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Eatge#apet  €&itton 


A  MEMOIR  OF  RALPH  WALDO  EMERSON 
BY  JAMES  ELLIOT  CABOT 

IN  TWO  VOLUMES 
VOL.  II. 


A  MEMOIR 


OF 


RALPH  WALDO  EMERSON 


BY 


JAMES   ELLIOT  CABOT 


IN  TWO  VOLUMES 
VOL.  II. 


CAMBRIDGE 

primes  at  tty  fttoersfoe  press 

1887 


THE  NEW  YORK 
PUBLIC  LIBRARY 

789195  A 

ASTOR,  LENOX  AND 

TILDEN  FOUNDATIONS 

B.  1935  L 


Copyright,  1887, 
By  JAMES  ELLIOT  CABOT. 

All  rights  reserved. 


No. 


Edition  fimiteb  to  #itoe  $untiK&  Copied. 
3  k  U- 


*  *    * «  .      .      i      •  , 


i  /:/••  '' 


CONTENTS  OF  VOLUME  II. 


CHAPTER   XI. 

PAGE 

Lectures.  —  The  Dial. — Emerson's  Transcendenta- 
lism   383 

CHAPTER   XII. 

Reform.  —  First  Speech  on  Slavery.  —  Address  on 
West  Indian  Emancipation.  —  Letter  to  Presi- 
dent Van  Buren  on  the  Cherokee  Outrage. — 
Brook  Farm  and  Fruitlands.  —  Emerson's  own 
Experiments  :  Domestic  Service,  Manual  Labor, 
Vegetarianism.  —  His  Position  with  Regard  to 
Reform.  —  Women's  Rights 421 

CHAPTER   XIII. 

The  Business  of  Lecturing.  —  Pecuniary  Circum- 
stances. —  Poems.  —  Death  of  his  First  Child.  — 
His  Ways  with  his  Children 457 

CHAPTER   XIV. 

Second   Visit  to  England.  —  Paris       501 

CHAPTER   XV. 

Lecturing  at  the  West.  —  Death  of  Margaret  Ful- 
ler. —  Death  of  Emerson's  Mother.  —  The  Anti- 
Slavery  Conflict 563 


IV  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  XVI. 

Views  of  College  Education.  —  Agassiz  and  the  Sat- 
urday Club.  —  Recognition  by  his  Contempora- 
kies.  —  Emekson   Overseer   op   Harvard    College. 

—  UNrvERSTY  Lectures.  —  Trip  to  California.  — 
The  Burning  of  his  House 614 

CHAPTER  XVII. 

Third  Visit  to  Europe.  —  Egypt.  —  Paris.  —  London.  — 
Oxford.  —  Return  Home.  —  Candedate  for  Rector- 
shd?  of  Glasgow.  —  Anniversary  of  Concord  Fight. 

—  Compilation  of  a  New  Volume  of  Essays.  —  The 
Virginia  Address.  —  Visit  to  Concord,  N.  H.  —  Mr. 
French'  s  Bust.  —  Last  Readings.  —  Declining  Years. 

—  Illness  and  Death 657 

Appended  A 685 

Appendix  B 689 

Appendlx  C 695 

Appended  D 697 

Appendix  E 703 

Appendix  F 710 


RALPH    WALDO   EMERSON. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

LECTURES.  —  THE     DIAL. EMERSON'S     TRANSCEN- 
DENTALISM. 

At  the  time  of  the  Divinity  Hall  address,  Em- 
erson, as  I  said,  was  intending  to  lecture,  the  next 
winter,  in  Boston ;  and  he  persevered,  though  he 
expected  that  his  audience  would  be  small.  When 
the  lectures  began,  however,  in  December,  there 
was  no  appearance  of  any  deterrent  effect  from  the 
address. 

"  The  lecturing  [he  writes  to  his  brother  William] 
thrives.  The  good  city  is  more  placable  than  it 
was  represented,  and  forgives,  like  Burke,  much  to 
the  spirit  of  liberty." 

The  attendance  was  large,  and  of  the  same 
class  of  persons  as  before,  most  of  them,  no  doubt, 
Liberal  Christians,  but  of  a  liberality  that  was  not 
disturbed  by  his  departure  from  the  Cambridge 
platform.  They  came,  as  Mr.  Lowell  says,  to  hear 
Emerson,  not  to  hear  his  opinions.  They  would 
have  admitted,    most  of   them,   that  his  opinions 


384       RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

were  rather  visionary ;  that  his  eyes  were  fixed  so 
steadily  on  "  the  fine  horizon  line  of  truth  "  as  to 
overlook  ordinary  mortals  and  dwell  on  angelic 
forms,  too  airy  and  indistinct  to  be  identified  with 
any  of  the  solid  inhabitants  of  earth.  But  they 
liked  to  put  themselves  under  the  influence  of  one 
who  obviously  had  lived  the  heavenly  life  from  his 
youth  up,  and  who  made  them  feel  for  the  time 
as  if  that  were  the  normal  mode  of  existence. 

