, iii. 129 ; nov- els teach, vii. 204 ; self-reliance ba- sis of, vi. 182 ; substitutes for, viii. 80 ; women's instinct of, iii. 145. See, also, Conduct, Manners. Behmen, Jacob, egotism, iii. 38, 180 ; healthily wise, iv. 136; on inspira- tion, viii. 2G3. Behooted and behowled, i. 139. Being, affirmative, ii. IIG; excluding negation, iii. 75 ; preferred to doing, vi. 206 ; realm of, ix. 292 ; and seem- ing, ii. 151 ; sense of, C4. Belief, ages of belief are the great ages, vi. 207 ; x. 198 ; is affirmation, iv. 172 ; appears, ii. 148 ; as deep as life, vi. 269 ; impulse to, iii. 75 ; man bears, vi. 195 ; makes men, x. 241 ; natural, iv. 1G2, 195 ; a greater makes unbelief, i. 270. Bell, church, vii. 214, 281 ; God comes without, ii. 255. Belle-Isle, days at, vii. 173. Belzoni, ii. 16; iii. 117; x. 16. Benedict, vi. 223. Benefactors, do not flatter your bene- factors, i. 319 ; iii. 157 ; misfortunes are, ii. 112, 114, 121 ; are many, viii. 189 ; become malefactors, iv. 32 ; wish to be, iii. 263 ; vii. Ill, 124. Benefit, under mask of calamities, xi. 424 ; to others, contingent, xii. 28 ; the end of nature, ii. 109 ; xi. 388 ; law, iii. 155 ; not to be set down in list, 102 ; low, and high, i. 131 ; in- direct, iii. 158 ; shower of, i. 320 ; true and false, vii. 112. Benevolence, is life, i. 123 ; founda- tion of manners, iii. 138 ; does not consist in giving, 102, 148 ; un- happy, ii. 129 ; not measured by works, iii. 101. See, also. Charity. Bentley, Richard, ii. 146 ; vii. 312. Benumb, power to, vi. 255. Beranger, quoted, vi. 147 ; vii. 303. Beridden people, vi. 273 ; vii. 171. Berkeley, Bishop, anecdote of, iii. 259. Bernard, St., i. 297; ii. 118. Berrying, ix. 41 /. Beryl beam, vi. 265. Best, index of what should be the aver- age, iii. 233 ; love of, ix. 11 ; we are near, iii. 224 : is the true, 268 : xi. 190. Best moments, men to be valued by, vi. 273. Best thing easiest, iv. 12. Best way, always a, vi. 163. Bethlehem, heart, ix. 67; star, 276; X. 92. Bettine, see Arnim, B. von. Between lines, we read, viii. 187. Bias, need of, iii. 68, 225 ; v. 137 ; vi. 17, 127, 253 ; viii. 72, 134, 290, 291, 293 ; X. 143 ; xii. 28. Bible, not closed, i. 142 ; iv. 25 ; Eng- lish language from, v. 99 ; iv. 191 ; literature of Europe, vii. 186 ; mil- lenniums to make, 209 ; viii. 173 ; rolled from heart of nature, ix. 16 ; best reading, iii. 65 ; reverence for, an element of civilization, iv. 46 ; v. 209 ; and science, x. 317 ; quoted to justify slavery, xi. 220 ; immortal sentences, i. 148 ; like an old violm, viii. 173. See Scripture. Bible, of England, v. 243; for heroes, X. 299; of the learned, iv. 41; of opinions, vi. 55; for soldiers, xi. 112. Bibles, of world, vii. 208, 209; viii. 41 ; we must write, iv. 276. Bibliomania, vii. 199. Bibulous of sea of light, ii. 272. Bigotry, a spice of, needed, iii. 178 ; xii. 49. Biography, is autobiography, xi. 267 ; clumsy, iv. 196 ; to be generalized, ii. 25 ;" in a gift, iii. 155 ; is history, ii. 15, 62, 311 ; moral of, iv. 19 ; viii. 280 ; of soul, vi. 268 ; value, i. 156. Bipolarity, iii. 96. Birds, ix. 283 ; almanac, ix. 154 ; au- gur and, X. 19 ; bring auguries, ix. 268 ; baggage, 277 ; named without gun, ix. 78 ; tell history, 106 ; what they say, vi. 267 ; pairing, an idyl, iii. 29 ; plumage, has a reason, vii. 55 ; punctual, ix. 126 ; sacred, i. 241 ; language, ix. Ill, 306. Birmingham, character, v. 45, 97, 242. 282 GENERAL INDEX. Birth, elegance comes of, iii. 143 ; iv. 65 ; vi. 157, 169. Birthplace, x. 194. Bishop, English, v. 213, 219. Biters, small, xi. 182. Blackberries, ix. 42. Blackbirds, ix. 38, 148. Black coats, company of, vii. 232. Black drop in veins, vi. 15. Black events, triumpli over, ii. 299. Blair, Hugh, viii. 115. Blake, William, viii. 31 ; quoted, 275, 299. Blame, safer than praise, ii. 114. Blasphemer, village, i. 138. Bleaching souls, x. 207. Bleed for me, iii. 155. Blessed be nothing, ii. 294. Blessing poor land, xi. 403. Blight, ix. 122/". Blind, children of, see, v. 64. Blinders, horse goes better with, v. 88 ; xii. 47. Blind-man's-buff, conformity a, ii. 57 ; X. 24. Bliss, Rev. Daniel, xi. 69. Bloated nothingness, ii. 151 ; vanity, xi. 197. Blockade, Reform, a paper blockade, i. 269. Blockheads, vi. 255. Blonde race, v. 68. Blood, all of one, ii. 71 ; prejudice in favor of, vi. 169 ; royal blood does not pay, x. 48 ; surcharge, vi. 69. Bloomer costume, vi. 278. Blossoming in stone, ii. 25. Blot on world, x. 188. Blows, refreshed by, vi. 191. Bluebird, ix. 148 ; x. 450 ; xii. 7G. Blue-eyed pet, gentian, ix. 87. Blue glory of years, vii. 166. Blumenbach, on races, v. 47. Boa constrictor, iv. 76. Boasters, i. 209 ; vi. 11. Boat, shape, how determined, vii. 45 ; sky-cleaving, ix. 66; steering, xii. 27. Boccaccio, the Valdarfer, vii. 200. Bodleian Library, v. 191, 195. Body, human, artist's study of, xii. 121 ; caricatures us, vi. 283 ; cus- tody, iii. 31 ; expressiveness, vi. 170 ; pass hand through, viii. 25 ; type of house, iv. 154 ; magazine of inventions, vii. 151 ; true Lethe, xii. 78 ; masks, vii. 106 ; mechan- ical aids to, 153 ; a meter, 151 ; mi- crocosm, vi. 121 ; Plotinus on, 430 ; property like, vi. 122 ; and mind, vii. 106 ; and soul, ii. 101, 172 ; iii. 9, 32; iv. 82; vi. 163; viii. 321; sound, at the root of all excellence, X. 46 ; chest of tools, viii. 136 ; world and, i. 68. BoKCE, Etienne de la, ix. 76/. Bohemian Hymn, ix. 298/. Bohn's Library, vii. 194. Bold, be, iv. 59. Bonaparte, Napoleon, ^ee Napoleon Bonaparte. Bone-house called man, vii. 141, 213. Boniface, burly, vi. 67. Boniform soul, iv. 81. Book, of fashion, iii. 147 ; of nature, vi. 20. Books, vii. 179-210; i. 89-95; each age writes its own, 90 ; not same to all, ii. 141 ; who reads all may read any, viii. 298 ; influence on authors, xii. 178 ; bad, easily found, vii. 181 ; bank estimate of, 181 ; benefits, 182 ; viii. 185 ; best, notes of, 184 ; burning, ii. 115 ; character in, x. 191 ; choice in, vii. 186 ; for closet, 208 ; many but commentators, 185 ; company in, ii. 142 ; confidences, vii. 279 ; conscience, 208 ; convict us, viii. 295 ; criticism, vii. 254 ; culture, vi. 136; vii. 186; x. 141; debt to, vii. 182 ; xii. 178 ; deep, help us most, viii. 280 ; delight in, i. 93; vii. 188, 199; dull, i. 178; education of, vii. 183 ; English, v. 39, 92 ; in experience, vii. 182 ; be- long to eyes that see them, iii. 54 ; of facts, viii. 279 ; fancies, ix. 215 ; favorites, iii. 104 ; vii. 199 ; are fev/, ii. 315 ; vii. 184 ; for the few, viii. 208 ; fragmentary, iv. 100 ; five Greek, vii. 188 ; growth, xii. 24 ; are for the scholar's idle times, i. 92 ; imaginative, iii. 35, 37 ; vii. 202, 204, 207 ; immortality in, 182 ; in- spiration, viii. 279 ; knowledge from, vi. 207 ; commentary on life, ii. 13 ; consulted instead of life, x. 191 ; the man behind, iv. 267 j mean, 187 ; method of reading, vii. 185 ; mirac- ulous, xii. 177 ; all written by one man, iii. 222 ; moral power, vii. 182 ; read old, vii. 187 ; a man can write but one, vi. 127 ; outgrown, viii. 69 ; permanent, ii. 146 ; smell of pines, 59 ; professor of, needed, vii. 183 ; read by proxy, 209 ; quotation, iv. 44 ; reader makes, vii. 278, 279 ; viii. 185 ; good when we are ready for them, vi. 137 ; read proudly, iii. 222 ; resources, viii. 169 ; revolution dogging, X. 242 ; sacredness, i. 90 ; semi-canonical, vii. 208 ; tire, iii. GENERAL INDEX. 283 58 ; theory of, i. 89 ; all thought not in, 1G2 ; abstraction of time in, 93 ; time for, vii. 162 ; time, judge of, 187 ; the transcendental in, iii. 35 ; for travelers, v. 34 ; viii. 279 ; use, i. 91 ; ii. 155 ; viii. 274 ; value, i. 90 ; iii. 35 ; viii. 225 ; vocabularies, vii. 201 ; prized by wise, viii. 170 ; put us in working mood, 280 ; ix. 274; world, iv. 192; for youth, x. 141 ; xii. 193. See, also. Authors, Literature, Reading. Boots, become fairies, vi. 288 ; do not live to wear out, viii. 321. Boreal fleece, ix. 175. Bores, we find our account in, iii. 64. Borgia, Caesar, ii. 11. Born again, vi. 29. Born red, dies gray, ii. 238. Born too soon, viii. 205. Borrow, George, v. 219 ; viii. 83. Borrowing, ii. 108 ; literary, vii. 171, 275; viii. 174,182. Boscage, i. 294. Boscovich, quoted, iii. 52. Boss, viii. 135. Boston, xii. 83-111. Boston Hymn, ix. 174-177. Boston (poem), ix. 182-187. Boston, a gate of America, i. 350; copies and is copied, xi. 152 ; cows laid out, vi. 119 ; not a fair share of originality of thought, xii. 104 ; never wanted a good principle of rebellion, 103, 107 ; slave-hunters in, xi. 160 ; Unitarianism, x. 196. Botanist, finds flowers in pavements, viii. 302 ; quatrain to, ix. 239. Botany, abortions in, viii. 152 ; Goethe in, iv. 262 ; x. 319 ; leaf, unit in, iv. 262 ; metamorphosis in, viii. 14 ; x. 319 ; is all names, vi. 267 ; ix. 123. Botany Bay children, iii. 202. Bottle, man in, vi. 270. Boufflers, Chevalier de, quoted, vi. 240. Bounties on production, vi. 104. Bow and arrow times, xi. 397. Bow, of beauty, carve, ix. 53 ; strings to, X. 40 ; toy with, vi. 232 ; ix. 267. Boxes, universe a nest of, viii. 316. Box-turtle, talk with, v. 213. Boy and Mantle, story, ii. 37. Boyishness of men, vii. 120. Boys, bad, vi. 245 ; and cats, xi. 183 ; characterized, x, 137 ; cleverness, 138 ; country, vii. 117 ; debt to im- aginative books, vi. 296 ; x. 141 ; delights, 146; education, vi. 134, 137 ; viii. 125 ; like flies, x. 137 ; happiness in humble life, vii. 117 ; holidays, 162 ; love, ii. 164 ; man- ners, V i. 164 ; masters of play- ground, X. 137 ; nature of, 142 ; and new-comer, ii. 149 ; their non- chalance tlie liealthy attitude of human nature, 50 ; early old, vii. 117 ; in parlor, ii. 50 ; perceptions, X. 138 ; poetry, viii. 68 ; reading, iii. 68. Bradshaw, John, iii. 107 ; x. 411. Brag, V. 143-146 ; x. 170. Brahma, ix. 170/. Brains, differences of, x. 47 ; male and female, iv. 105. Bramante, xii. 133, 139. Brandy, revenue from, vii. 34. Brant, Joseph, ii. 155. Brasidas, ii. 234 ; vii. 79. Bravery, xi. 200. See, also, Courage. Bread, not the aim, i. 276 ; ii. 211 ; xi. 331 ; heavenly, v. 243, viii. 64 ; history of, iii. 60; transubstautia- tion of, vi. 123 ; viii. 38. Bride, blow from, iv. 166; danger, as a, i. 146; of Michael Angelo, xii. 141 ; solitude as a, i. 168 ; imiverse, iii. 78. Bridges, aerial, xii. 12, 38. Brisbane, Albert, x. 328. Bristed, C. A., quoted, v. 196, 200. Britain. See England. British Constitution, i. 292. Brook Farm, sketch, x. 338-347 ; allu- sions, iii. 61, 229, 250 ; vi. 67, 112 ; xii. 44, 99. Brook, iii. 172. Brotherhood with men, ii. 246 ; xi. 193. Brow, language of the, vi. 14 ; vii. 123. Bbown, John, xi. 249-256; 257-263; on courage, vii. 255 ; integrity, xi. Ill ; eloquence, viii. 122 ; xi. 311 ; memory, xii. 77 ; philanthropy, viii. 102 ; Thoreau's defense of, x. 429 ; and Virginians, vii. 256 ; and Gov. Wise, 255 ; xi. 253. Browne, Sir Thomas, quoted, viii. 53. Bruin dance of Shakers, ^^. 226. Brummel, Beau, v. Ill ; x. 434. Brunei, I. K., vi. 118. Brutes. See Animals. Brutus, ii. 240 ; xi. 213. Buccaneers' bargain, xi. 185. Bud, extrudes the old leaf, x. 181. Buddhism, viii. 19. Buddhist, thanks no man, i. 319 ; iii. 157 ; nature no B., 225 ; viii. 45. Bude-light, vii. 36. Build your own world, i. 79. Builded better than he knew, ix. 16. 284 GENERAL INDEX. Building, taste in, ^^. 276. Bulkeley, Rev. Edward, xi. G4, C6, 80. Bulkeley, Rev. Peter, xi. 35, 43, 59, G4, GG ; xii. 93. Bull, Mr., xii. '_>02. Bull-dog bite, xii. 70. Bull Run, battle, xi. 108, 115. Bulwer, v. 231 ; xii. 227, 232. Buncombe, x. 458. Bundles, souls not saved in, vi. 205. Bunker Hill, Webster's speech at, xi. 209. Bunyan, John, viii. 32. Buonarotti. See Angelo, Michael. Burglars, vi. 29 ; xii. 21. Burial rites, viii. 308-9. Burke, Ednuuid, v. 232, 236 ; quoted, ii. 107; vi. 90, 156; vii. 136; viii. 19, 170 ; X. 203 ; xi. 215. Burnet, Bishop, quoted, xi. 237. Burning, all things burn, vii. 140. BuKNS, Robert, xi. 363-369 ; common things inspired, i. Ill ; x. 56 ; apos- trophe to the devil, iv. 133 ; x. 2S2 ; influence, viii. 68; a Platonist, v. 228. Business, i. 220 ; ii. Ill ; vi. 75. Busybodies, vii. 293 ; x. 28. Busyraue, inscription, iv. 59. Butler, Samuel, Hndibras, v. 223. Buttons, friend's, ii. 200. Buying, vii. 107, 108. Buzz, 1.264; iii. 51. Byron, xii. 227 ; clarion of disdain, ix. 206 ; xii. 236 ; Platonist, v. 228 ; xii. 186, 227; quoted, ii. 155; v. 222, 228; rhetoric, ii. 330; and Scott, viii. 300 ; subjectiveness, xii. 186. Cabalism, iv. 30 ; v. 213 ; xi. 407. Cabanis, quoted, iv. 147. Cabman a phrenologist, vi. 14. Cjesar, Julius, admired, iv. 27 ; en- durance, xii. 12G ; a gentleman, iii. 123 ; intellectual, vi. 152 ; in irons, iii. 94 ; estimate of life, 260 ; called his house Rome, i. 79 ; well-read, vi. 136. Cain, x. 213. Calamity, our friend, ii. 119, 247, 300 ; vi. 39, 155 ; xi. 424. See, also, Ac- cidents, Disasters, Misfortune. Calculators, nature hates, iii. 70. Calendar, of flowers and birds, ix. 154; Thoreau's, x. 438. See, also, Almanac. California, gold discovery, vi. 242 ; government, xi. 247 ; what money will buy in, 101. Call, preacher's, i. 134 ; talent a, ii. 134. Calls, limit to, viii. 90. Calomel of culture, x. 151. Calvinism, age of, x. 196 ; and Armini- auism, 311 ; culture, xii. 96 ; doomed, x. 116 ; drill, vii. 95 ; fatalism, vi. 11 ; fruits, x. 373 ; from diseased liver, iii. 55 ; mordant, x. Ill ; in Plato, iv. 42 ; revivals, ii. 265 ; safe- guard, iii. 202 ; same everywhere, X. 107 ; its shadow, viii. 311 ; vin- dictive, X. 105. Cambridge University, v. 191. Camper, Pieter, viii. 160. Camping out, ix. 161, Caudle, the scholar a, vii. 16. Cannon in a parlor, viii. 117. Cannonade, Walden's, ix. 146. Cant, English, v. 218, 219 ; provokes common sense, xi. 245 ; American, 400. Capdeuil, Pons, quoted, vii. 288 ; viii. 41, 61. Capo Cod farm, xi. 403. Capital punishment, iii. 200 ; xii. 104. Capitalists, we must be, vi. 122. Capuchins of 19th century, ii. 32. Carlini, anecdote of, viii. 166. Carlisle, Countess of, x. 372. Carlyle, Thomas, x. 453-463; Past AND Present, xii. 237-248 ; brag, v. 146; conversation, x. 455; cham- pion of modern England, xii. 247 ; preacher of fate, v. 237 ; love of he- roic, ii. 233 ; historian, i. 165 ; real- ism, 111; style, xii. 246; quota- tions, 186 ; rhetoric, ii. 330 ; xii. 247 ; at Stonehenge, v. 259 ; visit to, 8, IS ; Wordsworth on, 24 ; cele- bi-ates the laws of decay, 237. Carnival, America a, iii. 40 ; world a, vi. 296 ; vii. 10, 163. Carpets, i. 233. Carrion, converts itself to flowers, iv. 133. Cartsi ii. 221. Caryatides, of the temple of conven- tions, xii. 254. Casella, ix. 243. Cassandra, x. 404. Castalian water, kills, v. 198 ; xi. 228. Caste, iii. 127; iv. 65; vii. 113; x. 36. Castles, in air, better than dimgeons, vi. 251 ; xii. 42 ; English, v. 183. Casual, success is, iii. 70. Catacombs, viii. 309. Catechisms, ii. 292; iv. 117, 171; x. 31. Cathedrals, ii. 17, 22, 25 ; v. 206 ; vii. 56, 58 ; ix. 144. Catholicity, vii. 30, 33; viii. 295; x. 42. GENERAL INDEX. 285 Caucus, xi. 234, 352, 413. Causationists, all successful men are causationists, vi. 56. Cause, aud etfect, the chancellors of God, ii. 87 ; give the true connec- tion that cannot be severed, 100, 215, 283, 293; iv. 162; v. 232; vi. 56 ; X. 14 ; xi. 390 ; xii. 09 ; final, i. 52; first, ii. 70; iii. 74; iv. 177; vii. 172 ; search for, i. 191 ; skepti- cism is unbelief in cause aud effect, vi. 210. '• Causes," made up into little cakes to suit purchasers, i. 329. Cavendish, Thomas, quoted, xi. 185. Celts, V. 50, 57. Cenobite, i. 231. Censors, need of, vi. 212. Census, no criterion of the popula- tion, vi. 236. Cent, representative, iii. 197 ; x. 30. Centigraded man, x. 37. Centrality, ii. 61, 297 ; iii. 98 ; iv. 15, 103; vii. 219, 278; vui. 44,71, 179, 210, 211, 287. Centrifugal forces, i. 281 ; iii. 31. Centuries, what thej'^ say, iv. 176 ; days as, vi. 235; viii. 318. Cerberus, cakes to, vi. 193. Ceremony, i. 371 ; iii. 122 ; xi. 341. Cervantes, x. 56 ; xi. 367. Chair, should hold a king, iii. 133. Chance, ii, 87 ; iii. 71 ; iv. 163 ; none in the universe, vi. 308. Change, i. 55 ; iii. 58 : v. 109 ; viii. 10, 190. Channels, men are, iii. 230, 207. Channing, Dr. William EUery, x. 162, 222, 312, 320-322 ; quoted, iv. 177. Channing, William Henry, Ode to, ix. 71 ; allusions to, x. 322, 342. Chapman, George, vii. 189 ; viii. 52 ; quoted, iii. 34. Characteb, iii. 87-113 ; x. 91-121 ; lines, ix. 231 ; like acrostic, ii. 59 ; all interested in, x. 38 ; analysis, xii. 208; identified with the soul, iii. 217 ; body expresses, ii. 150 ; iii. 18, 268 ; vi. 15 ; in books, x. 191 ; a matter of climate, 171 ; conceal- ment impossible, ii. 150 ; conversa- tion the vent of, vii. 223 ; cumula- tive, ii. 60; in dark, iii. Ill; de- fined, 95, 103; vi. 176; xii. 108; X. 119, 190; not organic, iii. 256; habit of dealing directly, 92; emitted in events, ii. 147 ; vi. 45, 216 ; developed by evil, 242 ; let ex- pense proceed from, 109 ; vii. 107 ; force, cumulative, ii. 60; gauges of, i. 337 ; growth, iii. 101 ; house. shows, vii. 108, 123 ; we exaggerate, iii. 217; influence, ii. 268; iii. 108, 207; higher than intellect, i. 99; viii. 300 ; inventory of, iii. 56 ; known, i. 122 ; magnetism, iii. 90 ; vii. 287 ; music-box, iii. 55 ; in poli- tics, 206 ; xi. 402 ; opinions are con- fession of, vi. 214 ; perception con- verted into, 32 ; i. 211 ; preferred to performance, vi. 200 ; power, i. 156 ; ii. 299 ; development of, xii. 235 ; in prayers, 213 ; hedged by odium, vi. 155; relations from, vii. 123 ; religion is knowing, iii. 112 ; X. 203 ; a reserved force, iii, 90 ; revelation of, vi. 216, 218 ; x. 16 ; romance of, iii. 143 ; sifting of, 130 ; simplicity the basis of, vi. 305 ; X. 171 ; xii. 58 ; self-sufficing- ness, iii. 98 ; x. 121 ; and talent, ii, 299; vi. 208, 244; vii. 176; x, 265; trusted, viii, 84 ; a meclianical tune, iii, 55 ; victories, vi, 184 ; teaches above our v/ills, ii, 59; is a will built on the reason of things, x. 103 ; habit of action from the per- manent vision of truth, 119, 190, Chaedon Street Convention, x. 349- 354. Charity, divine, i, 19 ; human, ii, 246 ; iii. 149; iv. 173; vi. 237; vii. 137; wicked dollar given to miscellaneous public charities, ii. 53. Charivari, vi. 297 ; viii. 80. Charlemagne, anecdote, v, 58, Charles I. of England, v, 203, Charles II. of England, ii, 273 ; v. 41, 107, Charles V., Emperor, 1. 158; x. 263. Charles XII. of Sweden, vii. 252. Charles River, xii. 88. Charon, iv. 128. Chartist's Complaint, ix. 197. Chastity, viii. 35. Chat Moss, V. 94 ; vii. 145. Chateaubriand, quoted, x. 105. Chatham, Lord. i. 197 ; ii. 60 ; quoted, V. 109, 142. Chaucer, Geoffrey, v. 243 ; a bor- rower, iv. 189; and Coke, vi. 128; genius, iv. 188 ; gladness, i. 93 ; iv. 206 ; grasp, v. 223 ; humanity, ii. 270; imagination, iii. 34; iv. 206; influence, iv. 188; inspiration, viii. 279 ; nature in, i. 163 ; Plutarch, x. 281; richness, iii. 43; self-naming, viii. 239 ; and Wordsworth, xii. 226 ; quoted, iii. 34 ; vi. 11, 48, 198. Chauncy, Dr. Charles, eloquence, viii. 124. Cheapness, of men, iv. 34 ; vii. 109. 286 GENERAL INDEX. Cheating, ii. 110, 114; fear of being cheated and fear of cheating, vi. 206. Cheerfubiess, iii. 270 ; iv. 205 ; v. 125 ; vi. 153, 250-252; vii. 278, 288; x. 250. Chemist, makes sugar of shirts, vi. 249; meeting, vii. 225; time a, ix. 121. Chemistry, agricultural, i. 360 ; vii. 138, 143 ; charm, viii. 11 ; takes to pieces, vi. 268 ; of eloquence, viii. 126 ; secondary, 21 ; on higher plane, vi. 210 ; vii. 19 ; of spring, ix. 158 ; apes vegetation, vi. 294 ; world's, iv. 120. Cherubim, ii. 321 ; iii. 59 ; of destiny, vi. 29. Chesterfield, Lord, x. 63; xii. 152; quoted, v. 116 ; viii. 86, 121 ; x. 164. Childhood, the age of Gold, ii. 41. Children, vii. 101-104; guardian an- gels of, iv. 33 ; attitudes, viii. 82 ; charm, vii. 103 ; not deceived, vi. 218 ; delight in, 299 ; love of du-t, x. 345; discipline, iii. 205; x. 142; education, i. 121 ; ii. 262 ; iii. 60, 178 ; vi. 62 ; vii. 102 ; viii. 203, 215 ; love of exaggeration, x. 169 ; faces, vi. 272 ; fairy-tales, xii. 233 ; fears, ii. 140 ; vii. 243 ; of gods, 107 ; good, die young, vi. 246 ; home, vii. 104, 109 ; horizon, vi. 253 ; hospitality suffers from, vii. 109 ; illusions, vi. 299 ; imaginative, vii. 202 ; x. 146 ; xii. 233 ; softening influence, ii. 96 ; inspiration, x. 142 ; language, i. 32 ; viii. 135, 189 ; fear of life without end, 314; love masks, xii. 54 ; memory, 71 ; believe in exter- nal world, i. 63 ; nonconformists, iii. 104 ; iv. 33 ; x. 143 ; oracles, ii. 49 ; picture-books, vii. 103 ; provi- dence for, 101 ; repression, ii. 32 ; X. 307 ; respect for, 142 ; their reverence, 153-198 ; love of rhyme, viii. 48 ; self-reliance, ii. 50 ; toys, iii. 32, 178; vii. 103; vehemence, iv. 47 ; voices, vii. 286. See, also, Babe, Boys, Girls. Chimborazo, poet a, iii. 15. China, emperor's aimual sowing, viii. 294 ; woman in, xi. 346. Cliinese, in California, viii. 139 ; quo- tations, iii. 108 ; xi. 296. Chivalry, lies in courtesy, ii. 22; iii. 118, 128, 147 ; vii. 30 ; liberty the modern, xi. 229. Choice, of occupation, i. 225 ; willful and constitutional, ii. 133; in con- duct, iv. 182 ; X. 94, 189. Cholera, safeguard against, vi. 221. Chores, vii. 32, 116. Christ. See Jesus Christ. Christianity, advantages, i. 147 ; al- loyed, X. 106 ; not in the catechism, ii. 292 ; in one child, x. 100 ; signi- fied culture, vi. 197 ; old as crea- tion, xi. 388; defect, i. 129; the doctrine, as distinguished from su- pernatural claims, 390; ethics, x, 114 ; xi. 25, 271 ; xii. 162 ; excellence, X. 219 ; not a finality, ii. 292 ; hea- thenism in, vi. 200 ; historical, de- stroys power to preach, i. 139 ; lost, 142 ; vi. 200 ; miraculous claims, X. 106; xi. 25, 390; an Eastern monarchy, i. 129 ; no monopoly, 130 ; a mythus, 128 ; opinions in, x. 194 ; paganism in, 110 ; a protest, 106 ; preaching, i. 139; and other reli- gions, viii. 174 ; xi, 391 ; vigor lost by, ii. 84. Chronology, a kitchen clock, viii. 202. Church, as amusement, iii. 254; au- thority, 239, 265 ; beneficent, x. 117, 218, 228, 355; Calvinistic and liberal, iii. 265 ; x. 116 ; clergy fall- ing from, 238 ; cramps, xi. 382 ; early customs, 18 ; doctrines, ii. 52 ; externality, vi. 201 ; false sen- timent, iii. 249 ; famine, i. 134 ; his- tory, xi. 383; leaving, iii. 249; of one member, xi. 389 ; clings to the miraculous, x. 114 ; not necessary, vi. 195 ; new, 229 ; opinions on, iv. 151 ; outgrown, xi. 382 ; now in re- form movements, iii. 239 ; religion and, 265 ; vi. 226 ; saints persecuted by, V. 203 ; the scholar is, x. 238 ; scientific, vi. 229; sepulchre, viii. 310 ; services, i. 138 ; the silent church, before service, ii. 71 ; and slavery, x. 114 ; and soul, i. 141 ; stinginess, xi. 391 ; tottering, i. 134 ; value, X. 193, 195 ; the wise need none, iii. 206 ; withered, iv. 117 ; yoke, ii. 129. Church, bells, vii. 281 ; building, ii. 54 ; going to, i. 136, 141. Cicero, de Senectute, -vii. 297. Cid, vii. 189, 207 ; viii. 29, 295 ; x. 45 ; xi. 262. Cineas, question of, xi. 326. Circe, iii. 140, 227. Circles, ii. 279-300 ; iv. 107 ; vii. 138. Circumstances, depend on the man, i. 266, 316; ii. 61; iii. 96; vi. 295; vii. 115 ; xi. 192 ; a costume, i. 158 ; ii. 116, 120 ; x. 141, 385 ; power and, vi. 19 ; robber-troops of, viii. 233 ; trust not in, xi. 190, Circumstantial evidence, x. 449. GENERAL INDEX. 