UC-NRLF 
 
 B 2 7^3 
 
 P S 
 
 1631 
 
 8*3 
 
 MAIN 
 
E R-K Et 
 

 
 &RARY 
 
 iYRStTY Of 
 

 
 EMERSON, 
 
 ^ 
 
 HIS LIFE AND WRITINGS. 
 
 BY JANUARY SEAttLE. 
 
 a* 
 
 
 
 ^LONDON: 
 
 HOLTOAKB 4 Co., 147. FLBBT STREET. 
 
 1855. 
 

 ( ffi 
 
 ^.< 
 / . ) 
 

 ps /t*>t 
 
 /HA 2 A) 
 
 KM Kit SON, 
 
 HIS LIFK AND WIUTINCS. 
 
 UAI i-ii \V\i.iiD KMI.UMON m ntujui *tioimMjr nit >< -m 
 thnikrr nnd \%nt r; n until ! il.-rp mi s ht lunl powerful 
 t it torn! HV, in \vliono iiuiiil tln< ilivuuy | iritu !im ui 
 Asia and the practical common HIM MO of Now England 
 nrc trnugoljr ar.d yrt harmoui >uljr Idnulrd. Hi* tiiiKU 
 nlouo in lui I -nuitry, nmi like tlto uKl |)hilo*u|ihor< wliotu 
 ho iloH .Titx 1 * n< " llabo-liko .Tiij itori mttin^ on tlu-ir cloud-, 
 tit l prattling from n^o to a^o tu cnch oilier," ho ltn no 
 contemporary, True it ii,thtt America hai procuccd many 
 men oftarntaf and tnlont, both a writor* and opoakcr*, 
 from Jonathntt Kdwardi to Cooper, Jmiiil \\Ybtor, 
 Mid CtuiUllIng but wo titul uotu* umoi \ t tlu-m who 11 
 mudo up of tha Hue rmitcrinU wltioli bolun^ to tin 1 tinturv 
 uf Kmornoii, and none who h n inch bold find utarthn^ 
 thought*, or who Imi cli- .ho 1 them in inch rich nnd Tario<( 
 ...nun iitn. For tho (Irst timo in American hutory, n man 
 ii bont, in hit prrtou, wlto lirc to think for himirlf ; 
 who putt under hi* toot all crcviU and tnulitiono, and 
 <x ks tho spirit nt lirsl-hand. Ho abandon! tho old 
 biaton track* of thoolo^jr. it uicomprvhoiuubltf do^iuni 
 and tho abturd myttoriet of itt faith ; ho hni tnrd thorn 
 lon(( and earnestly for food and life, a,. found them bonr* 
 and death. They can )leld htm neither nourishment, 
 upport, nor coniolation, nor can thoy atify hi* intrilort 
 or t lio longingi of hit BOU!. Thcao thing*! then, ho liat do>tr 
 
 347 
 
4 IMKtlON, III* LIU AMD WHITINOH, 
 
 with for ever, nor ahull th.>y haunt him with their ghastly 
 face* nd hooded eyes any more. And this abandontnont 
 of the old ground of speculation and boliof is ono of the 
 ocroti whereby Kmowon s writing* are umde *o attractive 
 and fascinating. There in, indeed, such freshness and eharin 
 about tin-in, Unit thi-y road liko a new revolution, Tlio 
 truths he utter* seem a* if they had come directly from 
 heaven ; and they flash in Ins pages liko those burning jeweli 
 which good St. John spcaka of as illuminating the pave 
 ments of iho celestial city. There is nothing hucktu<yod in 
 his manner ; but it is free, bold, and impulsive. He putt 
 our language to now UON, und inukoa it npi uk with new 
 eloquence. There i* a strange nu*w in hi* *ontonco, 
 whioh allures and captivates the mind ; and his words 
 arc often great and memorable. A true inspiration 
 abided witt. him, and tills him with sacred lire, lie 
 wastes no breath, does not stoop to the tricks of speech, 
 nor pander to the prejudices or convictions of men ; but he 
 goes direct to his mark, sometimes with an abruptness 
 which is startling enough. And the reason is, that ho has 
 really much to communicate which concerns his fellows, 
 which vitally concerns them ; and he loaves, therefore, the 
 ground of a low expediency, and speaks prophet-like 
 from the high platform of the conscience and the intellect. 
 It is easy enough to tec how much Emerson has 
 struggled how bravely he has fought to gain the van 
 tage ground which he occupies. lie is no more lip-man, 
 who talks from roiniuisccncoa and recollections of other 
 men s experience; but all ho utters is unmistakeable con 
 viction, and bears upon it the impress of the fiery ordeal 
 through which he has passed. In some of his earlier 
 writings ho is as earnest as Paul, and his injunctions flame 
 liko swords, and pierce to the very heart. Rely upon 
 yourself, and believe in God rely upon no man or men, 
 how holy soever they may be, or how venerable their 
 memories may have become through the faith and rover* 
 ence of the ages which have consecrated them. This is 
 the base of his doctrine the foundation upon which all 
 his teachings rest. Like Maceoll he teaches the " hull- 
 
i M i:u"N, MM i in: \. \\iii 1 1 v.a. 5 
 
 of t!n individual" r iiurt tn purity, Mini 
 o.>mni*nd nil men to nl> -v (he p it, and the moral law. 
 Ami thi< olu dioin o it to l>c unpin ,t, without <|iiotioning 
 or f.ilti-riinr i not rvndcivd fur " daily food," or any 
 ullMl uontidrrittion, hut IH-O.IUMI It i* rih ht, niiki in < 
 MfdMMM with tint HnohttlgMlbli mtivjrity which uphold* 
 the unirorio, llo unyn : 
 
 l<M(t|i>r, woofer id Hi- luw 
 T mn nil III* ijru.v Into over dii. 
 NVo nrc ii mi|i|ihitiit*t liv it wo 
 hi r\ tli" liroiuli n| ftornitv. 
 Norro Hi. MI It tint I >r ilnilv l-rrml- 
 Si-rvi it I . if four, in I wnut, n.nl n .snl ; 
 i^iv.- it, llniii-jli ll liMo it* liclit ; 
 Hv lovo, |M || |I| tlio nun t niifht j 
 
 i l|. U k ll till* I.VW liuillil (||ri< liir^Ot. 
 
 M-iro i-iini iniiril, wrv it v t, 
 r n Mu h it ii-i " lh>-, uHor lung, 
 
 I lll till* Bpii.! Ill (In- MMMifl 
 
 Tlit were it dnsl to ii^ in K.lon, 
 
 Mv Wntrr* uf lifo In r ml lin Im.j. 
 
 During Ilio irly part of his lifo ho olHiMati d -m pastor 
 in one ol the Unit nriiin fhiipolt in IJonton j but ho * \< 
 l>> IMI uu.un p.ipulur, itith iu^h O liu of tho hi^hi^t men 
 I tliocity ttondo<l hii iiiinutritinm. Ho hml, ni lf" I, 
 none of tho flctni ntg of popu iirity in him : hi* tlmu^iit < 
 wt n too remote from tho r 11140 of ordiniry inindu, to 
 make l.i it a.- .-,ii iMv to lho.li, ILit ili i,i who undortoo I 
 hit doctrine IOTO 1 tho tovhur. ITo hud not winniL 
 L>nough, howovor, for an orutor, but was cool nnd ( 
 tur.jiio. Chnnnii)^, on tho rtii-r hun I, wn< full of IMI- 
 thmtiuin |Kko to tho p<>puUr In-.irt und AytnputhiiH, 
 nnd had a lar^o congregation. Tho Uuitarmn faith, which 
 to him wii j rital and all-abaorbing, wm to Kmorton 
 not of > mnoh moment ; nor did ho tot it iorth with any 
 protuinunoo in hu dtujuroi. llo dealt more with moral* 
 than with dootrinci \ lorod ipooulation, and brought 
 down truth* to earth from thoso rare ro^ion* whioh only 
 tlu> gn*aU<it npiriti haro trarorted. UmUriuiium could 
 >tot oonlino a mind liko hit, ho i< ii iaw that, in jiito of 
 lit >rofcm"l liborahty and ration.ilitm, it wa noithor 
 lib-ral nor rational j t jat it could tolerate no thinker who 
 wtnt beyond itt orthodoxy i and, in ihort, that thcru 
 4l 
 
t> EMERSON, HIS LIFE AND WRITINGS. 
 
 was no reel for him in ita boundaries. He broke 
 therefore, from them, and became a priest of nature, 
 instead of a ministering servant to a cold and lifeless 
 creed. 
 
 The result was soon manifest in his writings. He was 
 now untrammelled, and free io speak the thoughts which 
 flooded his soul ; and ho was faithful to this freedom. 
 Everywhere, in his books, ho exults in it, and seems to 
 sw m in a divine atmosphere. And yet, he is not a com 
 plete man ; nor do his writings possess any epical unity. 
 It is true that certain ideas run like threads of fire through 
 them all, and give to them a kind of consistence ; but it 
 is not architectural consistence : all is fragmentary and 
 incomplete. lie is the spokesman of many thoughts, not 
 the organizer of a philosophy. And yet I think his essays 
 are of more sterling worth than any system of philosophy 
 which he could have devised. They contain certainly a 
 strange mixture of thoughts and opinions, and ho has 
 gone to the remotest east, as well as to the schools of 
 Greece, Homo, England, and Germany, to ask of them 
 Goethe s great question " What can you teach mo ?" 
 In the character of his mind he is akin to the most op* 
 posito men: to*Pluto and Socrates; to Plotinus and 
 Swedonborg ; to Montaigne also and Franklin : and he is 
 as thoroughly versed in the laws of prudence, and the 
 economy of housekeeping, as in those subtle revelations 
 which come from God to the soul, and constitute the 
 spiritual wealth of the world. He is one of the giants 
 who will not be " slaughtered with pins;" nor allow tho 
 concerns of the spirit to outweigh the responsibilities of 
 practical life, lie is a seer, who looks on all sides of Nu- 
 ture and of human life, and announces what he sees. 
 Ho is not tied down to one idea, however magnificent or 
 holy ; nor does he seek to mako converts, or stereotype 
 men in creeds, or found an institution. Ho is too large 
 for sectarianism, and lives in the wide latitudes of the 
 Intellect, under tho starry heavens of faith. For although 
 tho intellect is ever uppermost in him, controlling his 
 visions and imagination, and giving an icy tinge to his 
 

 EMEB3UN, in- LIFE AND WR1TINOS. 7 
 
 warmest Oolouffaft M tlmt his readers sometime* doubt, 
 when they would most believe still he is never profane, 
 but t runts the spirit witli tlio faith of a ronfrnor. If hu 
 cannot reconcile contradictory truths, he knows tlmt to 
 the Infinite Mind all truth is , t f ; and his religious trust* 
 fulness is nowhere more apparent than in his annun 
 ciation of such truths ; for to trust where we cannot trace 
 is both piety ana wisdom. It is this bravery in tho 
 cause of universal truth which separates him from tho 
 partialists, who only sec with one eye, and arc satisfied 
 with such vision. To him every truth is polar, and has a 
 posit ire and negative side. Thus, good presupposes evil, 
 virtue vice, and both arc necessary. There is no abso 
 lutely pure thing in tho world, and nono absolutely im 
 pure ; for there ; no perfection out of tho Supreme 
 Ueins, and all the creatures he has made are liable to err. 
 "Tlmt pure malignity can exist," ho says, " is tho ex 
 treme proposition of unbelief;" and he might havo added 
 That pure virtue can exist is tho extreme proposition of 
 fanaticism. Einerson, however, has an indestructible 
 faith in goodness, as the ultimatum of humanity; tho 
 goal to which all the struggles, deeds, and aims of 
 men are tending. " The carrion in tho sun will 
 soon convert itself to grass and flowers ; and man, 
 wherever thou sccst him, whether on gibbets or in 
 brothels, is on his way to all that i* grout and good." Such 
 is the strange, strong, and ultra way in winch ho puts his 
 deep conviction of God s moral government of the world ; 
 and although it is liable to painful misconstruction, it is, 
 nevertheless, a profound saying. For what are individual 
 crimes, and national enormities, to the all-piercing eye 
 that measures the round of tho sphere, and judges hu* 
 inanity by its results ? Are they not the mere mountain 
 peaks, the excrescence*, and jagged irruptions, which, 
 when beheld at a point of vision sufficiently lofty, lose 
 their angularities, and OOMO to interfere with the curve of 
 the circle ? To the philosophic mind, this is sufficiently 
 apparent ; and tho grand upward and onward march of the 
 human race, in spite of the obstructions which private 
 
6 
 
 EMEB90N, HIS LIFE AND WUIT1NG9. 
 
 misdeeds and public wrong*, wars and revolution*, hare 
 opposed to it, is trtb historic proof of the proposition. 
 