The  subject  was  "  Human  Life  ;  "  the  soul,  the 
universal  principle  in  man,  unfolding  itself  in  the 
individual.  The  course  might  have  been  called 
Lectures  on  Transcendentalism  ;  a  summing-up  of 
what  was  to  be  said  for  and  against  the  new  views. 
The  indications  of  development,  he  says,  are  not 
always  agreeable  facts.  It  begins  with  protest 
and  rejection,  with  turbulence  and  revolution,  and 
thoughtful  persons  are  apt  to  overlook,  in  the  rude 
and  partial  expressions,  the  truth  they  prefigure. 
It  is  like  the  rubbish  and  confusion  that  go  before 
the  building  of  a  new  city ;  they  are  not  agreeable, 
but  they  may  be  welcomed  for  the  sake  of  what 
they  announce,  —  at  least  for  the  symptoms  of  life 
and  progress. 

*'  Undoubtedly  the  movement  has  its  foolish  and 
canting  side.  New  thoughts  will  always  introduce 
a  new  crop  of  words,  and  these  are  all  that  the 
foolish  will  get.     And  yet  always  there  is  in  man 


LECTURES.  385 

somewhat  incalculable  and  unexhausted.  Men  are 
not  made  like  boxes,  a  hundred,  a  thousand,  to 
order,  and  all  alike.  Out  of  the  darkness  and  the 
awful  Cause  they  come,  to  be  caught  up  into  this 
vision  of  a  seeing,  partaking,  acting  and  suffering 
life ;  not  foreknown  or  foremeasurable.  Therefore 
we  welcome  the  unexact  extravagant  spirits  who 
set  routine  at  defiance,  and,  drawing  their  impulse 
from  some  profound  thought,  appear  in  society  as 
its  accusers  and  its  prophets.  What  if  they  be,  as 
often  such  are,  monotones,  men  of  one  idea?  How 
noble  in  secret  are  the  men  who  have  never  stooped 
nor  betrayed  their  faith  !  The  two  or  three  rusty, 
perchance  wearisome  souls  who  could  never  bring 
themselves  to  the  smallest  composition  with  society, 
rise  with  grandeur  in  the  background,  like  the 
statues  of  the  gods,  whilst  we  listen  to  those  who 
stoop  a  little." 

We  rest  in  what  we  have  done,  in  what  we  have 
said,  or  in  what  others  have  done  or  said,  and  if 
we  attempt  to  move,  society  is  against  us.  "  This 
deliquium,  this  ossification  of  the  soul,  is  the  Fall  of 
Man.  The  redemption  is  lodged  in  the  heart  of 
youth.  To  every  young  man  and  young  woman  the 
world  puts  the  same  question,  Wilt  thou  become  one 
of  us?  And  to  this  question  the  soul  in  each  of 
them  says  heartily,  No.  The  world  has  no  interest 
so  deep  as  to  cherish  that  resistance.  No  matter 
though  the  young  heart  do  not  yet  understand  it- 


386       RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

self,  do  not  know  well  what  it  wants,  and  so  con- 
tents itself  with  saying  No,  No,  to  unamiable  tedi- 
ousness,  or  breaks  out  into  sallies  of  extravagance. 
There  is  hope  in  extravagance ;  there  is  none  in 
routine. 

"  The  hostile  attitude  of  young  persons  toward 
society  makes  them  very  undesirable  companions  to 
their  friends,  querulous,  opinionative,  impractica- 
ble ;  and  it  makes  them  unhappy  in  their  own  soli- 
tude. If  it  continue  too  long  it  makes  shiftless 
and  morose  men.  Yet,  on  the  whole,  this  crisis 
which  comes  in  so  forbidding  and  painful  shape  in 
the  life  of  each  earnest  man  has  nothing  in  it  that 
need  alarm  or  confound  us.  In  some  form  the 
question  comes  to  each :  Will  you  fulfil  the  de- 
mands of  the  soul,  or  will  you  yield  yourself  to  the 
conventions  of  the  world  ?  None  can  escape  the 
challenge.  But  why  need  you  sit  there,  pale  and 
pouting,  or  why  with  such  a  mock-tragic  air  affect 
discontent  and  superiority?  The  bugbear  of  so- 
ciety is  such  only  until  you  have  accepted  your  own 
law.  Then  all  omens  are  good,  all  stars  auspicious, 
all  men  your  allies,  all  parts  of  life  take  order  and 
beauty." 