287 Cities, make us artificial, vii. 148 ; at- tractions, vi. 58, 142 ; not the cer- tificate of civilization, vii. 35 ; ef- fects and causes of civilization, xi. 106; reinforced from the country, i. 24 ; iii. 126 ; vl. 142 ; vii. 136 ; ix. 169, 214 ; cramp, iii. 165 ; dangers, vi. 212 ; degrade, 147 ; estimates, iii. 163; hiding in, vi. 212; influ- ence, vii. 148 ; x. 252 ; xii. 89 ; take the nonsense out of a man, vi. 143 ; are phalansteries, x. 336 ; clubs only in, vii. 230 ; solitude in, i. 13, 169 ; stars in, 13 ; embodiment of thought, vi. 46 ; permanent tone, xii, 108 ; trade sows, ix. 25 ; walk- ing, vi. 45. Cityof God, i. 13; iii. 171. City state, Massachusetts, xii. 107. Civilization, vii. 21-37 ; armies carry, xi. 106 ; barbarities, 152 ; cities its first effects, 106 ; defini- tion, vii. 23; dress the mark of, viii. 86; ours English, x. 173; xi. 152 ; train of felonies, iv, 170 ; he- roic, xi. 152, 279 ; history, iii. 118 ; X. 126 ; xi. 408 ; in its infancy, iii. 207 ; vi. 295 ; man the test of, vii. 34; xi. 419; meters of, x. 173; a mistake, 335 ; none without a deep morality, vii. 30 ; mounts, 156 ; no isolated perfection, xi. 173 ; of one race impossible while another race is degraded, 173 ; railroads plant, vii. 154 ; a reagent, v. 51 ; sleepy, xi. 397 ; styles, 152 ; triumphs, ii. 82 ; vii. 159 ; xi. 325 ; in the United States, viii. 74 ; xi. 279 ; woman the index of, vii. 27 ; xi. 340. Civilization, American, xi. 275, 290. Clarendon, Lord, vii. 84 ; quoted, iv. 19 ; V. 69 ; vii. 118. Class, best, in society, viii. 99. Classics, iii. 245, Classification, i. 87; ii. 17; vii. 310; pedantry of, viii. 160. Claude Lorraine glasses, vi. 299. Claverhouse, vi. 168. Clergy, character of, i. 95 ; x. 115 ; xi. 351 ; their bronchitis, vi. 270 ; x. 220 ; changed, 108, 238 ; their fitting companions, vi. 250, 271 ; emanci- pation of, X. 116; embarrassments, 225; English, v. 210, 213; New England, xi. 75 ; opportunity, x. 221 ; in politics, xi. 351 ; position, i. 95, 139; their duty self-possession, X. 221 ; similarity, 220 ; subservi- ency, 220 ; teachers, 222 ; visits, i. 143 ; vii. 215 ; voice, vi. 270 ; Wordsworth on, v. 208. Climate, English, v. 41, 94; coal a portable, vi. 86 ; infiuence, vii. 29, 69, 143, 144; x. 171; xii. 85, 97; sword of, vi. 13. Clio's sheU, viii. 272 ; ix. 278. Cloaks of character, ii. 38 ; vii. 119. Clocks, vegetable, i. 24 ; geological, viii. 202. Clothes. See Dress. Cloud, bars of, i. 23 ; ii. 201 ; cannot be cut down, x. 449 ; eating, i. 327 ; flocks, 48 ; forms, ii. 23, 125 ; part- ing, iii. 73; purple awning, xi. 33; purple-piled, ix. 153 ; rack of, iii. 225; vi. 295; we regard, ii. 213; sable pageantry, ix. 218 ; summer, iii. 184 ; sunset, 167 ; tent of, i. 18. Clubs, vii. 211-236; transcendental, ii. 129 ; manners make, vi. 165, 260 ; scholars, vii. 210; must be exclu- sive, viii. 89 ; scientific, xii. 7. Coal, and civilization, x. 173 ; porta- ble climate, vi. 86 ; idealizes, xi. 423; stored up sunshine, x. 73; work, vii. 153 ; viii. 262. Coat, of climate, i. 18 ; of philosophy, iv . 153 ; of hair, vi. 115. Cobbett, William, quoted, v, 108. Cobdeu, Richard, vi. 78. Cobweb, cloth of manners, viii. 80; clews, ix. 219. Cockayne, v. 140-148 ; vi. 117. Cockering, iii. 153 ; v. 188 ; vi. 248. Cohesion, social, vi. 194. Coincidences, viii. 51 ; x, 15, 27. Coke, Lord, v. 171 ; vi. 128. Cold, inconsiderate of persons, vi. 12, 36 ; viii. 274 ; ix. 200. Coleridge, Samuel T., American ap- preciation of, xii. 98 ; cliaracterized, V. 236 ; his definitions, xii. 210 ; and Edinburgh Review, v, 279 ; on fear in battle, vii. 247 ; on French, v. 236 ; on infancy, vii. 102 ; and Lan- dor, xii. 210 ; on poetry, 226 ; and Shakespeare, vii. 50 ; subjective- ness, xii. 186 ; visit to, v. 8, 13 ; on woman, viii. 92 ; xi. 337 ; quoted, i. 49 ; X. 238. Cohseum, vii. 57. Colleges, advantages, vi. 139 ; x. 148 ; iii. 246 ; one benefit of, to show their little avail, vi. 139 ; festivals, vii. 120, 162; libraries, 183; natu- ral, iii. 247 ; x. 147 ; reading, vii. 183; rules, ii. 308; office of, i. 94, 99; X. 148; in civil war, 246; wit better than wealth in, i. 95. Collingwood, Lord, v. 69, 86, 120. Collignon, Auguste, iv. 155. 288 GENERAL INDEX. Collins, William, viii. 57 ; ix. 20G. Colonists, stutf for, vi. 245. Colomia, Vittoria, viii. 206 ; xii. 137. Color, vii. 282. Columbia of thought, xi. 329 ; xii. 101. Columbus, Christopher, adaptation to his work, vi. 42 ; has given a chart to every sliip, iv. 18 ; discoveries, ii. 84 ; iii. 81 ; xi. 329 ; eloquence, vii. 82 ; fury to complete his map, vi. 93 ; lonely, vii. 13 ; one in a thou- sand years, iv. 79 ; perception, xi. 192 ; needs planet, ii. 39 ; reason of his voyage, i. 345 ; time fit for, vi. 41 ; tobacco, 301 ; at Veragua, vii. 2G9 ; sails wisdom, 55. Columns, the poetry of, vi. 279. Come-outers, i. 202 ; x. 352. Comedy, viii. 151. Comfort, vi. 148 ; vii. 108. Comic, The, viii. 149-166. Comma, aUve, iv. 2C8. Command, iii. 94 ; viii. 291 ; x. 120. Commander, because he is com- manded, i. 253 ; vii. 80 ; viii. 87 ; x. 48, 153 ; xii. 238. Commandments, keeping the, iii. 66 ; V. 102 ; begin where we will, we are soon mumbling our ten command- ments, ii. 227. Commerce, beneficent tendency, i. 184, 350, 354 ; of trivial import, ii. 295 ; iii. 66 ; vi. 64, 87, 98, 107 ; po- etry of, X. 172 ; selfish, i. 220. Commines, Philip de, quoted, v. 82; viii. 119. Commodities, i. 18, 47, 226 ; ii. 196 ; vi. 274. Common sense, i. 176; ii. 220; iii. 176 ; vi. 99 ; astonishes, vii. 275 ; is perception of matter, viii. 9; re- straining grace of, 26 ; xi. 421 ; as rare as genius, iii. 69. Common things, poetry of, i. 55, 110 ; iv. 55 ; vii. 169 ; xii. 40. Communism, Communities, i. 359 ; iii. 252; vi. 67; x. 183, 325; xii. 251 ; the members will be fractions of men, iii. 251. See, also, Associa- tions, Brook Farm. Compact, highest, vi. 184, Companions, iii. 63 ; vi. 130, 256, 259/; vii. 216, 218, 230, 232 ; viii. 88. Company, adaptedness, vii. 228 ; bad, i. 327 ; defects, iii. 63 ; desire for, 64 ; viii. 90 ; evening, vi. 177 ; good, vii. 222 ; viii. 89 ; x. 139 ; high, of soul, 275; limitations, ii. 198; low, liking for, vii. 232 ; self-distribution in, 19 ; need not show cause for seeking or shunning, ii. 53 ; forced smile in, 56 ; suiierers in, vii. 220 ; paralysis of unfit, xii. 24. Compensation, ii. 89-122; ix. 77, 229, of actions, ii. 281 ; belief in, vi. 56 ; pay debts, x. 128 ; for errors, iv. 154; fatal, vii. 300; of friend- ship, iii. 262 ; for evils of govei'ii- ment, vi. 63 ; illustrations, 241 ; of infirmities, iii. 266 ; memory, xii. 74 ; nature a, vii. 280 ; old age, 309 ; pain has its compensations, xii. 270/; in trade, vi. 107; of uni- verse, i. 231. Competitions, iv. 27. Complainers, i. 235 ; vi. 148, 188. Complaisance, i. 155, 209, Complexion, in old age, vii, 309; xi. 348. Compliance, ii. 199 ; iii. 82. Compliments, the highest, i, 276; ii. 274. Composure, iii. 129 ; viii. 85. Compromises, ii. 190 ; vi. 203 ; xi. 283, 404. Compunctions, time wasted in, iv. 132. Concealment, ii. 151 ; of what does not concern us, iii. 231 ; no, vi. 212. Conceit, the distemper of, ii. 113 ; vi. 128, 133 ; vii. 278 ; viii. 104. Concentration, i. 223 ; iv. 225 ; v. 86 ; vi. 74, 75, 127; viii. 294; x. 261; xii. 47, 53. Concert in action, iii. 252 ; vii. 16, Concini's wife, iii. 94. Concord, Historical Discourse, xi. 31-97. Hymn, ix. 139. Ode, ix. 173. Soldiers' Monument, Address, xi. 99-128. Committee of Safety, x. 357, note; drainage at, vii. 144/; fairy tales true at, ii. 38 ; Kossuth at, xi. 359 ; Plain, ix. 213 ; Revolution not begun in, i. 209 ; River, iii. 166 ; ix. 128 ; social circle, x. 357, note. Cond(5, Prince of, vii. 252. Condillac, quoted, i. 313. Condition, i. 10; equalizes itself, ii, 96; favorable, viii, 257, 262; every man's condition an answer to the inquiries he would put, i. 10. Conduct, vi. 9 ; vii. 239 ; x. 199. See, also, Behavior, Manners. Confessionals, two, ii. 73. Confidence, vi. 184. See, also. Cour- age, Sclf-Confidence, Trust. Conformity, scatters your force, i. GENERAL INDEX. 289 143, 232 ; ii. 51, 55, 56, 60, 61 ; iii. 99, 244 ; v. 27, 217 ; ix. 266 ; xi. -404. See, also, Consistency, Custom, Fashion. Confucius, and Christianity, viii. 174 ; genius, vii. 186 ; inspiration, viii. 261 ; xii. 184 ; quoted, ii. 151 ; v. 260 ; viii. 85, 98, 174, 203, 261 ; x. 117, 120 ; xii. 96. Congress, of nations, xi. 201 ; U. S., v. 290 ; vii. 76 ; xi. 162, 353. Conquer, they can who believe they can, vii. 248 ; viii. 142. Conquest, true, ii. 299. Conscience, i. 223, 285 ; essentially absolute, historically limited, 286 ; disconsolate, iii. 66 ; ix. 78 ; agree- ment of, 203 ; vii. 208 ; xi. 333 ; li- cense breeds, vi. 65 ; not good for hands, 67. Conscientiousness, hair-splitting, i. 252 ; X. 344. Consciousness, the double, vi. 49 ; a sliding scale, iii. 74. Consecutiveness, the need of, xii. 48, 147. Consequences, disdain of, xi. 199. Conservative, The, i. 277-307. Conservatism, its basis fate, i. 255- 284 ; iii. 201, 234, 258 ; assumes sick- ness as a necessity, 301 ; iv. 103, 213, 243 ; vi. 18, 65 ; xi. 217, 218. See, also, Democracy, Radicalism. Considerations by the Way, vi. 231- 2()3. Consistency, foolish, ii. 57, 58, 61. See, also. Conformity. Consolation, doctrine of, x. 86; xii. 271. Constantinople, natural capital of the globe, X. 330. Constellations, of facts, ii. 14 ; of men, iv. 194 ; of cities, vii. 35. Constituencies, hearken to the man who stands for a fact, iii. 91 ; xi. 208. Constitution. See U. S., Constitu- tion. Consuelo, Sand, iv. 265 ; vi. 164 ; vii. 204. Consuetudes, ii. 202. Contagion, of energy, iv. 18, 29 ; xii. 22. Contemplation, iv. 254 ; x. 226 ; Eng- lish nobility not addicted to, v. 169. Contention, ii. 225 ; viii. 96. Contentment, ii. 153 ; iii. 63 ; viii. 231. Contradictions, of life, iii. 233. Contradictory, vii. 231, 251. Contrite wood-life, ii. 69. Contritions, ii. 296 ; viii. 96. Controversy, degrades, ii. 225; xi. 387 Conventionalism, i. 366 ; iii. 99, 136 ; vi. 247 ; vii. 13 ; viii. 235 ; reaction against, iv. 275. Conversation, vi. 256-258; vii. 213- 229 ; viii. 88-98, 276-278 ; ability in, vi. 78, 257 ; affinity in, ii. 198 ; vii. 19 ; American and English, v. 112 ; best of arts, xi. 340; best between two, ii. 197 ; vii. 228, 236 ; benefits, iii. 31 ; vi. 143 ; vii. 215 ; of black- smiths, iv. 101 ; Carlyle's, x. 455 ; celestial, xii. 99; chalk eggs, viii. 95 ; a game of circles, ii. 289 ; con- viction, viii. 295 ; in the country, vi. 143 ; egotism spoils, vii. 273 ; equality, iii. 266 ; evanescent rela- tion, ii. 198 ; exaggeration, iii. 135 ; X. 159 ; fatigue of conventional, xi. 205 ; flower of civilization, 340 ; game of, viii. 276 ; xii. 8 ; best of all goods, vi. 257 ; happiness, iii. 137 ; adapted to shape of heads, 57 ; needs heat, vii. 17 ; Hobbes on, vi. 143 ; houses of, viii. 278 ; incen- tives, ii. 184 ; inspiration, viii. 254, 276, 290 ; universal joy, iv. 250 ; law of, ii. 197 ; x. 140 ; best of life, vi. 184, 255 ; a magnetic experiment, vii. 19; third party in, ii. 260; a Pentecost, 289 ; personal, 163 ; iii. 99 ; vi. 131 ; vii. 218 ; viii. 90, 302 ; needs practice, vi. 256; price, iii. 182 ; reading inferred from, viii. 288 ; Dr. Ripley's, x. 3(57 ; rules, viii. 94-97 ; do not daub with sables and glooms, vii. 291 ; the true school of philosophy, viii. 276 ; ser- vile, ii. 273 ; spoilt, 185, 195 ; spon- taneity, iii. 70 ; success, 36 ; supper as basis, vii. 233 ; surfaces, vi. 257 ; Swedenborg, iv. 124 ; topics, vi. 132, 188, 257 ; vii. 213 ; viii. 89, 94 ; xi. 183 ; travel, vi. 255 ; tricks, iii. 228 ; vii. 120 ; tropes, viii. 17 ; shows unity, iii. 266 ; universe, vi. 258 ; war spoils, xi. 184 ; wit, viii. 187 ; woman's, vii. 214 ; viii. 91 ; xi. 340. See Discourse. Conversion by miracles, i. 131 ; of evil spirits, iv. 133 ; Norse mode of, vi. 197, 201. Convertibility, vi. 288; viii. 27; x. 177. Conviction, vii. 91 ; viii. 292 ; x. 226 ; xii. 23. Coolness, iii. 134 ; viii. 85 ; x. 40. See, also. Courage, Presence of Mind, Self-Control. 290 GENERAL INDEX. Cooperation, vii. 14 ; x. 337. Copernican theory, x. 317. Copyright, iii. 67; Plato's, iv. 76; Persian, viii. 239. Corn, shall serve man, xi. 417 ; hon- est, xii. 104. Corn-laws, vi. 202; xi. 293. Corporal pimishment, x. 150, 151. Corpse, adds beauty, i. 22 ; ii. 125 ; of memory, 58. Correlations, vi. 47, 48; viii. 201, 211. Correspondences, iv. 62, 102, 112, 116 ; vii. 283 ; viii. 15, 51, 257 ; xii. 73. Costume, of circumstances, i. 158 ; x. 15 ; novels of, iv. 264 ; xii. 233. Cotton, not to rule, i. 184; x. 202, 334; what is?, 396. Coimsel, from the breast, vii. 275; viii. 293 ; x. 63. See, also, Advice. Countenance, viii. 83. See, also, Face. Country life, i. 24, 36, 349 ; v. 171, 173 ; vi. 142 ; vii. 281 ; viii. 146. Country people, ii. 75; iii. 126, 129, 167 ; vi. 107, 117, 147, 212 ; vii. 133, 136 ; ix. 62, G3 ; x. 165. Courage, vii. 237-263 ; beams of Al- mighty, 33, 258 ; depends on circu- lation, vi. 57 ; of duty, 221 ; new face on things, viii. 141 ; fate teaches, vi. 29 ; X. 94 ; of girls, iii. 122 ; re- sult of knowledge, iv. 63; vi. 135; vii. 247 ; viii. 324 ; universal need of, 113, 288 ; x. 41 ; of principle, xi. 282 ; to ask questions, viii. 94 ; scholar's, x. 260, 294; silent, vii. 255; teaches, i. 133; Thor, symbol of, ii. 72 ; two o'clock in the morn- ing, iv. 226. Courtesy, iii. 120, 132, 134 ; viii. 85 ; xi. 217. See Behavior, Maimers, Politeness. Courts of justice, vii. 85, 86 ; wait for precedents, 275. Courtship, English, v. 107. Cousins, i. 324; iv. 45; things our, vii. 93. Coventry, going to, iii. 128 ; vi. 155 ; cathedral, v. 270. Cowardice, i. 95; ii. 49, 74, 276; iii. 259 ; V. 101 ; vi. 33 ; vii. 243, 244, 255 ; ix. 202 ; xi. 109, 197, 200. See, also, Courage, Fear. Cowry, V. 109 ; vi. 23. Cows, make paths, vi. 119; signal, 171 ; hold up milk, vii. 221 ; no in- terest in landscape, viii. 30. Crab, backward-creeping, xi. 418. Crack in everything, ii. 104. Creation, the, i. 10 ; law of, ii. 340 ; iii, 173 ; viii. 10. Creative, manners, i. 92, 94, 317 ; aims, , ii. 328 ; vii. 203 ; xi. 342. Creator, the, m man, i. 68, 92, 271; iii. 32 ; keeps his word, viii. 319. See, also, God, Lord. Credit, i. 293 ; viii. 84. See, also, Be- lief, Faith, Trust. Creeds, change, x. 194, 227 ; classifi- cations of some one's mind, ii. 78 ; decay, x. 113, 235 ; depend on tem- perament, iii. 55 ; not final, ii. 79 ; multiplicity, xi. 389 ; outgrown, 382 ; reverence, x. 194 ; shrivel, viii. 201 ; out of unbeliefs, iii. 76. See, also, Belief, Church, Religion. Crillon, Count de, quoted, viii. 181. Crime, no shock to Americans, xi. 216; not so black in us as in the felon, iii. 79 ; depend on price of bread, vi. 103 ; not to be concealed, ii. 112 ; must disappear, x. 223 ; English, V. 64 ; defeats end of exist- ence, xi. 223 ; of intellect, experi- ments, iii. 80 ; viii. 297 ; factitious, V. 96 ; of fraud m place of those of force, 310 ; ink of, viii. 297 ; earth is glass to, ii. 112 ; love remedy for, vi. 208 ; nature rids itself of, x. 184 ; does not pay, xi. 288, 422 ; earth a picture of, x. 186 ; punishment, the fruit of, ii. 100, 117 ; cause of, iii. 224 ; not excused, xi. 223 ; snow re- veals, ii. 112 ; more lightly thought of than spoken of, iii. 79 ; proof of superiority, v. 64 ; temple built of, ii. 296 ; ugliness, xi. 175 ; may be virtue, i. 318 ; blimder worse than, iii. 80. Criminals, on even terms with each other, ii. 201. Cripples, the spirit does not love, vi. 227 ; X. 188. Crises, the angel shown in, i. 46 ; ii. 10, 247. Criticism, law of, i. 40 ; iii. 230 ; age of, i. 109, iii. 61, 243, x. 159, 310 ; insufficiency its own, iii. 269; pov- erty of, vii. 279 ; ix. 31. Critic, the over-soul, ii. 252 ; vii. 289 ; a failed poet, viii. 58. Crockery gods, xi. 228. Cromwell, Oliver, vi. 241 ; vii. 33 ; ix. 171 ; quoted, ii. 300 ; xi. 221. Crump and his native devils, ii. 127. Crusades, x. 234. Cuba, i. 221 ; xi. 217. Cudworth, Ralph, vi. 193. Culture, vi. 125-159. Poem, ix. 232. Progress of, viii. 195-222. is the suggestion of wider aflSn- GENERAL INDEX. 291 ities, vi. 132; aims, ii. 211; birth its basis, iv. 65 ; calamity and odium means of, vi. 155 ; calomel' of, X. 151 ; ours cheap, xi. 152 ; drawbacks to, iv. 152 ; must begin early, \i. 157 ; kills egotism, 133 ; effects, i. 54, 55 ; iv. 47 ; identifica- tion of the Ego with the universe, xii. 57 ; the end to whicli a house is built, vii. 114; Euglish, v. 189; enormity of, viii. 205 ; without grandeur, i. 152 ; ends in headache, iii. 61 ; ours European, xii. 258 ; in- dependence, viii. 207 ; instinct, xii. 34; life is for, iv. 272; xi. 222; manual labor as, i. 225 ; measure of, X. 58 ; its measure the number of things taken for granted, 58 ; vii. 16 ; moral sentiment its foundation, viii. 216 ; its office to correct nar- rowness, vi. 127 ; Plato's word, iv. 64; politics, viii. 206; power, 207; proof, vi. 279; religion its flower, 196 ; results, i. 107 ; scale of, vi. 290 ; scientific, 209 ; scope, viii. 206 ; its secret to interest men more in their public than in their private character, vi. 1.50, 151, 263; effect of society, i. 295 ; vii. 16 ; x, 36 ; can spare nothing, vi. 158 ; super- ficial, 183; travel, 139, 253; truc- kling, x. 133 ; inverts vulgar views, i. 63 ; war forwards, xi. 180. Cup, of life, X. 46 ; of the earth, vii. 165, 300-1 ; of thought, iii, 174. Cupid, ii. 340; vi. 274-75; ix. 19, 92 f, 219. CuPiDO, ix, 221. Curfew stock, vi. 151. Curiosity, lies in wait, viii. 215 ; Eng- lish absence of, v. 104. Curls, witchcraft of, vii. 103, 285. Currents, of mind, ii. 306; viii. 12; X. 189. Custom, ruts of, i. 232, 238 ; nullified, 296; ii. 76, 133; iii. 164; iv. 164; English deference to, v. 109 ; works for us, vi. 117/; opium of, x. 128. See, also, Conformity, Fashion. Customers, viii. 138 ; xi. 153. Cynics, iv. 148 ; vii. 303. Cypresses, iv. 138 ; v. 265. Dsedalus, ix. 9, 149, 208. DEMONIC Love, ix. 97-101. Dsemons, iii. 29, 42; iv. 63, 106; vi. 48 ; ix. 26, 98 ; x. 98. Daguesseau, xii. 68. Dalton, John, vii. 225. Dance, in men's lives, viii. 70 ; x. 42. Dancing, vi. 138, 277. Dandamis, quoted, iii. 265. Dandelion, duped by a, vi. 113. Danger, vi. 29, 51. Daniel, Samuel, quoted, vii. 33. Dante, we are civil to, viii. 68; bad company, vii. 13 ; like Euclid, viii. 73 ; writes proudly, xii. 195 ; imagi- nation and insight, iii. 10 ; iv. 206 ; V. 222 ; viii. 31, 73 ; xii. 45, 225 ; can be parsed, viii. 20 ; realism, iii. 40 ; vindictive, iv. 131 ; contempt of the vulgar, xii. 135. Dark Ages, viii. 204. Dartmouth College, Address at, i. 149-180. Daughter, birth of, in China, xi. 346. David, King, ii. 240. Day, ix. 196; apprehension of, the measure of a man, vii. 171 ; bask in, 280 ; be a, 172 ; beams from eter- nity, X. 226 ; best, xii. 74 ; fill with bravery, iii. 40; carnival of year, vii. 163; as centuries, vi. 235; of Charles V., i. 158 ; creeping, x. 131 ; cups of pearl, ix. 264 ; darkened, x. 53; day of, vi. 29; deformed and low, ix. 152 ; divine, vii. 161 ; every day is doomsday, 168; dress, 163; fabric of, vi. 81 ; two faces, ix. 197 ; of facts, X. 132 ; farmer's, 76 ; name of God, vii. 160 ; give me a, i. 23 ; great, ii. 205 ; vi. 29, 289 ; vii. 163, 289 ; viii. 20, 226, 330 ; halcyon, iii. 103 ; happy, xii. 74 ; haughty, ix. 173 ; all holy, ii. 17 ; hypocritic, iii. 50 ; vii. 161 ; ix. 196 ; x. 131 ; inter- calated, iii. 50 ; x. 227 ; long time to find out, viii. 28 ; lord of, i. 159 ; of lot, viii. 226 ; lucky, x. 21 ; mel- ancholy, iii. 188 ; memorable, vi. 289 ; vii. 162, 163 ; viii. 330 ; x. 102 ; fitted to mind, vii. 161 ; won from moon, iii. 50 ; muffled, vii. 161 ; new with new works, i. 358 ; qual- ity, not number, important, 330; October, iii. 163 ; opal-colored, ix. 157 ; in panorama of year, 121 ; good, in which most perceptions, viii. 280 ; he only rich who owns the day, i. 105 j vii. 161 ; adorn with sacrifices, viii. 104 ; sleeps on hiUs, iii. 163 ; solid good, 64 ; sped, iv. 26 ; cut into strips, 98 ; viii. 273 ; elastic tent, ix. 280 ; sold for thoughts, X. 247 ; treat respectful- ly, vii. 172 ; the two in man's his- tory, X. 172; unalterable, ix. 227; undermining, ii. 123 ; unprofitable, iii. 50 ; value, vi. 235 ; vii. 163, 168, 216 ; viii. 268, 320 ; warp and woof, vii. 163 ; of youth, 216, 280 ; the 292 GENERAL INDEX. wise man is he who can unfold tho theory of this particular Wednes- day, 171. See, also, Time, To-day, Years. DAy's Ration, ix. 121, 122. Death, viii. 308-313 ; badness, i. 124 ; a concealment, iii. 231 ; envied, ii. 248; desire for, x. 400; xii. 139; fear of, vi. 227 ; vii. 30G ; viii. 312 ; of friends, ii. 121 ; adds owner to land, ix. 3G ; love makes impossible, ii. 248 ; not souglit as relief from duty, vi. 228 ; reality, iii. 53 ; a se- curity, ii. 248 ; of a sou, iii. 52 ; ways of, viii. 327. Debate, extempore, i. IGl ; viii. 100. Debt, collecting, viii. 84 ; memory of, xii. 70 ; other than money, ii. 295 ; vii. 112; paying, ii. 109, 294; iii. 153 ; V. 151 ; vi. 290, 305 ; ix. 238 ; a preceptor, i. 43 ; slavery, vi. 90 ; voracity, 114. Decision, nnist be made, vi. 70. Decorum, English, v. 110; x. 400; unprincipled, vi. 235. See, also, Etiquette. Deeds, iii. 14, 89. See Actions. Defeat, gauiful, viii. 94. Defects, useful, ii. 112 ; iii. 23 ; v. 144 ; vi. 38. Deference, iii. 129, 133 ; xii. 28. Definitions, defining, is philosophy, iv. 49 ; he that can define is tlie best man, vii. 222 ; x. 100 ; xii. 210. Defoe, Daniel, v. 223; quoted, 54, 123. Deformity, from infraction of spiritual laws, ii. 125, 234 ; from fixity, vi. 277. Degeneracy, viii. 179 ; x. 235. Degrees, man, a being of, vi. 121 ; x. 101. Deity, personality of, ii. 58 ; makes many, one, 180 ; iv. 54 ; viii. 292 ; antlnopomorphism, xii. 121. See, also, Divinity, God, Lord. Deliverly, vii. 210. Delphi, oracle of, not uncommanded, vii. 251 ; xii. 40. Democracy, iii. 193 ; better relatively to us, not absolutely, 198, 201, 228; iv. 213, 243 ; vi. 65 ; x. 38 ; xi. 217, 408. Democrat, ripens into a conservative, iii. 234. Den\on. See Divmon. Demonology, X. 7-32. Demophoon, x. 101. Demosthenes, vii. 70, 74, 97. Denderah, zodiac, i. 137. Depth of living, ii. 243 ; vii. 175. Dervishes, Song of, ix. 249, 250. ix. 117, 190, 205. Desatir, quoted, iii. 02 ; xii. 254. Desire, insatiable, iv. 175; flame of, viii. 102 ; predicts satisfaction, 320 ; xi. 190. See, also, Hopes, Wishes. Despair, system of, i. 301 ; iii. 254 ; x. 135 ; vi. 199 ; no muse, 252. Despondency, comes readily, vii. 292 ; xii. 201 ; unworthy, x. 230. Destiny, ix. 32/. beneficent, i. 351 /; deaf, iv. 168, 175; vi. 11; teaches courage, 28; viii. 220 ; an immense whim, xii. 203/. See, also. Fate. Detaching, power of, ii. 330 ; xi. 222 ; xii. 35. Details, melancholy, ii. 163; iii. 220, 220 ; X. 05. Determination, needful, vi. 130. See, also, Purpose, Will. Development, viii. 13, 250; x. 180; xi. 408; xii. 20. See, also, Evolu- tion. Devil's, attorney, iv. 105 ; vi. 193 ; Burns on, iv. i33 ; x. 282 ; child, ii. 52 ; confessions, vi. 172 ; dear old, iii. 04 ; Goethe on, iv. 203 ; nestles into .all things, xi. 221 ; party, 403 ; respect for, viii. 290 ; respect virtue, ii. 150 ; Shakers send to market, vi. 67 ; not to have best tunes, xi. 368. See, also, Satan. Dew, varnish of, i. 155; vi. 163; world globe itself in, ii. 991. Dexterity, value, xi. 211. Dial, The, x. 324 ; Papers from, xii. 175-272. Dial in shade, ii. 198. Dialectics, iii. 01 ; iv. 62, 77 ; Scotch, V. 55. Diamagnetism, viii. 289. Diamonds, growth of ages, ii. 199 ; best plain-set, vii. 112 ; road mended with, viii. 103. Diaries, iii. 180; viii. 266, 292. Dibdin's Bibliomania quoted, vii. 200. Dice, Nature's loaded, i. 44; ii. 99; vi. 211. Dickens, Charles, x. 56 ; in America, " vi. 167 ; X. 235 ; works, v. 234. Dictionary, life a, i. 98 ; a good book, iii. 22 ; vii. 201. Diderot, viii. 298 ; quoted, vii. 221. Dido, Chaucer's picture, vi. 198. Diet, iii. 240; vi. 148; vii. 114; xii. 240. DilTorences, perception of, i. 44. Dirticulties, ii. 120 ; viii. 219. Digby, Sir Kenehu, v. 79; quoted, 80; xii. 37. GENERAL INDEX. 