 Emerson, however, does not by any means intend to 
 assert, because human misdeeds are overruled for good, 
 that therefore man is, an irresponsible being : on the con 
 trary, he, of all modern teachers, has insisted that man 
 is responsible; that rewards and punishments or iu 
 other words, compensation swiftly and inevitably suc 
 ceeds action of wlmt kind soever; that there is no cheating 
 the great Spirit of the universe, who will huve justice 
 dune MOW?, as well as hereafter, and makes every day a day 
 of judgement. His " Essay on Compensation" is a vindi 
 cation of this doctrine, against the fallacies of tradition, 
 und the falsehood of creeds. He asserts that there is no 
 escaping out of the divine hands, inasmuch us the divine 
 laws have their roots in the human soul, and execute 
 themselves with speedy and relentless justice : -that the 
 reward or punishment is not put oil till after death, but 
 administered on the instant ; not in the *hapc of " a crown 
 of life," or a bed of unquenchable fire, but in a decrease 
 or an enlargement of the spiritual being. \ud this doc 
 trine, although it may not be material enough to convince 
 the common mind, wlueh cannot believe that justice is 
 really done, unless it sees the sword and the judge, is 
 nevertheless tnu>. For to suppose that God will give 
 iii iteriul compensations either here or herealier, is to 
 misapprehend the nature of his government in relation to 
 the human soul, which is purely moral and spiritual. 
 
 Brnerson was the first modern teacher who culled atten 
 tion to this subject, and demonstrated the laws by which 
 the Nemesis of God maintains the balance of justice iu 
 the world. With him justice is not theological, but spiri 
 tual ; not arbitrary, but absolute, and must be done.. The 
 priest has no power in this sphere ; cannot enter its pre 
 cincts, nor interfere with its judgements. For what the 
 priest holds to be most immoral, viz., a want of faith in 
 theological doctrine in the atonement, for instance, the 
 resurrection, miracles, or the immortal life Emerson 
 will not admit to be such at all ; because they are merely 
 

 EMEUSON, HIS LIFE AND WRITINGS. . 
 
 speculative questions, and cannot, therefore, be arraigned 
 us criminalities before tho tribunal of the Eternal. Thisposi- 
 tiou, which is the stronghold of Protestantism tho only 
 ground, indeed, u|x>n which Protestantism can rest aa an 
 institution is still very little understood, even by those 
 who lay claim to the priesthood -f tho dispensation. It is 
 true that Roger Williams, with an insight which was really 
 remarkable, and a liberality i hich cannot bo sufllciontly 
 admired, incorporated this pt nciple of the right of private 
 judgement in all matters of conscience in tho constitu 
 tion of Rhode Island ; but out of that noble republican 
 state wo shall not find, even in this day, any national re 
 cognition of it. And it is singular thnt a Puritan of 
 thoso old, stern, and implacable days, brought up in tho 
 ptrnightcst system of ecclesiastical government, should 
 have been tho first man to build it into tho masonry of a 
 state. It required * Ijrge, free intellect, a great heart, 
 and a firm resolution, to accomplish this magnificent and 
 sublime fact, in the face of tho terrible opposition which 
 ho met with from the priests and members of the asso 
 ciated colonies. But it is a truth in itself, and an inherent 
 right of man. Hence its stability in Rhode Island, and 
 its adoption and annunciation by the thinkers of 
 these more modern times. Emerson insists upon it, aa 
 the first condition of mental freedom, and tho only ground 
 of a rational and enduring faith. He infers that Puritan 
 ism in New England ha-j worn itself out ; has answered 
 its purpose, and must new give way to more enlightened 
 views, and to a nobler faith. Emerson, and a little band 
 of men who, if they did not adopt his views, had like 
 aims and aspirations, saw this clearly enough ; they saw, 
 likewise, that Puritanism stood in the pathway of a better 
 revelation, and waa a bindranoe to higher life and action. 
 Hence, they resolved to commence a crusade against it ; 
 not in any antagonistic form, but according to the laws 
 of the old chivalry vhioh man has obeyed in all period* 
 of mental revolution. They dealt more in affirmations 
 titan protects, and sought truth with the fervour of aainU, 
 n \ propagated it with the seal of apottle*. This rcvolu- 
 
10 EMBB90N, H13 LIFE AND WHITINGS. 
 
 tion, however, in the minds of these reformers, was not 
 effected altogether by the force and circumstances of the 
 time, nor was it entirely a reaction, springing from Puritan 
 decay. For a long time the choicest spirits of New Eng 
 land had becu occupied in the btudy of the old Pagan 
 worthies, of the Eastern religious book*, and of the great 
 German thinkers. German literature had taken deep root 
 in New England, and its best writers were well-known 
 there, as Carlyle was, long before they wore recognised on 
 this side of the Atlantic. And this study, intense and 
 earnest as it was, produced a rich fruitage of thought, 
 and a desire for a wiser and holier lifo than the students 
 saw around them in the new world ; and, as it always 
 happens, this desire was accompanied by divine illumina 
 tions and a heroic enthusiasm. 
 
 I cannot better exhibit the growth and consummation of 
 the new ideas, than by quoting from W. II. Channing, in 
 his remarks upon Margaret Fuller, which appear in tho 
 " Memoirs." 
 
 "Tho summer of 133 J saw tho full dawn of the Tran 
 scendental movement in New England. The rise of this 
 enthusiasm was as mysterious as that of any form of re- 
 vival ; and only they who were of the faith could compre 
 hend how bright was this morning-time of a new hope. 
 Transcendentalism was an assertion of the inalienable in 
 tegrity of man, of tho immanence of divinity in instinct. 
 In part it was a reaction against Puritan orthodoxy ; in 
 part, an c licet of renewed study of tho ancients, ot Oriental 
 Pantheists, of Pluto and the Alexandrians, of Plutarch s 
 Morals, Sonecu, and Epiutetus 5 in part, the natural pro 
 duct of the culture of tho place and time. On the some 
 what stunted stock of Unitarianism whoso characteristic 
 ilogrua was trust in individual reason as correlative to 
 Supremo Wisdom had been grafted German Idealism, as 
 taught by masters of most various schools by Kant 
 and Jacobi, Fichte and Novulis, Schelling and Hegel, 
 Schlciermacher und De "Wette, by Madame de Stael, 
 Cousin, Coleridge, and Caiiylo- ; and tho result was a 
 vague yet exalting conception of the godlike nature of the 
 
KMEB80N, H18 LIFE AND vrBtTIX<18. U 
 
 human spirit. Transcendentalism, as viewed by its disci- 
 pies, wns a pilgrimage from the idolatrous world of creeds 
 and rituals, to the temple of tho living Ood in the soul. 
 It was a putting to silence of tradition and formulas, that 
 the sacred oracle might lx hoard through intuitions of the 
 *injlo-cyed and pure-hearted. Amidst materialists, zealots, 
 and sceptics, the Transeendentalist believed in perpetual 
 inspiration, the miraculous power of will, and a birthright 
 to universal good. He sought to hold communion, face- 
 to face, with the unnamenblo Spirit of his spirit, and give 
 himself up to the embrace of nature s beautiful joy, as the 
 babe set-Its the brea?t of a mother. To him the curse seemed 
 past; and love was without fear. All mine is thine, 1 
 sounded forth to him in ceaseless benediction, from flower* 
 and stars, through the poetry, art, heroism of all nges, in 
 the aspirations of his own genius, and the budding promise 
 of the time. His work was to bo faithful, as all saint, 
 sages, and lovers of man had been, to truth, as the very 
 word of Ood. His maxims were : Trust, dare, and be ; 
 infinite good is ready for your asking ; seek and find. All 
 that your fellows can claim or need is that you should be 
 come, in fact, your highest self; fulfil, then, your ideal. 
 Hence, nmong the strong, withdrawal to private study 
 and contemplation, that they might bo alone with the 
 Alone; solemn yet glad devotedness to tho divine lead 
 ing* in the inmost will ; calm concentration of thought to 
 wait for and receive wisdom ; dignified independence, 
 *U.rn, yet sweet, of fashion and public opinion ; honest 
 originality of speech and conduct, exempt alike from 
 apology or dictation, from servility or scorn. Hence, too, 
 among tho weak, whimsies, afleotation, rude disregard of 
 proprieties, slothful neglect of common duties, surrender 
 to tho claims of natural appetite, self-indulgence, self- 
 absorption, and self-idolatry. 
 
 " By their very posture of mind, as seekers of the new, 
 the Transcendentalism were critics and come outers froi.i 
 the old. Neither tho church, the state, the college, iw>ciety, 
 nor* even reform associt tions, had a hold upon their hearts. 
 The paet might be well enough for those who, without 
 
12 EMBB90N, HIS LIFE AMD WHITINGS. 
 
 make belief, could yet put faith in Common dogma* aud 
 usage* ; but fur them the matin belli of a now dry were 
 chiming, and the herald-trump of freedom was heard 
 upon the mountains. Ilenoe, leaving ecclesiastical organ 
 ization*, political parties, and familiar circles, which to 
 them were brown with drouth, they sought in covert nooks 
 of friendship for running wateru, and fruit from the true 
 of life, lae journal, the letter, became of greater worth 
 than the printed page ; for they felt that systematic re- 
 suits were not yet to be looked for, and that in sallies of 
 conjecture, glimpses and flights of ecstasy, the Newness 
 lifted her veil to her votaries, Thus, by mere attraction 
 of ullimtv, grew together the brotherhood of the Like* 
 minded, as they wore pleasantly nicknamed by outsiders 
 and by themselves, on the ground that no two were of 
 the eame opinion. The only password of membership to 
 this association, which hud no compact, records, or 
 officers, was a hopeful and liberal spirit ; and its chance 
 conventions were determined merely by the desire of the 
 caller for a talk, or by the arrival of some guest from a 
 distance, with a budget of presumptive novelties. Its 
 symposium* was a pic-nic, whereto each brought of his 
 guins, us he felt prompted, a bunch of wild grapes from 
 the wood?, or bread-corn from his threshing Hour. The 
 tone of the assemblies was cordial welcome for every one s 
 peculiarity ; and scholars, farmers, mechanics, merchants, 
 married women, and maidens, met there on a level of 
 courteous respect. The only guest not tolerated was in 
 tolerance ; though strict justice might add, that these 
 llluminati* were as unconscious of their special cant as 
 smokers are of the perfume of their weed, and that a pro 
 fessed declaration of universal independence turned out in 
 practice to bo rather oligarchic." 
 
 Such, then, wore the influences which awoke these 
 young New England hearts, and made them beat with 
 fresh hope and joy. They would live a now life, a life 
 with God in the soul ; and each of them adopted his own 
 methods to accomplish this. All were in earnest. They 
 would struggle no more for any mere earthly distinction ; 
 
EMBB90N, HIS HFB AND WHITINGS. 13 
 
 for wealth, land?, and honours. A higher prize was 
 Within their reach, the spiritual worU was open to them, 
 with all its sublime immunities and beatitudes. They 
 cou!d become eternal through lore, and walk as gods upon 
 a godless and profunc earth. It was natural to expect 
 much from such enthusiasm as this ; and much really 
 sprang from it ; for it gave to America a new literature 
 and infused new life into the rising generation. What it 
 might have accomplished, had it assumed an organic 
 form, and hare bound its members together by a common 
 faith, is quite another question. Perhaps it would have 
 revolut ionized the whole- of America, and liavc established 
 a new Catholicism, under the shadow of whoso altar men 
 might once more have sat in blessed peace. For truly a 
 Catholic religion is not incompatible with individuality of 
 thought; for worship of one kind or another is indu- 
 jwnsible to the human soul. But the hour is not yet ripe 
 for such an institution. Individualism mast first do its 
 work, and resolve its own problem, and in the meanwhile 
 we must be content to live alone, each one of us, units, 
 instead of a grand society but the latter will come. 
 Romanism foreshadowed it. Romanism wa& necessary to 
 hold tho world together during the infancy of the 
 European mind ; Protestantism is dissolving that im 
 mense association, now that the intellect of Europe is be 
 coming mature; and when it is mature, wo shall have a 
 new revelation a now spiritual illumination which, with 
 out ignoring the intellect, shall furnish us with a religion 
 worthy of its homage. 
 
 As a sign of the times ; a sign of decay and doath on 
 the one hand, and of wild, earnest longing after the noble, 
 true, and god-like, on tho other, Transcendentalism in 
 Puritan, practical New England, is a remarkable pheno 
 menon ; and although tho early enthusiasm which ac 
 companied its announcement, and hailed its presence, is 
 dying away the solid fruits survive. It has taught men 
 to live for high purposes, and to keep themselves pure and 
 holy ; for the " pure in heart shall see God ;" and none 
 other can hope for the blessed life. 
 
 B 
 
1-i EUEB30N, HIS LIFE AND WHITINGS. 
 