In  vain  shall  we  expect  to  redeem  society  in  any 
way  but  through  the  integrity  of  the  individuals 
who  compose  it :  — 

"  I  am  afraid  that  in  the  formal  arrangements  of 
the   socialists  the    spontaneous   sentiment   of   any 


LECTURES.  387 

thoughtful  man  will  find  that  poetry  and  sublimity 
still  cleave  to  the  solitary  house.  The  members 
will  be  the  same  men  we  know.  To  put  them  in  a 
phalanx  will  not  much  mend  matters,  for  as  long 
as  all  people  want  the  things  we  now  have,  and  not 
better  things,  it  is  very  certain  that  they  will,  under 
whatever  change  of  forms,  keep  the  old  system." 

Two  of  the  lectures  (" Tragedy  "  and  "  Comedy") 
were  printed  a  year  or  two  afterwards  in  the  Dial ; 
"  Demonology,"  which  was  the  last  of  the  course, 
nearly  forty  years  later,  in  the  North  American 
Review.1  The  others  were  used  in  the  first  series 
of  Essays  ;  one  of  them  ("  Love  ")  is  given  there 
almost  entire. 

In  closing  the  course,  Emerson  said  that  it  was 
with  regret  that  he  found  himself  compelled,  by 
the  state  of  his  health,  to  bring  it  to  a  somewhat 
abrupt  termination.  He  had  intended  to  give  some 
completeness  to  the  series  by  two  additional  dis- 
courses, one  on  the  limitations  of  human  activity 
by  the  laws  of  the  world,  and  one  on  the  intrinsic 
powers  and  resources  of  our  nature ;  but  the  exe- 
cution of  these  plans  he  was  constrained  to  post- 
pone. 

"  My  lungs  [he  writes  to  Carlyle]  played  me 
false  with  unseasonable  inflammation  ;  '  and  in 
letters  to  his  brother  William  after  this  time  he 
speaks  of  troubled  health,  not  amounting  to  posi- 
tive illness,  but  to  an  indisposition  for  work  :  — 

1  Collected  Writings,  viii.  149.    "  Comedy,"  x.  7.    "  Demonology." 


388  RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

"  I  have  not  been  very  strong  this  summer,  con- 
trariwise, very  puny,  and  hoped  I  should  gain  vigor 
by  a  journey  to  the  mountains.  But  I  gained  lit- 
tle. I  am,  as  usual,  neither  sick  nor  well,  but,  for 
aught  I  see,  as  capable  of  work  as  ever,  let  once 
my  subject  stand,  like  a  good  ghost,  palpable  be- 
fore me.  But  since  I  came  home  I  do  not  write 
much,  and  writing  is  always  my  meter  of  health,  — 
writing,  which  a  sane  philosopher  would  probably 
say  was  the  surest  symptom  of  a  diseased  mind." 

"  This  ill-health  of  yours  and  mine  and  every- 
body's [he  writes  to  Miss  Fuller]  is  a  sore  blemish 
on  the  prospects,  because  on  the  powers  of  society. 
If  you  wish  to  protest  (as  most  ingenious  persons 
do  for  some  years)  against  foibles,  traditions,  and 
conventions,  —  the  thing  has  one  face  if  you  live 
only  long  or  strong  enough  to  rail,  and  quite  an- 
other if  you  can  serenely  and  in  due  time  broach 
your  new  law,  and  show  the  upholsterers  the  granite 
under  their  whitewash  and  gingerbread.  When  it 
gets  no  farther  than  superciliousness  and  indigna- 
tion, the  Beckendorf s  [Metternich,  in  "  Vivian 
Grey  "  ]  have  every  right  to  ask  us  what  time  we 
go  to  bed.  Therefore  I  hate  sickness,  in  common 
with  all  men  this  side  of  forty,  and  am  sour  and 
savage  when  I  anticipate  the  triumphs  of  the  Philis- 
tines. For  really,  in  my  best  health  and  hope,  it 's 
always  mean  to  scold,  and  when  I  am  lean  I  am 
ten  times  sorry." 


LECTURES.  389 

Up  to  the  age  of  forty  or  thereabouts  Emerson 
was  subject  from  time  to  time  to  a  tenderness  of 
the  lungs  and  to  fits  of  languor  which  sometimes 
alarmed  his  wife,  though  he  always  treated  them 
lightly,  as  only  a  symptom  of  the  want  of  sufficient 
preoccupation  of  mind,  which  he  looked  upon  as 
the  disease  of  the  times. 