293 Dimo, value, i. 3G2. Diuner.s, in England, v. Ill ; art of, vi. 78 ; emphasis on, vii, 115 ; public, 233 ; X, IGG. Dirge, ix. 127-129 ; of mountain blasts, X. 371. Dirt, chemistry knows no, xii. 51 ; children love, x. 345. Disasters, benefactors, ii. 112 ; opium in, iii. 51 ; exaggerated, x. IGO. See, nl.so, Accidents, Calamity, Misfor- tune. Discipline, i. 42 ; value, vi. 134 ; x. 142. Discontent, infirmity of will, ii. 77 ; iii. 239 ; vi. 251 ; xii. 185, 200, 252/. Discouragement, easy, vii. 291 /. Discourse, ii. 290/. See Conversa- tion. Discoveries, iii. 17G ; iv. 17 ; vi. 47 ; vii. 270; viii. 28. Discrepancy, seers of, v. 22G; viii. 154. Disease, has its inlet in human crime and its outlet in human suffering, ii. 234 ; no respecter of persons, vi. 12 /, 23, 3G ; vii. 305. See Sick- ness. Disinterestedness, vii. 239. Dislocation, in our relation to nature, ii. 217 ; viii. 179 ; in dreams, x. 11. Display, lust of, i. 170 ; vi. 14G. Dispositions, a world for trying each other's dispositions, x. 381. Dispvites, ii. 225 ; vii. 214 ; xi. 387 ; xii. 22. D'Israeli, Benjamin, novels, iv. 2G5 ; xii. 235/. Dissatisfaction of youth, iv. 175. Dissent, iii. 239, 243 ; fury of, x. 344. Dissimulation, ii. 148. Dissipation, iii. 32 ; vi. 74, 244 ; x. GO. Distrust, i. 240, 2G8 ; of sentiment, ii. 50; vi. 201. Diver, genius a, i. 157. Divination, iv. 93 ; x. 2G ; women's power of, xi. 345. Divine, animal, iii. 31 ; building, vii. 122; circuits, iii. 2G9 ; is the truly human, xi. 333 ; mind, x. 192 ; moments, ii. 295 ; nature, i. 126 ; persons, iii. 106, 111 ; vii. 121 ; pres- ence, iii. 257 ; sentiment, 172 ; sig- nificance of things, viii. 14 ; spirit, ii. GG. Divhiity, approaches, vi. 289 ; in at- oms, 221 ; of beauty, ii. 173 ; behind failures, iii. GO ; faith in, i. 126 ; im- mortal, 28 ; intimate, 210 ; of Jesus, see Jesus Christ ; in man, vi. 221 ; viii. 292; x. 99; xi. 383; Plato's faith, iv. 69; ray of, ii. 91. See^ also, Deity, God. Divinity Schooi,, Cambridge, Ad- dress AT, i, 117. Division of labor. See Labor. Divorce, iv. 123 ; xii. 167. Divulgatory, xi. 389. Do, wliat you know, i. 211 ; vvhat you can best, ii. 55, 81 ; vi. 91 ; vii. 274 ; X. 261 ; what you are afraid to do, 380. Doctors. See Physicians. Doddington, Bubb, quoted, x. 50. Dogmas, i. 137; vii. 214, 283; x. 109, 193. Dogmatism, i. 179 ; ii. 94, 292 ; x. 220. Doing, and being, vi. 206; and hav- ing, ii. 136 ; and knowing, i. 211 ; vii. 303; viii. 325; and saying, iii. 13 ; is success, i. 174 ; ii. 149 ; teaching by, 144. Dollar, i. 237; ii. 54, 129; heavy and light, vi. 100 ^V X. 259. Dolls, vi. 156 ; *x. 190. Domestic Life, vii. 99-129. Englisli, v. 107 ; vi. 77. Domestics, i. 240 ; vi. 260 ; vii. 113. See, also. Servants. Donne, John, viii. 55 ; quoted, ii. 175. Doors of truth in every intelligence, i. 219 ; ii. 305 ; iii. 30, 58. Doria, Andrew, viii. 291. Doric temples, ii. 24. Doses, people to be taken in, vii. 18. Double consciousness, i. 333 ; vi. 49. Doubts, ii. 126 ; iv. 1G5, 171, 172. Drainage, in Concord, vii. 144/. Drawing, ii. 313/, 314. Dreams, x. 9-32 ; absurdities, vi. 44 ; make us artists, ii. 314 ; attractive, 300 ; bad, iv. 135 ; dislocation tlieir foremost trait, x. 11 ; sequel of day's experiences, ii. 140 ; viii. 215 ; a fact worth a limbo of, x. 1G2 ; Germany of, i. 23 ; Heraclitus on, X. 25; liave a poetic integrity, 13; melting matter into, 247 ; the ma- turation of unconscious opinions, 14 ; jealous of memory, 10 ; poetic, viii. 47 ; and surface, iii. 47 ; a rush of tliouglits, xii. 80 ; wisdom in, i. 70 ; world a, 66, 286 ; of youth, iii. 193 ; vi. 251 ; viii. 177. Dress, adaptation, viii. 164 ; American good sense in, 86 ; best when not noticed, v. 85 ; and manners, 80, 87 ; relation to person, viii. 1G4 ; re- straint, vi. 145 ; gives tranquillity, viii. 88. See, also, Clothes, Fash- ion. 294 GENERAL INDEX. Drift, we can drift when we cannot steer, x. 189 Drill, virtue of, vi. 77, 79 ; x. 142. Drinks of literary men, viii. 145. Drop cannot exhibit storm, iv. 100. Drowaiing, experience of, xii. 80. Drowsy strength, iii. 136. Drowsiness of usage, iii. 245 ; iv. 1G4. Drudgery, i. 96. Druids, v. 192, 263, 267. Drunkards' hands, iii. 63. Drunkenness, counterfeit of genius, ii. 300. Dryden, John, viii. 73. Dualism of nature and man, i. 55 ; ii. 94. Dumont, Pierre, quoted, viii. 268. Duration, ii. 266, 296; vi. 228; vii. 170, 175 ; viii. 331. Dust, grandeur nigh to, ix. 180. Dust-hole of thought, x. 13. Duties, that belong to us, ii. 55 ; vi. 222 ; X. 59 ; not detachable, ii. 295 ; heeded, 155 ; heroism in, 247 ; liv- ing without duties is obscene, x. 54 ; lowlj-, ii. 247; x. 199; pack of, ix. 161 ; relative, ii. 73/. Duty, clarion call, ix. 181 ; difficult, never far off, vii. 259 ; direct and reflex, ii. 73 ; x. 179, 191 ; fate and, xi. 218 ; grows everywhere. 111 ; a guide, vi. 222 ; intellectual and moral, ii. 318 ; law, xi. 383 ; light- ning-rod, vi. 221 ; the old, xii. 258 ; know your own, ii. 55; our place, 79; sense of, i. 121, 125; whispers low, ix. 180 ; wishes and, x. 96 ; true worship, xi. 384. Dyspepsia, iii. 64 ; ix. 165. Each and All, ix. 14/. Each for all, vii. 138. Eagle, spread, xi. 412. Ear, a sieve, xii. 29. Earth, a balloon, i. 314; cup of na- ture, vii. 165 ; eyeless bark, ix, 282 ; factory of power, viii. 135 ; works for man, vii. 146 ; fills her lap, ii. 140; laughs in flowers, ix. 35; glass to crime, ii. 112 ; goes on earth, viii. 310; and heaven corre- spond, vi. 196; viii. 51, 311; host who murders guests, 233; howling wilderness, ix. 41 ; insignificance in nature, x. 317 ; lonely, ii. 89 ; a ma- chine, vii. 139 ; viii. 135 ; and man, 1. 18; vii. 139; xi. 423; burnt metals, x. 72 ; productiveness, 73 ; a reading-room, xii. 190 ; quaked in rhyme, vi. 265 ; makes itself, 41 ; shape, i. 351 ; conspires with virtue, vii. 54 ; white-hot, i. 313. See, also, Planet, World. Earthquakes, vi. 13 ; learn geology from, 249. Eaeth-Song, ix. 36/. Earth-spirit, x. 311. Ease, to be dreaded, vi. 155. East, genius of the, x. 171, 173. Ebb of the soul, ii. 35. Eccentricity, success has no, vi. 81. Echo, do not be an, ii. 199 ; the world our, viii. 302 ; x. 185 ; xii. 27. Eclecticism, i. 165/; x. 291 ; nature's, ii. 328. Eclipse of genius, viii. 267. Economy, i. 234 ; ii. 221 ; v. 109 ; vi. 90, 109 ; vii. 106 ; x. 128 ; nature's, 352 ; look for seed of tlie kind you sow, vi. 120 ; symbolical, 122. Ecstasy, i. 192, 195, 201, 203, 217, 317 ; ii. 264, 306; iv. 61, 94, 97, 114; vi. 44, 204, 295 ; viii. 262 ; x. 172. Edelweiss, x. 451. Edgeworth, Maria, novels, xii. 234. Education, x. 123-156 ; agitation on, in America, i. 345 ; vii. 116 ; xi. 409 ; of amusements, vi. 137 ; best, ii. 127 ; bias in, viii. 290 ; Carlyle on, X. 461 ; classics in, iii. 245 ; college, vi. 139 ; defects, iii. 244 ; viii. 125 ; X. 134; defined, viii. 26; a system of despair, iii. 255 ; x. 135 ; two ele- ments, enthusiasm and drill, 144; fruitless, vi. 136 ; gymnastic in, iv. 64 ; vi. 137 ; and happiness, iii. 255 ; labor, i. 224, 229 ; in dead lan- guages, iii. 245; love, a liberal, viii. 92 ; in Massachusetts, xii. 96 ; masters in, xi. 222 ; object, i. 302 ; X. 134; xi. 389; xii. 153; power, iii. 254 ; preventive, vi. 135 ; re- form, iii. 244 ; fosters restlessness, ii. 81 ; Roman rule, iii. 245 ; its se- cret lies in respecting the pupil, x. 141; self-denial for, vi. 149; of senses, 204 ; of sexes, xi. 355 ; skep- ticism of, iii. 256 ; spiral tendency, vi. 267 ; stereotyped, iii. 246 ; sym- pathetic, ii. 127 ; vi. 143 ; to things, iii. 244 ; of women, see Women ; 'in words, 244 ; world for, viii. 317 ; elt'ect on young men, xii. 254. See, also, Colleges, Schools. Education-Farm, iii. 61. Effect, thing done for, vi. 181. See Cause and Effect. Ego, X. 25 ; xii. 57. Egotism, aid, vi. 244 ; antidotes, 134 ; buckram, vii. 273 ; chorea, vi. 128 ; dropsy, 129 ; exaggerated, v. 160 ; all things fuel to, vii. 121 ; genius GENERAL INDEX. 295 consumes, x. 402; goitre, vi. 129; iutluenza, 128 ; nature utilizes, 128 ; vii. 273 ; of prophets, xii. 8 ; root, vi. 130 ; iu society, ii. 198 ; scourKO of taleut, vi. 129; test of, xii. 182; viii. 325 ; universal, iii. 180 ; weak- ness, i- 309; vauishes iu presence of nature, 10. Egypt and Egyptians : architecture, ii. 24; art, vi. 274; x. 233; debt of churclies to, viii. 174 ; Herodotus on, 308 ; hieroglypliics, ii. 329 ; im- mortality, viii. 308 ; marble deserts, iii. 109 ; mysteries, i. 230 ; mythol- ogy, 128 ; Napoleon in, iv. 234, 237 ; X. 242 ; obelisk, vii. 57 ; xii. 191 ; vote of prophets, vi. 237. Eldoji, Lord, v. 194 ; quoted, iii. 234 ; V. 97, 108. Election, doctrine of, vi. 12. Elections, vi. 19 ; xi. 400. Elective affinities, ii. 293. Electric, light, viii. 300 ; telegraph, see Telegraph ; thrills, vi. 84, Electricity, of action, viii. 113 ; effect on air, iii. 177 ; arrested, x. 258 , not to be made fast, v. 220 ; inspira- tion like, viii. 259 ; a luxury, vi. 71 ; message-carrier, vii. 31 ; of poets, 12 ; xii. 241 ; power, viii. 135 ; river, iii. 43 ; wisdom like, vii. 235 ; xii. 25. Elegance, true, i. 235 ; iii. 143 ; vii. 111. Elegies, living on, vi. 09. Eleusinian mysteries, facts as, vi. 288. Eliot, John, quoted, ii. 240. Ellen, To, ix. 80. Eloquence, vii. 01-98; viii. 107-129; demands absoluteness, viii. 127 ; aids, vii. 49 ; dog-cheap at the anti- slavery chapel, xi. 132, 100 ; magic of personal ascendancy, vii. 77, 90; depends not on beauty, vi. 285 ; calamity instructs in, i. 96 : its des- potism, vii. 42, 07 ; indicates uni- versal health, viii. 113; needs heat, vii. 03, 09; in-esistible, i. 251 ; vii. 220 ; viii. 207 ; x. 55, 79 ; xi. 210 ; of ancient lawgivers, vii. 223 ; audi- ence the meter of, 07 ; Milton on, xii. 158 ; rule of, viii. 34 ; secret of, X. 208 ; is translation of truth into language intelligible to the hearer, viii. 120 ; xi. 210 ; triumphs, vii. 52, 71 ; in war, viii. 207 ; Webster's, xi. 209. Emanations, i. 191. Emancipate, man should, x. 58 ; poet, iii. 37 ; religion, xii. 105. Emancipation makes union possible, xi. 28G. Emancipation in the British West Indies, Address on, xi. 129-175, 293. Emancipation Proclamation, Ad- dress ON, xi. 291-303, 277 note. P^mblems, i. 32, 38 ; ii. 98 ; iii. 21 ; iv. 113, 207 ; vi. 301. See, also, Sym- bols. Emerson, Edward Bliss, In Memo- RiAM, ix. 224 ; Farewell by, 222. Phnerson, Rev. Joseph, quoted, x. 3(;0. Emerson, Mary Moody, x. 371-404; quoted, ii. 245; x. 388. Emerson, Ralph Waldo, visits to Eng- land, V, 7i/; '28 J'; garden, ii. 209; ix. 197-200; habits of work, viii. 273; house, iii. 100; portraits, i. frontispiece, ix. frontispiece ; death of son, iii. 52 ; ix. 130-138. P^merson, Waldo, iii. 52 ; ix. 130-138. Emer.son, Rev. William, x. 374 ; xi. 75, 80, 90. Eminence, cost of, ii. 97. Empedocles, i. 190. Employments, daily, i. 258 ; iii. 241 ; viii. 27. See, also. Labor, Occupa- tion, Work, Vocation. Emulation, in education, x. 151. Enchanter, The, ix. 313. Euchiuitmcnts, vi. 299 ; x. 185. Ends, all momentary, i. 199 ; iii. 233 ; iv. 100, 121 ; brought about by pal- try means, vii. 154. Eiulymion, vi. 101. Enemies, to be made now and then, vi. 155, 242. Energy, conscious and unconscious, iii. 30 ; vi. 71 ; vii. 81 ; x. 80, 202, 204 ; xi. 420. England : agriculture, v. 94, 181 ; air, xi. 138 ; and Anun-ica, see America ; anchored, v. 43 ; anomalies, 93 ; army, 05, 80 ; arts, 84, 90 ; civiliza- tion, xi. 153 ; climate, v. 41 ; colo- nies, 140, 287 ; constitution, vi. 241 ; contrasts, v. 5.3 ; decadence, 40, 201 ; no place for faint-hearted, 102 ; for- eign policy, 285 ; a garden, 37 ; rich in gentlemen, iii. 137 ; vii. 189 ; nationalities, v. 54, 240; genius maritime, 00, 93, 109 ; maintains trade, not liberty, xi. 225 ; visits to, V. 7#. England, Church of, v. 205-220; x. 112 ; symbol of social order, xi. 375. English language, in England, v. 99, 223. English literature, v. 39, 92, 221-246 ; xii. 232. See, also. Books, Litera- ture, Beading. 296 GENERAL INDEX. EhrHsIi pooplc, ftbility, v. 75-100, 135, 15'J; aotivity, 02 ; tiuo nniiuals, 7'-' ; vi. 70 ; lu-istocmoy, i. 370 ; v. 1('>0- 15X) ; X. 4l'>;> ; arithmotioal iniiul, 103; artiticialnoss, v. 00; iinpris- onod in hat-kbono, xi. 410; Munt- ness, V. 120 ; body spoaks, 103 ; bru- tality, 04 ; contiality, 40 ; cliaraotor, iv. 10; V. Ki, 121-130, 205; oook- ayno, 140-14S; i-oldnoss, 104; oos- inopolitan spirit, 02; couvago, 128, 143 ; doi'onnn, 105, 110 ; dinners, 111; dross, 84; dullness, 121 ; of the earth, earthy, 127; earth-hun- ger, 117 ; eooentricity, 10-1, 140, 100 ; ei'ononiy, 152 ; edueation, 05, 191-2(V1; viii. 125; vi. 70; faces, v. t57 ; love of faets, 82, 222 ; fair play, 70, 82; family. 100; no fiuiey, 221 ; and Kreui-h, 82. 120. 123, 137 y', 142, 145, 174, 200; fruit, 03; gaujo-laws, 73// genius, iii. 210; heroes, 132; holiest V, 117; horses, 72; liouses, 100/, i85; X. 103; hato humbug, v. 110; humorists, 140; hunting, 71, 74; indilVorem-o, 103 ; iuHuenee, 30, 123; insularity, 104; law, v. 00; levity, 241 ; liberty-loving, 137; xi. 138 ; libraries, 203 ; literature, 221- 240; logical, 80/.- loyal, 170; ma- ehinery, 102, U\\ Jf\ 2;>8 ; iniuUi- ness, (!8 ; manners, 101-113 ; uiastitV nature, 78; materialism, 222, 230; melancholy, 124/; xii. 201; money questions,' 88; nuitual help, v. 08; myriad personalities, 280; names, 172 ; neatness, 105 ; newspapers, 134, 247 ; nobility, .wf Aristocracy ; obstinacy, 78, 81, 127 ; openness, 70, 123; patriotism, 140; perma- nence, 105, 137, 171 ; plainness, 111; vi. 140; pluck, 101, 281; po- etry, i. 102 ; product of political economy, 07 ; poverty, 140; love of precedent, 100; iiretcnsion. 111, 110; probity, v. 117; property, iv. 140; v. 87," 140, 150; race, 47-74; love of reality, 110; religion, 205- 220 ; reserve of power, 287 ; regard for rights, 82 ; xi. U>5 ; routine, V.288; sailors, 35, 00 ; Scandinavian spirit, 55 ; x. 45 ; science, v. 240 ; self-complacency, 103, 141 (f; shop- keepers, xi. 153; solidarity, v. 08; Bolvency, 151 ; pride in bad [)ublic speaking, 125 ; sports, 71 ; steam, 05 ; table-talk, 112; temporanumt, 127, 101 ; thoroughness, 80 ; '' Times," 247-258 ; no transcendentalists, 214 ; truth, 114-123; universities, 101- 204; utility, 8^?, 238; voice, 110; walk, 71 ; wealth, 07, 122, 140, 158, 104, 107; vi. 115; wit, 121 ; women, (;7, 107 ; wrath, 130. Kunui, i. 270. Kuthusiasnj, i. 238; ii, 20.5, 3tX) ; v. 110 ; vii. 58 ; not to be measured b\ ml xi. rea uy the horso-power of the nnderstiuid- nig, viii. 218, 200/; x. 107 321, 382. Envy, ii. 48 ; x. 49. Kpaminondas, ii. 153/, 243; iii. 123; vi. 145. Epic poetry, iii. 32 ; xi. 220. Kpilcpsics of wit and spirits, ii. 101. Kpitaph, Sir .leidiin Grout's, iii. Ml. Epochs of life, ii. 152; of history, xi. 188. Equality, iii. IIVS, 2t"J>. Equator of life, iii. 05; x. 180, Equilibrium, iv. 1(">4 ; x. 185. E(iuivalcnce, ii. 200; viii. 203, 200. Eric, vi. 57. Euos, ix. 80, 3(X>. Errors, vi. 244; xii. 51. See, also, lUunders, Mistakes. Essence, ii. 110; iv. 02. Essenes, i. 322. Eternal, in man, vii. 00; x. 09. Eternity, i. 247, 273 ; ii. 2.50 ; not du- ration, vii. 175; viii. 310; ix. 13, 288. Ether, sulphuric, vi. 142; vii. ITkI. EtHU'S, SOVKUKIONTY OF, X. 175-205; of the chisel-edge, ii. Ill; the es- sence of religion, i. l!2, 121 ; x. 112/,- its laws execute themselves, i. 122. Kthiops sweet, ix. 42. Etiquette, iii. 08, 120, 131 ; of visits, viii. 90. (SVtf, also, Decorum, Miui- ners. Eton, V. 108 f. Euler, i. Ot) ; v. 240. Euphuism, iii. 171. Einipides, q»u>ted, i. 844; ii. 240; iv. 132; vii. 203; viii. 102; x. 19, 205; xii. 213. Europe, iv. 53 ; and America, see ini- (hr America ; fee for entrance, v. Iv>; gardens, i. 347 ; faded garment, ii. 2t>4 ; migration to, xii. 25.") ; I'lato embodies, IV. 40; vii. 100; receding in the imagination, i. 343 ; tape- worm of, vi. 140; travel to, ii. 79, 2(V1; vi. 140. El'UOl'K AND EUKOl'KAN liOOKS, xii. 226. Eva, To, ix. 87. Evelyn, John, quoted, v. 174 ; vii. 208. Evening knowl(>dg«>, i. 76. Events, robe of the soul, ii. 257 ; x. GENERAL INDEX. 297 185 ; and persons made of tlie same fitnlf, vi. A'2,ff, 55, 58, 221, 2:W ; man a match for, vii. 77 ; reinforced by, IJl , dependent on, 120; what im- ports is wliat we tliink of them, viii. 278 ; victims of, x. 40. Everett, Edward, x. 'AVZ-.'Ai). Evil, merely i)rivative, i. 123 ; not un- mixed, ii. 2!)0; ^(ood of, iv, 132; vi. 241; vii. 29, 28'J; made to serve Kood, 34. Evils, needless, ii. 129 ; end them- selves, X. 184, 223. Evolution, iii. 173; iv. 78; vi. 20, 158 ; vii. 23. Exaggeration, of evils, i. 2.'>7 ; ii. 120; of single aH})ects, 310; iii. 177/, 223 ; viii. 85 ; from want of skill to describe the fact, x, 100, 109. Examination-day, x. 270. Excellence, lames, vii. IGO ; of man, X. 183. ExcBLBiou, ix. 240. Exclusiveness, excludes itself, ii. 107 ; unavoidable, vii. I'J ; viii. 8'J. Exercise, i. 230; viii. 205. Exile, The, ix. 245, 315. Exiles, from nature, viii. 179. Existence, the problem of, ii. 304; iv. 77. Expansion, power of, iii. 59 ; iv. 79 ; xii. 53. p]xp; nood not sook, ii. 275 ; soloct, 22(5 ; give standard of oxoollonoo, i. 51 ; trust in, iii. 100; vi. 1S4; truth, ii. 103, 109, 287; unknown, xii. 253; advertise us of our wants, i. 327 ; fro- zen wine, ix. 201 ; the wise have no, iii. 207. Friknoship, ii. 1S1-20G ; ix. 232, 247 ; is for aid and conUort, ii. lOO; bo- ntitiule, iii. Ill ; too good to bo be- lieved, ii. 187 ; a eoniproniise, 101 ; endeavors after, vii. 14 ; othies, 125 ; foot of, ii. 100; evanescent, 205; festival of nature, iii. 100 ; buys friendaliip, vi. 120 ; not frost-work, ii. 102; is good understanding, vi. 184; Haliz on, 258; viii. 245; ix. 247 ; happiness, iii. 100 ; vii. 124 ; viii. 88 ; of heroes, vii. 14 ; nature its husk and shell, ii. 102 ; love the symbol of, iii. 100; vii. 125; man- ners a guard to, v. 180 ; all momen- tary, iii. 78; iv. 123; vi. 230; not named, 250 ; order of nobility, x. 130; in Oriental poetry, viii. 245; knit by persecution, xi. 35; provi- sion for, vi. 250 ; pudency In, 250 ; re- ality, lUH! ; religion, xi. 384 ; may be all on one side, but never unre- quited, ii. 200; a friend sliould be high enough to slight us, 28() ; strict and serious, 1% ; vi. 258 ; needs time, 170; training, 250 ; trust, ii. 102 ; must he very two, before there can be very one, 100; virtue attracts, iv. 20 ; x. 202 ; the only way to have a friend is to he one, ii. 202. Frigga, xi. 338, Frivolity, vi. 255 ; viii. 330. Frugality, base luid heroic, i. 234. Fruits, in. 153/. FiiornvK Slave Law, xi. 203-230; 150. Fuller-Ossoll. Margaret, x. 324, 340, 342 ; xi>. 79. Fvdlor, Thomas, quoted, v. 117, 135, 100, 187, 210; vi. 143; vii. 272; x. 440 ; xii. 78. Fungus, i. 242. Furies, i. '2Xi ; iii. 155 ; vi. 107, 150, 245 ; ix. 243. Fury of performance, v. 102 ; vii. 10 ; X. 147. Fuseli, quoted, v. 232 ; vi. 177. Future, pjuty of the, i. 255 ; x. 307 ; God has no answer about, ii. 67, 200/.- iii. 00; vi. 223; x. 15. Future life. See Inmiortality. Galiani, AbbtS vii. 221. Games, the education of, vi. 137. Gaudkn, My, ix. 107-200. Gaudkner, ix. 230. (}ardens, i. 347 ; iii. 107 ; vi. 112/; vii. 143. See, also, Fanning. Garments of dissimulation, ii. 103/. Garrets, ii. 215, 310. Gas on tlie brain, vi. 140. (into of gifts, vi. 10; ix.241. (tales, the world all, viii. 133. Gautama, quoted, xii. 32. Geese, wild, i. 102 ; ix. 143. Gem, century makes, i. 205. Genelas, cloak, ii. 38; vii. 119. Generalizations, ii. 288; iii. 225// iv. 170 ; V. 229, 232 ; viii. 72, 217. Generosity, iii. 141, 15;i ; vii. 111. Genius, admirable at distance, iii. 217 ; of human race, i. 351 ; or dtvnion, iii. 40 ; vi. 273 ; x. 21 ; no lazy angel, xii. 40 ; arrogaiu-e, iv. 144 ; ascetic, ii. 218 ; needs audience, v. 50 ; is bias, viii. 201 ; has no external bio- graphy, iv. 45; borrows, viii. 182, 185 ; call of, ii. 53 ; catholic, 270 ; viii. 300; no choice to, iv. 182 ; exalts the common, vii. 109; xii. 39; courage of, vii. 253 ; creates, i. 91 ; viii. 191 ; not to 1)0 criticised, iii. 230 ; dearly paid for, vi. 13;?; debt to, 234; de- fined, ii. 47, 218, 255 ; iii. 27 ; viii. 191, 218; X. 78; xii. 30 ; despotism of, vi. 280 ; favoritism shown to, X. 257 ; nuikes fingers, i. 107 ; en- emy of genius, 02 ; seeks genius, x. 144 ; ours should bo more of a genius, iii. 50 ; imites two gifts, ii. 312 ; xii. 42 ; growth of, ii. 258 ; is health, x. 40 ; lui infinite hope, iii. 257 ; a hospitality, i. 231 ; tyrant of the hoiu-, ii. 331 ; of humanity, iv. 3t">/; imperfections, vii. 12; impru- dent, ii. 220 ; is intellect construc- tive, 303, 312; labor, i. 328; iso- lation, vii. 12 ; liberates, iv. 23 ; x. 55 ; obedience to, the only liber- ation, iii. 209; of life, iv. 200; vii. 14 ; is love, i. 207 ; madness, viii. 204 ; memory, xii. 72 ; miracle, viii. 218; moral tone, x. 170; of na- tion, iii. 210; obedience to, 209; xii, 50 ; is love of perfection, i. 207 ; pitli of, in few hours, iii. 51 ; pro- gressive, i. 01 ; receptive, iv. 181, 183 ; from rectitude, vi. 207 ; reli- gious, ii. 270; royal right, x. 64, GENERAL INDEX. 301 258 ; best plain set, vii. 112 ; sickly, iv. 274 ; solitude the friend of, vi. 149 ; solstice, 209 ; of tlie day, spec- ulative, i. 2(;8; spontaneous, IfJO ; vii. 174; works in sport, vi. 250; Stoical jde,nnm^ i. 159 ; surprise, iii. 70; and talent, i. 159, 207; iii. 10; iv 144, 1G3; vi. 220; x. 2G2 /, 270, 31G ; xii. 52 ; test, its power to use facts as symbols, viii. 38; of the time, xii. 201 ; ultimates its thought in a thinp, viii. 22 ; in trade, i. 220 ; iii. 92 ; tragedy of, i. 231; universal, 91, 159, 208; ii. 218, 270 ; iii. 258 ; universities hos- tile to, V. 203 ; unlocks chains of use, X. 55 ; its value is in its ve- racity, iii. 10 ; in virtue, viii. 2G^ ; grown wanton, x. 53; implies will, xii. 42. Gentility, ii. 231 ; iii. 120. Gcjitleman, iii. 118 (f, 134, 141 ; v. IIG, 199/.