 Emerson must be regarded aa the high priest of this 
 new illumination in America, lie was one of the " like- 
 minded," whom Chaiming speaks of as composing the 
 little society of Boston, in the year 1839 ; and who by 
 his orations and essays had already distinguished himself 
 in the literary world. It was not as a literary man, how- 
 ever, in the sense of a book maker and magazine writer, 
 that he was regarded, or upon which his fame rested ; 
 but it wn^ n- u teacher who had a message to deliver, and 
 truths of high import to announce. No doubt, the elegance 
 of his style was a great attraction, and secured him a 
 hearing in quarters whence ho would otherwise have been 
 excluded; but hi? manner of delivery was ruinous to his 
 e .ecess as an orator. It was cold, still , and unimpas- 
 e> oneJ, even when the grandeur of the thought carried 
 1 is audience away, and might have forced an iceberg to 
 .-peak with the tongue of an angel. Still ho was listened 
 to with that r. sped which men of genius and virtue 
 always command, lie lectured at various literary insti 
 tutions, and appealed to the young and ardent, as well as 
 to scholars. His Kvtures woro a new thiiur n: the Ameri 
 can Israel ; nobody had ever heard such di -ourscs before ; 
 t-.) full of thought, power, wisdom, truth, uud intellectual 
 daring. His aim v,-us to free the American mind, and 
 make Americans worthy of the country which they oc 
 cupied and of the name of republicans. In speaking 
 before the literary societies of Dartmouth, he said : 
 " Tin s country has not fulfilled what seemed the reason 
 able expectation of mankind. Men looked when all 
 feudal straps and bandages were snapped asunder, that 
 nature, too long the mother of dwarfs, should reimburse 
 itself by a brood of Titans, who should laugh and leap 
 in the continent, and run up the mountains of the west 
 on errands of genius and of love. But the mark of 
 American merit in painting, in sculpture, in poetry, in 
 lictioiijin eloquence, seems to bo a certain grace without 
 grandeur, and itse f not new but derivative ; a vase of 
 lair outline, but empty, which who-so tecs may iill with 
 v hut wit und character is in him, but which docs not, like 
 
F.MEB90N, HI9 LIFE AND WRITINGS. 1 " 
 
 rhe charged cloud, overflow with terrible beauty and emit 
 lightnings on all beholders ; a muse which docs not lay 
 the grasp of despotic genius on u*, and < hain an age to 
 its thought and motion." Emerson saw how imitative 
 was the American mind in it* art and literature, and he 
 put tho scholar* of Dartmouth, in this lecture, which i- / 
 printed in tho collection of his works, upon their metal. I > 
 IL* would rai*<j them to manhood, and self-reli nice ; and ^ 
 teach them to look within for the help that should move 
 the world afresh. It is to scholars specially that he 
 speaks in this lecture, and ho shows them their true voca 
 tion, and tho vast resources which are at their command. 
 " The resources of the scholar are," he says, " in propor 
 tion to his confidence in tho attributes of the intellect. 
 They are coextensive with nature and truth, yet can never 
 be his unless claime I by him with an equal greatness of 
 mind. Ho cannot know them until ho has beheld with 
 awe the infinitude and impersonality of the intellectual 
 power, and worshipped tint great li^ht. When he has 
 seen that it is not his, nor any man s, but that it is the 
 soul which made tho world, and that it is all accessible to 
 him, he will then sec that he, as its minister, may right 
 fully hold all things subordinate and answerable to it. 
 When ho stands in tho world, ho sees himself its native 
 king. A divine pilgrim in nature, all things a* tend his steps. 
 Over him stream theflyingconstellations; over him streams 
 titne,athey scarcely divided into monthsandyears. Ho in- 
 huies the year as a vapour ; its fragrant midsummer breath, 
 its sparkling January heaven. And so pass into his mind 
 in bright trans-figuration tho grand events of history, to 
 take a new order and scalo from hi.n. Ho is tho world ; 
 and tho epochs and heroes of chronology are pictorial 
 images, by which his thoughts are told. There is no 
 event but sprung somewhere from tho soul of man ; ar.d 
 therefore there is none but the soul of man can interpret. 
 Every presentiment of the mind is executed somewhere, is 
 some gigantic fact. What else is Greece, Rome, Enclrnd, 
 France, St. Helena ? What else are churches, and litera 
 tures, and empires?" All this was no doubt new and 
 
16 EMEBSON, HIS LIFE AND WHITINGS. 
 
 startling enough to his hearert, ind the man who could 
 utter it wa* either mad or inspired. " But the tout, o 
 fooling its right, mutt oxoroiio the same, or it urrondom 
 itself to I ho usurpation of facts, Ksmnt inl to our riches 
 is the unsleeping assertion of spiritual independence, as 
 all the history of literature may teach, The now man 
 must fool that he is now, and has not come into the world 
 mortgaged to tho opinions and imago* of Kurope, and 
 Asia, and Kgypt. Tho sense of spiritual Independence is 
 liko tho lovuly varnish of tho dew, whoroby tho old hard 
 peaked earth, ami it* old self- same product! m* nro mndo 
 new every morning, and shining with tho lust touch of 
 tho artist s hand. A MM hi nullity, a ooutpUlsAiMM tu 
 reigning schools, or to tho wisdom of antiquity mint not 
 defraud mo of supremo possession of this hour. If any 
 person have lees love of liberty and loss jotilousy to guard 
 his integrity, shall he therefore dictate to you and mo ? 
 Siiy to such doctors, " Wo are thankful to you, as wo aro 
 to history, to tho pvramiiU and tho authors ; but now 
 our day U oome, wo have boon born out of tho eternal 
 silence -, and now will wo livo livofor ourselves- -and not 
 as the pall- bearers of a fuuoral, but as tho upholders and 
 creators of our ago." 
 
 Such wore tho bri\ve words by which Kmorson hoped 
 to quicken tho Dartmouth scholars into now lifo, and now 
 endeavour, For tho m holimtio touching of America, liko 
 that of Mnglaml.xMi* piuultilty lnvili, and by confining the 
 mind to old modvl* of thought and teaming, it crippled 
 tho intellect and foth-rod the spirit. There was too much 
 meclmninnv about it too much dry lore ; so that one might 
 piti nn nt Iro nottiliiinicnl oottrvn, itnd IHI nftnr nil hut an nn* 
 cyclopedia of facts, or a linguistic or mathematical mill. 
 Kmorson s aim was to put a soul into this inorganic 
 rubbish, so that it might bo used as materials for a man, 
 and not for a showman. Ho wished to give scholarship 
 it nobler empire ; to convince tho scholar that his acquire* 
 monts wero for spiritual as well a secular use \ and for 
 the former most of all. Everywhere he appears as an 
 alternate iconoclast and renovator. Ho breaks tho old 
 
^r- A 
 
 KVI H* N, HI* LIFE vNP \\lll. (N-.T 17 
 
 id >l, and >liow liow now one* can bo made. Not by 
 handicraft wnl joinery, but by the plantio agency of great 
 idem. Ho i for the development of the spiritual nnturn 
 a* -M.-II an it in man, not a* the priest* have hitherto 
 in.niM. .l it and called hy the name of development . 
 There ha i been quite enough of that ; enough of no 
 uivMiwbing to dogma* and myterie which were fraud* 
 in. I | i i k.-n> , ii"* In* wa fr trying wlmt the virgin 
 "il of man would produee fr.m it* own mhnvul viUlily. 
 li-t tin* n hoUr rr*|Met hiin-clf, *la.iul by hnnnrlf, adopt 
 lii own inrMioil-, and a<v<>m|ihih hi* own work. The 
 nir.T i n. I .-.-. i f.i-.liy it wa< wh.Mt (tod llrf 
 iTciii-l it i it !i < Hi. nun widn u to itupitrt an il hud in 
 Ilir dun lliue lying f.tr l-ivk in hitory, whon lln-i.ru 
 ntcn rvci ived it, and ntninped il iniprv** upon llie v-.irld 
 f.r no muny hundred yenr*. Inspiration i not pant; 
 ui W Dtblco liaro |o lie written ; nrw rrvrUf KUI to ron.r ; 
 now rivilifi*ion to >>n built up; and art mil ciciu e arc 
 vrt to In- explored in tlicir dt-.-ju-r retreat*, Thu world i 
 
 full iff li"| ( I m luiiv.Tti (ill i\ phinti | her rid lli * nil* 
 
 rc lived. \Vo know little j not rv.-n tho nicumig of the 
 mniplt Mt wivd. Tho unlvcn<* */ui* fur an inUTpn ii r 
 Why not, then, young pehnl.tr* of Dartmouth, try to b - 
 wine auch? All the learning and institution!* of tin- 
 world f*!l looe, and unhingo tlic M*olvc, before tho nutid 
 of Kmemon. Nothing it sacreii in his eye, sare the 
 liunian oul. T lie past i good for the pant ; gM)d to u, 
 f\ iintru. ii.ui, na n thing for guidance, not in it path, 
 however, but in our own. " \Vo arc born out of the 
 rtornal ilenee," and " our turn M now come." 
 
 He make* at light of the old divinity a< ho do*- of the 
 old nehoUrnhip, and I inn many things to ay to tho divine*. 
 In 1S.1S ho i* call.-d upon to deliver an addrva* belort* the 
 11 Senior Cla in Divinity College, Cambridge ;" and he 
 execute* the commiiion with a itrange, wondi-rful, and 
 Wautiful during. Other mon may refute i -i-ruk from 
 the joul to hi* fellows may thufllo thu re|> >nibihtie<i of 
 conviction and pander to tho dead idoUtru^, if they 
 but not 10 Emervon. Lift* i* *hort t and hr nr. 
 
lH KMICKrtoN, HI* L1FK AND 
 
 too deeply rooted iti the world for htm At Iwut to wa*U 
 time in then 1 eradication. Ho will iponk the truth and 
 (mmtot help it. And now tho young itudtMiti aro all 
 
 IK .txnlilml In IM .! lilllt , Nlltt IlitiMi Ar Stand*, Upright Alul 
 
 impassible, before thorn, lie begins by speaking of tho 
 beauty of extern*! nut urn -" the utr full of bird*, And 
 wort with tho breath of tho p<m, tho balm of Oiload, 
 nnd the now liny 5 night bringing no gloom to tho heart 
 with it* welcome lwde, and tho stars pouring down their 
 ultuM-t spiritual ru\ i tnnn under them, A young child, 
 nnd this hugo globu u toy." A noble nnd benutiful world, 
 Hut p i f.<ni|im of wllloli lie U c iimlniliirtl to rowjirt I 
 Jlowwtdo! how rich! NVhnt iuvitution 1 roin orery pro 
 perty it gives to every faculty of man 1 So it seems to 
 u*, its wo cuuverno with it through tho medium of tho 
 K?H\ 1 1 but ttio moment the mi nil open* HIM! revenU th** 
 laws which truverse tho unirerse, nnd in, ike things what 
 they nn, then the great world ehrinks at unco into a mero 
 illtixfrntivn nnd J ltUg of thin mind. Then romo tho 
 questions: What din I? and whut really is If question* 
 whioh tho infill, c( iit over putting to tho sphinx, never to 
 bo reolvod | nnd yut it is through tho iutelleot thnt u 
 knowlotlgo of imluro and tho powers and uses thereof oaii 
 ttlonu outito. " A more seoret, sweet, und overpowering 
 beauty appears to man when his heart nnd mind open to 
 tho Mpntiinont of nV/uc/ then, imtnntly, he in instructed 
 iu what is ,i tnif him. He learns that his being is without 
 bound ; that to the good, to tho perfect, ho is born, low as ho 
 now lies in evil and weakness. That whioh ho venerates is 
 still hi* own, though ho hut nut realized it yot. .7/0 vuyht. 
 Ho knows tho sense of that grand word, though his 
 analysis fails entirely to render account of it. When in 
 innoeeney, or when by intellectual perception ho attains to 
 say : I love tho right j truth is benutiful within and without 
 for evermore. Virtue 1 am thmo j savo inoj uso me; 
 thco will 1 servo day and night, in groat, in small, that I 
 may bo not virtuous but virtue j then is tho end of 
 creation answered, and God is well pleased." Ho then 
 hows how immutable is virtue iu tho world, how evan- 
 
KMKBBON, 1113 L1FK AND WBlTlNtK. Ill 
 
 Tiro | tint all thing* an- on (lie good man s lido, 
 nd giro him arm-, hands, ami Cool, to win the balllo j 
 wlnUt pTorytliinR shrinks from o?il, winch in not absolute 
 but priraliTO " hko cold, which is hut the privation of 
 l nt i" that the perception uf this " law of laws awakonn 
 in tho mind a wptimcm whirh wo cull tho religion* pnnli- 
 nuwt, ami whi> h inrki d our highest ImppuioM," Hitch 
 re tho ri wi which Kincrson rthibits in his introduction 
 to tho dticourio, and by winch ho intends to show 
 thftt ulr.ii, knowlcdi;o, Tirtuo, and religion nro m Mr 
 *WM/ thai Dm rHi-rnal world n but tho hipdinin 
 of tho Houl d dcrclopniont ond becomes at last a 
 tnoro "illustration nnd fahlo " of it. llciicc, l.o dcni 
 awnjr with Iho nnti<in nf pxplniro rrToltir) and of 
 a Uod iitniiifi dt in the (lech, ni this oxprviiion ii thoolo* 
 ni.-nll> undorvtood j for ho <rt that tho n-l Jhult UM/ 
 all tliin^, and whon it lm awoko up to tho pcnvption of 
 tho iubhtno idoftuf virtue, that it bcooinonbothod in an illiin- 
 liable llood ul li^ht anil K l)r > nit d b<conu^,aii it wort\a)mrl 
 nf < lud, llntakra awnjr, lhprrforp,all pvplniifp divinity from 
 Jius Christ - us the founder of (ho Inith uf Christendom 
 and pli><vall touU thnt lovo virtnr and Ood in tho 
 same category with him. Then hcoontintui ln addiT** : 
 " Jcm Christ bolongpd to the truo raco of prophets. Ho 
 aw with open ryo I ho mystory of tho soul. Drawn by 
 it* uptpre hartnony, rari*ln-d with its Ix-mi v, ho l.n i in 
 it, and had hit being there. Alone in all history he 
 estimated tho grealneis uf man. < >*<- man u-at (rur in 
 w t it i i ! m<l w, lie saw that Uod incarnal4< 
 hiinnolf in man, and rvor ntoro -> forth anow to tako 
 ponscision of bit world. Ho is.nl, in this jubiloo of sub* 
 hrno emotion : 1 am diTino. Through mo God acts j 
 through mo speaks. Would you too Ood, aoo DJO j or too 
 t IPO when thou also thinkoit as 1 DOW think. 1 Hut what 
 a distortion did hit dootrino and memory suffer in the 
 same, in the next, and following ag* ! 1 hero is no 
 doctrine of the reason which will bar to bo taught to the 
 understanding, Tht undtrttanding oaught this higu 
 ohaunt from tho poct i lipi, and Mid in tb nt it agt i 
 
Jjo i:\irmo.N, HI* LIKE AND WHITING*. 
 