"  Power  and  aim,  the  two  halves  of  felicity  [he 
says  in  one  of  his  letters  to  Miss  Fuller]  seldomest 
meet.  A  strong  mind  with  a  great  object  finds 
good  times,  good  friends,  good  weather,  and  fair 
lodging ;  but  wit  without  object,  and  not  quite 
sufficient  to  make  its  own,  turns  all  nature  upside 
down,  and  Rousseau-,  Carlyle-,  or  Byronizes  ever. 
The  middle  name  does  not  belong  in  such  ill  com- 
pany; but  my  friend,  I  think,  wants  nothing  but 
work  commensurate  with  his  faculty.  It  must  be 
more  the  malady,  one  sometimes  thinks,  of  our 
day  than  of  others ;  for  you  cannot  talk  with  any 
intelligent  company  without  presently  hearing  ex- 
pressions of  regret  and  impatience  whose  scope  af- 
fects the  whole  order  of  good  institutions.  Certainly 
we  expect  that  time  will  yield  some  adequate  revo- 
lution, regeneration,  and,  under  better  hours,  will 
fetch  us  somewhat  to  do ;  but  whilst  the  grass 
grows,  the  noble  steed  starves,  —  forgive  the  pro- 
verb, —  we  shall  die  of  the  numb-palsy.  Ethics, 
however,  remain,  when  experience  and  prudence 
have  nothing  to  show." 


390       RALPH  WALDO  EMERSON. 

The  want  of  definiteness  in  his  subject,  where  he 
wished  to  protest  against  the  foibles  of  society,  was 
due  in  part  to  a  characteristic  slowness  to  take 
sides.  We  have  a  vicious  way,  he  says  in  one  of 
these  lectures,  of  esteeming  the  defects  of  men 
organic.  We  identify  the  man  with  his  faults, 
judging  them  from  our  point  of  view.  We  should 
rather  ask  how  they  appear  from  his  point  of  view. 
Pride,  for  example,  may  be  an  impure  form  of  self- 
reliance  ;  the  willingness  to  accept  obligations 
would  only  show  that  he  has  suffered  a  fatal  slack- 
ness in  his  springs.  The  love  of  fighting,  beastly 
as  it  may  look  to  us,  is  the  first  appearance  of  the 
manly  spirit,  the  willingness  to  venture  all  for  a 
principle.  At  a  certain  stage  of  progress  the  man 
fights,  if  he  be  of  a  sound  body  and  mind.  So 
again  we  accuse  the  people  of  incapacity  for  self- 
direction  ;  they  can  only  follow  their  leaders,  who 
flatter  them.  But  the  flattery  consists  in  telling 
them  that  they  are  capable  of  governing  them- 
selves, and  would  lose  its  attraction  were  they  en- 
tirely devoid  of  this  capacity.  It  is  possible  to  be 
below  these  vices  as  well  as  to  be  above  them. 

In  principle,  Emerson  stood,  of  course,  with  the 
idealists,  the  reformers,  the  party  of  progress,  or 
at  least  of  aspiration  and  hope.  But  he  could  not 
help  seeing  that  the  existing  order,  since  it  is  here, 
has  the  right  to  be  here,  and  the  right  to  all  the 
force  it  can  exert.     It  is  not  disposed  of  (he  says) 


LECTURES.  391 

because  we  see  or  think  we  see  something  better ; 
still  less  by  merely  rejecting  it ;  but  only  by  its 
developing  in  us  the  force  that  is  needed  for  put- 
ting the  better  in  its  place.  Nothing  is  gained 
by  insisting  on  the  omnipotence  of  limitations,  but 
neither  is  anything  gained  by  ignoring  them  ;  they 
are  like  the  iron  walls  of  the  gun,  that  concentrate 
the  force  and  make  it  irresistible. 

This  was  very  well  for  a  "  chimney-corner  phi- 
losophy," but  it  did  not  lend  itself  readily  to  the  ex- 
igencies of  the  lecturer's  desk.  The  audience  must 
have  a  definite  statement ;  but  Emerson  did  not  see 
his  way  to  a  comprehensive  theory.  The  reconcile- 
ment of  fate  and  freedom  —  the  might  of  estab- 
lished facts  and  the  rights  of  the  soul  —  must  be 
made  by  each  man  for  himself,  as  the  occasion 
arises  for  deciding  between  conformity  and  follow- 
ing his  own  bent ;  it  must  be  realized  in  a  life  ;  it 
cannot  be  stated  in  propositions. 

"  We  wish  [he  says  in  his  journal]  to  sum  the 
conflicting  impressions  by  saying  that  all  point 
at  last  to  a  unity  which  inspires  all,  but  disdains 
words  and  passes  understanding.  Our  poetry,  our 
religions,  are  its  skirts  and  penumbrae.  Yet  the 
charm  of  life  is  the  hints  we  derive  from  this. 
They  overcome  us  like  perfumes  from  a  far-off 
shore  of  sweetness,  and  their  meaning  is  that  no 
tongue  shall  syllable  it  without  leave ;  that  only  it- 
self can  name  it ;  that  by  casting  ourselves  on  it 


392       RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

and  being  its  voice,  it  rushes  each  moment  to  pos- 
itive commands,  creating  men  and  methods.  If  we 
attempt  to  define  it  we  say  nothing. 