- viii. 100; x. 35, 40, 54, G3, GG ; xi. 217, 2G2, 419. Geography of fame, ii. 242. Geology, i. 104 ; ii. 21 ; iii. 81 ; his- tory, 173 ; vi. 20, 207 ; vii. 138 ; viii. 14, 21, 202 ; x. 180, 317 ; xii. 5. Geometry, iii. 17G; iv. 82; vi. 210; viii. 104. George, St., v. 147. Germans, earnestness, iv. 2G9 ; gener- alizers, v. 232 ; semi-Greeks, 241 ; honesty, iv. 207; v. 114; language, 99; literature, xii. 153, 180; Shake- speare's influence, iv. 195 ; xii. 180 ; truth, iv. 207. Gibbon, Edward, vii. 195 // quoted, i. 20. Gibraltar of pro[)riety, v. 110. Gifts, iii. 151-159; ii. 152; iv. 14. Gifts, natural, ii. 81; vi. 10; ix. 32 ; x. 85, 202, 200. Gingham-mill, vi. 81. Giotto, vii. 291. Girls, ii. 104, 244; iii. 234; vi. 189. See, also, Maid. Give All to Love, ix. 84. Giving, iii. 15G; iv. 13. See, also. Gifts. Gladiators, vii. 220. Gladstone, quoted, vi. 201. Globes, hvunan beings like, iii. 78. Gnat grasping the world, xii. 11. Go alone, i. 143. God, all in all, ii. 292 ; all-fair, i. 30 ; attributes, ii. 255; belief in, 132; conies without bell, 255 ; bride- groom of soul, iv. 124 ; behind cot- ton-bales, xi, 334; day, name for, vii. IGO ; denial, x. 253 ; in distribu- tion, i. 200 , iii. 227 ; x. 203 ; enters by private door, ii. 305 ; exists, i. 132 ; ii. 132 ; x. 187 ; expelling, i. 287 ; father, 33 ; indefinable, GO ; incom- ing of, 195 ; iii. 71 ; is, not was, i. 142 ; ii. GG ; never jests, i. 53 ; pure law, x. 105 ; in man, i. 10, G8, 72, 122, 130, 18G ; ii. 70, 78, 274 ; viii. 330 ; X. 134, 230 ; xi. 383 ; in men, i. 198 ; in matter, GG ; x. 105, 214 ; with- out mediator, i. 143; messengers, ii. 07 ; X. 100 ; works in moments, vii. 170 ; nobody against, but God, x. 23 ; under obligation, ii. 239; omnipres- ence, X. 192 ; painter, vi. 290 ; per- manence, ii. 297 ; viii. 317 ; polite- ness, iii. G9; poor, vi. 20G ; speaks not prose, viii. 17 ; savage idea of, vi. 12 ; we see, 30G ; his self-exist- ence, ii. 70 ; the servant of all, xi. 277 ; his speaking, ii. GG ; x. 193 ; speaking for, 99 ; substance, iv. 170 ; enveloping thought, ii. 276 ; truth, xi. ](;5; hangs weights on the wires, vi. 244 ; needs no wise men, iii. 180 ; without is solitude, x. 213 ; witness, xi. 388. Gods, apparition, x. 102 ; arrive, ix. 85 ; of our creation, vii. 281 ; crock- ery, xi. 228 ; disguised, vii. 108 ; ix. 119; xii. 21, 39; expressors are, viii. 205 ; x. 143, 108 ; game of ques- tions, vii. 225; Greek, iii. 40; vi. 197 ; not hidden from gods, iii. 110 ; ideas are, 220 ; iv. 84 ; we make our, 10; vi. 19G ; we meet none because we harbor none, 220; let us sit apart as, iii. 133 ; sell at fair price, vi. 107; silent, ii. 319; of tradition and rlietoric, 274 ; man- kind Vjelieve in two, vi. 35 ; young mortal among, 308. Goethe, iv. 247-270; ix. 191, 313; xii. 189-201. on architecture, i. 49 ; viii. 177 ; on art, v. 2(!0 ; on the beautiful, vi. 274 ; Carlylo on, v. 200 ; charity, iii. 102 ; in. ; xii. 67 ; is power, vii. 303 ; xii. 57 ; runs to the man, viii. 255 ; a sea, vi. 257 ; not to be secondary, 1. 143 ; the hope to get knowledge by short cuts, vii. 273 ; its value depends on skill to use it, xii. 64; is amassed thought of many, viii. 190 ; use tlie condition of, i. 211 ; vii. 248 ; xii. 30 ; wealth the sign of, ii. 110 ; yes- terday's, xii. 64. Knox, Robert, on races, v. 47 ; vi. 21. Koran, quoted, iv. 92, 207, 215; vii. 66 ; viii. 96. Kosmos, i. 21; vii. 165; xii. 116. Kossuth, Address to, xi. 357 ; vi. 202; X. 311. Krishna, quoted, iv. 50, 164. Labor, alternation of, is rest, viii. 145 ; attractive and associated, iv. 151 ; benefits, iii. 244 ; at Brook Farm, X. 114, 344 ; brute, vi. 85 ; cheapest is dearest, ii. 110 ; Nature's coin, 118, 214 ; contempt for, vi. 91 ; cul- tivated, 98 ; viii. 208 ; the interests of dead and living, iv. 214; digni- fied, i. 100, 173; ii. 135; xi. 278; division of, i. 224; iv. 53; v. 162; vii. 26, 113; duty of all, viii. 294; xi. 423 ; emblematic, viii. 294 ; God's education in the laws of the world, i. 229; iii. 220; vi. 106; genius is power of, i. 328 ; government is for its protection, xi. 278 ; needful gym- nastics, i. 230; iii. 244; x. 233; habits, xii. 259; importance, xi. 423; key to world's treasures, xii. 310 GENERAL INDEX. 105 ; man coins himself into, x. 76 ; xi. 278; power of, xii. 105; the scholar's, viii. 294; slave-holder's view of, xi. 277 ; manual labor an- tagonistic to thought, i. 230. Laborer, not to be sacrificed to results of labor, i. 184. Lamb, Charles, quoted, viii. 189. Land, its sanative influences, i. 345 ; appetite for, vii. 101 ; English te- nacity, V. 37-46, 50, 230; owner- ship, vi. 113; vii. 133, 135; ix. 36. Landor, Walter Savage, criticism, xii. 201-212 ; visit to, v. 10-13 ; on behavior, vi. 179 ; merit, xii. 188 ; on Wordswortli, v. 243, 281 ; quoted, i. 330 ; ii. 171 ; vii. 124 ; xii. 210. Landscape, armory of powers, ix. 125 ; beauty, ii. 327 ; iii. 1G9 ; benefit, ix. 214; breath, iv. 137; compensation, vii. 280 ; cow's view of, viii. 30 ; deceptive, iii. 171, 184 ; difference of, in the observer, 170 ; in dreams, x. 11 ; the eye makes, i. 21 ; iii. 170 ; xi. 367 ; face of God, i. 69 ; horizon in, iii. 169 ; man, a compacter land- scape, ii. 328 ; reflects our moods, i. 17, 204 ; owned by no one, 14, 71 ; iii. 23 ; trees, the hospitality of, i. 250 ; vanity, 24 ; needs water, viii. 48. Landscape gardening, i. 349. Language, i. 31-41 ; of angels, ii. 323 ; the building of, i. 32 ; viii. 15, 135, 189 /; demigod, vii. 47 ; of eloquence, viii. 121 ; fossil poetry, iii. 26; history in, 26; imagery, i. 36 ; viii. 22 ; a monument, iii. 220 ; nature supplies, i. 35 ; vi. 288 ; viii. 15 ; played with, i. 171 ; viii. 161 ; straining of, x. 160 ; of street, viii. 121; xii. 24, 72, 150, 157; finest tool, vii. 156; is use of things as symbols, i. 31 ; iii. 37 ; xii. 5 ; ve- racity, iii. 220 ; always wise, x. 125. Lannes, Marshal, vi. 134. Lantern of the mind, ii. 308, 310. Laocoon, vii. 53. Large interests generate nobility of thouglit, X. 65. Lars and Lemurs, v. 18; x. 8. Las Casas, quoted, ii. 85 ; iv. 226. Last Farewell, ix. 222/. Last judgment. See Judgment, day of. M. Angelo's, xii. 129. Latin poetry, i. 162 ; iii. 245// iv. 269 ; V. 198, 224, 226. Laughter, vi. 175 ; viii. 86, 96, 151 /, 156/, 166. Lavater, x. 318. Law, the higher, xi. 215. Laws, above, are sisters to those be- low, iv. 81 ; viii. 211 ; alive and beautiful, iii. 268 ; begirt with, ii. 129 ; beneficent necessity, iii. 203 ; our consolers, vi. 230 ; Hindoo defi- nition, 211 ; divine, i. 121 ; iii. 268 ; English, V. 159 ; must be written on ethical principles, x. 112 ; facts preexist as, ii. 9, 16 ; the world a fagot of, X. 86 ; growth, iv. 191 ; make no difference to the hero, i. 305/; history the unfolding of, viii. 212 ; built on ideas, iii. 192 ; ideal, viii. 35 ; identity, 13 ; immoral are void, xi. 165, 214 ; an extension of man, i. 358; ii. 11, 99 ; iii. 191,193, 203 ; viii. 44 ; of matter and of mind correspond, vi. 209 /; viii. 13, 21, 211, 220 ; are memoranda, iii. 192 ; mind carries, viii. 212 ; of na- ture, ii. 215, 222, 234 ; iii. 174 ; vi. 104; vii. 127; viii. 209; civil, not to be obeyed too well, iii. 199, 265 ; vi. 305 ; viii. 45 ; x. 189 ; omnipres- ent, vi. 30, 104 ; to one's self, ii. 74 ; perception of, is religion, vii. 128 ; viii. 325 ; x. 188 ; permanence, i. 53 ; X. 188 ; the dream of poets, vii. 218 ; viii. 36 ; of repression, vi. 23 ; not to be too much rev- erenced, iii. 205 ; none sacred but that of our nature, ii. 52 ; their Btatement is common-sense, vii. 87 ; universal, i. 122, 124 ; ii. 221 ; iii. 96 ; vi. 51, 84 ; ix. 73 ; useless, xi. 221 ; various readingvS, 213 ; of the soul, self-enforced, i. 122, 139 ; and virtue, vi. 226 ; world saturated with, iv. 174. Laws, Spiritual, ii. 123-157. Lawgivers, vii. 223. Layard, Austen H., quoted, vi. 252 ; viii. 227. Leaders, ii. 330 ; iv. 24 ; vi. 285 ; vii. 240,245; x. 51, 101. Learning, i. 211 ; ii. 139; x. 244. Leasts, nature in, iv. 102, 110; vii. 168. Leave all, receive more, ii. 320. Legion of Honor, iii. 221 ; x. 61. Leibnitz, quoted, vii. 152 ; x. 132. Lenses, we are, iii. 54, 77 ; iv. 11. Leroux, Paul, vi. 201. Letters, ix. 188; ii. 184, 201, 222 ; vii. 26 ; inspiration in the writing of, viii. 266 ; ix. 290. Letters, men of letters wary, vii. 235. Level, difference of, needed for com- munication, iv. 35. Liberalism. See under Rehgion. GENERAL INDEX. 311 Liberty, i. 357 ; ili. 203 ; vi. 10, 27 ; viii. 219, 235 ; index of general pro- Rross, xi. 21(!, 219, 222 J/\ 229, 29:5, 301 ; wild liberty breeds iron con- science, vi. G5. Lichens, ii. 42 ; vi. 83. Lies, i. 123, 318; ii. 72, 223; iii. 2G4 ; iv. 82, 87 ; x. 1G7 ; xi. 192. Life, Fbaoments on, ix. 287-298 ; amount, vi. 02 ; not to bo anato- mized, vii. 172 ; is the aa},'le of vis- ion, xii. 9 ; art of, will not be ex- posed, iii. 70 ; a bias to some pur- suit the high prize of, vi. 253 ; not to beclieap, 235 ; conditions, ii. 102 ; is growing costly, xi. 415 ; crisis of, vii. 120 ; not critical but sturdy, ii. 22() ; ix. 31 ; cumulative, vii. 302, 307 ; not long but deep is what we want, i. 330 ; iii. 02 ; vii. 170 ; X. 201 ; each sees his own de- faced, ii. 103 ; a scale of degrees, iv. 24; is not dialectics, iii. 01,07, 220 ; our dictionary, i. 98 ; a Buc- cession of dreams, vi. 305 ; x. 25 ; might be easier, ii. 128 ; vi. 200; an ecstasy, v. 44, 295 ; made of two elements, power and form, love and knowledge, iii. 07 ; vii. 282 ; em- bryo, viii. 322; its end is that man shall take up the universe into himself, X. 131 ; epochs, ii. 152 ; an expectation, iii. 72 ; an experi- ment, i. 171 ; vi. 297; viii. 89; ex- presses, i. 10, 171 ; vi. 103 ; external and inner, vii. 292 ; is advertisement of faculty, iii. 75 ; festival only to the wise, ii. 234 ; not to be carrlcid oil except by fidelity, x. 170; is freedom, vi. 42; a gale of warring elements, vii. 105 ; a game, i. 121 ; iii. 249 ; its grandeur in spite of us, viii. 75 ; should bo made happier, vi. 252, 200; headlong, iii. 110; liid- den, vi. 304 ; nnist be lived on higher plane, iii. 250 ; a ring of illu- sions, X. 88 ; is not intellectual tast- ing, ii. 220 ; iii. 01 ; the literary, xii. 20() ; lords of, iii. 47 ; less loved, i. 200 ; love of, the healthy state, viii. 314, 320 ; lyric or epic, ii. 340 ; magical, vii. 172 ; manners aim to facilitate, iii. 124 ; a masquer.ade, vi. 290, 301 ; mean, i. 217 ; ii. 243 ; how dilace, x. 50; the essenti.al measure of right, ii. 70, 87, 90, 111 ; iii. 69, 99, 267 ; iv. 175 ; vi. 92. Practice, and theory, i. 95, 211, 238; iv. 170, 253; v. 235; x. 149, 226, 256, 266 ; is nine tenths, vi. 78. Practical men, xii. 9. Praise, less safe than blame, ii. 114, 274 ; iii. 75, 102, 105 ; vi. 226, 234 ; ix. 116 ; xi. 271 ; the foolish face of, ii. 56 ; shows us what we have not, 209. Prayer, ix. 299. Prayers, xii. 212-219. in all action, ii. 77 ; adornment of man, i. 205 ; answers to, vi. 12 ; not brave or manly, ii. 76 ; church, i. 137 ; a church, xi. 222 ; a con- descension, V. 211 ; defined, ii. 76 ; false prayers, 76; of former, 77; granted, a curse, vi. 49; itera- tion in, 55 ; Jewish, v. 214 ; over poor land, xi. 403; beginning of literature, viii. 55 ; love prays, ii. 176; of others, hurtful, 276; to ourselves, granted, vi. 43 ; are prophets, 262; of Quakers before meals, viii. 85 ; Dr. Ripley's, x. 362 /; show lack of self-reliance, ii. 76 ; sliipmaster's, x. 19 ; study of truth, i. 77 ; that do not uplift, but smite us, 135 ; unmanly, ii. 76 ; disease of will, 78 ; of youth, iii. 193. Preacher, The, x. 207-228; i. 133-148 ; ii. 56 ; vii. 93 ; viii. 118. Preaching, the oflBce the first in the world, i. 134; do not preach, ix. 244; good preaching, vii. 93; xii. 238. Pre-cantations, things in, iii. 29. Precedent, love of, v. 109: vii. 275; xi. 279. Precisians, iii. 136. Premonitions, viii. 216, 293. Presence, doctrine of, i. 206, 212 ; vii. 215. Presence of mind, vi. 76 : viii. 22, 123 : xii. 72. Present, the present infinite, ii, 266, 278 ; and past, i. 284 ; ii. 67 ; iii. 66, 102, 164; vi. 223; vii. 18, 170, 284, 286 ; viii. 194 ; ix. 69, 242, 288 ; xii. 80. See, also, Time, To-day. Presentiments, i. 154 ; ii. 205, 277 ; x. 15 ; xi. 223. Pretension, i. 173, 179; ii. 150; iii. 100, 128, 130 ; v. Ill ; vi. 144. Pretty people tiresome, vi. 284. Price, the highest price for a thing is to ask for it, ii. 109 ; everything Ims its price. 111 ; iii. 52 ; vi. 105, 107 ; vii. 107 ; X. 51. Pride, ii. 107, 112: economical, vi. 111. GENERAL INDEX. 327 Priestcraft, ii. 32. Priesthood, x. 258. Prince Rupert's drop, the American Union a, xi. 410. Principles, i. 144, 238, 263, 2C5, 304 ; iii. 96, 200 ; v. 88 ; vii. 33 ; xi. 105, 199/, 398; xii. 109. Printing, xii. 71. Prisoners, v. 8 ; vii. 305 ; x. 81. Prisons, every thought a prison, ii. 316 ; iii. 36, 55. Privacy of storm, ix. 42. Private ends and uses, viii. 325 ; x. 85, 94, 96. Prizes, of virtue, iv. 136 ; x. 61 ; the high prize of life, vi. 253. Problem, The, ix. 15-17. Proclus, reading of, iii. 222 ; quoted, 19, 34 ; vi. 287. Production, in nature and thought, ii. 338 ; iv. 91 ; vi. 85. Profession, choice of, ii. 132 /. See Occupations, Trades. Profits that are profitable, ii. 146. Profligacy, vi. 110. Progenitors, qualities of, potted, vi. 15. Progress, i. 159, 204, 249, 283 ; ii. 117, 268, 297 ; vii. 36 ; viii. 330 ; xi. 175, 179, 216. Projectile impulse in nature, iii. 177, 185. Prometheus, ii. 33 /, 103 ; ix. 157, 168. Promises, ii. 222 ; iii. 55, 182 ; iv. 176 ; viii. 321 ; ix. 81. Property, iii. 193-198; in its present tenures, degrading, i. 261, 289 ; iii. 195 ; vi. 98, 104, 151 ; vii. 106 ; x. 128, 183 ; xi. 184 ; good always moral, 1. 43 ; iii. 221, 249 ; iv. 146 ; covers great spiritual facts, ii. 11 ; iii. 193 ; V. 87, 140, 159; x. 334; xi. 402; timid, i. 223, 228 : ii. 85, 108. Prophets, iii. 180, 235; viii. 153,258; xii. 8, 42. Proportion impossible to men, iii. 223 ; X. 170. Propriety, vi. 43; Gibraltar of, v. 110. Proprium of Swedenborg, viii. 290. Prose, in Englishman, v. 110 ; God speaks not in, viii. 17 ; of life, iii. 221 ; of nature, ii. 327. Prospects, i. 70-80. Prosperity, man not born for prosper- ity, i. 209; ii. 108/; x. 60; a rush of thoughts the only prosperity, viii. 258. Protection, iii. 244; vi. 214/, 247/ Protestants, x. 424 ; xii. 104. Proteus, i. 48 ; ii. 11, 35 ; iii. 172 ; iv. 50, 117, 150, 200 ; vi. 292, 297. Proverbs, the wisdom of nations, i. 38; ii. 105/; iii. 220; quoted, i. 86; ii. 224 /, 294 ; iii. 84 ; iv. 218 ; vi. 208, 244, 251 ; viii. 110, 176. Providence, terrific benefactor, i. 122 ; iii. 267 ; v. 214 ; vi. 12, 35, 194 ; x. 195 ; xi. 225, 230, 314, 424 ; playing providence, v. 290 ; xii. 28, 41, 51 ; particular providence, x. 360; pat- ronizing providence, xii. 51. Provocation, not instruction, is what we receive from others, i. 126, 131, 157. Prudence, ii. 207-227 ; i. 242 /; iv. 146, 226, 235 ; is concentration, vi. 74 ; low, i. 178 ; ii. 174, 234, 237, 293/; should coincide with poetry, 218 ; virtue of the senses, 210 ; vii. 108/; X. 21. Psyche, x. 178. Public, an eternal, ii. 145. Public opinion, i. 367 ; vii. 274 ; x. 40 ; xi. 197, 207, 404. Public speaking, i. 161 ; ii. 135, 145 ; iii. 181 ; v. 125 ; vi. 78 ; vii. 64. Public spirit, iii. 204; viii. 100; x. 94. Public worship, i. 139/. Pudency of friendship, vi. 259 ; of life, iii. 70. Pugnacity, interest in, xi. 184. Pulpit, i. 135 ; x. 113, 222, 224. See, also, Clergy, Preacher. Pulses, man lives by, iii. 70 ; vi. 33, 58 ; viii. 49. Pump, fetched with dirty water, if clean is not to be had, vi. 62. Pumpkins, men ripen like, iii. 234. Punctuality, iii. 136 ; iv. 226, 235 ; vii. 109 ; X. 170. Punishment and crime grow from the same root, ii. 100 ; iv. 81 ; xii. 65. Purgatory, x. 105. Puritans, i. 140, 320 ; x. 234, 359 ; xii. 165 ; we praise them because we do find in ourselves the spirit to do the like, 110. Purpose as necessity, ii. 74 ; iii. 223 ; vi. 254 ; vii. 96, 239. Purse, great depend not on, vii. 112. Pursuit, heaven in, iii. 185. Push, aboriginal, iii. 177 ; vi. 46. Pyrrhonism, ii. 131, 296. Pythagoras quoted, vi. 149 ; xii. 212. Quackery in education, x. 152. Quadruped, age, vi. 158; 240; iv. 165; law, xi. 214. 328 GENEBAL INDEX. Quake, if I quake, what matters it at what ? iii. 97. Quakers, iv. 134 ; viii. 85, 292 ; xi. 138, 346. Qualities abide, iv. 37 ; vi. 15. Quarantine, of calamities, xi. 226 ; of nature, iii. 165 ; of society, i. 301. Quarry of life, i. 99, 247. Quatrains, ix. 238-244. Queen of Sheba in Persian poetry, viii. 229. Questions, courage to ask, viii. 94. Quetelet, vi. 15 ; quoted, 22, note. Quietist, rapture, ii. 265. Quiucy, President, vii. 297 ; viii. 271 ; xii. 103, 111. Quintilian quoted, xii. 68. Quotation and Originality, viii. 167- 194 ; ii. 67 ; iv. 44 ; vii. 275. Rabelais, vi. 240 ; xi. 347, 367; quoted, viii. 176. Races of men, v. 47-74, 137 ; vi. 13, 21, 39, 46; xi. 34, 172/. Radiance of personal charm, ii. 172 ; vi. 286. Radicalism, is idealism, i. 301 ; iii. 258 ; vi. 18. See, also, Conservative and Radical. Ragged front of life, ii. 234. Rag-merchant, nature a, vi. 249. Railroads, a benefaction vastly exceed- ing any intentional philanthropy, vi. 243 ; i. 19, 55 ; not for their build- ers, 354 ; nature adopts, iii. 23 ; how built, vi. 93 ; aesthetic value of, 142, 243 ; vii. 154 ; viii. 204 ; x. 217 ; xii. 249. Rain, the hermitage of nature, i. 169 ; ii. 215. Rainbow, ix. 80, 81, 112, 166, 208, 281; the eye makes, vi. 50. Raleigh, Sir Walter, iv. 19, 164. RambouiUet, Hotel de, vii. 229; xi. 346. Rameau, Diderot's, viii. 163. Raphael, ii. 217, 337 ; viii. 163, 208. Rarey, John S., viii. 258. Rashness, no heaven for, ii. 192. Rate, man sets his own, ii. 143. Rat and mouse revelation, vi. 200. Reaction, law of, ii. 123 ; iv. 81. Reading, i. 89-95; vii. 185-188, 210; viii. 170, 279; x. 141, 154; read proudly, ii. 12, 63, 141, 155, 263 ; iii. 222 ; viii. 187. See, also. Books. ReaUsts, i. 153 ; iii. 132 ; vi. Ill ; viii. 103. See, also, Nominalist and Realist. Reality, elemental is moral sentiment, i. 274 ; iii. 52, 58, 130, 218, 226 ; iv. 144 ; v. 116, 180 ; we are to be face to face with, x. 204, 459 ; xi. 222 ; xii. 50 ; the first thing that man de- mands of man, iii. 130. Reason, i. 33 ; and sense, 54, 102, 125, 128, 176, 280 ; iv. 27, 170 ; vi. 91 ; vii. 53, 171 ; infinite, i. 167 ; vii. 95 ; deals with wholes, not with degrees or fractions, viii. 51. Receptivity enriches, i. 200 ; ii. 311 ; vii. 284; viii. 280, 295; x. 83; de- mands outlet, iii. 54. Recesses of life, i. 236. Recluse, the, his thoughts of society, iii. 227, 230 ; vii. 17. Rectitude, wisdom does not reach a literal rectitude, i. 145, 205, 286 ; ii. 117; iii. 98, 158; genius takes its rise from, iv. 139 ; vi. 207 ; safe- guards of, X. 86. Red Jacket quoted, vii. 170, 309. Red slayer, ix. 170. Redeemer, man a Redeemer, i. 306 ; xii. 198. Reed, Sampson, quoted, xii. 76. Refinement entails loss of substance, ii. 84. Reflection, ours the age of, i. 108 ; thinking prior to, ii. 305, 308. Reformation, licentiousness treads on the heels of, ii. 33. Reformer, Man the, i. 215-244. Reformers, New England, iii. 237- 270. Reforms must construct, iii. 61, 100, 248 ; iv. 163 ; dangers, x. 119 ; must begin with education, vi. 9, 136 ; not to be pursued as end, i. 204, 248, 256, 271 ; ii. 255, 295 ; facility of, in America, xi. 411 ; must begin at home, iii. 248 ; pedantry of, 249 ; the soul of, i. 263 ; first a thought in one man, ii. 10. Refrain in songs, viii. 50. Regrets are false prayers, ii. 77 ; the voices of debility, xii. 253. Relations, personal, ii. 142 f; iii. 53 ; vii. 19; of things, 175, '231, 284; viii. 88. Relative and absolute, iv. 144. Religion, every act should be reli- gious, vii. 128 ; ages, xi. 333 ; Amer- ican, X. 203 ; antidote to the com- mercial spirit, xii. 98 ; base tone, ii. 93 ; changes, viii. 311 ; x. 105, 113, 199, 209, 214 ; charm of old, i. 209 ; xi. 269 ; of the present day child- ish, vi. 199, 228 ; glozes over crime, X. 114 ; a crab fruit, vi. 205 ; not to be crystallized, v. 215 ; the flower- ing of culture, vi. 196 ; xii. 98 ; in GENERAL INDEX. 329 daily life, iv. 118 ; x. 191 ; decay, vi. 196, 200, 204 ; x. 112, 196, 210 ; xi. 333 ; iu disguise in the barbarous mind, v. 207; vi. 198; xii. 94; dis- putes, ii, 225 ; x. 307 , emancipator, xii. 105; is emotion in presence of universal mind, x. 190 ; endogenous, V. 215 ; enthusiasm, ii. 264 ; essence lost by reliance on institutions, i. 303 ; and ethics, 62 ; vi. 199 ; x. 203; everywhere, xi. 388; will not fall out, vi. 196 ; false were once true, X. 104 ; disuse of forms, 108 ; of future, 201 ; geographical, 195 ; growth alarms, 118, 214 ; formal religion a hoax, viii. 158 ; x. 303 ; xi. 271 ; truly human, 333, 391 ; not to be imported, x. Ill ; in- dividualism in, 118 ; inexpugnable, vi. 204 ; x. 117 ; influence, i. 124 ; v. 206 ; xii. 99 ; must be intellectual, vi. 229 ; an iron belt, x. 196 ; liberal, 116, 196 ; morbidness, iv. 95 ; nar- rowness, X. 107 ; xi. 388 ; national, v. 205 ; X. 106 ; natural, i. 62 ; x. 200 ; need, 117 ; to say there is no religion is like saying there is no sun, vi. 204 ; estimated by numbers, ii. 276 ; object, x. 214 ; not occa- sional, vii. 128 ; opinions, viii. 201 ; X. 215 ; great men its patrons, iv. 10 ; is sometimes pew-holding, x. 220 ; power, i. 124 ; v. 206 ; xii. 99 ; primeval, x. 280 ; and property, i. 302/; is the public nature, vi. 196 ; quoted, X. HI ; reaction, 196 ; the most refining of aU mfluences, xii. 99 ; of revelation, i. 9 ; revivals, x. 268 ; revolution in, vi. 200 ; viii. 311 ; parodied by ritual, 158 ; science the source of revolution, x. 317 ; search for, vi. 195 ; xi. 333 ; depen- dent on seasons, iii. 55 ; secret, v. 220 ; sects, x. 113 ; and self-depen- dence, xi. 389 ; shallowness, x. 220 ; surface-action, 216 ; symbolism in, leads to error, iii. 38 ; test, x. 220 ; theatrical, v. 219 ; time-serving, i. 302/; of to-day, vi. 204 ; traditions losing hold, x. 113, 209 ; universal, vi. 196; X. 215; xi. 388; cannot rise above votary, vi. 196 ; war in name of, xi. 180 ; welcomed, vii. 283 ; and woman, xi. 345 ; of world, 391. See, also, Christianity, The- ology. Remedial forces, ii. 121 ; x. 149. Remember, you shall not, iii. 69. Reminiscence, Plato's doctrine of, iv. 84, 94. Remoteness of persons, ii. 188. Renan, E., quoted, viii. 104 ; x. 235. Renovator must himself be renovated, iii. 248. Renunciations of the poet, iii. 44. Repetitions, no repetitious in the world, ii. 82. Reporter, the writer as, iv. 251. Repose, choose between truth and, ii. 318. Representatives, what they must rep- resent, X. 52,^'. Republic, Fortune of, i. 393-425. Republics, iii. 202 ; xi. 400/. Repudiation, you cannot repudiate but once, i. 367. Reputations, decline of, i. 254 ; iv. 36 ; unaccounted for, iii. 89 ; do not be impatient of false reputations, 269 ; slavery to, vii. 158, 307. Resemblances, nature full of, i. 48/; ii. 20 ; iv. 119 ; viii. 13. Residuum, unknown, in every man, ii. 286. Resistance, sweet satisfaction of, xii. 107. Resources, viii. 131-148 ; i. 146, 154 ; viii. 199 ; x. 72, 78 ; xii. 23. Respect, men respectable only as they respect, x. 197. Responsibility, need of, xi. 199, 273. Rest, viii. 267 ; xii. 55 ; by alternation of employment, viii. 144; motion and, iii. 173, 186. Restlessness, our education fosters, ii. 81 ; viii. 26 ; x. 227, 234. Results, respect for, v. 212. Retirement need not be unsocial, i. 323; vi. 149; vii. 215 ; x. 227. Retribution, what is, ii. 99 /, 117 ; X. 186, 190 ; xi. 225. Retz, Cardinal de, quoted, vi. 175, 285 ; viii. 186. Revelation, not at an end, i. 132 ; dis- closure of the soul, ii. 263, 265, 276 ; vi. 239 ; x. 114 ; persons on the eve of a, vi. 129. Reverence, for the past, ii. 57; a great part of friendsliip, 200; due from man to man, 63 ; vii. 20, 239 ; for what is above us, x. 198. Revision of our manner of life, ii. 152. Revivals, religious, ii. 265 ; vi. 200 ; x. 268. Revolutions come from new ideas, i. 271 ; ii. 10 ; x. 238, 242, 309 ; xi. 164, 188, 320, 398, 412. Reward, cannot be escaped, ii. 100 ; iii. 268 ; vi. 220, 223 ; viii. 287 ; x. 190. Reynolds, Sir Joshua, quoted, viii. 275. Rhea, To, ix. IS/". 