 1 ThU wa Jehocah come down out of heaven. I will 
 kill you if you y he wn man. Tho idiom* of hi* 
 language, and the liguren of hit rhetoric, Imvc usurped 
 (ho place of hit truth ; and churches are not built on hi* 
 principles, but on hi* tro|xs. Christianity became a 
 mythun, nx the poetio teaching of Oreeoe And of Egypt, 
 before, lie spoke of miration, for lie felt that man * life 
 wit a miracle, and all that mtm doth, and he knew that 
 thin daily miracle *hmr at the man is diviner, lint th 
 very word miracle, an pronounced by Christ inn chureho*, 
 gives n false impression ; it H monster. It is not one 
 with the blowing clover, and the fulling ruin. 
 
 " He felt respect for Moses and the prophets ; but no 
 unfit tenderness at postponing their initial revelations to 
 the hour and the man that now is ; to the eternal revela 
 tion in the hcurt, Thus was he a true num. Having 
 sen, that the law in us is command, he would not gutter 
 it to he commanded. Hnldly, with hnnd, and hcurt, and 
 life, he declared it to be God. Thus was he it true man. 
 Thus is he, n I think, the only soul in history who hut 
 appreciated the worth of a man. 
 
 " In thus contemplating Jesus wo become very sensible 
 of the first defect of historical Christianity. Historical 
 Christianity has fallen into the error that corrupts all 
 attempts to communicate religion. As it appears to us, 
 and as it has appeared for ages, it is not the doctrine of 
 the soul, but an exaggeration of the personal, the positive, 
 the ritual. It has dwelt, it dwells with noxious exaggera 
 tion about the person of Jesus. The soul knows no per 
 sons. It invites every man to expand to the full circle of 
 the universe, and will have no preferences but those of 
 spontaneous love. But by this Eastern monarchy of a 
 Christianity, which indolence and fear have built, tho 
 friend of man is made the injurer of man. Tho manner 
 in which ins name is surrounded with expressions, which 
 were once sullies of admiration and love, but arc now 
 petrified into official titles, kills all generous sympathy 
 and liking. All who hear me feel that tho language that 
 describes Christ to Europe and America, is not the stylo 
 
V, nis i m. AND wniTTJtoa. "2\ 
 
 of friendship and onthusiaim to a good and noble 
 heart, but i appropriated and formal paints a demi 
 god, as the Orientals or the Greeks would describe 
 Osiris, or Apollo. Accept the injurious imposi 
 tions of our early catechetical instruction, and even 
 honety and self-denial wore but Mpcndid situ, if they did 
 not weir the Chriitiau name. One would rut her bo a 
 heathen suckled in a crood outworn than to be degraded 
 of hit manly right in coming into nature, and finding not 
 names and place*, not land and professions, but even vir 
 tue and truth foreclosed and monopolised. You ihall not 
 bo a man even, You shnll not own the wor d \ you shall 
 not daro, and live after the infinite law that is in you, and 
 in company with the- infinite beauty which henvon and 
 earth rellcct to you in all lovely forms j but you must 
 subordinate your nature to Christ s nature ; you must 
 accept our interpretations ; and take his portrait as the 
 rulgar draw it. 
 
 That is always best which gives me to myself. The 
 ublirae is excited in me by the great Stoical doctrine, 
 1 Obey thyself. That which shows God in mo fortifies 
 mo. That which shows God out of mo makes me a wart 
 and a wen. There is no lonper a necessary reason for my 
 being. Already the long shadows of untimely oblivion 
 creep over me, and I shall decease for ever. . . By his 
 holy thoughts Jesus serves us, and thus only. To aim to 
 convert a man by miracles is a profanation of ihe soul. 
 A true conversion ; a true Christ is now, as always, to be 
 made by the reception of beautiful sentiments. It is 
 true that a groat and rich soul like his, falling among 
 the simple, does so preponderate, that, as his did, it motes 
 the world. 
 
 " The injustice of the rulgar tone of preaching is not 
 loss flagrant to Jesus than it is to the souls which it pro 
 fanes. The preachers do not see that they make his 
 Gospel not glad, aid shear him of the locks of beauty and 
 the .attributes of heaven. When I see a majestic Epami- 
 nondas, or Washington when I see among my contem 
 poraries a true orator, an upright judge, a dear friend ; 
 
J BUKBSON, H13 LIFE AND WRITINGS. 
 
 when I vibrato to the melody and fancy of a poem . I *eo 
 beauty to be doeired. And so lovely, and with yet more 
 entire consent of my human being, sounds in my ear the 
 true music of the bards that have aung of the true God in 
 H ages. Now do not degrade the life and dialogues of 
 Christ out of the circle of this church, by insulation and 
 peculiarity. Let them lie as they befel, alive and wurm, part 
 of human life, and of the landscape, and of the choerful 
 day. 
 
 " The second defect of the traditionary and limited way 
 of using the mind of Christ, is a consequence of the first ; 
 this, namely : that the moral nature that law of laws, 
 whoso revelations introduce greatness yea, Ood himself 
 into the open soul, is not explored as the fountain of the 
 established teaching in society. Men have come to speak 
 of the revelation as somewhat long ago given :ind done, 
 as if God were dead. The injury to faith throttles the 
 preacher, and the goodliest of institutions becomes an 
 uncertain and inarticulate voice. . . In how many 
 churche,by how many prophets, tell me, is man made sensi 
 ble that ho is an infinite soul ; that the earth and heavens 
 are passing into his mind : that he is drinking for ever the 
 soul of God? * * Tho priests Sabbatli has lost the 
 splendour of nature ; it is unlovely ; wo are glad when it 
 is done ; wo can make, wo do make, sitting li our pews, 
 a far better, holier, sweeter, for ourselves. Lot me not 
 taint the sincerity of this ploa by any oversight of tho 
 claims of good men. I know and honour tho purity and 
 strict conscience of numbers of tho clergy. What life 
 tho public worship retains, it owes to tho scattered com 
 pany of pious men who minister hero and there in the 
 churches, and who sometimes accepting with too great 
 tenderness the tenet of tho elders, have not accepted from 
 others, but from their own heart, the genuine impulse* of 
 virtue, and so still command our love and awe to tho 
 sanctity of character." 
 
 Ho then speaks more directly to t Jut student*. "Let 
 mo admonish you first of all to go ,i ..m- ; to refuse the 
 good model?, even those most sacred to the imagination 
 
CMEB90K, HI9 LIFE AND WB1TING9. 23 
 
 ol man, and dare to lore God without mediator or veil- 
 Friends enough you shall find who will hold up to your 
 emulation Wesleya and Obcrlins, saints and prophets. 
 Thank God for these good men, but say, I also am a 
 man ! Imitation cannot go above its model. Tho imita* 
 toi dooms himself to hopeless mediocrity. Tho inventor 
 did it because it was natural to him ; and so in him it 
 has a charm. In the imitator something else is natural, 
 and he bereaves himself of hi own beauty to com short 
 of another man s. 
 
 " Yourself a ne\v-born bard of tho Holy Ghost, ca>t 
 behind you all conformity, and acquaint men at first-hand 
 with Deity. Be to them a man. Look to it fir*t and 
 oulv that you uro surh ; that fashion, custom, authority, 
 pleasure, and money arc nothing toyou are not bandages 
 ovor y.iur eye* that you cannot see but lire with tho 
 privilege* of the immeasurable mind. Not too aniious to 
 v.sit periodic-ally all families and each family in your parish 
 connection when you meet one of these men or women 
 be to them a divine man ; be to them thought and virtue ; 
 let their timid aspirations Gnd in you a friend ; let their 
 trntnpltd instincts be genially tempted out in your atmos 
 phere ; let their doubts know that you have doubted, and 
 their wonder feel that you hare wondered. By trusting 
 vour own soul jou ahull g-iin a greater conlHcncv in other 
 men." 
 
 f his addres* is remarkable, as exhibiting the cam^t- 
 ne ani enthusiasm with which Emerson threw himself 
 into tho no .r movement of spirit ual reform timt had com* 
 mcnced wit i the little society of the "Like-minded" in 
 Boston. There were other earnest men men of learning 
 and genius and high and beautiful women too, that were 
 connected vtith the society ; but none shone so conspicu 
 ously as Emerson, for no one bad his great gift of speech, 
 lie could interpret his thoughts into rare English, and 
 r >bo the.u with an eloquence which had never before been 
 heard in America. AL-ott, Brownton, Thoreau, Chan* 
 nmg; Mnrgrtirt Fuller, and Mus Peabody, were 
 amount the reform party the dear spiritual saints, 
 
24 EMERSON, HIS LIFE AND WRITINGS. 
 
 who wore going to make a heaven upon hearth ; and all 
 these persons were, more or less, people of note and fine 
 gift*. They established a periodical, called " The Dial," 
 which was the expositor of their views, and they made 
 Emerson the editor of it. This book contains papers of 
 groat merit, although the " Like-minded " differ from each 
 other very widely upon eomo important particular*. 
 There is a good deal of cant, too, in the book, and a use 
 of words in no English meaning. Emerson s contribu 
 tions are decidedly the most sensible and practical, 
 although they are tiuged, as might have been expected, 
 with a strange mystic colouring. Alcott is a good man, 
 but a bad writer ; some of his pieces nauseate us with their 
 sickly sentimentality. And yet he is, as I learn from 
 Emerson, a fine talker, and a man of very rare insight, 
 Emerson once said to me, " I could spare any of my 
 friends sooner than Alcott ; ho always brings me new 
 fire from the empyrean, and feeds me with a holy love 
 He has, too, a strange faculty of discovering the beat 
 books in a library, ao matter in what language they are 
 written, or whether ho knaws the language or not." 
 Maugre his friends, however, for the present, let us look 
 at Emerson himself, in the further light of an essayist, or 
 intellectual and moral teacher. We have seen him as a 
 propagandist, earnestly striving to get men to be true to 
 themselves ; to leave all traditions, all holy lore, all in 
 spiration, and knock at God s palace with their own hands. 
 We have seen how and why he is opposed to the Christian 
 institutions ; for ho set forth the ground of this opposi- 
 ton both to the scholars of Dartmouth and to the divinity 
 students of Cambridge. We are now to see him as a specu 
 lator on his own account ; as a thinker who has cut 
 Christeudam adrift from his thought, and, like the ancient 
 Pagan philosophers, has sought to live " the alone with 
 the alone." 
 