"  We  must  affirm  the  endless  possibilities  in 
every  man  that  is  born,  but  if  we  affirm  nothing 
else,  we  are  checked  in  our  speech  by  the  need  of 
recognizing  that  every  fact  contains  the  same, — 
until  speech  presently  becomes  rambling,  general, 
indefinite,  and  mere  tautology.  The  only  speech 
will  at  last  be  action." 

He  would  have  preferred,  he  says  in  a  letter  to 
Carlyle,1  to  retire  to  his  study,  hoping  to  give  some 
form  to  his  "  formless  scripture."  But  he  had  no 
choice ;  money  must  be  had,  among  other  things 
for  advances  on  Carlyle' s  account.  He  had  re- 
printed the  "  French  Revolution,"  and  was  now  re- 
printing the  "  Miscellanies  ;  "  there  were  bills  to 
be  paid,  —  one  bill  of  five  hundred  dollars  for  pa- 
per ;  and  he  had  already  exhausted  his  credit  in 
borrowing  for  his  friend.  Of  all  which,  of  course, 
Carlyle  remained  blissfully  ignorant. 

He  writes  to  his  brother  William  :  — 

Concord,  September  26,  1839. 
I  have  just  decided,  somewhat  unwillingly,  to 
read  one  more  course  of  lectures  in  Boston  next 
winter,  but  their  tenor  and  topics  float  yet  far  off 
and  undefined  before  me. 

1  Carlyle-Emerson  Correspondence,  i.  259. 


LECTURES.  393 

The  topic  he  fixed  upon  was  the  "  Present  Age." 
The  characteristic  trait  of  the  period,  he  says,  is 
the  growing  consciousness  in  the  individual  man  of 
his  access  to  the  Universal  Mind.  This  tends  to 
degrade  and  weaken  all  other  relations.  Super- 
ficially it  shows  itself  in  a  spirit  of  analysis  and  de- 
tachment. Ours  is  the  age  of  the  first  person  sin- 
gular, of  freedom  and  the  casting-off  of  all  ties. 
In  the  infancy  of  society,  Reason  has  a  kind  of 
passive  presence  in  Dread;  a  salutary  dread  de- 
fends man  in  his  nonage  from  crime  and  degrada- 
tion. Analysis  destroys  this  check ;  the  world  is 
stripped  of  love  and  terror,  and  is  looked  upon 
merely  for  its  economic  uses.  At  bottom,  analysis 
takes  place  in  obedience  to  the  higher  instincts: 
we  do  not  wish  to  be  mastered  by  things  ;  we  wish 
things  to  obey  us.  But  it  first  runs  to  excess,  sep- 
arates utilities  from  the  labor  they  should  repre- 
sent, appropriates  and  monopolizes  them.  The  end 
to  be  rich  infects  the  whole  world,  and  shoves  by 
the  State  and  the  Church.  Government  and  Edu- 
cation are  only  for  the  protection  of  property,  and 
Religion  even  is  a  lever  out  of  the  spiritual  world 
to  work  for  this.  The  decay  of  piety  begets  the 
decay  of  learning ;  the  fine  geniuses  of  the  day  de- 
cry books,  and  ostentatiously  disdain  the  knowl- 
edge of  languages,  antiquity,  and  art.  The  "  self- 
made'*  men,  of  whom  we  have  so  large  a  crop, 
like  to  explain  how  little  they  owe  to  colleges  and 


394  RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

schools.  Of  course  this  is  most  evident  and  most 
deplorable  in  the  highest  sentiment,  that  is,  the 
religious :  — 

"  Who  can  read  the  fiery  ejaculations  of  St. 
Augustine,  a  man  of  as  clear  a  sight  as  almost  any- 
other,  of  Thomas  a  Kempis,  of  Milton,  of  Jeremy 
Taylor,  without  feeling  how  rich  and  expansive  a 
culture  —  not  so  much  a  culture  as  a  higher  life  — 
they  owed  to  the  ceaseless  and  grand  promptings 
of  this  sentiment ;  or  without  contrasting  their  im- 
mortal heat  with  the  cold  complexion  of  our  recent 
wits  ?  Side  by  side  with  this  analysis  remains 
the  surviving  tradition,  the  old  state  of  things  in 
Church,  State,  College,  and  social  forms  ;  number- 
ing in  its  train  a  multitude  composed  of  those  in 
whom  affection  predominates  over  intellect,  and 
talent  over  character ;  of  those  who  are  indisposed 
to  the  exertion  which  novelty  of  position  demands ; 
and,  lastly,  of  those  who  have  found  good  eating 
under  the  shadow  of  the  old  institutions,  and  there- 
fore hate  any  change." 