330 GENERAL INDEX. Rhetoric, power to detach and mag- nify, ii. 330 ; iv. 60 ; vi. 279 ; vii. 66 ; X. 164, 315 ; xii. 119. Rhodora, The, ix. 39. Rhyme, in nature, ill. 29 ; iv. 107 ; vi. 49 ; vii. 56 ; viii. 47-58 ; ix. 53, 255 ; xii. 207. Rhythm of nature, iv. 135. Rich men, i. 228, 233, 240 // ii. 12 ; who is rich? iii. 98, 148, 168, 183, 198; iv. 10, 59; vi. 114, 247, 252; vii. 115, 137, 163; viii. 98; x. 48; the rich man is he in wliom the people are rich, vi. 96. See, also, Riches, Wealth. Richard of Devizes, quoted, vi. 198. Riches, i. 226, 237, 298 ; man needs to be rich, vi. 85-88. See, also, Rich People, Wealth. Richter, Jean P. F., quoted, ii. 170; xi. 102. Rider, a good, the mark of, vi. 138 ; X. 60. Ridicule, shun, viii. 96 ; as remedy, 143 ; peculiar to man, 151. Right, meaning, i. 31 ; measure of, 318 ; ii. 52, 70, 112 ; iii. 62, 204 ; x. 88, 95, 185, 190 ; liberates, xi. 175, 218, 408. Rights, human, discussion of, iii. 67 ; equality, 193 ; higher, 209, 243. Ripley, Ezra, D. D., x. 355-370. Ripley, George, x. 321 /. RituaUsm, vi. 199// x. 105. River, taught to make carpets, xi. 421 ; of delusions, iv. 25 ; emblem- atic, i. 32, 283 ; man's impiety towards, vii. 240 ; perpetual gala, 1. 25 ; good-natured, vii. 31 ; intel- lect, a river from an unknown source, ii. 252 ; iii. 10 ; makes own shores, viii. 235 ; xii. 15. Rivers, Two, ix. 213. Roads, air, xii. 249; American rage for, i. 343 ; through solidest things, iii. 232 ; vent for industry, vii. 26 ; meters of civilization, x. 173 ; xi. 423; mended with diamonds, viii. 103. RoBBiNs, Rev. Chandler, Hymn at Ordination of, ix. 192 /. Robespierre, eloquence, viii. 126. Robin Hood, xii. 220. Rokmson Crusoe, as model of writing, X. 426. Rochester, Earl of, quoted, vii. 226. Rockets, stars of heaven packed into, xii. 9. Rock, of ages, ix. 295 ; x. 70 ; xii. 47 ; teaches firmness, i. 48, 283 ; made of gases, vii. 139 ; x. 72, 258. Rodney, Admiral, v. 69. Rogues, in politics, vi. 07, 202 ; under the cassock, x. 222 ; the choice of sensible persons, xi. 406. Roman, buildings, i. 233 ; conversa- tion, vii. 229 ; education, iii. 245 ; and Greek character, viii. 300. Roman Catholic Church, influence, V. 207 ; X. 195, 219 ; peculiar rites, xi. 9/, 17; 346. Romance, the root of, ii. 242, 325; the life of man the true romance, iii. 270; vii. 14,17,207. Romantic era not past, i. 108. Romany Girl, ix. 195/. Rome, Caesar called his house, i. 79 ; charm, xii. 87 ; pictures, ii. 336 ; sculpture galleries, vii. 54. Rome, Written at, ix. 301/. Romilly, Sir Samuel, v. 65, 89/, 96, note, 97, 107, 150, 214. Rose color, soul has no, ii. 272. Roses, language, i. 7 ; ix. 31, 111 ; otto of, X. 169 ; lives in the present, ii. 67 ; renews its race, viii. 44 ; red, through thee, ii. 181 ; regal acts like, 127 ; rival of, 39 ; Saadi's in- toxication from, iv. 137 ; shames man, ii. 67. Rose-water to wash negro white, vii. 157. Rotation, the law of nature and of man, iii. 227, 231 ; nature's remedy, iv. 23, 167 /. Rothschild, vi. 75, 103. Rousseau, Jean Jacques, iii. 260. Routine, acts of, ii. 298 ; power of, vi. 77, 203 ; x. 150 ; xii. 54. Rowing and backing water, iii. 253. Rubbish of nature conceals useful results, i. 44. Rubies, ix. 188. Ruby, chalk becomes, ix. 247. Rude people, how reached, vi. 166. Rufllan smoothed, ii. 96. Ruins, men are, vii. 106. Rulers, physiognomy of, vi. 285 ; viii. 80, 220 ; natural, x. 120 ; potency of good, li. 296. Rules, easy, x. 150 ; not final, 217. Rum, good to tax, vii. 34. Rush, Dr. Benjamin, vii. 269. Rushworth, John, quoted, v. 291. Ruskiu, John, quoted, viii. 318. Russell, Lord William, i. 27. Ruts of custom, i. 238. Rydal Mount, v. 21, 279. Saadi, ix. 114-118 ; iv. 137 ; vii. 199; viii. 65; quoted, iv. 206; v. 30; vi. 94, 283; vii. 299; viii. 118; xi. 222. GENERAL INDEX. 331 Sabbath, made unlovely, i. 135 ; jubi- lee of the world, 147, 209, 303 ; iii. 239; vii. 162; x. 351. See, also, Sunday. Saccharine principle, predominance of, ii. 215, 296. Sachem, head of, ii. 20. Sacred Band, i. 361 ; x. 309 ; xi. 384. Safety bought by ourselves, viii. 102. Sagas, Norse, v. 59, 61 ; vii. 243. Sahara, is man's fault, x. 329: xii. 85, Sailors, life of, v. 33 ; vii. 248. Sainte-Beuve quoted, viii. 93. St.-Evremond, Charles, x. 333. St. Just, Autoine L., quoted, viii. 85. St. Pierre, Bernardin de, quoted, x. 178. St. Simon, C. H., Comte de, iii. 250 ; quoted, viii. 137. St. Vitus's dance, x. 216, 255. Saints, the only logicians, i. 186 ; a slight taint of burlesque attaches to, 335 ; iii. 80 ; iv. 128 ; self-respect of, viii. 296 ; not good executive officers, vi. 67. Salad grown by electro-magnetism, iii. 187. Saliency, habit of, divine effort in man, viii. 72 ; xii. 220. Salisbury Cathedral, v. 67, 270/. Salisbury Plain, v. 262, 267. Sallust quoted, i. 26. Salt, truth a better preserver than, viii. 323. Saltations of thought, i. 174 ; iii. 70 ; viii. 72. Sample men, iv. 79. Samson, Abbot, x. 336; xii. 239. San Carlo, iv. 166. San Salvador, wee, ix. 201. Sanborn, F. B., verses on Samuel Hoar, X. 405. Sanctity, iv. 92. Sanctorius, vi. 128. Sanctuary, of heart, 1. 265 ; house a, vii. 127. Sand, George, iv. 265 ; v. 34 ; vi. 164 ; vii. 203#; quoted, 205; viii. 274. Sandemauians, feet-washing, xi. 17. Sanity, what is, vi. 263. Sannups, ix. 125 ; xi. 54. Santa Croce, church, xii. 141. Saranac, ix, 159. Sarona, viii. 67. Sarsena, v. 263. Satellites, be not a satellite, i. 91 ; hu- man arts satellites to nature, vii. 44. Saturn, i. 280. Saturnalia, transcendentalism the Saturnalia of faith, i. 320. Sauce-pan, Macaulay reduces intellect to, V. 235. Saurin, Jacques, quoted, x. 317. Savages, converse in figures, i. 32, 34 ; advantages, ii. 83 ; vi. 71 ; arts, viii. 204. Savant, everybody knows as much as the savant, ii. 308 ; a pedant, vii. 174 ; xii. 7. Savariu, Brillat, viii. 145. Savoyards, who whittled up their pine- trees, i. 98. Saxe, Marshal, saying, vii. 248. Saxon race, citizens, xi. 247 ; demo- cratic, V. 75; despair, x. 86; in England, v. 54, 75/; face, 68 ; hands of mankind, 77 ; leaders, vi. 89 ; vii. 270; friendly to liberty, xi. 175; merchants, vi. 89 ; moral sentiment, V. 294 ; precision, 224 ; privacy, x. 343 ; Protestants, v. 50 ; sturdi- ness, 168 ; training, vi. 36 ; type, v. 57 ; woman of, xi. 345 ; workers, v. 75. Sayer and doer, iii. 12/. Saying, not what you say, but what you are, is heard, viii. 95. Scandinavians, v. 55, 67, 133. See, also, Norse, Norsemen. Scaurus, Marcus Aemilius, vi. 186. Scenery, influence, ii. 140 ; iii. 169 ; vi. 153. Scheherezade, vii. 71 ; x. 82. Schelling quoted, v. 230 ; vi. 18, Schiller, iii. 89 ; quoted, vi. 241 ; viii. 177, 313. Schisms of 1820, x. 307. Schlegel quoted, x. 164. Scholar, The, x. 247-274 ; i. 81 ; 115, 154-178 ; needs action, 96 ; aims, iii. 255 ; asceticism, i. 170, 180 ; awkwardness, viii. 82 ; bifold Ufe, ii. 220 ; and books, vii. 107, 187 ; X. 274 ; born too soon, 232 ; brave, i. 104 ; a caudle, vii. 16 ; viii. 294 ; x. 260 ; sacrificed to be courtier and diner-out, xii. 8 ; discipline, i. 167- 178; duties, 101, 104; viii. 218 ; x. 236, 241, 250, 273 ; effeminacy, vii. 259 ; egotism, xii. 7 ; enthusiasm, X. 259 ; xii. 21 ; every man a, x. 238 ; xi. 106 ; victim of expression, iii. 68 ; failures, i. 151 ; faith, 237 ; and farming or gardening, vi. 112 ; gifts, iii. 256 ; x. 262, 265, 269 ; and giddy girl, ii. 143 ; wants gossips, vii. 232; habits, viii. 280; x. 240; and heredity, vi. 157 ; favorite of Heaven, i. 151 ; bringer of hope, 185 ; idealist, viu, 218 ; x. 243, 252 ; xii, 241 ; carrier of ideas, 238 ; in- 332 GENERAL INDEX. dependent of his times, x. 237 ; rep- resents intellect, whereby man is man, iv. 252 ; viii. 286 ; x. 262 ; irri- tability, vi. 133; labor, viii. 294, 323 ; X. 260 ; a leader, i. 86 ; in what his learning consists, vii. 171 ; stands for liberty, x. 236 ; xi. 227 ; a liter- ary foundation, vii. 107 ; in a lum- ber-camp, X. 459 ; is man thinking, i. 86 ; manliness, viii. 124 ; accepts poverty and solitude, i. 101, 162, 175 ; X. 273 ; men of the world, i. 95, 101 ; vi. 133, 176 ; x. 266 ; pro- phetic function, i. 174 ; x. 232 ; re- sources, i. 154-161 ; ridicule of, iv. 253 ; his secret, viii. 296 ; self-cen- tred, i. 102, 113 ; self-denial, ii. 318 ; as speaker, viii. 123 ; his subject, i. 161-167 ; his superiorities, x. 231 ; patron of new thought, i. 276 ; power over thoughts, xii. 40 ; wariness, vii. 235 ; wealth an impediment, viii. 280 ; the weather fits his moods, vii. 162 ; has wiser men around him, 230 ; not to defend wrong, x. 236 ; victory, 239. See, also, Literary Ethics, (md below. Scholar, The American, i. 81-115. School-boys, vi. 60 ; vii. 116 ; ix. 145 ; X. 138. School-girls, x. 82 ; xii. 78. School-house, old, vii. 162. Schools. See Education. Schopenhauer, viii. 134. Science, aids to man, ii. 343 ; vi. 158, 209 ; aim, i. 10 ; finding analogy, 87 ; at arm's length from its objects, vi. 267 ; attraction, i. 73 ; beginnings of, iv. 48 ; empirical, i. 70, 77 ; effect on man, vi. 270 ; English, v. 240 ; lessons should be experimental, iii. 245 ; eye of, viii. 71 ; destroys fic- tions of the church, x. 317 ; formulas of no value for any but the owner, 270 ; generalizations, iv. 78 ; half sight of, i. 73 ; lacks a human side, iv. 10 ; vi. 268 ; debt to imagina- tion, viii. 16 ; a search for identity, vi. 297 ; viii. 13 ; jealous of theory, vi. 270 ; miracles, viii. 197 ; con- tinuation into morals, vi. 209 ; mo- tive, 269 ; shows the genesis of man, viii. 13 ; its motive the ex- tension of man into nature, vi. 269 ; pedantry, viii. 161 ; and poetry, iii. 25 ; viii. 558 ; of sciences, iv. 62 ; index of self-knowledge, iii. 20 ; viii. 44, 210 ; sensual and super- ficial, iii. 19 ; coincidence witli virtue, iv. 81 ; wonder the seed of, vii. 152. Sciences, ccJrrelation, viii. 211 ; like sportsmen, iv. 62. Scipio, ii. 241; Scipionism of, 82. Scot, paying, ii. 108 ; vi. 90. Scotcli, estimate of wealth, x. 235. Scott, Walter, xi. 371-377 ; boys' delight, vi. 296 ; ix. 206 ; and Byron, viii. 300; novels, iii. 143; poetry, V. 242 ; xii. 186, 227 ; power, x. 56, 296 ; and Wordsworth, v. 281 ; works, i. 167 ; ii. 38, 233 ; iii. 144 ; X, 431 ; quoted, iii. 130 ; vi. 287 ; x. 10. Scougal, Henry, x. 196, 218 ; xii. 95. Screens, iii. 131. Scribatiousness, vii. 201. Scriblerus Club, Berkeley at the, iii. 259. Scripture, Greek, ii. 20, 28, 282 ; laws of, 171, 330, 332/, 339; iii. 28, 41, 106, 133, 223; iv. 186; vii. 47, 53/; teaches manners, vi. 153 ; moral element, 290 ; vii. 58. See, also, Art. Scriptures, fragmentary, i. 148, 201 ; V. 209, 215. See, also, Bible. Scythe, sound of, in the mornings of June, ii. 216. Sea, spray from antediluvian, v. 52 ; attraction, 29 ; vii. 164 ; bellowing, ix. 14 ; takes Boston in its arms, 182 ; cemetery, v. 32 ; chiding, ix. 207 ; road of civilization, vii. 25 ; dread of, v. 29, 32 ; drinking, iv. 109 ; drop outweighs, ii. 81 ; drowns ship and sailor like a grain of dust, vi. 35 ; and English empire, v. 35; life on, 31 ; masculine, 32 ; mastery, vi. 36, 89 ; viii. 291 ; might, V. 32 ; poet, lord of, iii. 45 ; Britain's ring of marriage, v. 43 ; thorough bass of, viii. 58 ; of circumstance, ii. 116 ; of delusion, vii. 97 ; genius a diver in, i. 157 ; of knowledge, vi. 257 ; educates the sailor, vii. 25 ; of science, iii. 42 ; of thought, i. 51, 326 ; ix. 122 ; time, passing away as, i. 142 ; ii. 30. See, also, Ocean. Sea-shell, record of the animal's life, i. 284 ; England's crest, v. 109. Sea-shore, ix. 207 ff; i. 163; iv. 56 ; vii. 25 ; viii. 273/; xii. 85. Seasonable tilings, vii. 218. Seasons, i. 24, 34 ; religious sentiment dependent on, iii. 55. Seceder from the seceders, i. 288. Secession, peaceable, xi. 300. Second sight, ethical, iv. 82 ; vi. 289 ; viii. 26; pseudo-spiritualist, x. 26, Secret, of God, vi. 207 ; of success, 234 ; of world, iii. 16, 231 ; x. 228. Secret societies, xi. 410. GENERAL INDEX. 333 Secrets, all told, ii. 99 ; vi. 213 ; not shown except to sympathy and likeness, ii. 138/; iv. 154; vii. 228. Sectarianism, makes false, ii. 56 ; science destroys, viii. 201 ; xii. 6. Sects, narrowing, x. 218; xi. 392; shifting, X. 113, 118 ; xi. 389. Securities, insecure, vi. 106. Seeds, i. 34 ; iii. 179 ; iv. 38 ; produce their Uke, vi. 120, 222; vii. 101; X. 248 ; xii. 269. Seeing, we see what we make, ii. 140 /, 242 ; iii. 80, 170 ; viii. 44 ; and do- ing, vi. 74 ; xii. 49. Seeker, endless, i. 179 ; ii. 269, 297. Seeming and being, ii. 151 ; x. 33, 50. Seen teaches us of the unseen, ii. 139 ; viii, 320. Seer, i. 94 ; a sayer, 133. Selden, John, quoted, vii. 16 ; x. 109. Self, aboriginal, ii. 64 ; fleeing from, 80 ; is God in us, i. 130, 273 ; con- dition of our incarnation in a self, 160 ; insist on, ii. 81 ; leave to be one's, vii. 217. Self-absolution, ii. 74. Self-accusation, ii. 296 ; iii. 257. Self-adapting strength, xii. 270. Self-centred, x. 2.52. Self-command, i. 48 ; viii. 85 ; x. 153. Self-communion, x. 227. Self-consciousness, vii. 10. Self-content, iii. 129. Self-control, vi. 187 ; viii. 86, 123; X. 153. Self-counsel, ii. 247. Self-culture, iv. 274. Self-defence, xi. 194. Self-denial, i. 209 ; ii. 318 ; vi. 149 ; xii. 252. Self-estimates, iii. 257. Self-government, iii. 209. Self-gratulation, iv. 29. Self-heal, iii. 186. Self-healing, i. 76. Self-help, the only help, i. 234 ; 77 ; xi. 172, 182, 389. Selfish, all sensible people are, iv. 168 ; vi. 261. Selfishness, i. 222, 234; our history the history of, 240 ; ours makes oth- ers', 266 ; self-punishing, iii. 202 ; vi. 129 ; X. 65 ; xii. 181, 184, 252 ; root of, vi. 130. Self-knowledge, ii. 40 ; viii. 44 ; x. 15. Self-love, vi. 130 ; vii. 239. Self-poise, iii. 133 ; vi. 195. Self-possession, ii. 224 ; vi. 152, 178. Self-recovery, i. 70 ; iii. 82. Self-eeuance, ii. 45-87 ; i. 265, 305, 316 ; ii. 320 ; iii. 128 /, 247 ; vi. 178, 182; vii. 13, 275; x. 59, 62, 66, 84, 141, 198, 243; xi. 198/, 222, 405, 416. Self-respect, i. 102, 369; ii. 49, 153; iii. 133 ; v. 142, 280 ; not measured by number of clean shirts, vi. 235 ; viii. 286, 291 /, 296 ; x. 40, 87 ; xi. 389. Self-sacrifice, attractiveness of, i. 122 ; vii. 239 ; viii. 104, 325 ; ix. 243. Self-similar woods, ix. 163. Self-sufficingness, iii. 98; viii. 101. Self-trust, the reason of, i. 101, 104, 106, 130, 142, 156, 198 ; ii. 236/; iii. 79, 247 ; vii. 276, 278 ; x. 20, 40, 67. See, also, Self-Reliance. Seneca quoted, viii. 268 ; x. 294. Senses, pleasure severed from needs of character, ii. 100 ; despotic at short distances, i. 54, 153, 175 ; iii. 135 ; education, vi. 204 ; fool of, iii. 178 ; and imagination, vi. 287 ; im- prison us, viii. 28 ; overpowering in- fluence, ii. 256 ; interference, vi. 295 ; life of, iii. 234 ; men of, iv. 146 ; ministry of, xii. 34 ; give represen- tations only, 311 ; secret, 29 ; skep- tics, vii. 140 ; collect surface facts, viii. 28 ; not final, i. 311 ; prudence the virtue of, ii. 210. Sensibility, is all, iii. 11, 169 ; vii. 278 ; fountain of right thought, 283/, 287, 309 ; viii. 212 ; x. 83 ; xii. 39. Sensible men, rare, viii. 287/. Sensualism, ii. 100, 219 ; iii. 57 ; vii. 117 ; X. 147, 149 ; xi. 413. Sentiment, measure of action, ii. 147 ; Americans deaf to, i. 237 ; beauty depends on the sentiment it inspires, vi. 284 ; x. 57, 261 ; is color, vii. 283 ; consolation of life, viii. 102 ; conver- sation excludes, vii. 218 ; counter- feit, viii. 103 ; illumination, vii. 279 ; largest is truest, iv. 133 ; law, ii. 99; the inside aspect of life the means of its expression, x. 261 ; power, 164; xii. 110; moral, see Moral sentiment ; realm, x. 84 ; re- ligious, xi. 222 ; advantages of re- nouncing generous sentiment, iv. 218 ; sail of the sliip of humanity, 339 ; starving, x. 58 ; thought im- bosomed in, 179 ; never loses its youth, 226. Seutimentalism, viii. 103 ; nature no sentimentalist, vi. 12. Sepulture, forms of, as the history of religion, viii. 308. Sequestration, by intellect, ii. 321; iii. 104. 334 GENERAL INDEX. Seraphim, love most, ii. 321. Serenity the charm of manners, iii. 134 ; vi. 281 ; x. 58. Sermons of the early times, x. 107. Servants, false relations to, i. 240 ; vi. 260/. Service, being served, an onerous busi- ness, iii. 157 Jf; none direct, iv. 13/; services do not join us to oth- ers, ^but only likeness, iii. 159 ; al- ways remunerated, vi. 220 ; x. 186 ; truth serves all, ix. 105 ; x. 202 ; the virtue of all beings, xi. 277, 422/. Sets in society, viii. 89. Settled, the wish to be, ii. 298, 318. Seventeenth century writing, v. 225. Seward, William H., xi. 308. Sex, iv. 124 ; vi. 59 ; xi. 346, 355 ; two sexes in the English mind, v. 68. Sexual attraction, vi. 129 ; vii. 306. Seyd, vi. 265 ; ix. 21, 249. Shadows, the world the shadow of the soul, i. 96 ;• ii. 189 ; iii. 77 ; viii. 27, 162; institutions shadows of men, ii. 62 ; point to the sun, 147; rhymes to the eye, viii. 48. Shah Nameh, viii. 229. Shakers, vi. 67, 195, 226 ; flowers, ix. 86. Shakespeare, Willlam, iv. 179-209; ix. 190, 243; advantages, iv. 184 ; liis sentences aerolites, 199 ; Ariel, viii. 46 ; autograph, iii. 65 ; Delia Bacon on, viii. 188 ; best-bred man, iii. 144 ; common sense, viii. 9 ; creative power, 47 ; debt to oth- ers, vi. 60; dialogue, iii. 144; in earnest, vii. 56; without egotism, xii. 192; without effort, vii. 174; and EngUsh history, 189 ; equal- ity in all his work, viii. 73 ; xii. 46 ; exactitude of mind, v. 223; most expressive man, x. 168 ; Falstatf , viii. 154, 237 ; generalizations, v. 229, 231 ; called out German genius, xii. 180; and Goethe, viii. 09; xii. 193 ; humanity, ii. 270 ; Imogen, v. 107; made up of important passages, viii. 36 ; mfluence, i. 92 ; best known of men, iv. 200 ; not known to his time, ii. 34 ; viii. 185 ; Lear, 32, 34 ; gives a feeling of longevity, ii. 256 ; unmeasured, ix. 200, 243 ; chief merit, iv. 20 ; and Milton, xii. 151, 157 ; miraculous, viii. 261 ; imperial muse, i. 57 ; power of subordinating nature to purposes of expression, 57 ; organ of mankind, ii. 105 ; no non-resistent, i. 100 ; xi. 198 ; per- ception of identity, iv. 22 ; person- ality, xii. 171 ; Platonist, iv. 85 ; use of Plutarch, x. 280 ; knows poverty, vi. 247 ; popular power, x. 56 ; xi. 367 ; realism, viii. 31 ; richness, iii. 43 ; keenness of sense, xii. 225 ; on study, vii. 188; style, iv. 20; and Swedenborg, 92 ; Tempest, i. 58 ; unique, ii. 82, 128 ; universality, 12 ; value, i. 156 ; viii. 209 ; versatil- ity, 73 ; a voice merely, xii. 151 ; well - read, vi. 136 ; wisdom, gol- den word, iv. 197 ; xii. 188 ; hard to distinguish his works, i. 92 ; iv. 43 ; achievement as a youth, vii. 303 ; quoted, i. 39, 58/; ii. 191, 238, 337 ; iv. 80, 197 ; v. 127 ; vi. 245; vii. 188 ; viii. 147 ; x. 47/, 107 ; xi. 303. Shakespeare of divines, ix. 17. Shakespearian, be a, iv. 33. Shams in building, vi. 276. Sharpe, Granville, xi. 136 /, 141; quoted, 165. Shelley, Percy B., viii. 29; xii. 186; quoted, viii. 309. Shell-fish, growth, i. 284 ; u. 22, 120 ; iii. 29, 173 ; iv. 154. Shenstone, William, quoted, viii. 92. Sheridan, Richard B., quoted, v. 171. Ships, V. 31 ; vii. 28 ; ship of heaven, X. 189 ; of humanity, xi. 339 ; mon- archy like a ship, iii. 202. Shirts, clean, the measure of self-re- spect, V. 84 ; vi. 235 ; x. 188. Shop-bill, ethics in, ii. 111. Shop-keeping, iii. 67 ; xi. 153. Shop, talking, viii. 97. Shopman, wrinkled, ix. 74. Shore, needed in shoving off, i. 288. Shot heard round the world, ix. 139. Should and would, viii. 34. Shrewdness and wisdom contrasted, ii. 114. Shyness, disease of, vii. 10, 12. Sibyls, writing, xii. 67. Sicily, vii. 70. Sick people, vi. 250, 252. Sickness, poor-spirited, iii. 67 ; vi. 57, 129, 249/; viii. 96; a forbidden topic, vi. 188. Sidney, Algernon, quoted, x. 261. Sidney, Sir Philip, v. 10, 269; viii. 47; xi. 262 ; quoted, ii. 145. Sieve, the ear a sieve, xii. 29. Sight, iv. 65. Sights and sounds, viii. 27. Sign-boards of character, iii. 56; vi. 169 ; X. 16. Signing off, i. 140. Silence, better than discourse, ii. 290 ; viii. 95 ; destroys personality, 319 ; xii. 157. Sileuus, iii. 150. GENERAL INDEX. 335 Sills of state, xii. 105. Similar and same, x. 145. Simile, use, viii. 17. Simonides, x. 444. Simorg, viii. 228, 250. Simplicity, greatness of, i. 160; ii. 272; V. 179; mi. 279; vii. 116; x. 57, 171. Sims, rendition of, xi. 272. Sin, iii. 79. Sinai, theatrical, v. 219. Sincerity, the basis of talent as of character, xii. 58 ; gives lasting ef- fect, ii. 145 ; vi. 216 ; the luxury of, ii. 193 ; more excellent than flattery, 274 ; German, iv. 267 ; v. 115 ; gives force to eloquence, viii. 120 ; great men sincere, 217 ; ix. 16 ; x. 244 ; xii. 28, 58; every sincere man is right, 49. Sing-Sing in parlor, vii. 19. Sistine Chapel, vii. 126. Sitfast acres, ix. 36. Sixteen, sweet seriousness of, vi. 272. Sixty, man worth nothing until, vii. 302. Size and worth, vi. 181 ; ix. 202. Skates, wings or fetters, vi. 20. Skating, iii. 62 ; vi. 36 ; viii. 34. Skepticism, self-defence against crude sentiment, ii. 34, 285 ; iii. 67, 76, 256, 263 ; iv. 148 ff, 163 #, 172 ; x. 210 ; not to be feared, iv. 174; vi. 193.