 I have already spoken of his views upon responsibility, 
 and upon rewards and punishments ; views which are by 
 no means common, and could never have been arrived at 
 by a slavish mind. Orthodoxy dare not have epoken 
 
EMERSON, IJI9 LIFE AND WRITINGS. IB 
 
 them : and no citant church dire, even now, endorse 
 them. The grand drama of a judgement day, pictured 
 with such poetic and theatrical eflect by the old divines, 
 and especially by the great Jeremy Taylor the " Shake- 
 spear of divine*" loses much of its terror and sublime 
 grandeur, as the last assiie before which human nature 
 shall be brought and judged, m the presence of this 
 siiiiplo truth, vi/., That God does not postpone his 
 judgement?, but makes every day a day of judgement. 
 Kmcrson has not contented himself, however, with the 
 statement of tho fact, but has proved it from t*"e universal 
 experience. He makes reward and punishment to con- 
 swt, not in physical, hut in sjiirilmtl dispensation*; he 
 shrinks with loathing and immeasurable horror from tho 
 idea of a hell of etern:il torment*, nnd has even littlo 
 sympathy with a heaven of eternal happiness and bles*ed- 
 ness ; ha insists upon the NOW, and will not be thrown 
 from his keen and morciles demonstrations cf a pntent 
 judgement. "Every act," ho says, " rewards itself ; or, 
 in other word*, integrates itself, in a twofolJ manner ; 
 first, in the thing, or in real nature ; ami, secondly, in 
 the circumstance, or apparent nature. Men call the 
 circumstance the retribution. The casual retribution, is 
 in the thing, and is seen by the soul. The retribution in 
 the circumstance is seen by the understanding ; it is in- 
 separable from the thing, but is oft n ppread over a long 
 time, and so does not become distinct until after many 
 yearn. Tho opcciGc ttripcs may follow late after the 
 offence, but they foil >w because thoy accompany it. Crime 
 and punishment grow out of one utem. Punishment i* a 
 fruit that, unsuspected, riper s within the flower of tho 
 pleasure which concealed it. Cause and effect, means an-1 
 ends, si-ed and fruit, cannot be ae-ercd ; for the dlVct 
 already blooms in tho cause, the end prc rxists in I ho 
 means, the fruit in the need." " Life inrcsti itself with 
 inevitable conditions, which the unwise wek to dodge, 
 which one and another brags that he does not know ; 
 brags that they do not touch him ; but the brag is on 
 hi lip*, the condition! are in his tool. If he escapes 
 
 c 
 
20 EMERSON, HIS LIFE AND WAITINGS. 
 
 them in one part, they attack him in another more vital 
 part. If he has escaped them in form, and in the ap 
 pearance, it is that he has resisted his life, and fled from 
 himself, and the retribution is so much death. So signal 
 is the frtilutv uf all attempts to make this separation of 
 the good from the tax, that the experiment would not be 
 tried since to try it is to be mud but for the circum 
 stance that when tho dieease began in the will, of rebellion 
 and separation, the intellect is at once infected, so that 
 m&.i ceases to see Gad whole in *a\S.\ object, but is able to 
 sec tho sensual allurement of an object, and not see the 
 te isual hurt ; he sees the mermaid s head, but not the 
 Dragon s tail ; ami thinks he could cut off that which he 
 would have, from that which he would not hare." 
 
 " Every excess causes a defect ; every defect an excess. 
 Every sweet hath its sour ; every evil its good. Every 
 faculty which is a receiver of pleasure has an ecjual penalty 
 put on its abuse. It is to answer foi its moderation with 
 its life. For every grain of wit there is a grain of folly. 
 For every thing you have missed you have gained some 
 thing else ; and for every thing you gain, you lose nome- 
 thing. If riches increase, they are increased that use- 
 them. If tho gatherer gathers too much, npturo takes 
 out of the man what she puts into his chest ; swells tho 
 estate, but kills the owner. Nature hates monopolies and 
 exceptions. The waves of the sea do not more speedily 
 seek a level from their loftiest tossing than the varieties 
 of condition tend to equalize themselves. There is always 
 some lev >lling circumstance which puts down tho over 
 bearing, the strong, tho rich, tho fortunate, substantially 
 on the same groiuid with all others. Is a man too strong 
 and fierce for society, and by temper and position a bad 
 citizen a morose ruifian, with a dash of tho pirate in him ; 
 nature sends him a troop of pretty sons and daughters, 
 who are getting along in the datue s classes at school, and 
 love and fear fur them smoothes hi? grim scowl to courtesy. 
 Thus she contrives to intcnerato tho granite and felspar, 
 takes tho boar out, and puts the lamb in, and keeps her 
 balance true." 
 
KMKE90N, HIS LIFK AND WHITINGS. 27 
 
 In these, and other innumerable instances, does Emer 
 son illustrate tlio doctrine of cotnpensat ion. He delights 
 to penetrate the secret* of nature, and lay bare the law* 
 of her government ; and in this essay on " Compensation" 
 he has dono BO, traversing tho whole circlo of the physical 
 and moral world, and shewing how all things are balanced 
 and held together. 
 
 A devp insight is, indtvl, manifested in all th writing* 
 of Kmerson. He looks beyond tho rind of things into 
 their ci-ntro and caue. The universe id not A dead ma 
 chine nor a chance- organisation to him but it ii alive 
 with spiritual force", and i* governed by a Ood. For 
 materialism ad a gospel to man, ho hns the profoundcut 
 contempt. It u the dog-theory, and will not prevail. It 
 deba.M-s tho soul, robs it of its glory, and strips the world 
 of its poetry and beauty. It pins a man to tho clay, and 
 cuts his wing?, so that ho cannot soar even in imagination. 
 It it falsehood ; and every man s consciousness gives it 
 back its own lie. 
 
 In his essay quaintly styled, " The Over Soul," Emerson 
 thus sets forth his spiritual theory, in opposition to the 
 dog-theory of materialism : 
 
 " All goes to show that the soul of roan is not an organ, 
 but animates and exercises all the organs ; is not a func 
 tion, like the power of memory, of calculation, or com 
 parison but uses these as hands and feet ; is not a 
 faculty, but a light ; is not the intellect or the will, but 
 the master of the intellect and the will is the vast back 
 ground of our being, in which they lie an immensity 
 not possessed, and that cannot be possessed. From 
 within, or from behind, a light shines through us upon 
 thing*, and makes us aware that we are nothing, but the 
 light is all. A man is the fuo, ide of a temple, wherein 
 all wisdom and all good abide. What we commonly call 
 man, tho eating, drinking, planting, counting man, does 
 not, as we know him, represent himself, but misrepresent 
 himself. Him we do not respect ; but the soul whose or 
 gan lie in, would he let it appear through his action, would 
 make our kneos be ,d. When it breathes through his 
 intellect, it is genius ; whan it breathe* through his will 
 
2S EMERSON, HIS LIFE AND WBITIMGif. 
 
 it is virtue ; when it flows through his affection, it is love. 
 And the blindness of the intellect begins when it would be 
 auinethiiig of it self. Tho weakness of the will begins 
 when the individuil would bo something of himself. Ail 
 reform aims in some one particular, let the grunt soul 
 have its way through us; in other words, engage us to 
 obey. 
 
 Of this pure nature every man is at some time sensible. 
 Language cannot paint it with his colours. It is too 
 subtle. It is (indefinable, immeasurable, but we know 
 that it pervades and contains us. We know that all 
 spiritual being is in man. A .vide old proverb says : 
 " God comes to see us without btll ;" that is, as there ic 
 no screen or ceiling between our heads and the infinite 
 heavens, so is there no bar or wall in the soul where man, 
 thecilcct, ceases, and God, the cause, begins. The walls 
 are taken away. Wo lie open on one side to the dcvps of 
 spiritual nature, to all the attributes of God. Justice we 
 ueo and know ; Love, Freedom, 1 o.ver. These natures no 
 man evor got above, but always they tower over us, ,nd 
 ino.it in the moment when our interests tempt u^ to 
 wound them. . . . The 1 oul is the perceiver and re- 
 vealer of tiuth. We know truth when we see it, let 
 sceptic and scoUor say what they choose. Foolish people 
 ask you, when you have spoken what they do not wish to 
 hear : * How do you know it is truth, and not an error of 
 your own ? We know truth when we see it from opinion, 
 as we know when we ai-e awake, that wo are awake. It 
 was a grand sentence of Knunucl Swedenborg which 
 would ulono indicate the greatness of that man s percep 
 tion, " ic is no proof of a man s un lerstanding to be able to 
 aillrm whatever he pleases ; but to b*; able to discern that 
 what is true is true, and that what is faUe is false : this 
 is the mark of character and intelligence." In the book 
 I read, the good thought returns to me, as every truth 
 will, the image of the whole soul. To the bad thought 
 which I find in it, the same soul becomes a discerning, 
 separating sword, and lops ic away. We are wiser than 
 we know. If we will not interfere with our thought, but 
 
EMERSON, HIS LIFE ISO WJ.riNOS. 2 . 
 
 will art entirely, o- sec how tho thing stands in God, wr 
 know the particular thing, and every t .ing, and every 
 man. For tho maker of all things n-i.l all persons stand* 
 behind u, and cast* his dread omni cii ice through u 
 oror things. 
 
 " Hut beyond this recognition of its own in particular 
 passages of tho individual s experience, it also reveals 
 truth. . . We distinguish the announcement* of the soul, 
 its manifestations of its own nature, by the term rerrlatio*. 
 These are always attended by the omotion of the sublime. 
 For this communication is an inllui of tho Divine mind 
 into our mind. It is an ebb of tho individual rivulet be 
 fore the flowing surges of the sea of life. Every distinct 
 apprehension of this ceittral commandment agitates men 
 with awe and delight. A thrill passes through all men at 
 the reception of new truth, oral the performance of a great 
 action ; which comes out of the heart of nature. In these 
 communications the power to see is not separated from the 
 will to do, but the insight proceeds from obedience, and 
 the obedience proceeds from a joyful perception. Every 
 moment when the individual feels himself invaded by it, 
 is memorable. Always, I believe, by tho necessity of our 
 constitution, a certain enthusiasm attends tho individual s 
 consciousness of that Divine presence. The character and 
 duration of this enthusiasm rarios with tho state of the 
 individual, from an ccstacy, and trance, and prophetic in 
 spiration, which ie its rarer appearance, to tho faintest 
 glow of virtuous emotion, in which form it warms like our 
 household fires, all tho families and associations of men, 
 and makes society possible. A certain tendency to in* 
 sanity has always attended tho opening of the religious 
 sense in men, as if blasted with excess of light. The 
 trances of Socrates, the union of Plotinus, the rision of 
 Porphyry, the conversion of Paul, tho aurora of Belimen, 
 theconvulsionsofGeo. Fox and hi Quakers, the illumination 
 of Sweden borg, are of thi kind. What was in the c*se 
 of these remarkable persons a ravishment, has, in innu 
 merable instances in common life, boen exhibited in less 
 striking manner. Everywhere the history of religion b?- 
 
 c2 
 
30 BMEBSON, HIS LIFE AND WRITINGS. 
 
 tray* a tendency to enthusiasm. The rapture of the 
 Moravian and Quiotiat, the opening of the internal sense 
 of the Word (in the language of the Nevr Jerusalem 
 Church), the revival of the Calvinistio churches, the ex 
 perience of the Methodists, are varying forms of that 
 shudder of awo and delight with which the individual 
 toul always mingles with the universal soul." 
 
 Thus we *v that Emerson is a spiritualist, in the pro* 
 foundest signification of the term ; and that if he teach 
 doctrines opposed to those of Christianity, as generally 
 interpreted, he M faithful to the spirit of Christianity. 
 He maintain.* that the eoul is all ; that it is the origi 
 nator, pereciver, and revoalor of truth, and that Christi 
 anity itself is no mare a revelation than any other truth 
 is a revelation, ilo is no idolator ; and locks upon per 
 sons as the mero organs of spiritual manifestation. He 
 does not believe in human god*, and IUM no knee for that 
 worship; but in (K>d, as the great, unknown, unspeak 
 able Being upholding ail tiling, guiding and controlling 
 all things ho has the deepest faith. He goes direct to 
 him as the fountain of all light -md truth, a id will have 
 no mediator. What God speaks to his soul, that ho also 
 speaks to men. There is no tradition in his wi icings, uo 
 hearsay, but the message is delivered ut first-hand, 
 lieuco the earnestness and enthusiasm which mark the 
 whole of his first published essays and oration*. And yet 
 Emerson has no i-ystem of thought and belief, lie often 
 contradicts himself, and the most opposite statement* lie. 
 side by ide in his pages. Wo ure to reconcile them as 
 wo can. Neither is there any attempt made to reason out 
 a proposition ; it is all uilirmation. He speaks with the 
 authority of a prophet, and we leel that what he says ia 
 true, and good for life and conduct. A braver man has 
 not written for many years ; nor a better man. He is at 
 home in the highest and the lowest regions of thought. 
 In his papor on " Love," he comes nigh to the solution 
 of that profound mystery which the word love symbol 
 izes ; and it is certainly as line a discourse as any to be 
 found in Plato, in Plutarch, or Jeremy Taylor. He thus 
 
1 
 
 KMEHSON, HIS LIFE AND WRITINGS. 31 
 
 closet it : " Thu* are we put iti training for a love which 
 know not sex, nor person, nor partiality, but which 
 (HvLrth virtue anil wis-lom pVtjfjwIttM^ to tho end of 
 increasing virtue tnd wisdom. We are by nature ob 
 server*, and thereby learners. That is our permanent 
 state. But we arc often made to fool that our auVc- 
 tions are but tents of a night. Though slowly and 
 with pain, the objects of .tho affections change, as the 
 objects of thought do. There uro moments when the 
 allcctions rule and absorb the man, and nmkehi* happiness 
 dependent upon a person or person*. Hut in heulth the 
 mind is presently seen again its overarching tault, 
 bright witli gaUiie* of illimitable, light*, and tho warm 
 lores and (ears that crept over us as clouds, must loe 
 their finite character, and blend with God to attain their 
 own perfection. But wo need not fear thut we ran loc 
 anything hv the pn-cr--"* of the (>ul. Tho oi:l tnnj te 
 tru-tod to the end. Tint wht -h is so b.uutifuland ot- 
 tractive- in the^o religions, must IKJ succeed d und sup- 
 plan toil only by what is more beautiful, and so on for 
 ever." lie has ft word also to say about prudence 
 nd friendship ; and hi* ri\ on "Self-reliance" and 
 "Heroism," are two of tho most fitnl contributions 
 which have in late day* been added to litintlure. They 
 came, too, at tho right time, when n lf-rthanconnd heroism 
 were. mot needed to he pmiehe I. Many a young hcurt, 
 beating high with the enthusiasm ol nuw life, 1ms grown 
 strong and bravo under their teaching ; and it is not too 
 much to say Hint a nobler book than these osuys could 
 tcarrvly bu put into tho hand* of our youth. 
 