Having  lost  touch  of  the  sentiment  which  in- 
spired the  tradition,  this  party  has  nothing  to  at- 
tract the  young  mind  eager  for  truth,  and  nothing 
to  oppose  to  the  disintegrating  activity  of  the  un- 
derstanding. On  the  other  hand,  the  Movement 
Party,  though  resting  on  ideas,  are  infected  with 
the  vice  of  the  age,  —  the  propensity  to  exaggerate 
the  importance  of  visible  and  tangible  facts.    They 


LECTURES.  395 

magnify  particular  acts  and  avoidances ;  they  en- 
deavor to  vamp  and  abut  principles,  and  to  give  a 
mechanical  strength  to  the  laws  of  the  soul.  They 
rely  on  new  circumstances ;  on  votes,  statutes,  as- 
sociations. They  promise  the  establishment  of  the 
kingdom  of  heaven,  and  end  with  champing  un- 
leavened bread  or  dedicating  themselves  to  the 
nourishment  of  a  beard.  But  let  us  not  distrust 
our  age.  Man  once  for  all  is  an  exaggerator ;  but 
let  us  look  at  the  tendencies.  Analysis  is  the  road 
to  power,  and  the  understanding,  with  its  busy  ex- 
perimenting, steadily  tends  to  place  power  in  the 
right  hands.  The  ray  of  light  passes  invisible 
through  space ;  only  when  it  falls  on  an  object  is 
it  seen.  So  is  spiritual  activity  barren  until  it 
is  directed  to  something  outward.  It  was  Com- 
merce as  well  as  Religion  that  settled  this  country, 
and  it  is  constantly  at  work  to  correct  its  own 
abuses.  It  matters  not  with  what  counters  the 
game  is  played,  so  it  be  played  well.  Men  rely 
upon  contrivances  and  institutions,  yet  the  heat  of 
the  reformers  and  the  resistance  to  reform  make 
the  discipline  and  education  of  the  public  con- 
science. On  neither  side  is  the  cause  defended 
on  its  merits.  Yet,  on  the  whole,  the  Movement 
Party  gains  steadily,  and  as  by  the  movement  of 
the  world  itself.  The  great  idea  that  gave  hope  to 
men's  hearts  creeps  on  the  world  like  the  advance 
of  morning  twilight,  and  they  have   no  more  part 


396  RALPH    WALDO  EMERSON. 

in  it  than  the  watchman  who  announced  the  day- 
break. 

Our  part  in  relation  to  the  projects  of  reform  is 
to  accept  and  use  them,  but  not  be  used  by  them. 
Keep  yourself  sacred  and  aloof  from  the  vices  of 
the  partisan,  but  do  not  hold  yourself  excused  from 
any  sacrifice  when  you  find  a  clear  case  on  which 
you  are  called  to  stand  trial.  And  be  in  no  haste 
to  decide.  Patience  and  truth,  patience  with  our 
frosts  and  negations,  and  few  words,  must  serve. 
We  find  ourselves  not  expressed  in  the  literature, 
the  science,  the  religion  of  our  fathers,  and  cannot 
be  trained  on  their  catechism.  What  has  the  ge- 
neric life  of  Paris  or  New  York  to  do  with  Judaea, 
with  Moses,  or  with  Paul  ?  The  real  religion  of 
the  day  is  reverence  for  character.  This  may  seem 
an  abstraction,  but  there  is  no  thought  so  delicate 
and  interior  but  it  can  and  will  get  a  realization. 
One  would  have  said  the  same  of  the  lowliness  of 
the  blessed  soul  that  walked  in  Judaea  and  hal- 
lowed that  land  forever.  So  will  this  new  percep- 
tion—  which  came  by  no  man,  but  into  which  all 
souls  at  this  era  are  born  —  endue  its  own  body 
and  form,  and  shine  in  institutions.  See  the  fruit- 
ful crop  of  social  reforms,  —  Peace,  Liberty,  La- 
bor, Wealth,  Love,  Churches  of  the  Poor,  Rights 
of  Women.  The  reformers,  it  may  be,  see  not 
what  they  point  at.  They  go  forward  to  ends 
whereof  they  yet  dream  not,  and  which  the  zealots 


LECTURES.  397 

who  work  in  these  reforms  would  defy.  But  the 
heart  and  the  hand  go  forward  to  a  better  heaven 
than  they  know. 

Not  always  shall  this  hope  be  disappointed.  The 
life  of  man  shall  yet  be  clean  and  honest,  his  aims 
unperplexed.  Faith  shall  be  possible  and  society 
possible  when  once  there  shall  be  shown  to  him  the 
infinitude  of  himself. 