^, 205 #; X. 204, 215 ; is belief in luck, 210 ; viii. 134, 316 ; x. 265. Skill, comes of doing, vii. 303. Sky, do not leave the sky out of your landscape, vi. 188, 288; vii. 164// viii. 73, 134 ; ix. 15. Skyey sentences, iv. 198. Sky-language, xii. 18. Slaughter-house, vi. 13. Slave-drivers, theoretic, iii. 56. Slavery, xi. 129-175; 203-230; 277- 290 ; 291-303 ; abolition, i. 266 ; xi. 233; American churches on, x. 114 ; influence on American govern- ment, xi. 244; Bible and, 220; checking, 283 ; compromises, i. 261 ; xi. 163, 283; conspiracy, 277; in Cuba, i. 221 ; described, xi. 134/; a destitution, 277 ; disappearance, viii. 138 ; bad economy, vii. 137 ; xi. 280; Edinburgh Review on, 105, 280 ; effects, 245 ; in England, 138 ; enigma of the time, 332 ; evils, ix. 178 ; xi. 104, 155, 244, 280 ; we must get rid of slavery or else of free- dom, 233; proof of infidelity, vi. 201 ; makes life a fever, xi. 233 ; resistance to it a nursery of orators, vii. 94; xi. 347; proslavery sc'hol- ars, X. 236 ; selfishness, i. 266 ; vii. 155 ; woman and, xi. 347 ; inconsis- tent with the principles on which the world is built, 226. Slaves, must be able to defend them- selves, xi. 171 ; most men are, vi. 27 ; prices, x. 51. Slave-trade, i. 250; iii. 94; xi. 134, 138 #, 108; xii. 270. Sleep, a bar between day and day, v. 71 ; viii. 258 ; those only can sleep who do not care to sleep, vii. 174 ; of children, xii. 71 ; takes off cos- tume of circumstance, x. 14 ; divine communications in, vi. 188 ; en- chantress, X. 9 ; lingers about our eyes, iii. 49 ; the condition of health, viii. 205 ; memory of, x. 11 ; life a sleep-walking, i. 107 ; witchcraft, x. 9. See, also, Dreams. Sleezy hours, vi. 81. Sloven continent, v. 273 ; plenty, xi. 409. Smartness, American love of, xi. 212 ; xii. 52. Smile, the forced smile in company, ii. 56. Smith, Adam, quoted, x. 402 ; xi. 313. Smith, Captain John, viii. 158 ; quoted, xii. 100. Smith, Sydney, quoted, v. 101, 150, 189 ; vi. 235 ; viii. 265 ; xii. 91. Snakes, peril of, ii. 294; as type of spine, iv. 105 ; doctrine of the snake, vi. 91 ; ix. 73. Snow, a cloak, viii. 140 ; property like, i. 43 ; shroud, ix. 200 ; and sunshine, 189. Snow-ball, of memory, xii. 70. Snow-drift, ii. 23 ; ix. 27. Snow-flakes, iii. 166 ; ix. 179, 287. Snow-Storm, The, ix. 42// of illusions, vi. 308. Snuffle in religion, vi. 229. Social Aims, viii. 77-105. Social barriers, viii. 89 ; goods, vi. 156 ; machine, 152 ; order, i. 288 ; x. 184 ; pests, vi. 167 ; power, condi- tions of, V. 8 ; relations, iii. 260 ; sci- ence, viii. 198 // x. 201 ; soul, ii. 198; structure, i. 236; usages, ii. 143 ; vii. 114. Social Circle, Concord, Mass., x. 357, 7iote. Socialism, i. 359 ; vi. 67, 96 ; x. 326 #. Societies, iii. 127 ; x. 254. See Associ- ations. Society, vii. 15-20; never ad- I vances, ii. 82; advantages, i. 294; 336 GENERAL INDEX iii. 110 ; vii. 213 ; x. 139 ; aims, vi. 235 ; babyish, ii. 74 ; vi. 92, 156 ; x. 266 ; bases, vii. 97 ; viii. 104 ; changes, x. 309 ; Channing's attempt at, 321 ; chemistry of, vii. 19 ; chooses fox- us, ii. 75 ; the need to be clothed with, vii. 15 ; composition of, iii. 196 ; in conspiracy against manhood of its members, ii. 51, 194 ; constituents, i. 337 ; conventional, iii. 136 ; for conversation, vii. 214 ; best cordial, 213 ; intolerant of crit- icism, iv. 164; part of the idea of culture, X. 36; people descend to meet, ii. 190, 261 ; vii. 18 ; a disap- pointment, ii. 191 ; divides man, i. 85 ; dress, viii. 87 ; empty, ii. 290 ; favorites, iii. 137 ; fine, vi. 235 ; fine traits unfit for, vii. 12 ; fit found everywhere, viii. 302 ; no fixity, iii. 191 ; French definition of, 119 ; sub- ject to fits of frenzy, x. 266 ; frivo- lous, iii. 98 ; threatened with gran- ulation, 118 ; is a hospital, 254 ; ideal, viii. 89 ; an illusion, i. 328 ; iii. 191 ; vi. 296 ; swift in its instincts, 178 ; welcomes intellect, iii. 136 ; affinity its law, i. 123 ; vii. 19 ; life's value doubled by, viii. 89 ; manners associate iis, vi. 165 ; a masquerade, 213 ; secret melancholy, iii. 255 ; moral power controls, i. 238 ; x. 66 ; moral sentiment its basis, i. 125 ; work of necessity, 288, 295; iii. 118 ; vii. 215, 231 ; made up of par- tialities, xi. 352 ; the poets' fabulous picture of, iii. 168 ; poverty of in- vention, ii. 340 ; a prison, iii. 244 ; progressive, xi. 345 ; relations, ii. 259/; renovation, iii. 248; retreat from, i. 316, 328 ; x. 141 ; foolish routine, 169 ; rulers, iii. 122 ; its san- ity the balance of a thousand insan- ities, 226; a school, iv. 34; x. 139; shunned in order to be found, i. 169, 327 ; spoiled by too much pains, iii. 110 ; stimulating, vii. 16 ; secret of success in, iii. 137 ; harnessed in the team of, i. 238 ; timing and placing, viii. 83 ; timor- ous, ii. 74 ; troop of thinkers, vi. 60 ; trifles, i. 141 ; our inexperience of true, vii. 121 ; truth-lover in, 228 ; does not love its unmaskers, vi. 296 ; use of, i. 169 ; vii. 16 ; vul- gar, ii. 136 ; vii. 18 ; a wave, ii. 85 ; sacrificed to smooth working, i. 300. Society and Solitude, vii. 7-20. Socrates, misunderstood, ii. 34, 58, 241, 264 ; iii. 123 ; iv. 44/, 60, 66, 70- 74, 81, 95, 134, 161, 274 ; vi. 240, 247; X. 290 ; xii. 58 ; quoted, iv. 134, 151; vi. 253; vii. 06, 181, 285; xii. 213. Soil, actions smack of, ix. 35 ; rights in, i. 291. Solar system, not anxious about its credit, vi. 194; has its parallel in the mental sphere, viii. 42, 212. Soldiers, vi. 72 ; vii. 246 #; x. 41. Solidarity, English, v. 98; nature's, vii. 139. Solidity, i. 313. Soliform eye, iv. 81. Solitariest man, x. 61. Solitariness, vii. 10, 15 ; xii. 253. Solitude, i. 168 #; vi. 149 #; vii. 10- 15 ; age tends to, x. 309 ; art of, 140 ; in cities, i. 13 ; consent to, 205 ; ripens despots, iii. 227 ; fragrant, ix. 18 ; insulation not, i. 168 ; lessons of, iv. 206 ; vi. 149 ; viii. 271, 293 ; x, 140 ; xi. 222 ; of nature not so essen- tial as solitude of habit, i. 13; vi. 150 ; 254 ; viii. 272 ; necessity of, i. 69 ; 168 ; vi. 246 ; vii. 12/; populous, i. 135 ; vi. 255 ; vii. 162, 168 ; Pytha- goras on, vi. 149 ; viii. 271 ; revela- tions in, iii. 86 ; vii. 20 ; the schol- ar's, i. 168 ; secret of, xii. 187 ; and society, i. 169; ii. 55; vii. 20; of soul without God, x. 213 ; trespass not on, 142 ; voices heard in, ii. 51 ; xii. 75. Solomon, in Persian poetry, viii. 228/, 236 ; ix. 250. Solstices of health and spirits, vi. 142, 209; X. 211. Solution, ix. 189-191. Somers, Lord, quoted, v. 247. Somnambulism, x. 29. Song of Nature, ix. 209-212. Songs, essentials of, vii. 174; viii. 60/. Sons of poor men, vii. 116. Sophocles quoted, iii. 73 ; x. 295. Sordor, i. 79. Sorrow, religion of, i. 209. See Grief. Soul, natural history of, xii. 3-59 ; published in act, vi. 163 ; the active, i. 91 ; admirable, not in our ex- perience, iv. 55 ; adult in the infant man, ii. 262 ; independent of age, 262; all things known to, i. 212; ii. 119 ; iii. 231 ; balanced, iv. 55 ; becomes, ii. 69 ; biography, vi. 268 ; and body, see Body ; not saved in bundles, 205 ; x. 103 ; child of, iii. 180 ; contrasted with the church, i. 141 ; circumscribes all things, ii. 256 ; classes of, iv. 136 ; conceal- GENERAL INDEX. 337 ment of what does not concern it, iii. 232 ; counterpoise to all souls, 320 ; xi. 221 ; knows no deformity, ii. 125 ; dictator, viii. 281 ; diseases, ii. 126 ; divine, i. 115, 212 ; door, ii. 173; dressed by Deity in cer- tain incommunicable powers, 137 ; iv. 32; vii. 15; duration, ii. 266; vi. 228 ; ebb, 35 ; ejaculations, vii. 209 ; its emphasis always right, ii. 137 ; in English broadcloth, v. 241 ; contains the events that shall befall it, X. 15 ; the eyes indicate its age, vi. 170 ; vii. 122 ; no flatterer, ii. 277 ; its food, i. 205 ; dependence of form on, iii. 9 ; growth not gradual but total, ii. 258, 298; gymnasium of, iv. 22 ; it is in a hope that she feels her wings, i. 205 ; bound to life by illusions, vii. 165 ; identity in all individuals, i. 108 ; immortality, see Immortality ; incarnation, ii. 259 ; laws, i. 122 ; a life, ii. 116 ; is light, 67 ; lofty, i. 253 ; man an infinite, 134 ; marriage of, xii. 17 ; natural history, i. 201 ; nature of, ii. 254 ; and nature, see under Nature ; oracle, viii. 281 ; not an organ or faculty, ii. 254 ; each walks its owu path, xii. 39 ; not now preached, i. 134 ; private and divine, x. 228 ; progress, ii. 179, 258 ; promise, 161 ; does not answer the questions of the understanding, 265 ; receptive, i. 201 ; its large relations, vi. 268 ; remedial, i. 147 ; does not repeat itself, ii. 82, 327 ; revelations, 257 ; a river from un- seen regions, 252 ; not self-fed, xii. 177 ; its sleep, viii. 216 ; social, ii. 198 ; attainment of due sphericity, iii. 81 ; stability, ii. 297 ; superior to its knowledge, xii. 188 ; surren- dered, i. 253 ; in telegraphic com- munication with the source of events, viii. 216 ; x. 232 ; tide in, xi. 188 ; knows nothing of time, ii. 257 ; no traveller, 79 ; to be trusted, 179 ; discemer of truth, 262 ; universal, i. 145 /, 212 ; ii. 261 ; iii. 19, 79 ; iv. 51 ; vii. 44 ; viii. 30 ; X. 100, 1228 ; the painted vicis- situdes of, viii. 30 ; wanderings, ii. 172 ; the whole of which other things are the shining parts, 253 ; wider than space, i. 213; wiser than the world, 142 ; answers not by words, ii. 265 ; world mirror of, i. 148. See Over-Soul. Source must be higher than the tap, xi. 395. South Wind, ix. 310. Southern people, vii. 70 ; xi. 284. Southey, Robert, v. 11. Space, i. 44 ; ii. 216. Spartan civilization, i. 299; vii. 30; xi. 152 ; conversation, vii. 66, 236 ; domestic life, ii. 28 ; fife, 61 ; gen- erals, vii. 79; justice, iii. 195; re- ligion, vi. 11 ; saying, iv. 130. Spasms of nature, vi. 77 ; x. 185 ; xi. 224. Specialty, each must have his, vi. 130. Speculation, and practice, i. 10, 270 /; iii. 254 ; iv. 53, 254 /; no succeda- neum for life, xii. 258. Speech, iii. 42 ; lessens us, ii. 319 ; vi. 214; vii. 10, 42, 95; viii. 91, 94/; X. 164 ; xii. 240 ; and silence, ii. 319 ; iii. 233 ; vii. 283. Spence, Joseph, quoted, iv. 146. Spence, William, quoted, v. 146. Spencer, Earl, book contest, vii. 200. Spending, rules for, vi. 109-123, 213. Spenser, Edmund, v. 223; vii. 50; viii. 51 /; quoted, iii. 19; iv. 59; V. 230 ; viii. 140. Spheral, iii. 230 ; vi. 295. Sphinx, ix. 9-13 ; i. 39 ; ii. 10, 35 ; vii. 222 ; xii. 267. Spine, the unit of animal structure, iv. 105. Spiral tendency, iv. 108; vi. 267; ix. 13. Spirit, i. 65-69 ; all - knowing, 145 ; all thuigs from same, 123 ; ascent of, x. 224; creator, i. 33; defined, 31 ; eternal, .74 ; vii. 59 ; x. 99; every one builds its house, i. 79 ; vi. 14, 272 ; inundation of, i. 167 ; a fact the end or last issue of, 40 ; ii. 259 ; iii. 101 ; x. 212 ; latent, iii. 264 ; man founded in, 74 ; moan- ings, X. 14 ; names, iii. 74 ; 267 ; remedial force, i. 74 ; self-evolving power, iv. 83 ; vii. 155 ; solicitations, i. 211 ; speaks to each soul, x. 193 ; superincumbent, i. 176 ; iii. 267 ; supreme in all, i. 126 ; taciturn, iv. 134 ; teachings apprehended only by the same spirit, i. 67 ; xi. 221 ; material theories of, do not degrade, ii. 285 ; universal, i. 49 ; iv. 51 ; vanisliing, x. 212. Spirit, Holy, see Holy Ghost. Spirit of times, vi. 9. Spiritism, x. 18. Spirits, animal, ii. 87 ; in prison, xi. 205. Spiritual, iii. 56 ; true meaning is realt 1 vi. 205. 338 GENERAL INDEX. Spibitual Laws, ii. 123, 157. Spiritual life, uuexampled in history, Spiritualism, false, iv. 134; v. 122; vi. 200; vii. 273; x, 18, 2G, 30, 234. Spontaneity, the essence of life, i. 161 ; always right, ii. 64, 132, 300 ; iii. 70 ; vu. 174 ; viii. 192 ; xi. 355 ; xii. 31. Sportiveness of great, ii. 241. Sports, freemasonry of, vi. 138. Spotted life, ii. 27S ; x. 344. Sprague, Charles, quoted, xi. 65. Spring, chemistry, ix. 158 ; eagerness, 147 ; in mind at sixty, 26 ; no ora- tor like, 158 ; tardy, 148 ; woods, 18. See May-Day. Spurzheim, x. 318. Squeals of laughter, \iii. 86. Squirrels, ix. 143. StabUity of the soul, ii. 297 ; viii. 318. Stael, Madame de, i. 169; iii. 132; iv. 274 ; v. 117 ; vi. 144 ; vii. 225 ; viii. 92 /; quoted, i. 49; v. 117, 222 ; viii. 176. Stagnation of life, iii. 54. Stairs, ii. 325 ; iii. 49 ; v. 226 ; ix. 107 Stamina, want of, xi. 208. Stars, beguihng, iii. 168; black, vi. 251 ; blessing, ii. 41 ; catalogumg stars of the mind, i. 101 ; discon- tented, 202; of flowers, 24; fugi- tive, vi. 291 ; inspiration, i. 13 ; new doctrines like stars whose light has not yet reached us, ii. 140, 320 ; one light from all, i. 108 ; loved by, ix. 76 ; of mind, i. 101 ; patient, ix. 277 ; and planets, ii. 188 ; of possi- bility, i. 212; punctual, ix. 200; awaken reverence, i. 13; packed into rockets, xii. 9 ; rose, his faith was earlier up, ix. 231, 257 ; science- baflaing, ii. 64 ; shower of, vii. 124 ; silent song of, i. 124; all sky and no, xii. 42 ; smile, i. 13 ; stoop down, iii. 169 ; strangers to, ix. 123 ; taunt by mystery, 25; of thought, ii. 205, 301 ; vii. 236 ; hitch wagon to, 33/; with some men we walk among the stars, viii. 83. State, not aboriginal, iii. 191 ; basis, 189, 209^7"; X. 112 ; xi. 104 ; building, ix. 230 ; corrupt, iii. 199 ; guidance of, xi. 424 ; object, iii. 206 ; x. 93 ; a question, iv. 151 ; wise man is, iii. 206. States of mind, rotation of, iv. 168. Statesmen, republican, iii. 189 ; Amer- ican, xi. 167. Statistics, iv. 106 ; vi. 21. Statue, ii. 333, 340 ; of punk, vi. 138 ; has no tongue, 163 ; vii. 126 ; man- ners of, viii. 85. Statute, an immoral statute void, xi. 246. Stay at home in mind, viii. 97. Stealing, who does not steal ? iii. 80. Steam, i. 19 ; v. 95, 155 j^'; 163 ; vi. 37, 84, 86 ; vii. 153 ; ix. 23 ; x. 17, 25, 151. Steamship, ii. 343. Steel-filings, men like, iii. 218. Steele, Richard, quoted, viii. 92. Steering and drifting, x. 189. Steffens, Heinrich, quoted, viii. 201. Stephenson, George, vi. 118. Stick to your own, vi. 202 ; viii. 287. Stilling, Jung, iii. 102 ; vi. 12. Stimulants used by bards, iii. 31. Stirling, James H., quoted, viii. 127. Stockholder in sin, ii. 235. Stoical pi eriian, i. 159. Stoicism, iii. 179 ; iv. 153 ; x. 200, 291, 300 ; xii. 95 ; genesis of, i. 320 ; puts the gods on their defence, xii. 95 ; every stoic a stoic, ii. 84. Stomach, a stomach evidence, viii. 316; iv. 168; stoutness, or, vi. 61; xi. 200. Stonehenge, v. 259-275. Stones, conscious, ix. 16; rocking- stones, xi. 334 ; broken cannot be put together into unity, xii. 40. Stories, love for, vii. 202, 221 ; genesis of, viii. 173, 178. Stowe, Harriet Beecher, vii. 270. Strafford, Earl of, rule as to reading, viii. 175. Straight lines, no, vii. 173. Strangers, 184/, 317 ; iii. 65; vi. 85. Strawberries lose flavor in garden- beds, ii. 227. Stream of power and wisdom, ii. 133 ; xi. 167; xii. 15. Streets, i. 55 ; vi. 296 ; x. 139 ; xii. 66 ; language of, force, viii. 121. Strength, ii. 68, 113 ; vi. 60, 182 ; joy indicates, 250 ; vii. 267; x. 71 ; de- pends on moral element, 186 ; xii. 50, 57, 267; we are strong by bor- rowing the might of the elements, vii. 32. Strikes, iv. 222. Study, victims of, iv. 149. Stupidity, a saving, v. 134. Sturleson, Snorro, v. 59 ; vii. 197. Style, betrays, viii. 36. Styx of experience, x. 240, 461. Subjectiveness, iii. 77; is intellectual selfishness, xii. 180. Subject, your subject must appear the flower of the world, viii. 37. GENERAL INDEX. 339 Sublime, meaning of, vi. 33, 216. Suburbs of nature, i. 111. Success, vii. 265-293 ; conditions, iv. 125 ; vi. 56, 72, irX>, 114, 1.36, 262 ; vii, 176; viii. 219, 325; x. 21, 24; is the doing, i. 174 ; base estimate of, ii. 93; iii. 85; vi. 80; made up of failures, x. 60 ; forever good, ix. 33 ; idolatry of, vii. 272 ; perils of, i. 176, 223; treads on every right step, 103, 174; ii. 188; self -trust the first secret of, vii. 276 ; is in the work, not in what is said of it, vi. 215. Succession, necessity of, iii. 47,58, 83 ; iv. 168. Suction, content in, viii. 169. Suffering, religion of, i. 209 ; iii. 87 ; BhaUowness, 52 ; x. 188 ; xii. 270. Suffrage, imiversal, iii. 200/; viii. 219; x. 38 ; for women, xi. 350/. Suggestiveness, everything a sugges- tion, ii. 285; viii, 172; xii, 40. Suicide, skepticism is, viii, 134 ; x. 236. Summer, i. 24, 119 ; of the spirit, 79. SUMNEE, CHAELE3, AsSAULT UPON, xi. 231-237. Sumptuary laws, vi. 104. Sumter, Fort, xi. 321. Sun, borrows its beams, vi. 302 ; im- age in echpse, x. 16 ; seen by few, i. 14; forgotten, ix. 33; telling hour by, ii. 83 ; insipid, vi. 242 ; a lamp- wick, X. 214 ; lick away, vii. 74 ; sprang from man, i. 75 ; ii. 212 ; ix. 122 ; man would pluck down, i. 292 ; radius - vector, viii. 27 ; snubbing, 287 ; sowing for seed, i. 244 ; system made by, xii. 16 ; not troubled at waste of rays, ii. 206 ; better method than the wind, i, 241. Sunday, core of civilization, vii, 128 ; X. 108, 117, 226 /; Sunday objec- tions, iv. 165 ; x. 344 ; xi. 215. See, also, Sabbath. Sunday-schools, dead weight of, ii. 129/; iii. 66. SuNBiSE, ix. 285 ; i. 23. Sunset, i. 23, 204 ; iii, 167, 184 ; vi. 78 ; vii. 283 ; quoted, viii. 179. Sunshine, iii, 33 ; vi. 250 /, Superficialness of our lives and our thinking, i, 170, 187; x, 234; xii. 258. Superfluities, beauty the purgation of, iii, 247 ; vi, 279, Superiority, each has some, iii. 266; vii. 267 ; X. 49; in what it consists, Iii. 58. j Superiors, each man prefers the soci- I ety of, iii. 260 ; vii. 17 ; viii. 302 ; x. I 39, 54, 102, 378. i SuPEELATi\'E, The, X. 157-174 ; iii. 1.35. Supernatural, x. 191. Superstition, vi. 139 ; xi. 167 ; xii. 94, 263 ; consequences of displacing, ii. 33, 93 ; vi. 199 ; x. 194, 198. Supper, good basis for club, vii, 233/ Supplementary, men supplementary to each department of nature, viii. 288. Surfaces, we live amid, iii. 62, 231; vi, 257, 274 ; vii. 175, 279 ; ix, 122 ; x, 133, 215 ; xii, 119, Surmises have value, i, 73. Surprises, life a series of, ii. 298 ; iii. 69/; ix. 193. StmsuM CoEDA, ix, 80, Suspicion, we suspect what we our- selves are, vi. 214 ; xii, 265, Suum cuique, ix. 238. Swainish people, viii. 95. Swamp, i. 104 ; x. 181. SWEDEN-BOEG, Emanttel, Iv. 89-139 ; ix, 191 ; angels, vii. 12 ; viii. 221 ; and Charles XII., vii. 252 ; needed no sanction from church, iii. 265 ; on discernment, ii. 262 ; on English centrality, v. 46; fame, xi. 3.32; Fourier, coincidence with, x. 329; on false speaking, ii. 149 ; on grav- ity as symbol of faith, x. 21 ; sepa- rate heaven of the English, v. 126, 230 ; that each man makes his own heaven, viii. 310 ; Hebraism, 38 ; influence, x. 311 ; hatred of in- tellect, 341 ; knowledge and prac- tice, i. 211 ; philosophy of life, 112 ; and Plato, iv. 42, 86 ; preaching, ix. 244 ; proprium, viii. 290 ; re- form in philosophy, 67 ; on love of rule, X. 120 ; sandy diff useness, iv. 118 ; second sight, viii. 311 : sect, xi. 347 ; sexes, 346 ; on solitude, vii. 12 ; solidarity of souls, viii. 189 ; translates things into thoughts, iii. 39 ; viii. 25 ; value, i. 112. Swift, Jonathan, iv. 144 ; v. 223 ; viii. 299 ; xii, 70, 146. Swing, going to heaven in a, x, 322, Symbolism, i. 32, M, 371 ; ii. 210 ; iii, 18-40, 74 ; iv, 67, 112-117 ; vi. 288 ; vii, 89, 202 ; viii. 15-30, 38, 71 ; x, 131 ; xii. 18 ; a good symbol the best evidence, viii. 181. See, alio, Emblems, Symmetry, the whole society needed to give Bymmetry, iii. 60, 216 ; vi. 340 GENERAL INDEX 127 ; viii. 14 ; xii. 18 ; in moving ob- jects, 277 ; in things, ii. 104. Sympathy, base, ii. 77, 245; iii. 78, 134 ; vi. 128, 252 ; secret of social success, 137 ; iv. 18, 171 ; vii. IG, 18, 283 ; viii. 277 ; x. 154, 225 ; xi. 173 ; xii. 20, 20. Synthesis, iv. 56. System, need of, vi, 114; tyrannical, 120. Table, golden, x. G2; manners, viii. 85, 97 ; men social at, vii. 233 ; rap- pers, X. 30 ; talk, vii. 199. Tacitus quoted, v. 51, 70, 85, 88. Tact, viii. 97. Tactics, Napoleon's, i. 174. Talent, talents, aristocracy based on, X. 43 ; a call, ii. 134 ; at the expense of character, 299 ; vi. 38 ; x. 205 ; sinks with cliaracter, vi. 208, 244 ; charm, vii. 218 ; communicable, viii. 217 ; of no use to cold and defective natures, iii. 54 ; defined, xii. 44 ; demonstration of, 51; dreaded, vi. 38 ; drowned in, x. 205 ; each has some, iii. 208 ; expiation, 208 ; expres- sion pays tax on, 200 ; and genius, i. 159 ; iv. 103 ; x. 203, 205, 270 ; your gift better tlian another's, ii. 81 ; for government, i. 304 ; integrity dwarfs, vi. 203 ; and central intelligence, vii. 278 ; literary talent a youthful effer- vescence, 301 ; mischievous, vi. 132 ; enriches the community of nations, 103; partiality, iv. 202; perception outruns, vii. 283; popular idea, ii. 218 ; poverty and solitude bring out, vi. 240 ; practical bias, viii. 291 ; for private ends, x. 85 ; respect for, iv. 267; sacrifice to, xii. 52; scholar needs, x. 209 ; and sensibility, vii. 278 ; sincerity basis of, xii. 28, 58 ; special, iii. 00 ; speed, xii. 45 ; supple- mentary, X. 337 ; for talent's sake, viii. 218; temptations, i. 269; no excuse for transgressions, ii. 219 ; veils wisdom, iv. 209 ; value, vi. 80 ; vii. 170 ; young admire, vi. 217. Taliessin, exile, ix. 315 ; quoted, viii. 59/-. Talismans, ix. 33, 02 ; x. 25, 120 ; xi. 172. Talk and talkers, vii. 70, 214/, 220; talking for victory, viii. 96. Talleyrand, vii. 272 ; quoted, iv. 256 ; V. 273 ; vi. 255 ; viii. 85. Talma, vi. 104. Tamerlane, viii. 104, 238. Tantalus, ii. 35 ; vii. 157. Tariff, of moral values, ii. 102, 118 ; iv. 26 ; to give prefeience to worse wares, vi. 214/; xi. 281. Tasks, as duties, ii. 74 ; iii. 209 ; vi. 304 ; vii. 270 ; life-preservers, vi. 1 221, 201 ; we are to know our own, 1 xi. 205. Tasso, ii. 219. Taste a sensual appreciation of beauty, i. 28 ; iii. 9, 135 ; xi. 342 ; xii. 118. Taxes, the debts most unwillingly paid, iii. 200 ; xi. 281, 299 ; English, V. 151 ; taxation of women's prop- erty, xi. 354. Taylor, Edward T. (" Father "), viii. 112, 301; X. 222, 353. Taylor, Jeremy, ix. 17 ; x. Ill, 196, 218 ; xii. 95. Taylor, Thomas, v. 280 ; vii. 193 ; viii. 52. Tea, sentiment in a chest of, iv. 147 ; viii. 200 ; ix. 182,^'. Teachers and teacliing, ii. 144, 209, 319 ; milestones of progress, iv. 37 ; vi. 141 ; xi. 222. See Education. Teeth, significance, vi. 174. Telegraph, electric, v. 157 ; vii. 31, 154/, 240 ; viii. 133, 138 ; ix. 23, 107, 174. Telescope, vi. 97 ; partial action of each mind a, iii. 81 ; v. 77. Temper, useful defect of, ii. 113; neutralizing acid, x. 225. Temperament, the wire on which the beads are strung, iii. 47, 54-57 ; V. 54, 130 ; vi. 15, 56, 77, 233 ; vii. 03, 250 /; viii. 79; x. 40, 75; xi. 348 / ; resists the impression of pain, xii. 270. I Temperance, mean and heroic, ii. 237 ; iii. 252 ; v. 102 ; x. 159. Temperate zone, vii. 29 ; x. 171 ; of our being, iii. 05. Temple, a thought like a, ii. 200 ; iv. 124 ; in the heart, vi. 190, 290. Temptation, we gain the strength we resist, ii. 114, 127. Ten commandments, vegetable and animal functions echo, i. 46 ; vii. 27 ; X. 119. Ten Thousand, Xenophon's, iii. 100. Tenacity, badge of great mind, v. 98 ; X. 00. Tendencies, not deeds but, 1. 205, 236 ; X. 05. Tennyson, Alfred, v. 243/, 249; xii. 229 //•; quoted, ii. 248 ; xii. 206. Tense, the strong present, iii. 00. Tents of life, ii. 120, 178, 211 ; ix. 280 ; xi. 344. Terminus, ix. 216/. GENERAL INDEX. 