 Thomas Curlylo introduced them to the Knglish public, 
 in a characteristic preface, in tho year 1SIJ (I think) ; 
 and they guinod immodiato popularity. Many subei)Uunt 
 editions wcro pirated on all sidi>*,and sold at one oliilling 
 a copy. It is impoisibU to estimate tho effect thmto 
 essays produced on tho minds of the young and thought 
 ful ur England. There was a freihncss and beauty about 
 thorn absolutely fascinating ; and for a long time it was 
 
32 1MEUSON, H!J LIFE AND WHITING*. 
 
 oustotuiry to iwoiir not " by hlru who sloop* In 1 hiU*, 11 
 tl.o solomnost oath of tho Kgyptian*, but by him who 
 liros at Concord. 
 
 In tho meanwhile Emerson was bringing fresh message* 
 from tho god*" not in his sloop, I fancy," a* Carlylo 
 in hut in hU wiiW wftkiiitf hour*. Amongtt otlwf 
 compositions, ho had written his completed! and best, 
 styled Nature," which is a solution, so far a it is po- 
 ilil.i to *nlvo it, of the* my*tory uml Mini iin^ of I ho univor 
 uiul of tho .Inn mil soul, Thin i tho ground work of it, 
 
 bnlllg ft passion fl-UlU IMotlnU* I "Ntthll O Id but uu nun. . 
 
 or imitation of window, tho lut thing of the soul ; nature 
 being a thing which doth only do, but not know." Tho 
 treatise is wrought out under tho following holdings : 
 14 Commodity," " Uoautj," Likiiifiiago," Discipline," 
 "Idealism," "Spirit," " Proopect*." Tho length to 
 which this article has already extended, prevent* us trom 
 mttkliiK any analysis of thin treatise, or any extract* IVoin 
 it. Nor in thi* neoennnry to o\ir purpono j for it oontnirix 
 notliing new in i.lco, which inny not be found in tho i \ 
 hu. is itliiinly i|,toltul. It will be iutertnttng to loui U, 
 however, something of the external oircutnstnaotM in 
 wlueh it wad written i lor no little i known of the outer 
 life of Idnornon, tint nny hit of iuformotiun of thi port M 
 (ji ite a gotUend, Nuthuuiel Hawthorn, in hi " Moties 
 I l mu an uld M.IIIOH," B.tvB lint Ml wu* hot u (iiumuly, in 
 the MiiiiMu at Ccnoord) that Kinorson wrote Nature, 1 for 
 he wistt then an inhabitant of tho Mannc, aii l used to 
 watch the Assyrian dawn and Paphian Him^.-t und moon* 
 Mat , Irom tho mtmmit of our oantorn hill." lie then 
 tloscribe* tho study of tho old houno i " When T llrt 
 uw tho room," ho say*, "the walls were blackened with 
 tho ninuku of unnumbered year*, and ntado *till blaekoi- 
 by tho grim prints of puritan mininters that hung 
 around, Theno worthies looked strangely liko bad 
 angeU, or at loa*t like mon who had wroitlod o con- 
 tinually and uo sternly with tho devil that, somewhat 
 
 nf hi* umtjr l|prPp M l.u.l honn Int|i n rl0it lo thoir 
 own risHges, They had all rum.hcd now j a cheer- 
 
III" MM. AND NVKITI.Nol Mil 
 
 ful cnt of pii it, *nd golden tinted pnpor 
 
 lighted uji iln- niniill apartment ; wliilo tlio limlow of n 
 
 Wlllii* lien, lll.lt MMrl-pt li r "i|iul lllil nVerhtll^ilitf f ltea, 
 
 atlomprivd the cherry weitorn nmmhim . In thu pliuv of 
 tho grim prints there was tlio weft ninl |MT,-|\ }\ <\.\ of 
 ono of KnplmTn Mnd<>nimii, mil tw> plen-mnt lit flo pic 
 tures of the Luke of C jiuo. Tlio only other decoration* 
 wen* it purple rno i*f lluwcr*, al>n) fruli, aiid brunxo 
 DUD (<Mitiiiiiiit ({mcoful furnn ..... 
 
 "Tho !u lv lu-l ti,nv win.loMrt, rt wild little nld> 
 f-)ii nr l pnni >f yl , rn -li willi ft rr*ck HIT<I it. Tli 1 
 tvi uu tlio wrilorn i li* inokc.!, or ruihrr p<M<|n<l hrtwivii 
 the Millow lir.thi lii B, doMii into Iho orulmnl, wit It tfliiii|ii 
 n| tlio nv.-r ihr.Mi^h tlio (root. The third, faring north- 
 witnl, coiuiiiandotl n broador viow of tho river, at upot 
 wlioro it* liitlirrto ohiieurn wntiTfl ^lenm forth into tho 
 li^ht of hintorjr, It wai ul thu window tlnil tho olT^)- 
 in in who t u ii dwoll at tho .M tun", ttoo.! witti hin^ tho 
 in thronk of n lontf mid di-n lly ninu w !"* hetweon t*o 
 iii.l|.n. ; ho mm the imxutitr nrruv of hi ptin*hioni*r on 
 ilin further "I ll 1 of lh<* rivor, nnd tho yhiii i.n^ hm< nf the 
 lint ih on tho hithor hni/K ho n*ntU>d in un ^ >ny of 
 ucpoiiM tho ruttlo of tho imuki-lrv. ll cuino ttnd there 
 MI I d.-.| hni n |{<Mit|i* wind to ii-|. tho Imt tie ni iko nroiiiid 
 tin* (piiil liouno." \Vo hare thru A word or two about 
 tlio Coiu ord M tho nioit uncKcMlitblo ami lu^^uli atrontu 
 tl.nt over loitorod imporroptibly (owned* it* ctornity tlio 
 n 1 1 It hnuhrri botwooii broitd pruirion, ki*mn^ tho 
 Kin^ inertdnw Kr, mid hiihe* 1 1 10 on rhtiiyuit; hoi^htol 
 rlilorbii-ho tnd willow*, or thu m>U of clui nitil mil 
 (root, nn i fluinpa of initplo>. l l.i K and riuhoa ^rnw 
 nlontf it* pluahy horo| (ho jollu* wntvrddy pn .1 l ltd 
 broad (Ut leaves on tho margin ; and tho fragrant white 
 pond-lily nh i.i"nl, uonontlly nolootin^ n position Jn*t to Ur 
 Iroin tho rivor i brink that it uu.iiot bo uriwpod, ve t 
 tho hazard of plunging in." 
 
 1 hin follow* a luscioua picture of tho orchard and tho 
 pardon an J an airount of the old g*rrot whoro a world 
 uf luutbor, whioh had boon accumulating 111100 tho 
 
!U IM8B80N, HIS UFK AND WIUT1NU8, 
 
 Jullun, wua i)uptiiu4. " It * awlwl lutH, dimly 
 illumiiitttiMl through nwull dimty window* i it WIN but A 
 twihght at tho best i and there woi-o iiuuk, or i-nlhoi- 
 eavorn* of docp obscurity, tho ovroU of wiiioh I iwvr 
 loarnod, being loo roverent of their dust and cobweb*. 
 Tho bourn* and wfton roughly lewn, and with tri|>* of 
 bark it ill on them, ami tho ruilc um*oiry ot the chiuuu->>, 
 miulo tho garret look wild ami um-iviliod j an a-jool 
 unlike what was MOII clwwlicif, in Uie |Uiot and dtvorou* 
 old houno, iiut on one tidi* tlwrn wan a lilt.lo white- 
 washod apartment, which boro tho traditionary tit lo of tho 
 Hiint Olminhcr, bt>rnuno holy tuou in their youth had 
 Blopt.and Htudicd, and pruycd there. U ith it* elevated 
 rctiromcnt, it; one window, itn euntll fir^ploo*, and it< 
 closet convenient for an oratory, it wa* the very upul wUere 
 ajouiiKmnn iniht innpirohiuiHclf with olLMnnitnthuiuni l 
 and cherish saintly dreams. The occupant*, at vurioui 
 opoohn, 1 ad left brief rocoril* and upeoulations innorihed 
 on tho walU. Tnere, tot), hun^ a t altered and shrivelled 
 roll of uanvoi, whicli, on inspeotiun, proved to bo the 
 forcibly wrought pieturo of a nlor^yiuun, u wig, band, and 
 gown, holding a HiU in hia hand. AH 1 turned hia ! .. 
 towards tho light, ho eyed mo with un atr of authority 
 imoh us men of hia profession aeldoin usautno in our day*. 
 Tho original had been pantor of tho pariah . uioro than a 
 oonturyago, a friend of Whitlleld, and almost hid c^uol 
 in * " d elojueneo. ... A part of my prcdooeusor 1 * 
 library wai ttored in tho garret ; no unlit receptacle, 
 indeed, i or sueh dreary trash an comprised tho greater 
 number of volume*, Tho old books would have been worth 
 nothing t nn nnetinn j hut in \\\\* ?t<nornbh> K-irrot they 
 pOrtxeiHod an inten-nl iniito npitrt from their lilcntry vnlue, 
 u Itrirliomn, nny of which hod hp* i> trniuit d down 
 through a aerioa of consecrated Imndu, from tho dtui of 
 
 tlio mighty I uciUii ilivittoa, Autograph* nf fitmou* 
 naniea were to bo aeon, in faded ink, on aomo of their ilv- 
 leaves | and tlioro wero marginal observations, or iuterpo* 
 latoil pages closely cofered with manuioript, in illegibh 
 hort-hand, perhaps concealing matters of protuund Irutli 
 and wisdom, &c." 
 
FMXBftON, 1119 LIFE AND WRITllfOfl, :C, 
 
 vu-li, thru, it a glimpse of tlio old Manse in which 
 Kineroit wrote his "Mature ," and wln-mii lie dwell a 
 successor of those solemn old 1 untaii clergymen, for a 
 < uiM>. Hiiwtliorn took the houe after Emerson ha<i 
 led H, ami hi* preachings of tlio I liilarian kind, at least 
 for over ; nnti a pleasant residence ho hud there, enter* 
 taining Kmerson himelf sometimes | and Kllery Chan* 
 mug, who "ciuiu 1 up tho afonuo to juin him in a lUhing 
 ricursion on the rirer j" atid tho bravo Thoreau iilso, who 
 lives on book* niul o.itmcnl i (hit la*t a niott raro man, 
 who has published a work called " A Week up tho Con* 
 c<>rd an<l Memtnnck Kirert," which if unii|iio in ill kind 
 an! full of learning, wiidoin, and picturt>fi|iio .totchci. 
 \Vo could with that n litlln ni^rn wr known of tho outer 
 lit.- of Liner*. MI j hut III defiti.lt of (hid it it pleiMMit to 
 upeak of lui (riendt ; tnaitniuch at friundt alwajrt throw 
 light \>pon each other. 
 
 \Vo now Approach a now epoch in tho mind of Kmer- 
 on, which, to all tudenti and lorrni of hi.n, mint be in- 
 tetnely inton stiiiK. It will bo mon tlmt up to tint j>oint 
 our author has been a pintuul and moral teacher, a pro 
 pagandist of new truths, a priest, and an npostle. Wo 
 havo now to regard him in another light, viz., as a secular 
 thinker. For in tho second series of " Ksiayn," publishcu 
 in Kngland in iHii, ho drops the high llcbraio tone 
 which he hud previously assumed, ami speaks upon man 
 and tho world in tho lai.gunge of a philosopher. Ifo has 
 passed out of tho tnllucnco of tho great solar system, 
 by which hn had been first attracted that system, 
 1 mc%n, which tho mull of Plato, Proclus, Flo. 
 tinus, Kant, Fichto, and others mainly constituted 
 and instructed by tho eloquence and wisdom of these 
 mighty sons of God, ho steps onco more upon tho solid 
 earth, folds his fiery wings around him, and is content to 
 deal with humanity in a lower sphere. Not that ho ever 
 for a moment abandons tho high ground and spiritual 
 insight .to which he has attained, but ho docs not again 
 stand upon this ground, or use this insight txclutivtly. 
 There is other ground besides the spiritual the ground 
 
30 KMmiON, HIM LIFK AND WRITING*, 
 
 i>( luU llivt, Mioralri, "(trial llfu ftlitl lin will IpmroMn lhi, 
 Hi iici , !n . I .nul vnlumo of " l r\vs" frond of Ki 
 p<*l0uco, Clmnicti r, Munnorn, Gift*, Volition \ along 
 w;th other llu ino* uf H higher kind, nm-h it* ilm P.K-I, 
 
 Nllt lire, N tlUll! ill->( , Illtd Urnllil , \i t 
 
 Tin* oh nni{< in tin 1 toiio mid nmnnnr of tho<< M Kmwy," 
 oompitivd with tlu proviou* ow, i vory utrikinn j ninl 
 in itu urti K nt iuti tlit< ( v ui >* inuoU ujMrlaf i- )i..-m. It 
 
 ! ttKltUltftll Mini JiK UniUll ITU lillK, Hl| hinknf " l ,*liy," 
 
 mill the Nt\U itinucli fn-or, jmrcr, nncl inoro idioinatio tliun 
 that of tin- former book. We are imlobtvil to Montaigne for 
 thii cltun^it in MiniTBoii s style and modo of (lioii^ ht. It 
 \* olt ur t hat MilU TtitU llltM ntllilioil M(ilitui^ln< tliut hflhtl 
 to HOIIIO extent itlojttod lii ncoptii itin ~ ami bt*OOni0 inoru 
 I Htholio limn ho wu wont to l, Not moro libtrul, jxr- 
 liujii, but tnoi t 1 tided ; caluici 1 uUo, tin. I fiver ft olik llo> 
 braio enihuaiaim, Lot any ono compare tho udmirublo 
 paper ou Munncro, in tlu> leoond, with tint on Prudence, 
 in the firat seriea of "Es^nvd," iud he will see at once 
 what wo mean by these statements. 
 