Emerson  had  left  the  pulpit  for  the  lecturer's 
desk,  because  he  wished  to  be  entirely  free  to  de- 
clare the  faith  that  was  in  him,  without  being  ex- 
pected to  make  it  square  with  any  presuppositions. 
But  this  freedom  had  its  drawback,  since  it  was  no 
longer  sufficient  for  him  to  suggest  the  truth  he 
wished  to  enforce,  trusting  that  his  suggestions 
would  be  filled  out  from  the  common  stock  of  be- 
lief ;  they  were  subversive  of  the  common  beliefs  ; 
and  yet,  since  Emerson  could  never  take  the  po- 
lemical tone,  and  was  not  ready  with  a  scheme  for 
reconstruction,  he  found  himself  condemned  to  a 
way  of  speaking  that  seemed  vague  and  ineffective, 
and  he  felt  for  a  time  a  disgust  at  lecturing.  He 
writes  in  his  diary :  — 

"  October  18,  1839.  Lectures.  For  the  last  five 
years  I  have  read,  each  winter,  a  new  course  of  lec- 
tures in  Boston,  and  each  was  my  creed  and  confes- 
sion of  faith.  Each  told  all  I  thought  of  the  past, 
the  present,  and  the  future.     Once  more  I  must 


398  RALPH    WALDO  EMERSON. 

renew  my  work,  and,  I  think,  only  once  in  the 
same  form  ;  though  I  see  that  he  who  thinks  he 
does  something  for  the  last  time  ought  not  to  do  it 
at  all.  Yet  my  objection  is  not  to  the  thing,  but  to 
the  form ;  and  the  concatenation  of  errors  called 
Society,  to  which  I  still  consent  until  my  plumes 
be  grown,  makes  even  a  duty  of  this  concession 
also.  So  I  submit  to  sell  tickets  again.  But  the 
form  is  neither  here  nor  there.  What  shall  be  the 
substance  of  my  shrift?  Adam  in  the  garden,  I 
am  to  new-name  all  the  beasts  in  the  field  and  all 
the  gods  in  the  sky ;  I  am  to  invite  men  drenched 
in  Time  to  recover  themselves  and  come  out  of 
Time  and  taste  their  native  immortal  air.  I  am  to 
fire,  with  what  skill  I  can,  the  artillery  of  sympathy 
and  emotion.  I  am  to  indicate  constantly,  though 
all  unworthy,  the  ideal  and  holy  life,  the  life  within 
life,  the  forgotten  Good,  the  unknown  Cause  in 
which  we  sprawl  and  sin.  I  am  to  try  the  magic  of 
sincerity,  that  luxury  permitted  only  to  kings  and 
poets.  I  am  to  celebrate  the  spiritual  powers,  in 
their  infinite  contrast  to  the  mechanical  powers  and 
the  mechanical  philosophy  of  this  time.  I  am  to 
console  the  brave  sufferers  under  evils  whose  end 
they  cannot  see,  by  appeals  to  the  great  Optimism 
self-affirmed  in  all  bosoms." 

When  the  lectures  were  over  he  felt  that  he  had 
come  short  of  his  mark. 


LECTURES.  399 

TO    WILLIAM   EMERSON. 

Concord,  February  25,  1840. 

...  I  closed  my  lectures  duly  a  week  ago  last 
Wednesday.  I  cannot  say  much  for  them  in  any 
respect.  I  pleased  myself,  before  I  began,  with 
saying  I  will  try  this  thing  once  more,  because  I 
have  not  yet  done  what  I  would  with  it.  I  will 
agitate  men,  being  agitated  myself.  I,  who  rail  at 
the  decorum  and  the  harness  of  society,  why  should 
I  not  speak  very  truth,  unlimited,  overpowering  ? 
But  now  unhappily  the  lectures  are  ended.  Ten 
decorous  speeches  and  not  one  ecstasy,  not  one 
rapture,  not  one  thunderbolt.  Eloquence,  there- 
fore, there  was  none.  As  the  audience,  however, 
were  not  parties  to  my  intention  and  hope,  they 
did  not  complain  at  my  failure.  Still,  my  company 
was  less  than  the  last  two  years. 

(Journal.)  "  I  seem  to  lack  constitutional  vigor 
to  attempt  each  topic  as  I  ought.  I  ought  to  seek 
to  lay  myself  out  utterly,  large,  enormous,  prodi- 
gal, upon  the  subject  of  the  week.  But  a  hateful 
experience  has  taught  me  that  I  can  only  expend, 
say  twenty-one  hours,  on  each  lecture,  if  I  would 
also  be  ready  and  able  for  the  next.  Of  course  I 
spend  myself  prudently ;  I  economize ;  I  cheapen  ; 
whereof  nothing  grand  ever  grew.  Could  I  spend 
sixty  hours  on  each,  or,  what  is  better,  had  I  such 


789195  A 


400       RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

energy  that  I  could  rally  the  lights  and  mights  of 
sixty  hours  into  twenty,  I  should  hate  myself  less ; 
I  should  help  my  friend." 