341 Terror shuts the eyes of mind and heart, vii. 244; xii. 264. See, also, Fear. Test, The, ix. 189. Tests of men, vi. 248 ; vii. 289. Teutonic traits, v. 114. Thackeray. William M., v. 219, 234, 256. Thames River, v. 44. Thanks humiliating, iii. 157. Theatres, iv. 183; vii. 205; viii. 30. Thebau Phalanx, x. 61, 309. Thebes, xii. 26. Theism, argument for, vii. 154 ; puri- fication of the human mind, iv. 11. Theology, x. 32, 109, 113, 199, 218; men are better than their theology, i. 142 ; ii. 93 ; vi. 205 ; xi. 382 ; the- ological problems the soul's mumps and measles, ii. 126 ; the rhetoric of morals, x. 109. Theory, test of, i. 10 ; and practice, X. 149, 256, 334 ; xii. 46. There and then, preposterous, ii. 16. Thermometer, nature a thermometer of the divine sentiment, iii. 172 ; of civilization, xi. 193 ; of fashion, 411. Thermopylae, vi. 238 ; vii. 257. Theseus, iii. 90. Thief, steals from himself, iii. 110, 112. Thine Eyes Still Shined, ix. 88/. Things, i. 44 ; iii. 232 ; education to, 244 ; ride mankind, ix. 73. Thinkers and thinking, i. 169, 269 ; ii. 154, 306, 308; iii. 77, 85; v. 212; vi. 29, 114 ; x. 241. See, also. Thought. Third party in conversation, ii. 260. Third person plural, age of the, xi. 419. Thomson's "Seasons," viii. 27. Thor, ii. 72 ; v. 89, 157 ; vi. 1.32, 303. Thoreatj, Henry D. , x. 419-452 ; viii. 274 ; ix, 44 ; quoted, x. 50, 87, 335 ; xii. 79. Thoreau, Mrs., x. 383. Thought, thoughts, abiding, i. 338 ; tends to pass into action, ii. 154 ; vii. 41 ; giving actuality to, vi. 92 ; affinity, xii. 21 ; the age in, i. 251 ; pent air-ball, vi. 273 ; all things from, X. 259; clothes itself with material apparatus, i. 27 ; viii. 22, 259 ; xi. 191 ; ascent, viii. 29 ; dis- poses the attitudes of the body, 82 ; must have fit audience, 277 ; un- disciplined will has bad thoughts, vi. 305 ; we read better thoughts than the author wrote, viii. 187 ; believe your own, vii. 275 ; viii. 104 ; capital, X. 78 ; and character, vi. 31 ; every thouglit commanded by a higher, ii. 283 ; made clearer by unfolding, viii. 90 ; communication, ii. 312 ; conditions, vii. 217, 236 ; consecutiveness, viii. 258 ; xii. 48 ; control, ii. 306 ; xii. 43 ; gives courage, viii. 312; currents, 12; decay of, 221 ; x. 236 ; dominion in proportion to depth, ii. 145 ; vii. 42 ; X. 106 ; devout, i. 77 ; diseases, iv. 171 ; mastery by seeing them at a distance, viii. 322 ; rush of thought in dreams, xii. 80 ; ends universal and eternal, iii. 73 ; vii. 15 ; makes fit expression, i. 133, 180 ; iii. 15 ; vi. 183 ; viii. 22, 24, 54 ; x. 225 ; xii. 38 ; few, viii. 171 ; makes fit for use, iii. 22 ; must be formulated, xii. 42 ; makes free, vi. 29 ; and friendship, i. 180 ; fugitive, viii. 258 ; of God, vii. 261 ; viii. 20 ; x. 88 ; growth, xii. 17, 24 ; taken by the right handle, ii. 226 ; from heart, viii. 217 ; xi. 211 ; not hidden, i. 180 ; hospitality to, 276 ; vi. 187 ; individual is partial, vii. 235; unequal, viii. 256; inexhaust- ible, i. 176 ; inspired, iii. 35 ; x. 132 ; institutions founded on, ii. 152 ; x. 89 ; insulated, vii. 311 ; interference with, ii. 263 ; intoxication, viii. 281 ; keys of, i. 96, 103 ; the key to every man, ii. 283 ; and maiuial labor, i. 230 ; lateral, not vertical, 187 ; re- vises life, ii. 152 ; as living char- acters, vii. 209 ; xii. 80 ; measure of man, vii. 119 ; masters of, ii. 322 ; and matter, see under flatter ; each has its proper melody, vii. 49; method, ii. 309, 311; air of mind, vii. 213 ; miracle, ii. 312 ; viii. 258 ; unity with morals, x. 178 ; and nature, see under Nature ; needs of, X. 267 ; lift Olympus, i. 166 ; go in pairs, vii. 217 ; at | firstj possess us, then we them, xii. 40; power, vi. 46 ; X. 79, 225, 241 ; xi. 191 ; practi- cal, xii. 42 ; prisons, ii. 316 ; iii. 36 ; production, conditions of, ii. 313; vi. 85 ; the more profound the more burdensome, vii. 42 ; iii. 73, 193 ; X. 239; xi. 179; all have property in, ii. 200 ; iv. 189 ; prosperity has its root in a thought, i. 232 ; vii. 279 ; viii. 258 ; provocation, vii. 217 ; pure, poi.son, 213 ; let us into realities, viii. 258 ; results, x. 76 ; retrospective, xii. 19 ; penurious rill, 47 ; saliency, 54 ; in savage, viii. 256 ; self-publishing, xi. 289 ; 342 GENERAL INDEX. imbosomed in sentiment, x. 179; wear no silks, vi. 30G ; sky-language, xii. 18; no solitary, 19; beyond soul's reach, viii. 260 ; source, ii. 252 ; vast spaces in, xii. 206 ; fugitive sparkles, 48; speak your own, ii. 47/ ; viii. 92 ; stock in, X. 78 ; succession illusory, vi. 302 ; must be tempered with affection and practice, vii. 213 ; a sword, x. 133 ; thread on which all things are strung, iv. 162 ; xii. 138 ; out of time, ii. 256; twilights of, x. 24; value, xii. 37 ; vortices, viii. 13 ; waited on, i. 230 ; walk and speak, 250; other wants come from want of thoughts, 232 ; and will, 28, 71 ; ii. 306; always clothes itself with words, viii. 37 ; xii. 67 ; rule world, iii. 207 ; viii. 24, 217 ; x. 89 ; writer's grasp, viii. 37. Threat, refreshment of, i. 146 ; more formidable than the stroke, vii. 250. Threnody, ix. 130-138. Thrift, true, vi. 124; low, vii. 108. See, also, Economy, Frugality. Thucydides quoted, vii. 74 ; x. 293. Tides, made to do our work, vii. 32, 46; of thought, x. 131, 211; xi. 188. Ties, human, ii. 195, 204 ; moral, vi. 263. Timaeus, iv. 44. Time, for affairs and for thought, ii. 296 ; iii. 44, 86 ; iv. 26 ; animals have no value for, x. 152 ; consoler, xii. 269 ; child of eternity, i. 273 ; vii. 175 ; dissipates the angularity of facts, ii. 14 ; finder, vii. 311 ; of force to be husbanded, viii. 275 ; in- verse measure of intellect, ii. 256; killing, X. 132; laws, ii. 216; mea- sure spiritual, not mechanical, vii. 170 ; omniscient, 311 ; nature's mea- sure of, iii. 44; poetry shows no mark of, i. 93 ; poison, vii. 300 ; value of present, 166 ; problem of, viii. 214 ; prolific, x. 132 ; reformer, V. 109 ; always time to do right, viii. 35 ; river of, iii. 10 ; slit and ped- dled, ii. 213 ; iv. 20 ; and space, i. 61, 70 ; physiological colors which the eye makes, ii. 67 ; painful king- dom, 163 ; fugitive, 257 ; should be tried, xii. 2G8 ; inverse measure of force of soul, ii. 256 ; is the distribu- tion of wholes into series, vi. 302. Timeliness, ii. 216 ; vi. 86 ; viii. 83. Times, The Lecture on, i. 245-276 ; 109 ; vi. 9, 421. Timidity, vii. 243 ; mark of wrong, ii. 108. Timeoleon, ii. 127 ; xii. 159. Tin pans. Homer and Milton may be, viii. 69. Tisso, Prince, vi. 270. Tithonus, vii. 302. Titles, English, v. 189. Titmouse, The, ix. 200-203 ; i. 163. Tobacco, iii. 31 ; vi. 301 ; vii. 34, 300 ; ix. 30 ; X. 240 ; xi. 154. To-day, all-importance of insight into, i. 110, 158 ; king in disguise, 255 ; iii. 51, 63; vii. 166/,- viii. 258 ; x. 371 ; xi. 418, 420 ; xii. 81. See, also, Day, Present, Time. Toil, viii. 294 ; ix. 61 ; xi. 423. See, also, Labor, Work. To-morrow, power of, ii. 216, 285, 298; viii. 2G9 ; x. 371. Tongue, iv. 47; vi. 53; vii. 74; viii. 215 ; ix. 274 ; xii. 143, 175. Tonics, best, vii. 213 ; viii. 260. Tooke, Home, quoted, vi. 263 ; viii. 296. Tools, vi. 36, 79, 89, 136; vii. 151, 156 ; X. 145 ; xii. 70 ; run away with the man, i. 199 ; vii. 157. Torch, man a torch borne in the wind, X. 262. Torrid zone, animated, ix. 39. Toussaint L'Ouverture, iii. 94 ; x. 51 ; xi. 172. Town-incrusted sphere, ix. 68. Town-meetings, vii. 246 ; viii. 100, 113 ; xi. 50, 410 ; advantages of, vi. 142 ; xi. 46, 50, 409. Towns have their explanation each in some man, vi. 45 ; ix. 49. See, also, Cities, Country. Toys, instructive, iii. 178 ; vi. 43, 297, 301;vii. 121, 165; viii. 144. Trade, selfish, i. 220 #; iii. 244; iv. 145 ; 301, 357/; custom of, does not excuse, ii. 133 ; not intrinsically un- fit, iii. 92 ; V. 85 ; educative, vi. 104, 107 ; the greatest meliorator of the world, vii. 159 ; ix. 25 ; x. 128 ; xi. 153, 184, 413/; puts men in false relations to each other, iii. 244 ; a constant teaching of the laws of matter and of mind, x. 128. Tradition, i. 139 ; iv. 187 ; v. 50 ; x. 116, 191, 209; xi. 268. Tragedy, transitoriness the essence of, iii. 59; iv. 175; vii. 14/ Tragic, The, xii. 260-272. Trances, ii. 264; iv. 95. See, also, tinder Swedenborg. Tranquillity, mark of greatness, i. 48 ; GENERAL INDEX. 343 vii. 114, 121, 293 ; viii. 88 ; x. C5, 153 ; xii. 267, 269. Transcendency in poetry, viii. TO- TS. Transcendentalism, i. 249 ; ii. 294 ; x. 323. See below. Transcendkntalist, The, i. 309-339. Transference of forces, x. T3. Transfiguration, Raphael's, i. 33T ; of things, viii. 28. Transformations, iii. 39 ; v. G4 ; viii. 11. Transition, power resides in, ii. 09, ITl ; iii. 37, 58 ; vi. Tl, 2TT ; vii. 1T3 ; viii. 2T4; xii. 54/. Translations, ix. 244-250. Translations, benefit, vii. 194/. Translator, philosopher a, ii. 321. Transmigration of souls, ii. 35 ; iv. 94, 120, 139 ; viii. 308. Transmission of qualities, x. 3T. Transparency of body, vi. ITO, 2T2 ; xi. 1T2. Travellers, ii. 2T2 ; v. 129 ; viii. 279. Travelling, i. 164 ; benefits, ii. T9 ; iii. 31 ; iv. 10 ; V. 8 ; vi. 139, 252. Trees : thrifty, grow in spite of blight, vi. 61 ; growth, vii. 142 ; ix. 282 ; xii. 23, 29, 50. See, also, Forests, Groves, Woods. Trimmers, v. 120. Trinity, xi. 22. Trinity of beauty, truth, and goodness, i. 335 ; vii. 59. Trolls, V. TT, 131. Tropes, iii. 33 ff'; vi. 30T; vii. 89 ; viii. IT, 20. See, also, Symbols. Tropics, ii. 214 ; viii. 148. True, the, heartlessness of, i. 335. Trust, i. 105; ii. 2T4, 2T8 ; vi. 262; x. 18T; thyself, ii. 49 ; trust men and they will be true to you, 223. Truth, absolute, vi. 19T; abstract, i. 10 ; 11.(304, 309 ; must be acted upon, i. 211 ; adorer of, iv. 276 ; vi. 290 ; apprehension of, i. 10, 70, IGG; ii. 264 ; xii. 30 ; basis of aristocracy, x. 43 ; the only armor, vi, 219 ; unity with jbeauty, i. 59 ; the summit of being, iii. 95; tyrannizes over the body, ii. 148 ; centre and circumfer- ence, viii. 210 ; root of character, vi. 305 ; conditions of right perception, i. 126, 211 ; vi. 34, 114 ; needs no confirmation from events, iii. 98 ; men of the world value it for its convenience, x. 166 ; reception of, balanced by denial, i. 285 ; all men unwillingly deprived of, iii. 257; the search for, derided, i. 178 ; glad to die for, ix. 243; x. 98, 188; discern- ment of, i. 211 ; ii. 262 ; distorted by fastening on a single aspect, 315 ; draws to truth, viii. 211 ; seems less to reside in the eloquent, ii. 319 ; English, V. 114-123 ; essence, xii. 34 ; conveys a hint of eternity, vii. 96, 289 ; expands us to its dimensions, iv. 176; vi. 30; does not involve ability to express it, iii. 181 ; expres- sion of, comes from clear perception, viii. 37 ; we are learning not to fear it, X. 204 ; firm ground, 171 ; pre- ferred to flattery, iii. 259 ; allowed with friends, ii. 193 ; vi. 184 ; badge of gentleman, v. 110 ; German ref- erence to, iv. 267; give me, ix. 122 ; not divorced from goodness, i. 210 ; iii. 203; iv. 126; answers to gravi- tation, viii. 210 ; alone makes great, ii. 152 ; x. 208 ; handsomer than af- fectation of love, ii. 53 ; humility the avenue to, x. 179 ; immortal, ii. 305 ; laws of imparting, x. 101 ; not hurt by our fall from it, 189 ; not to be labelled with any one's name, ii. 261 ; lantern for other facts, 310 ; life in union with truth gives poetic speech, viii. 69; love of, iii. 259, 264 ; magnetism of, xi. 334 ; makes man, x. 187; every man a lover of, iii. 263 ; no monopoly, ii. 261 ; iii. 181 ; viii. 183, 295 ; x. 99 ; nature helps, i. 123 ; vi. 210 ; in new dress, viii. 18 ; new supersedes old, ii. 290 ; not obsolete, vii. 59 ; offered to all, ii. 318; all things its organs, 147; may be spoken in poetry, not in prose, viii. 54 ; policy enough, i. 177; power, vi. 219 ; prayer a study of, i. 77; in the commonplaces of preach- ing, 137; a preserver, viii. 109, 323 ; must prevail, xi. 190 ; not shut up in propositions, iii. 233; expresses relation that holds true throughout nature, i. 49 ; x. 181 ; not received at second-hand, i. 126 ; the attempt to report, ii. 307; screens against, iii. 132 ; the rich can speak, vii. 137; search for, endless, ii. 298, 319 ; iii. 233, 235; x. 132; service, ix. 105; xi. 199 ; all on the side of, vi. 193 ; X. 256 ; sides, i. 50 ; too simple for us, X. 109, 227; speaking, i. 123 ; ii. 72, 246 ; vi. 155, 185 ; xi. 273 ; spirit woos us, i. 211 ; starlit deserts, 179 ; a statement for every one, vi. 193 ; vii. 91 ; summit of being, iii. 95 ; tart, xi. 271 ; translation, 210 ; un- hurt by treachery, x. 188 ; univer- sal, ii. 130 ; X. 96 ; wholesome, iv. 63 ; worship, ii. 318. 344 GENERAL INDEX. Tuba, viii. 230, 242. Tuitions, ii. 1G4. Turgot quoted, i. CO. Turks, vi. 11. Turner, J. M. W., described, v. 131. Turtles, the tlioughts of a turtle are turtles, xii. 50. Two cannot go abreast, ii. 249. Two-Face, iii. 233. Twoslioes, vii. 103. Tyburn of Jews, iii. 111. Tyler, John, vii. 14. Types, ii. 98 ; viii. 178 ; the material the type of spiritual, v. 19. Tyranny, of genius, ii. 331 ; iii. 40, 228 ; of the present, 1G4 ; viii. 12. Ugliness, iii. 23 ; vi. 284 ; viii. 1C4. Ulysses, vii. 73 ; x. 45. Umbrellas, v. 104, 241 ; vi. 146. Unattainable, tlie, ii. 281. Unbarrelable, truth, i. lOG. Unbelief, our torment, i. 2C8 ; iv. 172 ; ages of, mean, x. 198, 204, 212. Uncles and aunts, xii. 251. Uncontinented deep, ix. G8. Understanding, i. 42, 279 ; vi. 58 ; vii. 215. See, also, Reason. Understanding others, ii. 138, 286 ; iii. 230 ; iv. 47. Understatement, rhetoric of, x. 164. Undertaker's secrets, x. 26. Undulation, principle of, i. 99; ii. 309. Unfriendliness, ii. 226. Ungrateful space, ii. 206. Unhandselled savage, i. 100. Unhappiness, unproductive, ii. 330. Uniformity, neat and safe, x. 137. Unifying instinct, i. 87. Union, has no basis but the good pleas- ure of the majority, i. 308 ; ix. 179 ; xi. 102, 216/, 245, 248, 285; perfect only when the uuiters are isolated, iii. 253. See, also, United States. Unitarianism, i. 320 ; ix. 123 ; x. 112 ; xi. 22, 116 ; tlie pale negations of, 196, 377. United States, civil war in, v. 22; vii. 246; viii. 113, 139, 197; x. 246; xi. 101-128, 275-322; constitution, 219, 421; democracy, vi. 63; xi. 408; disunion, 247; eloquence, viii. 128 ; freedom, ix. 173 ; govern- ment, xi. 255, 411 ; prosperity, viii. 197. Units of society, i. 85, 114 ; iv. 110/. Unity, ix. 236 ; of man, i. 106 ; ii. 252; iii. 79, 221, 266; vi. 47; of mind, ii. 260 ; xii. 184 ; of nature, i. 48, 71, 77; iv. 49// v. 226; vi. 30 ; viii. 13/, 23, 212; xii. 18; of soci- ety, ii. 85 ; of thought and morals in all animated nature, x. 178 ; of the world, vi. 50, 290 ; xii. 58. Universalist, every man a, iii. 234. Universality, iv. 103, 107; v. 228/, 232 ; xii. 50. Universals, science of, i. 195 ; iii. 232. Universe, alive, ii. 99 ; we need not assist, iii. 269 ; beauty its creator, i. 30 ; iii. 13 ; nest of boxes, viii. 316 ; bride of soul, iii. 78 ; its children, 12 ; wears our color, 80 ; conversa- tion gives glimpses of, vi. 258 ; end, 92 ; our expectations of, iii. 64 ; im- mensity, i. 45 ; property of every individual, 25 ; law, x. 27 ; man's part in, i. 9 ; iii. 30 ; x. 131 ; of na- ture and soul, i. 10 ; Newton on, viii. 213 ; represented in each particle, ii. 95, 98 ; paths in, xii. 38 ; moral sentiment converts into a personal- ity, iv. 93; a jjound, iii. 95; prayer to, i. 327; prophetic, viii. 212 ; pro- tects itself by publicity, vi. 214 ; its simplicity not that of a machine, ii. 131 ; the externization of the soul, iii. 19 ; holds man to his task, vi. 11, 228 ; unhurt, ii. 125, 132. Universities, iii. 246 ; v. 203 ff; vi. 150 ; xi. 227. Unjust, happiness of, xi. 225. Unknown, the fear of remaining, ii. 149 ; search for the, iv. 64. Unpopularity, i^enalty, ii. 246. Unprincipled men, boasted perform- ances of, X. 244. Unproductive classes, vi. 252. Unpunctuality, discomforts, ii. 210. Unrelated, no man is, viii. 285. Unsaid, soul known by what is left unsaid, ii. 261. Unseen, we reason from the seen to the unseen, ii. 139; viii. 320; x. 309. Unsettled, hope for him who is, ii. 297/ Uranus, fable, i. 280. Uriel, ix. 21-23. Usage, drowsiness of, iii. 245. Use, the health and virtue of all be- ings, i. 47; vi. 120, 231, 274; vii. 248 ; X. 85 ; xi. 423. See below. Useful, the, not detached from the beautiful, ii. 341 ; iii. 157 ; vi. 26, 152, 276 ; viii. 301 ; xi. 223. Usual, to be wondered at, iii. 270. Utility, ii. 210/; iii. 11 ; English pas- sion for, V. 83, 235 ; x. 58, 234. Utterance, difference in the power of, viii. 235. GENERAL INDEX. 345 Vagabond, intellect is, ii. 80 ; viii. 71. Valor is power of self-recovery, ii. 288. Valuations, in nature no false valua- tions, iii. 100. Value, i. 47 ; vi. 104 ; of a man, viii. 08. Vanb, Sir Harrv. '* 11. Vane always east, vi. \4i. Vanity, danger from, i| . 105 ; expen- sive, vi. 111. I Variety, cardinal fact oi iv. 49, 52. Varnhagen von Ense qloted, x. 106, 110, 113. \ Varnish, of the dew, i. 155 ; of philan- thropy, ii. 53 ; iv. 83 ; of manners, vi. 1G3, 180 ; of nature, vii. 104. Vasari quoted, vii. 291 ; xii. 87, 90, 125, 127, 135. Vast, the, x. 133 ; xii. 180. Vastation of souls, iv. 120. Vastitudes of time and space, viii. 214. Vatican, ii. 334. Vaticination, parturient, xii. 57. Vauvenargues quoted, x. 94. Vedas, viii. 204 ; ix. 239 ; x. 73 ; quoted, iv. 49/; vii. 299. Vegetation, viii. 147 ; occult relation of man and vegetable, i. 10 ; ii, 175 ; xii, 22. Vehicles of truth, content to be, i. 3G9 ; viii. 97. Vehicular, language only, iii. 37. Veneration never dies out, i. 125 ; x. 213 ; we venerate our own unreal- ized being, i. 120. Venetian traveller in England quoted, V. Ill, 122, 141. Venice, v. 43. Venus, vi. 277; ix. 92 ; in art, ii. 340. Versailles courtiers, i. 194. Verse and verse-making, iv. 205 ; viii. 43, 55, 50, 58, 119 ; ix. 189, 199. See, also, Poetry. Vesicles, power of growth, vi. 19. Vespucci, Amerigo, v. 148. " Vestiges of Creation," xi. 332. Vestry of verbs and texts in Sweden- borg, iv. 117. Vice, betrays it.self, ii. 59, 111, 1.50 ; the virtues of society the vices of the saint, vi. 239, 24y, 295 ; we ascribe our own to others, iii. 97 ; pride eradicates, vi. Ill ; people wish to be saved from the mischief of their vices, not from their vices, iii. 82 ; popular allowance of, vi. 202 ; viii. 299 ; x. 114 ; good patriots, vii. Victoria, Queen, v. 110, 185. Victory, iii. 8."3, 90, 112; v. 135,211; vi. 210, 220, 285 ; vii. 270, 272 ; viii. 90, 170, 214 ; ix. 181 ; x. 127; xi. 177, 221. Vienna, iii. 183; v. 142,252. View, difference of jwint of view, ii. 294. Vigor, lesson of, iii. 74 ; iv. 235 ; vi. 234 ; contagious, vi. 234. Viguier, Pauline de, vi. 281. Village, the esthetic, xii. 254. Villagers, we are, iii. 38 ; vi. 12 ; vii. 121. Violin, Bible like an old, viii. 173. Virgil, ii. 141 ; quoted, vi. 45 ; vii. 312. Virginia, xi. 133; University of, ad- dress at, X. 249. Virtue, not an aggregate, ii. 259 ; not mere amiaVjility, vi. 150 ; animal, iii. 112 ; attainment, x. 84 ; a barrier, i. I 220 ; iv. 171 ; x. 445 ; opens the mind I to beauty, i. 120; xii. 138; clianges I in meaning, i. 318 ; ii. 293 ; x. 181 ; I xi. 333 ; Christianity loses some en- I ergy of, ii. 84; end of creation, i. 121; defined, ii. 151, 255; viii. 218; X. 190 ; moral deformity is good pas- sion out of place, vi. 245 ; devils re- spect, ii. 15<^) ; like diamonds, best plain-set, vii. 112; distrust in, vi. 201 ; earth and sea conspire^ with, vii. 54; economist, vi. Ill ; Euripi- des on, ii. 240 ; as exceptions, 54 ; none final, 295 ; fool of, vi. 307 ; essential to freedom, x. 87 ; genius in, viii. 201 ; geograplucal, i. 200 ; loved for its grace, iv. 205 ; great- ness, the perception tliat virtue is enough, ii. 240 ; is health, x. 40 ; is height, ii. 70; Imperial Guard, i. 140 ; incommunicable, iv. 32 ; inspi- ration, 09; golden key, i. 08; the highest always against law, vi. 220 ; a luxury, 90 ; manifest and occult, X. 27; no merit, ii. 127 ; minor, 222, muniments of, vi. 212 ; natural, ii. 259 ; occasional, x. 344 ; and order, i. 305 ; not to be paraded, ii. 127 ; the past works in the present action, CO; no penalty to, 117 ; not a pen- ance, 54 ; not piecemeal, iii. 250 ; source of power, ii. Ill ; ijrizes, x. 01 ; procession, ii. 293 ; essence of religion, i. 121 ; x. 212 ; reward, ii. 202; coincidence with science, iv. 81 ; fashion is virtue gone to seed, iii. 125 ; separates from the state, 205 ; X. 445 ; not a struggle, ii. 127, 259 ; secures its own success, vii. 346 GENERAL INDEX. 1)7 ; alone is sweet society, ix. 301 ; not taught, iv. (11) ; subject to no tax, ii. 118; totters, i. 334; we do not wear out virtue, ii. G3. Vislmu, iv. 51, 170; vi. '25; vii. 105; viii. 20; quoted, iv. 133. Vishnu Purana, iv. 50 ; vii. 208 ; quoted, X. 119. Vishnu Sarma, vii. 208; quoted, vi. 224. Visibility, dismay at, vii. 11. Vision, where is no vision, the people perish, i. 17'J, 183 ; ii. 01) ; iii. 32 ; x. 241 ; the visions of good men are good, vi. 305. Visit, The, ix. 20/. Visits, iii. 131 ; limit to, viii. 90. Vitruvius (quoted, i. 49 ; viii. 177. Vivian Grey, xii. 23G. Vocabulary of great poets, ii. 313 ; iii. 22 ; viii. 52 ; books as vocabularies, vii. 201. Vocation, ii. 1^ ; vii. 113, 120. See, also, Employment, Occupation. Voice, English, v. 110; the sweetest music, i. 251 ; ii. 340; viii. 117 #; a hoarse voice a kind of warning, iv. 138 ; viii. 83 ; index of state of mind, 118. Volitant stabilities, iv. 154. Voltaire, viii. 182, 300// x. 110/; quoted, iv. 31 ; v. 124 ; vi. 33, 244 ; xii. 51. VoLUNTAHiES, ix. 178-182. Vortical motion in thoughts, viii. 13. Votary, religion cjinnot rise above the state of the votary, vi. 19G. Voting, i. 241, 328 ; iii. 2G4 ; vi. 19, 35, 237 ; viii. 1(30 ; you cannot vote down gravitation or morals, xi. 223 ; fe- male suffrage, 350-353, 405. Vows, every man should assume his own vows, i. 232. Vulgar, the, iii. 112; vi. 220; x. C3 ; xii. 135. Wages, i. 353 ; vi. 220. Wagon, hitch to star, vii. 32/. Waiting, much of life seems, i. 333 ; ii. 222. Waldeinsamkeit, ix. 214/. Waldkn, ix. 307 >■; viii. 2GG ; ix. 140. Walk, The, ix. 304. Walking, the art of, viii. 140. Wall Street, i. 220 ; vi. 90. Waller, Ednuuid, quoted, viii. 57. Walls of the soul, i. 103 ; v. 21. Wali)ole, Horace, quoted, vi. 282 ; x. 101. Walter, John, v, 250. Wandering Jew, viii. 322. Want, and Have, ii. 89; vi. 115, 158; vii. 118; ix. 229. Wants, elegant to have few and serve them one's self, i. 235 ; man born to have wants and to satisfy them, vi. 88, 91, 252 ; vii. 10, 59, 109, 111,308. War, xi. 177-201 ; art of, ii. 85 ; attractive because it shows readi- ness to peril life for its object, 23(5, 300 ; x. 41 ; xi. 183, 198 ; child- ish, 183; forwards the culture of man, i. 304 ; vi. 39, 107, 158, 241 ; viii. 102; x. 41, 182, 237, 245, 394; xi. 03, 105, 301, 320, 398 ; Englisli in, v. 85, 92 ; foul game, 183 ; gun- powder in, xi. 397 ; improvements, x. 183 ; man born to, ii. 235 ; suits a semi-civili/.ed condition, xi. 284 ; the solvent of effete society, 319; Napoleon on, iv. 219, 224 ; xi. 321 ; nothing new in, iv. 235 ; oppo- sition to, xi. 195 ; preparation for peace, vi. 72 ; science in, ix. 191 ; everything useful the seat of, iii. 99 ; antagonized by trade, v. 157 ; xi. 184. Warren, John C, x. 321. Washerwoman's maxim, vi. 242. Washington, George, not found in the narrative of his exploits, iii. 89, 219 ; Jacobin tired of, iv. 31 ; Jerseys good enough for, ii. 243 ; Landor on, v. 10/; and Lincohi, xi. 313 ; style of breeding, viii. 100 ; safe from the meanness of politics, ii. 248. Watches, men like, vi. 170 ; vii. 221 ; 272 ; viii. 54. Water, ix. 284 ; drinking, ii. 240 ; iii. 32 ; finds its level, ii. 139 ; meet- ing of, 203 ; point of interest where land and water meet, i. 190 ; mixing, ii. 197 ; relieves monotony in land- scape, viii. 48 ; powers, ix. 47, 284; X. 72. Waterfall, ix. 307. Waterville College, address at, x. 231- 24G. Watt, James, v. 77, 92, 97, 154, 227 ; vi. 23, 37, 59, 80 ; vii. 55 ; x. 17, 173 ; quoted, vii. 255. Waves, charm of motion, vi. 277. Weak, every man seems to himself weak, ii. 224. Wealth, vi. 83-123 ; hi America, v. 149 ; viii. 98 ; and aristocracy, i. 249 ; without the rich heart, a beg- gar, iii. 149 ; ends, ii. 222 ; iii. 182 ; in England, v. 149, 151, 174 ; health the first wealth, vi. 57; vii. 110; hunger for, iii. 182 ; sign of know- GENERAL INDEX. 