 But the best book which Emerson has published is, 
 perhaps, the "Representative Men;" which exhibits a 
 keen insight into human character, nnd fine power* of 
 analysis. It was our good fortune to hear several of tho 
 papers of whioh his book consist*, delivered by Emerson 
 during his last visit to England ; and we think those on 
 Swedenborp, Montaigne, and Napoleon, are the best. 
 Tho criticism on Montaigne is a fine piece of writing, 
 full of graphic strokes and genial recognitions. They 
 are all good, however, and it would bo diihYult to match 
 them in our literature-. Emerson has been compared to 
 Curly le ; but the difference between tho two men is 
 aulllciently wide and characteristic. Nor wa^ it possible, 
 except by a large stretch of imagination, to compare 
 them at all as to manner and art, until the publication of 
 the "Representative Men." Now, however, such a com 
 parison may be fairly instituted ; for we find them both 
 in tho same domain and engaged in tho same work. 
 Biography is tho forte of both, too ; and neither has 
 written so well as when engaged in this department. 
 
1MKR80N, III* LIPK AND WRITINGS. 37 
 
 We hate no time to compare them in any lengthened 
 df ail ; but if wo take a glance at tho " Cagliostro" of 
 Carlyle, and tho " Napoleon " of Emernon, wo shall 
 immediately *<< tho likenesses and differences which rn-t 
 betwen tho two writers. Carlyle in a great artist, a great 
 anatomist and physiologist, who lays baru tho motives 
 and tlie springs of action, as well m the action itself ; and 
 bo follows ln hero from the beginning to tho ond of his 
 history, with a merciless fidelity, milking him moro and 
 more distinct, more vivid and life-like, at crory ftroko of 
 his pencil. He is a eolourist, too, now wild and barbaric, 
 now soft and sunny as a Claude laml*L*ttpo. Ho overlook* 
 no feature of his subjects, but gives us every one of them ; 
 until at last wo feel that we hare before us a true and 
 faithful portrait. Emerson oVuls very little in colouring, 
 Tt rv little with the outer life of any of his heroes. Now 
 and then we have a gleam of this sort, but it is incidental, 
 and not a necessary part of the work. His method is to 
 seize upon the idea which moved his subject, and to work 
 from that outward. He gives us the result of his studios 
 of human character, not tho " cold process" of them. Ho 
 knows the cause and the etTect ; and can trace tho effect 
 to tho cause. In the pajx?r on " Napoleon," we have no 
 history of tho man, properly so called, but we haro his 
 spiritual image ; Napoleon unurncd from the flesh ; Napo 
 leon in ideas ; and yet wo feel that this also is a true por 
 trait. 
 
 We cannot follow out these dottings of comparison fur 
 ther, however. Let us now finally look at Kmerson as a 
 poet. Here again we trace the same characteristics 
 which mark his prose compositions. A mystic spiritualism 
 pervades them all ; deep hidden meanings lie alo at the 
 bottom of them. Ho interprets Naturo for us by the 
 hieroglyphical ciphers which he finds flaming in the 
 iambers of his own soul. Nature u to him a great pic 
 ture-book of spiritual facts a symbolical revelation for 
 the soul to read ; and he who has eyes can discern how 
 .:lo*o the poet lies to the very heart of Nature. But 1m 
 poems will never become popular. They are too mystical 
 
38 EMERSON, HIS LIFE AND WRITINGS. 
 
 and refined, and deal too much in abstractions, to b 
 generally read and appreciated. It is only the few rare 
 spirits, of a kinship with his own, that can lovo and 
 understand them. It is, nevertheless, a disgrace to our 
 critical literature, that no attempt has ever been made by 
 the critics to come at their soundings ; and the fact it 
 significant enough. The "Sphinx," " Monadnoc," " Her- 
 mione," " Initial, Delphic, and Celestial Lovo," are the 
 moat mystical in the book, and aro crowded with deep 
 meanings. Of the more lyrical kind are, the " Humble 
 Bee," " llelcn in the South," " Good-bye, proud world, 
 I m going home," "To Eva," &c. Nor must we forget 
 the beautiful "Threnody," written on the death of the 
 poet s eon. 
 
 There is little attempt at melodious utterance in any 
 of these poems ; they are for the most part rude wood- 
 notes, echoes of t.ho forest and the prairie. . Very often 
 the rliythm is singularly deficient, as if in very defiance 
 of the; laws of the art. And yet the lines often ring with 
 "musio, or have a deep, soft, swe.-t undertone, which U 
 roally charming. The poem?, however, are all studies ; 
 and tre not to bo rc.i 1 in haste, or for mere sensuoua 
 grc i ideation, but for the high purposes of light and life. 
 
 \Vo must not extend our remarks further, however ; 
 and will briefly sum up. Ejnerton was born at Boston, 
 U.S., in 1803. He graduated at Harvard University, 
 and took his degree of B.A. in his IStU year, de 
 voting himself thenceforth to theological study. He 
 afterwards became a Unitarian minister ; but grow 
 ing too large for his congregation, he resigned his 
 ministerial charge, and took to literature. IIo soon after 
 made the tour of Europe, visiting most of the groat men 
 in England, on his way, and amongst thorn Thos. Cailylo, 
 who, at that time, was living at Craigen 1 uttock. This 
 latter visit laid the foundation of a long subsequent 
 friendship and correjpondcnce, the benelit of which the 
 world has yet to receive. We have already seen how he 
 passed his time in writing and lecturing, on his return to 
 America, and we have endeavoured to trace through Lis 
 
EHEB905, DIS LIFE AND WRITINGS. 3 J 
 
 writings the progress of his mind during that period, up 
 to the year IS 17, when he again visited England, by the 
 special invitation of a Ittr^o number of his friends and 
 admirers, to deliver lectures nt our mechanic s and literary 
 institutes. Alexander IreUnd, K<q., the editor of tho 
 J/awc/wj/rr Examiner and Ti>nt* t was the gentleman who 
 undertook to make all Emerson s b :*tnc.s arrm^f- 
 mcnts ; and Emerson accordingly c ay o hi* first course of 
 lectures in thu Manchester Athenirum. Few people there 
 present knew whit to make of theso lectures ; they wero 
 o ultra, and so utterly unliko anything that had pre 
 viously been heard by them. The manner of the lecturer, 
 loo, wa* to all appearance mot eccentric. Ho mounted 
 tho rostrum in a freo an I r.ir ! -n style ; took In* MS. 
 out of hi* pockrt,und standing bolt upright, br;jnn to rend 
 in his culm, cool wuy, as if ho were a great overgrown 
 school-boy, saying his task. Thcro was no effort in his 
 elocution ; it was downright pi un reading, and nothing 
 more. Now and (hen his f.i -e lighted up, nnd liis strange 
 mystic eyes Qashcu as with the Delphic lire, but it was a 
 momentary ebullition, and tho statuo was itself ag*in. 
 VVIii-n he had finished his discourse, ho made Ins exit as 
 abruptly as he had entered ; and as ho never stopped 
 whilst ho was reading, to give time to tho applause of his 
 auditors, so lie did not remain on tho platform for a 
 moment to receive it, when ho had concluded, lie sub 
 sequently lectured in most of oui largo towns ; and in 
 London ho had for his audience some of our highest 
 literary men and noblemen, lie returned to America in 
 ISIS. 
 
 Emerson is married, and has several children. lie live* 
 at Concord, in Massachusetts, in a house on a farm of bis 
 own, within a short distance of the river, and contiguous 
 to a sequestered lake, which is enclosed by mountains and 
 overhung with tr^et, and on whoo waters our author 
 frequently launches his boat and s uU during the warm 
 summer days and evenings. At such times, Thoreau, 
 Alcott, or Ellery Channing are his companions, and happy 
 must these favoured ones be in such high and royal 
 company. 
 
40 EMERSON, HIS LIFE AND WB1TINO8. 
 
 In personal appearance Emerson is tall, and rather thin, 
 with a long Yankee face, a large head, and great com 
 pass of forehead. Flis eyes are clear and bright dark 
 grey, or blue eyes and there is a singular expression in 
 them at times, like the gleaming not of a "basilisk," as 
 George GilGllan maliciously says but of a mystic spirit. 
 The whole expression of his face is very fine, with the ex 
 ception of the mouth, which like that of every strong 
 souled man, is sensual. Ilia hair is of a lightish brown, 
 not clustered in curie, but " long, lank, and brown," and 
 lios careless athwart the forehead. 
 
 In social life Emerson has all the simplicity of a child 
 about him ; his manners are polished and pleasing, and he 
 wins you as much by his silence as by his courteous speech. 
 Ho talks but little in mixed company, and it is only when 
 ho is alone with a friend, perhaps, that you discover what 
 manner of man he is. Then he lights up his discourse with 
 the lamps of the good and the wise in all ages, and grows 
 large and eloquent. His reading, we soon see, is very ex 
 tensive, and often of a very rare kind. But he makes no 
 display, and his learning is merely introduced to illustrate 
 his thought. 
 
 Such, then, is Emerson, as wo know and understand 
 him, or, rather, such are faint dottings of what we know 
 and understand of him ; for wo feel that nothing like a 
 full justice has been done to him, in a critical sense, in this 
 paper. If, however, this rapid sketch of his mind and 
 character, deduced mostly from his own writings, shall 
 induce any one who knows him not, to become henceforth 
 acquainted with his writings, our purpose will have been 
 answered ; for no one knows better than we do, that this 
 paper is not a biography, although, perhaps, it is the only 
 kind of biography that cau at present be written of 
 Emerson. 
 
EMERSON S BANQUET AT MANCHESTER. 
 
 BEFOBB Emerson left England for America, he invited a 
 number of gentlemen, whoco acquiintanrc lie had mado 
 during his sojourn amongst IH, to a farewell symposium, 
 at Manchester. A more motley, dissimilar, heterogeneous 
 ma^s of persons never before, pei-hnp*, met together at 
 the table of a philosopher. Persons cf rare gifts, 
 nd varied culture, and accomplishments but with one 
 or two exceptions not a man amongst them who 
 had any real reUtion.*iiip to Emerson, or caro for his 
 toaehings. As might have been expected, therefore, tho 
 meeting was a failure so far as any high intercourse, and 
 genuine exchange of thought and feeling were concerne 1 ; 
 and tho company divided themselves into little cliques, 
 and talked their small talk, and literary gojsip, leaving 
 Emerson to draw around him tho few there present, who 
 really loved and reverenced him. 
 
 It was late in tho afternoon of that boisterous winter 9 
 day, when we, having marched from tho far moors of 
 Yorkshire, and crossed the steep and rocky summit of 
 Stancdgo, knocked at the gate of Emerson s house, in 
 Manchester. It was a small, unpretending house, with a 
 little garden ii. front, and as we entered wo found tho hall 
 crowded with coat*, hats, sticks, and philosophical um 
 brellas. A large globe lamp stood upon tho table, and 
 there was the noiso and chatter of many voices, ming 
 led with bursts of laughter in the room where the gucsU 
 were assembled. 
 
 We were not expected, although warmly invited ; for 
 money was scarce in those days, and the journey long. 
 As we entered tho room, therefore, the host rose to wel" 
 u* all tho more cordially, introducing us to many 
 
 D 2 
 
42 EMERSON S BANQUET AT MANCHESTER. 
 
 there who were previously unknown to us. And, when 
 we had recognised friends, and exchanged courtesies with 
 nil, we took our seat beside Emerson, who expressed him 
 self happy in seeing so many persons around him, who 
 had interested themselves in so many and such various 
 ways in his mission to England. " There are some men 
 here," said he, " to whom I should like more particu 
 larly to introduce you, as persons of mark and genius ;" 
 and whilst he was thus speaking, a tall, thin, ungainly 
 man, about ;*0 years of ago, speaking in squeaks at tho 
 top ol his voice, making all kiiris of grimaces and 
 ntrunge gesticulation*, with a small Puritan head, which 
 was more than half forehead, approached to our side of 
 the room, bojk in hand, desirous, as ho said, of pointing 
 out a tine passage in Plato, to Emerson, which he had 
 just been reading. Without more ado he put the volume 
 within half-an-inch of his eyes, and read tho passage. 
 After which he commenced a long dissertation upon it 
 twisting his body into all conceivable and inconceivable 
 form-, rolling up the whites of his eyes, and moving his 
 head from shoulder to shoulder with extraordinary ac 
 tivity. Learned and eloquent, he poured forth a stream 
 of talk not presumptuously, but with a ditlident con 
 fidence, if we may use such an expression, whilst Emerson 
 sat silent and listening, with that calm pale face of his, 
 the eye thoughtful but not excited, and the mouth oc 
 casionally lighted up with a faint moonlight smile. He 
 was* evidently pleased, and so were all who listened to 
 that wonderful six feet of bruin and nerves. Nor was 
 much exception taken to what he said. An occasional ob 
 jection made the speaker stop roll up his small, 
 twinkling, swinish eyes; turn his head, which seemed to 
 be hung on a ewivel, and then, with rapid recognition, 
 and rapid speeeh, start off again in eager, genuine 
 earnestness, and overwhelming energv of lungs, throat, and 
 tongue. After this display, and when the speaker had 
 tfrown calm, and sat reposing at the bottom of his now 
 empty and exploded volcano, Kmerson rose and presented 
 us to him in torn, ami never was there such an extra- 
 
K. ME UPON > BANQUET AT MANCURSTEB. -lii 
 
 ordinary seene. lie nhot bolt-upright from hii. clmir, 
 and stood for a moment long and lank before us ; and 
 then his bodj fell not in a curve but at right angle*, 
 divi.lmg itfelf, as if on inscrutable hinges, midway down 
 the spinal marrow, and his face cutuo in contact with 
 hit outstretched hand*. In a moment he recovered 
 hit |*rpendicuUr, and wheeling round on tlio pivot of his 
 right li.vl. and bowing at us witli hid nether parts and a 
 the opposite window \ritli his head, ho retreated to 
 the place from whence ho came. 
 
 Emerson trailed ; and we, half choked with a suppressed 
 but racing Etna of laughter, su I Pored tho direst agony 
 which such a condition can intlu-t upon tho human mind 
 and body. We were delighted, nevertheless, with tho 
 man tho queer, strange, eloquent man ; tho odd, nervous, 
 contorted nun, whose body *as made of Birmingham 
 stub-twist, all jointed from top to bottom of it, and ca 
 pable of turning any way, in violation of all anotomical 
 laws. "That man," said Emcraon, " is a lino scholar, has 
 a lino mind, and much real culture. He i well read in 
 literature, in philosophy, in history ; and has written 
 rhvmes, which, like my friend Ellory Clunning s are 
 very nearly poetry." Wo then had a conversation about 
 Channing and Thoreau. " I will givo you," said Emer 
 son, "in a few minute-, a copy of Clmnning t Poems, 
 and his Convers itions at Botnt. * Thoreau," he added, 
 you will hear of by and by. lie it now writing a 
 book, most of -vhich I have heard, called A Week up lh 
 Concord and Merrinack Bicert" We subsequently 
 went with Emerson to his chamber^ wiicro he unpacked 
 In* portmanteau, and gave us tli-jo books of Chauning s, 
 which we stili prc*cr*e, &!czg with others. 
 
 We had scarcely returned to the room, when a card 
 was put into our hand bearing tho name of a friend who 
 had long wished to see Emerson, and who had now come 
 from Nottingham for this purpose. Ho was well known to 
 Km<von, through a book which he had written on divine, 
 and other, far sweeter love ; and we went forth to bring 
 in the young philosophical theologian to the host and to 
 
41 BMBBSON S BANQUET AT MINCHESTBB. 
 
 the company. lie was a thin, timorous, young man j not 
 more than twenty years old with strange, mystic eyes, 
 and a head and face like George Herbert s. A yery 
 singular young man, loving God and man too much to 
 be a priest, and yet not quite happy out of the pale of the 
 hurch. A devout follower of Emerson, at this time ; 
 and tinged with hia thought. A genuine spiritualist ; not 
 in name merely, but in life and endeavour. Ho lived on 
 roots and water thai nature and God s thought and in 
 spiration might flow through him without impediment. 
 A beautiful gentle-natured young man a poet also, aa 
 wall as a preacher and an apostle. Ho sat at the right 
 hand of Emerson, the introduction being over, and wa 
 the St. John of the company. We three, for some time, 
 talked much together, sitting apart on the sofa; whilst 
 all around us the fire of brilliant conversation was flash- 
 ing through the room. 
 
 In one group were four Scotchmen a Doctor of Law 
 an ex-Unitarian minister the editor of a celebrated Man 
 chester paper, and a proprietor of the same. The doctor 
 was witty, and full of anecdote and puns. The Unitarian 
 minister was brilliant asaVauxhall exhibition full of meta 
 physics and poetry, which last ho was constantly repeating, 
 or rather dinging in a half musical, half savage Scotch drawl 
 a man of talent, genius, and many capabilities ; but acrid, 
 fierce, egotistical, and intolerant of interruption. An un 
 mannerly Monologue. Now, however, he could not have 
 it all to himself. There were too many competitors. The 
 editor had been a weaver, and was a hard, iron man, 
 learned in Adam Smith, and possessed by the glitter of 
 Carlyle. The proprietor was a dark, bilious man, with 
 black hair, kind intelligent black eye*, a friendly, genial, 
 face, and a most true and affectionate nature. He had 
 been brought up to business, and was the business man of 
 his firm ; and it was mainly through him that the paper 
 had so solid and influential a position. Ho was fond of 
 books and of the fine arts ; and had one of the finest and 
 rarest private libraries in the city. He loved Emerson, 
 and was beloved by Emerson, and managed all hi* busi- 
 
KXIEBSON S BANQUET AT MANCHESTER. 46 
 
 i transactions for him. Many a happy day and night 
 have we spent with liim now wandering over the hilU 
 nnd vallies of Todmorden and Hcbden ; now in the 
 neighbourhood of John Uripht s carpet manufactory, at 
 the foot of the first spur of the Derbyshire hills in Lanca 
 shire ; and now enjoying the hospitalities of Jacob Bright, 
 or the quiet evenings, at his own beautiful and refined 
 homo in Manchester. lie made that Scotch group 
 beautiful by his presence, and joyous by his joviality and 
 rich fund of anecdote and literary learning. 
 
 Close to them digesting all that passed, and sneering 
 in his Mcphi!"tnpheles moods at much thnt was worthy of 
 reverence at a dark, Shakespear- browed young man, 
 with the pener&l i>hyti jue of a Spaniard. He wore eye 
 glaxces, and seemed to belong to nobody but himself. 
 Now and then ho uttered some cold remark, which fell 
 upon the company like ice ; ho enjoying the. confusion 
 and silence, which ho had cau*ed. Or ho would utter 
 ome witty sayings, whic nndo everybody laugh, and 
 htm 1111110 sardonically. Ho was a great reader ; had 
 been * MHO timo connected with tho liritinh Museum, and 
 wan a perfrot catalogue of tho names of many thousands 
 of volume* in tho library of that wonderful emporium. 
 A very clever, and when ho liked, a r- py fascinating man 
 anJ an admirnblo writer of Knijlish prose, 
 
 There was ono man there about whom wo shall say no 
 more titan that ho reminded us of Judas at tbo Last 
 Sup|*r. 
 
 All kinds of odd and unrelated people were congregated 
 in that room. German playwrights, and musicians, 
 artists, poots, literati, journalists, Christians, intiduls 
 pantheists, and inero book- worms. 
 
 At last the (Inner was announced, and wo tat down to 
 tho ropatt, Kmorson sitting at tho nead, and our iriond 
 the. proprietor, at tho toot of tho table. Tho Apostle 
 John, a^aiu sat at tho right hand of his Mastor, and that 
 mid compound of stuU from Birmingham tat at his left, It 
 was out lot to sit next to this good Birmingham friend 
 who ws so short-lighted that we were in torture every 
 
40 EMBBSON S BANQUET AT MANCHESTER. 
 
 time he moved his ungainly limbs. And not without 
 cause. For all on a sudden, starting with spasmodic mo 
 tion, and addressing Emerson, hi* hands came violently 
 upon his plato and dashed it and the contents upon his 
 lap. Thero was a slight buzz and titter round tho table, 
 then silence, then a rapid dashing talk, and then a round 
 volley of laughter (caused by uomo witticism, of course), 
 and in the midst of it our friend recovered his plate and 
 the fragments thereon. The apostle John dined oil boiled 
 cabbages and water, throwing his knife and fork away 
 from him when he hud fin shcd, as if ho was ashamed of 
 that basiuess, and like Solon despised the human 
 kitchen. Then t ho wine was passed and then came 
 another scene. Emerson invited him of Birmingham to 
 drink with him. The glasses were Oiled, but when our 
 friend was in the act of raising the glass to his lips, ho 
 let it fall upon the table, and the wine gushed like blood 
 in all its rich indignant stains over our unfortunate shirt 
 front. 
 
 The dinner otherwise, was dull enough. These two 
 were the only incidents worth recording, except some 
 puns of the Scotch Doctor, which, though wo thought 
 good at the time, have long since escaped us. Emerson 
 spoke very little except whilst seeing after tho comfort 
 and provisioning of his guests. 
 
 Wo remained but a short timo at tho tablo^after din 
 ner, and returned early to the drawing-room, there being 
 no wine- bibbers present. 
 
 Tho evening s entertainment was the ono redeeming 
 thing in this banquet. It consisted of a reading by 
 Emerson at urgent request of his paper on Plato, 
 which has since been published in tho Representative 
 Men. Alter that, tho evening fell flat and dead ; and 
 we, heartily tired of it, took an umbrella and went out 
 of the house to smoke a cigar in tho rain, by way of re 
 freshment. On our return, most of tho company were 
 gone, or going. Three of us remained behind with 
 Emerson, viz., the Birmingham friend, Apostle John, and 
 January Searle. We sat far iuto tho night. Amongit 
 
IIMRRNOh l lUNijt KT AT M ANrllHTIB, 47 
 
 oilier tiling*, lCnioron aid (lint lie hail Jtilt tutted 
 t trl o who In. I grown no llereo and inrii^o tint lio 
 pvmld bo nfrnid of trusting toino of his more gnitlo and 
 
 - ..t.lmllv min Ir 1 fii. n,l in ln |.rr .MM-C, Hi* iliMMMl* 
 
 i id * in uf hu-li mid acrod thing* are 10 terrible, ho Mid, 
 that they c>5uld not lull to do harm to nnv young, mi- 
 !> l m MM! portion* who did not know frotn whnt drop 
 depth* nil thnt denunciation sprung. I urlylo, ho 
 I, li-i I urown iMip-iiii-iM nf oppiiMiiiiitt, r*p<<ciii)|y whon 
 nf Cromwell. I dillViv.l from him, lio added, in 
 lut ctiinito of I roinwoU i chur.u-lrr, itiid hu roo liko A 
 ,T, \t N .r. giitiit from hii cliuir ntid, drawing A lino 
 with Inn linger icroi the tnhle, .u I, with terrihle fierce* 
 not* : Then, ir, thero u a lino of nt-pitrution betweeti you 
 nd nte ni wide n* thnt,nnd n* (loop n< tlio pit, Kmorinn 
 wn< worry for all tln \ for he lured i 1 arl)le genin*, and 
 gcniiino iMnn^ iiaturo, \Vlirn, mtid Kniemon, I nrlylo 
 h i 1 flni*hed tlio rolii ne of (ho II utillr of tho l- unck 
 Krrolntiun, ho left tho MS on h a itndy table, and hit 
 orrant lit thu lire with it. C urlylo uid nothing, but tat 
 down rt^nin liko a braro man, atid n-wrolo it. It wni Hir 
 I .- Ni-Ai 1 i t heroimn rovired. lio t .Id u, al>, that 
 lio hod lontf been in corre*pondenea with C arlyle, and 
 tliat he had nomo letter* from him which woiiltl proro of 
 tho rrry hii;he*t importance hereafter. 
 
 Tho literary men of Midland made Tory little imprci- 
 ion upon Kui -rnon \ although ho poko of loinu modern 
 - rki with praiio. Of tomo priratn and unknown |>er- 
 >ni he wai almoit rnthuiiattic in hit laudations. It wai 
 life, not literature I hat ho oared about. Ami yet ho wai 
 a ireat reader of Otrthe \ and read tome chapter* of him 
 every morning in tho Ucriimii, and and alio uf MOM- 
 
 \Vo all brook fcitcd together next morning j when the 
 Apoitlo John an J our>el?e dro?e o(T to the train on our 
 rparalo journiei homowarJi, bidding Kroorton adieu, 
 
 pcrhap*, for CTCT. 
 
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