347 ledge, ii. 110 ; means, not end, iii. 183 ; X. 125 ; index of merit, iii. 155,; objections, vii. Ill ; parasitical, x. 258 ; power not to bo divorced from, xii. 100; respect for, not without right, viii. 98 ; scholar needs lit- tle, 280 ; servitude, xii. IIG ; ten- dency to draw on the spiritual class, X. 233 ; stands on a few staples, xi. 396 ; tainted, i. 224 ; need of, for do- mestic well-being, vii. 110. Weather, we cannot give up care of, ii. 213. Weather-cock of party, xi. 398. Weatherfend the roof, ix. 100. Web, of life, vi. 81, 304 ; vii. 104, ICO ; X. 190 ; of nature, viii. 30 ; of party, xi. 248. Webster, Daniel, ix. 312; xi. 207- 215 ; iii. 220 ; iv. 20, 190 ; vi. 18, 65, 131 ; viii. 3(J, 115, 174/, 209, 301 ; X. 417, 456 ; xi. 220, 220, 233, 230, 410 ; xii. 45, 70 ; quoted, vii. 76. Wedgwood and Flaxman, xi. 395. Weight, personal, v. 102 ; vi. 19. Weimar, Grand Duke of, and Goethe, viii. 300; quoted, ii. 216. Well, Inscription for, ix. 315. Well-doing, talent of, vi. 188. Well-dressed, tranquillity in being, viii. 88. Well-read, we expect a great man to be, viii. 170. Wellington, Duke of, v. 8, 69, 86, 107, 117, 120, 177, 290 ; vi. 145 ; vii. 256, 304 ; viii. 175 ; x. 163, 461 ; quoted, V. 109, 116, 128, 212; vii. 243, 298. Welsh poetry. Triads, quoted, vi. 26, 287 ; vii. 65 ; viii. 59. West, the, i. 349 ; x. 174 ; xi. 416. West Indies, Emancipation in, xi. 129-175. West Point, vi. 77 ; x. 240. West-Roxbury Association, x. 338^. Wheat, steampipe screwed to the wheat crop, vi. 86. Wheel-insect, iv. 27.5. Wheels, the creation on, viii. 10. Whigs, vi. 05; xi. 217/. Whim, as motto, ii. 53, 296. Whimseys, iv. 252 ; v. 121 ; vii. 302. Whiskey, tax on, vii. 34. Whistling, iv. 96, 175 ; viii. 73. Whitefield, George, vii. 314; xi. 69, 88. Whitewashed by unmeaning names, V. 172. Wholeness in nature is wholeness in thought, viii. 152 ; x. 190. Wickedness, successful, ii. 92 ; vi. 26, 67. Wicliffe, John, v. 207, 211 ; viii. 204. Wife, iv. 124. Wilkinson, James J. G., iv. 107 ; v. 237. Will, acts of, rare, xi. 404 ; and action, iii. 96 ; affection essential to, vi. 32 ; beauty the mark of, i. 25 ; education of, the end of our existence, 45; vii. 259; elemental, viii. 317, 325; the presence of God to men, xii. 43 ; the one serious and formidable thing in nature, vi. 34, 222; free agency, ii. 132 ; iv. 169 ; vi. 26, 40, 51, 273 ; xi. 222 ; and inspiration, vi. 34; moral sentiment the kingdom of, iv. 92 ; liberation from sheaths of organization, vi. 39; male power, X. 154 ; constitutes man, v. 15 ; x. 94 ; not to be manufactured, vi. 32 ; miraculous, xii. 43 ; moral nature vitiated by interference of will, ii. 127, 255, 306 ; viii. 218 ; preponder- ance of nature over, ii. 128 ; all possible to, iv. 167 ; measure of power, V. 289 ; vi. 31 ; viii. 268 ; x. 154 ; xi. 218 ; xii. 42 ; rudder of the ship of humanity, xi. 339 ; selecting, vi. 84 ; added to thought, ix. 274 ; weakness begins when the individ- ual would be something of himself, ii. 255 ; wishing is not willing, xii. 42 ; realized in world, i. 40. Willard, Major Samuel, xi. 36, Wff. William the Conqueror, v. 73, 155; vi. 241. William of Orange, vi. 143, 222. William of Wykeliam, v. 275. Williams, Helen M., quoted, viii. 30. Willows, viii. 147. Wilson, John, viii. 188. Wilton Hall, v. 182, 209. Winchester Cathedral, v. 274. Winckelmann, vL 271 ; vii. 193 ; quoted, vi. 174. Wind, South, ix. 310. Wind, scholastic bag of, iii. 244 ; Welsh invocation of, viii. 59 ; on lake, 272 ; ix. 204 ; myriad- handed, 42 ; order of, vi. 3^)4 ; sense of, 269 ; service, i. 19 ; south, iii. 166 ; ix. 40, 91, 130 ; cosmical west, viii. 201. Wind-harps, iii. 166 ; .see, also, Harp. Windows, of diligence, i. 25 ; painter, ii. 25 ; watcher of, 166 ; of the soul, vi. 172. Wine, bards love, iii. 31 ; bring me, ix. Ill; in cup of life, vi. 44; cup sliakes, i. 158 ; decanting, farm- ing like, vi. 116; and eloquence, 147 ; false, viii. 71 ; friends are 348 GENERAL INDEX. frozen, ix. 291 ; Hafiz on, viii. 232- 234 ; inspiration, 2GG ; for a cer- tain style of living, xi. 40(5 ; Lu- tlior on, iv. 147 ; liidden, ix. 155 ; wliicli is music, 112 ; no resource but to take wine with him, v. 219 ; what whio and roses say, ix. 31 ; sidereal, 121 ; feels bloom of vine, 145 ; waters fell as, 34. Wings, affections are, viii. 217 ; beau- ty plants, iii. 27 ; vi. 289 ; of time, ix. 229. Wlnkelried, Arnold, i. 2G. Winter scenery, i. 24. Wisdom, return for action, i. 98 ; iL 214; the dilference of persons not in wisdom but in art, 310; and beauty, iv. 09 ; cheerfulness of, vi. 250 ; vii. 288 ; contagion of, iv. 18, 29 ; involves courage, x. 87 ; mask with delight, ix. 2G7 ; each lias enough, xii. 27 ; does not go with ease, 87 ; in private economy, ii. 221 ; like electricity, vii. 235 ; xii. 25 ; infused into every form, iii. 188; genius sheds, i. 108 ; from God only, iv. 09; not withovit goodness, i. 210; health, condition of, vii. 288 ; of humanity, ii. 200, 270; in life, iii. 62 ; and love, iv. 209 ; does not con- cern itself with particular men, viii. 295 ; the mark of, is to see the mi- raculous, i. 78 ; iii. 70 ; no monopoly, ii. 261 ; to know our own, iii. 82 ; in pine-woods, 33 ; contrasted with shrewdness, ii. 114; sign, vii. 288; from well-doing, xi. 223 ; of world, ii. 270. Wise, Gov. Henry A., vii. 255; xi. 253. Wise man, makes all wise, vi. 255 ; not always wise, 91 ; vii. 236 ; xii. 25 ; discriminates, i. 44 ; end of nature, iii. 200 ; few dare be, i. 140 ; and foolish, 44 ; iii. 270 ; can't be found, 204 ; has no personal friends, 207 ; Luther said God could not do witli- out, 180; takes nmch for granted, X. 58; intelligence with otliers, ii. 139; at homo everywhere, 79; ix. 40 ; leaves out the many, iii. 99 ; all literature writes his character, ii. 13; has no needs, iii. 200; shuns novelty, X. 109; presence, iii. 207; is state, 200 ; wants to find his weak points, ii. 113. Wiser than wo know, ii. 93, 203. Wishes are granted, vi. 49 ; vii. 308 ; x. 96 ; xii. 42 ; and will, vi. 33 ; vii. 240. Wit, adamant soft to, ix. 66 ; shaft of Apollo, viii. 150 ; architecture of, i. 167 ; charter, viii. 107 ; cheap, vi. 219 ; detectors of, i. 337 ; difference of impressionability, vii. 279 ; English, V. 121; epilepsies of, ii. 191; and folly, 90 ; like Greek fire, viii. 156 ; humor bettor than, xi. 377 ; ice- cream instead of, i. 233 ; irresistible, viii. 156; does not make us laugh, 90 ; law of water true of wit, xi. 398 ; libraries overload wit, ii. 83 ; a magnet for wit, viii. 302 ; men of, unavailable, xii. 7 ; and mobs, viii. 143 ; mother, x. 154 ; peacock, ix. 55 ; the finest has its sediment, vi. 23G ; makes its own welcome, viii. 156. Witan quoted, viii. 307 ; xi. 34. Witchcraft, of affection, ii. 166; of curls, vii. 103. Wolf, Frederick A., x. 312. Woman, xi. 335-350; iii. 145- 147; as author, vii. 270; civilizer, ii. 244 ; iii. 145 ; vi. 143, 281 ; vii. 27 ; viii. 92 ; xi. 340 ; clergy addressed as, i. 75 ; conscience of people, xi. 240 ; lawgiver in conversation, vii. 214; viii. 91/; xi. 340; English, v. 67, 107 ; fascination, vi. 299 ; of fashion, 105; figure, 284; Fourier's opinion of, x. 333 ; in the home, iii. 145 ; xi. 343 ; element of illusion, vi. 299 ; impressionable, 47 ; xi. 337 ; in- dex of coming hour, vi. 47 ; xi. 337 ; influence, vi. 105, 281 ; inspiration, ii. 143, 244 ; iii. 140 ; xi. 337 ; love and marriage, ii. 174 ; vii. 120 ; more personal than men, xi. 349 ; political status, iii. 145 ; viii. 198 ; xi. 347 ; a poet, vi. 281 ; rights, iii. 145 ; a solv- ent, 140 ; superior, speech of, viii. 91 ; force of will, vii. 251. Wonder, poetry the daughter of, iv. 197 ; seed of science, vii. 152 ; x. 31. Wood, Antony, v. 70,79; vii. 230; x. 180 ; xii. 154. Wood-bell's peal, ix. 199. Wood-life, contrite, ii. 59. Wood-Notes, ix. 43-57. Woods, aboriginal, i. 103; city boy in, vii. 281 ; egotism vanishes in, i. 16 ; not forgotten, 37 ; freedom of, vii. 146; glad, ix. 214; tempered liglit, iii. 164 ; man a child in, i. 15 ; peace, xii. 135 ; plantations of God, i. 15 ; inspire reason and faith, 15 ; self-similar, ix. 103 ; seem to wait, ii. 23. See, also. Forests, Trees. Woolman, Jolni, xi. 139. Words, are actions, iii. 14 ; air forged into, i. 40 ; aii'-sown, ix. 191 ; awk- ward, ii. 213 ; would bleed, iv. 100 ; brutes have no, i. 50; bullets, iv. GENERAL INDEX. 349 161 ; disputes in, iii. 26G ; finite, i. 50 ; iii. 2G ; strokes of genius, 26 ; viii. 184 ; from heart, enrich, iii. 103; golden, iv. 117 ; inflation from too much use, x. 1G5 ; Landor's u.se of, xii. 211 ; loaded with life, i. 9G ; lists of suggestive, iii. 22 ; meanings fluxional, ii. 299; vi. 288; viii. 22, 37 ; metallic force of primitive words, 58 ; objects are words, xii. 5 ; that are persuasions, ix. 131 ; perversion of, i. 35 ; fossil poetry, iii. 2G ; power, vii. Go ; religions and states founded on, viii. 41 ; sincere, never lost, ii. 150 ; to match the sky, ix. 199 ; spoken, not recalled, ii. 112 ; study of, iii. 244 ; symbolism a sec- ond nature, growing out of the first, 26 ; thoughts always clothed in, xii. 67 ; timely, ii. 216 ; transparent, vii. 182 ; necessary because of the distance of thought between speaker and hearer, ii. 291 ; new uses of, a source of inspiration, viii. 278; let us not be victims of, vii. 20 ; that are not words, but things, 214. Wordsworth, William, v. 21-27, 279- 282 ; xii. 18G#, 225-229 ; Amer- ican appreciation, xii. 98 ; anecdote, vii. 306 ; appropriator of thoughts, viii. 183 ; habit of brag, v. 146, 280 ; conscientious, 243 ; viii. 192 ; and De Quincey, 183 ; great design, 37 ; xii. 227, 231 ; disparagement, v. 281 ; exceptional genius, 243 ; Lamb to, viii. 189 ; example of right liv- ing, V. 280 ; vi. 148 ; Landor on, V. 281 ; xii. 203, 210 ; Pan's record- ing voice, ix. 206 ; agent of reform in philosophy, viii. G7 ; visit to, v. 21-27, 279; quoted, i. 130; h. 112, 126, 140 ; v. 22, 108, 208, 279 ; vi. 287; vii. 171, 281, 306; viii. 31, 70, 177, 215, 280 ; x. 96, 217, 238, 305 ; xii. 157. Work, dignity of, i. 20, 173, 175, 229, 331; ii. 135, 155; iii. 181 /, 268; v. 188 ; vi. 87, 91, 110, 214/, 221 ; vii. 27, 133, 169, 274-277, 303 ; viii. 200, 323, 324 ; ix. 105 ; x. 129 ; xi. 384, 423 ; xii. 28, 240. See, also, Labor. Works and Days, vii. 149-177. World, enlarged by our finding affini- ties, vii. 284; all outside, iii. 66; property of each if he will, i. 25, 104 ; vii. 164 ; 288 ; a battle-ground, X. 87 ; is beauty, i. 21, 29, 111, 119 ; ix. 65 ; xii. 116 ; like man's body, i. 68 , build your own, 79 ; final cause of, 18 ; of com and money, iv. 91 ; for cricket-ball, iii. 53 ; a divine | dream, i. 66, 286 ; for man's educa- tion, vii. 317 ; emblematic, i. 38 ; empty, ii. 140 ; belongs to ener- getic, viii. 139 ; X. 86 ; enigmatical, vii. 172 ; always equal to itself, iv. 104 ; vii. IGG ; 288 ; viii. 203 ; not fin- ished, but fluid, i. 105 ; it is for good, X. 93 ; a growth, 180 ; in the hand, iv. 152 ; heedless, ix. 17 ; stands on ideas, x. 89; illustration of the mind, i. 120 ; immensity, ii. 331 ; belted with laws, x. 86, 127 ; congru- ity with man, i. 72 ; 120 ; ii. 10, 14 ; 328 ; iii. 176 ; 188 ; x. 131 ; mathe- matical, ii. 99 ; vi. 80 ; mill, 81 ; in miniature, in every event, ii. 317 ; 331 ; mirror of man, x. 185 ; his who has money, vi. 94 ; moral im- port, iv. 82, 113^; man the mould into which it is poured, i. 316 ; but one, x. 192 ; picture-book of human life, viii. 15 ; pListic, i. 105 ; plenum, iii. 231 ; a poem, iv. 116, 120 ; rough and surly, vi. 12 ; sit on and steer, i. 302 ; shadow of the soul, 96 ; iii. 25 ; teacher, x. 127 ; a temple, iii. 21 ; rests on thoughts, x. 89 ; tool-chest, vi. 89 ; not yet subdued by thought, i. 1C3 ; for use, vi. 89 ; x. 75, 85, 125 ; not used up, iv. 235 ; product of one will, i. 123. World- Soul, ix. 23-27. Worship, decay of, i. 141 ; x. 198 ; vi. 191-230 ; ix. 237 ; learned from na- ture, i. Go, 125 ; of material qualities, ii. 152 ; finds expression in good works, xi. 384, 392. Worth, absolute and relative, i. 144, 237 ; ii. 62, 140 ; a man passes for what he is worth, 149 ; iv. 124 ; apol- ogies for real worth, iii. 208. Wotton, Sir Henry, iv. 194; quoted, V. Ill, 171 ; X. 411. Would, or should, in our statements, viii. 34. Wrath, English, v. 136 ; wild, x. 263 ; not available, xi. 210. See, also, Anger. Wren, Sir Christopher, quoted, xl. 341. Writer, affection inspires, ii. 184 ; vii. 16 ; best part of, is that which does not belong to him, ii. 105; v. 8; from his heart, ii. 145 ; materials, iv. 249; need of him, 2.56; vii. 16; signs of originality, i. 36, 73; viii. 37; the people, not the college, his teacher, vii. 16 ; popular power, x. 56 ; once sacred, iv. 256 ; secondary, might be spared, vii. 186 ; secret, ii. 310; self -trust, iii. 181; a skater 350 GENERAL INDEX. who must go where the skates carry hun, viii. 34 ; skill, not wisdom, his characteristic, ii. 310 ; conditions of success, 286; v. 8; vii. 174; sur- roundings, viii. 276 ; talent does not make a writer, iv. 267; young writer leaves out the one thing he has to say, viii. 292. Writing, comes by grace of God, iii. 71 ; weakens memory, xii. 71 ; must be addressed to one's self, ii. 145. Wrong, seen only in some gross form, i. 265 ; the pains we take to do wrong, X. 146 ; penalty, ii. 107; pros- perity built on, X. 183 ; a remedy for every wrong, viii. 316 ; the years are always pulling down a wrong, xi. 106. Xbnophanes, ix. 120/; quoted, 48. Xenophon, iii. 100 ; vii. 191 /, 234 ; viii. 226 ; quoted, ii. 29. Yacht-race, it is the man that wins, V. 56. Yama, legend of, viii. 331. Yankee enterprise, ii. 221 ; vi. 59. Year, all sorts of weather make up, ix. 71 ; each moment has its own beauty, i. 24 ; specious panorama, ix. 121 ; inhaled as a vapor, i. 154. Years, blue glory, vii. 166 ; menials, ii. 152 ; single moments, confess, ix. 21; X. 242 ; of routine and sin, i. 144 ; teach much which the days never knew, iii. 71 ; usurped by petty ex- periences, ii. 213. Yeast, reformers against, iii. 240 ; in- spiration like, viii. 257. Yellow- breeched philosopher, ix. 41, Yezdam prophet, xii. 254. Ygdrasil, tree, x. 193. Yoganidra, iv. 170 ; vi. 297. Yoke of opinions, vi. 149. You, another, x. 136. Young, Edward, x. 376; quoted, ii. 294 ; vi. 194. Young, ideas always find us, ix. 83. Young American, i. 341-372. Young, may take a leap in the dark, x. 21 ; despise life, iii. 64 ; old head on young shoulders, vii. 298. Young men, aims, iv. 151 ; x. 239, 255, 263 ; not to be helpless angels, 240 ; Carlyle and, 457 ; view of the manly character, viii. 288; ten- dency to country life, i. 346 ; edu- cated above their work, xii. 254 ; whose performance is not extraordi- nary, ii. 243 ; iii. 55 ; xii. 254 ; lose heart, ii. 75 ; make themselves at home, vii. 20 ; impediments, i. 220 ; innovators, 289 ; young and old do not understand each other, ii. 162 ; X. 135 ; need patience, i. 114 ; soci- ety an illusion to, iii. 191 ; start in life, xii. 254 ; work not wanting, 259 ; their year a heap of beginnings, vii. 309. Young Men's Republican Club, resolu- tion, vii. 302 ; everywhere in place, 301. Youth, actions pictures in the air, i. 97; love of beauty prolongs, ii. 256 ; the day too short, vii. 216 ; dreams, iii. 193 ; vi. 251 ; follies, 244 ; glory, ii. 172 ; admirable health, vii. 280 ; viii. 261 ; feeling of incompe- tency, iv. 175 ; love, ii. 161 ; pas- sions, vii. 300 ; perpetual, x. 135 ; must prize, viii. 261 ; receptivity, ii. 298 ; excess of sensibility, vii. 309 ; sensual, x. 147; becomes skeptical, 265; suffers from powers untried, vii. 307. Zero, result of most lives, x. 216. Zertusht. See Zoroaster. Zoroaster, iii. 107 ; quoted, i. 203 ; ii. 78 ; V. 230 ; vi. 74, 194 ; viii. 24. Zymosis, viii. 127. INDEX OF QUOTATIONS. A few strong instincts, ii. 126. — Wordsworth : Sonnets to Liberty — On Tyrolese. A good rider, etc., vi. 138. —Lord Ed- ward Herbert of Cherbury. A pagan, suckled in a creed outworn, i. 130. — Wordsworth : Miscellane- ous Sonnets — " The world is too much with us." A wealthy man, addicted, etc. , i. 259, — Milton: Areopagitica (Bohn, ii. 85). Adrastia, law of, lii. 85. — Plato : Ph«- drus. All summer in the field, iii. 245.— Ful- ler : Worthies ; Pym. All trivial, fond records, viii. 146. — Shakespeare : Hamlet, i. 5. Always do what you are afraid to do, ii. 245. — Miss Mary Moody Emer- son. As Heaven and earth, etc., iii. 142. — Keats : Hyperion. As o'er our heads, etc., viii. 30. — Helen M. Williams: Hymn, "My God, all nature owns thy sway." Be bold, iv. 59. — Spenser : Fairy Queen, iii. 11. Blasted with excess of light, ii. 264. — Gray : Progress of Poesy. Brother, if Jove, etc., iii. 156. — He- siod. But simple truth, etc., x. 411. — Wot- ton : The Happy Life. Calm pleasures here abide, x. 238. — Wordsworth : Laodamia. Can these things be, etc., i. 39. — Shakespeare : Macbeth, iii. 4. Come into the world, etc. , x. 48. — Richard Rumbold on scaffold. See Macaulay's England. Created beings, etc., xi. 344. —Mil- ton : Paradise Lost. Crush the sweet poison of misused wine, ii. 187. —Milton : Comus. Dost thou think, etc., viii. 157. — Shakespeare : Twelfth Night, ii. 3. Drive out Nature, etc., ii. 102. — Horace- Earth fills her lap, etc., ii. 140. — Wordsworth : Intimations of Immor- tality. Enclosing in a garden square, vii. 143. — MarveU : The Mower. Enlarge not thy destiny, vi. 74. — Chaldean Oracle : Zoroaster. Et tunc magna, etc., vii. 312. —Vir- gil : Mneid, iv. 654. Ever their phantoms, etc., iv. 25.— Sterling : Daedalus. Fair hangs the apple from the rock, xii. 180. —The Braes of Yarrow: Wm. Hamilton. Far have I clambered, etc., xi. 344. — Henry More : Love and Humility. For evil word, etc., xi. 225. — .^schy- lus : Choephori, 307. For never will come back, etc., vii. 281. — Wordsworth : Intimations of Immortality. For they can conquer, etc., viii. 142. — Dryden. Forgive his crimes, etc., ii. 295. — Young. Forms that men spy, vii. 174. — Scott : Monastery. Fountain heads, etc., ii. 168. — Beau* mont and Fletcher : The Nice Valour, iii. 3. Good thoughts are no better, etc., i. 43. — Bacon. Half of their charms, etc., vi. 287. — Scott : Dying Bard. He is preserved from harm, viii. 169. — Plato : Phaedrus. He nothing common did, xii. 116. — Marvell: Upon Cromwell's Return from Ireland. 352 INDEX OF QUOTATIONS. He that can endure, iv. 86. — Shake- speare : Antonj' and Cleopatra, Hi. 11. Head with foot, etc., x. 10. — Herbert : Man. Heaven kindly gave, etc., vi. 194. — Young. Hengist had verament, vi. 107. — Merlin : Ellis : Early English Metri- cal Romances. Her pure and eloquent blood, etc., ii. 175. — Donne : Elegy on Mistress Drury. High instincts, etc., x. 96. —Words- worth : Intimations of Immortality. Hunc solem, etc., viii. 214. — Horace : Epist., i. 6. I think he'll be to Rome, etc., x. 47. — Shakespeare : Coriolauus, iv. 7. I well believe, etc., x. 30. —Shake- speare : Henry IV., Part I., ii. 3. If knowledge calleth unto practice, etc., i. 211. — Sentences of All, Ockley's Saracens. If my bark sink, iv. 177. — W. E. Chaiming : The Poet's Hope. If tliat fail, etc., xi. 298. —Milton: Comus. In the afternoon we came, etc., xii. 200. — Tennyson : The Lotus-Eaters. In the heat of the battle, etc., i. 330. — Landor : Pericles and Aspasia. Incertainties now crown themselves assui-ed, xi. 303. — Shakespeare : S.unetCVII. Indee-r '<" takes from our achievements, iv. 95. — Shakespeare : Hamlet, i. 4. Indeed, these humble considerations, etc., ii. 238. — Shakespeare : II. Henry IV., ii. 2. Indignation makes verses, viii. 119. — Horace. Into paint I will grind thee, iii. 229. — Washington AUston: The Paint- King. It o'erinforms the tenement, iv. 95. — Dryden, Absalom and Achitophel. It was a great instruction, etc., vii. 33. — Life of Col. Hutchinson. Let India boast her palms, v. 94. — Pope. Let them rave, ii. 248. — Tennyson : A Dirge. Looks in and sees each blissful deity, X. 119. —Milton: Vacation Exer- cises. Magno se judice, etc., x. 405. — Lucan. Man alone can perform the impossible, i. 366. — Goethe. Men cannot exercise, etc. , vii. 157. — Plutarch : Morals. More servants wait on man, etc., i. 19. — George Herbert : Man. My Cid with fleecy beard, viii. 303. — Southey : Chronicle of the Cid. Nature is made better, etc., iv. 86. — Shakespeare : Winter's Tale, iv. 3. Nature puts me out, v. 241. — Fuseli. Ne te quitsiveris extra, ii. 45. — Per- sius, Sat. I. 7. No, it was builded, etc., i. 57. — Shakespeare : Sonnets, cxxiv. No profit flows, etc., vii. 188. — Shake- speare : Taming of the Shrew, i. 1. Not as the store, etc., vii. 124. — Menander — quoted in Plutarch's Morals. Notes with many a winding bout, xii. 158. - Milton : L'Allegro. O wad ye tak' a thought, etc., iv. 133. — Burns : To the Devil. Of all the gods, etc., ii. 103. — ^schy- lus : Furies. Of old things all are over old, x. 305. — Wordsworth : Rob Roy's Grave. Of wrong and outrage, x. 415. — Cowper : Task, II. On two days, etc., vi. 11 ; ix. 248. — Omar Khayyam. One avenue, etc., x. 179. — Keats: Hyperion. Or if a soul, etc., vi. 48. — Chaucer : House of Fame. Our garden, etc., i. 344. —Euripides ; Medea. ndvTa pel, viii. 190. — Heraclitus. Presenting Thebes' and Pelops' line, iv. 188. — Milton : II Penseroso. Prisca juvant alios, viii. 198. — Ovid : Ars Amatoria, iii. 121. Quisque suos patimur manes, vi. 45. — Virgil : iEueid, iv. Rightly to be great, etc., x. 167. — Shakespeare : Hamlet, iv. 4. Seekest thou great things ? vi. 263. — Jeremiah, xlv. 5. Semper sibi similis, x. 170. — Lin- naeus. She was so fair, etc., vi. 198. — Chau- cer : Legend of Good Women. Since neither now nor yesterdaj', iii. 73. — Sophocles : Antigone, 456. Slighted Minerva's learned tongue, viii. 272. — Original. INDEX OF QUOTATIONS. 353 Stately steppes he, etc., xii. 180. — Hardykaute : Percy's Relics. Strikes the electric chain, etc., viii. 280. Success shall be, etc., vii. 271. — Svend Vonved, trans, by George Borrow. Sunshine was he, etc., i. 242. — Arab poet, trans, by Goethe. 'T is man's perdition to be safe. — R. Vines. 'Tis not every day, etc., viii. 263. — Herrick : Hesperides. 'Tis said, best men, etc., vi. 245. — Shakespeare : Measure for Measure, V. 1. 'Tis still observed, etc., vii. 255.— Herrick : More Modest, More Manly. 'Tis the most difficult of tasks, viii. 280. — Wordsworth. 'Tis virtue, etc., xi. 403. — Ben Jon- son : Cynthia's Revels. Take those lips away, i. 58. — Shake- speare : Measure for Measure, iv. 1. Also Beaumont and Fletcher : Bloody Brother. The best lightning rod, etc., x. 50.— Thoreau. The blood of twenty thousand men, etc., vii. 66. — Shakespeare : Richard II. The curse of the country, etc., vii. 76. — Daniel Webster. The Destiny, minister general, etc., vi. 11. — Chaucer : the Knights Tale. The far-fetched diamond, etc., xi. 343. — Coventry Patmore : The Angel in the House. The fiery soul, x. 188. — M. M. Em- erson. The Furies are the bonds of men, vi. 245. — Chaldean Oracles. The gods are to each other, etc., iii. 110. — Homer: Odyssey, v. 79. The name of death, etc., viii. 312. — Beaumont and Fletcher : Double Marriage. The ornament of beauty is suspect, i. 57. — Shakespeare : Sonnets, Ixx. The person love doth to us fit, ii. 177. — Cowley. The privates of man's heart, viii. 15. — Gower. The pulses of her iron heart, vii. 28. — O. W. Holmes : The Steamboat. The ruggedest hour, etc., v. 127. — Shakespeare : II. Henry IV., i. 1. The valiant warrior, etc., ii. '191. — Shakespeare : Sonnet xxv. Their highest praising, ii. 274. — Milton : Areopagitica (Bohn, ii. 57). Their strength is to sit still, xii. 267. — Isaiah xxx. 7. There is now no longer, etc., iii. 62; xii. 254. — Desatir, Persian prophet. These we must join to wake, xi. 470. — Ben Jonson ; Golden Age Re- stored. They come in dim procession led, x. 10.— Scott : Lady of the Lake, I. This coat, etc., viii. 87. — Herbert: Church Porch. Thou art not gone, etc., ii. 16T. Donne : Epithalamion. Tho' fallen on evil days, viii. 50. — Milton : Paradise Lost. Tho' love repine, etc., x. 98. —R. W. Emerson, Poems, ix. 243. .^ Thy lot or portion of life, etc., ii. 86. Sentences of Ali. — Ockley's Sara- cens. Time drinketh up the essence, xi. 288. — Vishnoo Sarma. To obtain them, etc., vii. 18. — Bacon : Of Ceremonies. To tread the floors of hell, viii. 220. — Pindar, quoted in Plutarch's Morals. Unless above himself, etc. , vii. 33. — Samuel Daniel : To Countess of Cumberland. Vich Ian Vohr, iii. 130. 'icott : Waverley. We who speak the tongue, etc., viii. 70. — Wordsworth : Sonnets to Lib- erty. What may this mean ? iv. 197. — Shakespeare : Hamlet, i. 4. What, old mole, etc., ii. 337. — Shake- speare : Hamlet, i. v. When each the other shall avoid, iii. 110.— R. W. Emerson : Celestial Love. When Omar prayed, x. 102. — Original. Why do you speak, etc., iv. 130. — Plutarch : Lycurgus. Winds blow, etc., ii. 112. —Words- worth : Sonnets to Liberty. — " In- land, within a hollow vale." With their stony eyes, etc., xii. 267. Zeus hates busy-bodies, vii. 293. — Euripides : Fragment of Philoctetes. See Aristotle's Ethics (Bohn, 164). 713 '^iifi X^^' -^^' rO ^ " '' '' -? - o 0^ '■ "^:<^a^%. .^^ y^m^ fe* : "^o 0^ .> ^ V. -^ . , .>:^' ^ vOC^ ^<^. \' >^ ^>. * s v^^^ .'N %. C^^ V^^t^^O^ .) c. r,"^""^^:^^ .^ J" '^;^ - ..*''^- no' ^^-^^ tP w^ •x^^'' '% r. ■ - A^ o 0^ .^ f^^j^'A ,^-^ -i ^,^ v-^' '>0 -A \ s^ 'CO' >■ .-N^ V ' * / -^^ -^ ^ '^ V ^^ .V ''^^ .^-^ -^ °// ^.p ,^x^' % ^v w- ,■ .^'' L* < \ ' « -V -^o Z^'??., ' '3 0°' C"".>\^^:'/."'