But  if  the  lectures  seemed  to  Emerson  tame  and 
decorous,  literary  essays  rather  than  effective  lay- 
sermons,  the  following  letter  from  Theodore  Parker 
to  Dr.  Con  vers  Francis  (obligingly  communicated 
to  me  by  Mr.  F.  B.  Sanborn)  shows  that  such 
was  not  the  impression  they  produced  on  his  au- 
dience :  — 

West  Koxbury,  December  6,  1839. 
.  .  .  Are  you  not  to  attend  Emerson's  lectures 
this  winter  ?  The  first  was  splendid,  —  better 
meditated  and  more  coherent  than  anything  I  have 
ever  heard  from  him.  Your  eyes  were  not  dazzled 
by  a  stream  of  golden  atoms  of  thought,  such  as  he 
sometimes  shoots  forth,  —  though  there  was  no  lack 
of  these  sparklers.  It  was  Democratic  -  locofoco 
throughout,  and  very  much  in  the  spirit  of  Brown- 
son's  article  on  Democracy  and  Reform  in  the  last 
Quarterly  [Brownson's  Review].  .  .  .  Bancroft 
was  in  ecstasies, — he  was  rapt  beyond  vision  at  the 
locqfocoism  of  the  lecture,  and  said  to  me  the  next 
evening,  "It  is  a  great  thing  to  say  such  things 
before  any  audience,  however  small,  much  more  to 
plant  these  doctrines  in  such  minds :  but  let  him 
come  with  ws,  before  the  '  Bay  State,'  and  we  will 
give  him  three  thousand  listeners."  .  .  .  One  grave, 


LECTURES.  401 

Whig-looking  gentleman  heard  Emerson  the  other 
night,  and  said  he  could  only  account  for  his  de- 
livering such  a  lecture  on  the  supposition  that  he 
wished  to  get  a  place  in  the  Custom-House  under 
George  Bancroft.1  .  .  . 
Ever  yours,  Theodore  Parker. 

"  I  take  it  [adds  Mr.  Sanborn]  that  the  '  Bay 
State '  was  a  Democratic  club.  This  was  the  year 
(1839),  when  Marcus  Morton  was  elected  governor 
over  Edward  Everett  by  one  vote." 

The  next  winter  (1840-41)  he  seems  to  have 
given  no  lectures  except  that  on  "  Man  the  Re- 
former." 2  He  was  busy  with  his  book  (the  first 
series  of  Essays),  and  the  project  of  a  periodical 
as  the  organ  of  the  new  views  was  taking  definite 
shape.     He  writes  to  his  brother  William  :  — 

Concord,  September  26, 1839. 
.  .  .  George  Ripley  and  others  revive  at  this 
time  the  old  project  of  a  new  journal  for  the  expo- 
sition of  absolute  truth  ;  but  I  doubt  a  little  if  it 
reach  the  day.  I  will  never  be  editor,  though  I 
am  counted  on  as  a  contributor.  My  Henry  Tho- 
reau  will  be  a  great  poet  for  such  a  company  ;  and, 
one  of  these  days,  for  all  companies. 

1  Mr.  Bancroft  was  then  Collector  of  the  port  of  Boston. 

2  Collected  Writings,  i.  215. 


402  RALPH    WALDO  EMERSON. 

TO   MARGARET   FULLER. 

Concord,  December  12,  1839. 
...  I  believe  we  all  feel  much  alike  in  regard 
to  this  journal.  We  all  wish  it  to  be,  but  do  not 
wish  to  be  in  any  way  personally  responsible  for  it. 
For  the  sake  of  the  brilliant  possibility  I  would 
promise  honest  labor  of  some  sort  to  each  number 
for  a  year,  but  I  should  wish  to  leave  myself  the 
latitude  of  supreme  indifference,  nay  abhorrence  of 
such  modes  of  working  forever  after.  But  if  your 
labors  shall  introduce  a  new  age,  they  will  also 
mould  our  opinions,  and  we  shall  think  what  you 
think.  But  to-day  is  no  writing  day  with  me,  so 
farewell.  R.  W.  Emerson. 

The  plan  of  the  journal  had  somewhat  changed 
its  shape  since  1836.  It  was  to  have  the  character 
of  a  magazine  as  well  as  of  a  review,  and,  first  of 
all,  it  was  to  furnish  means  of  utterance  to  the 
boundless  aspirations  of  the  time.  Emerson's  chief 
interest  in  it  perhaps  lay  in  the  prospect  of  intro- 
ducing to  the  public  his  friends,  Mr.  Alcott,  Mr. 
Thoreau,  Mr.  William  Ellery  Channing,  the  un- 
named author  of  "  Dolon,"  and  one  or  two  others. 
"  Were  I  responsible  [he  writes  to  Miss  Fuller 
March  30,  1840],  I  would  rather  trust  for  its  wit 
and  its  verses  to  the  eight  or  nine  persons  in  whose 
affections  I  have  a  sure  place  than  to  eighty  or 
ninety  celebrated  contributors." 


THE  DIAL.  403 

After  many  conferences  and  much  correspon- 
dence, the  first  number  of  the  Dial  appeared  in 
July.  Mr.  George  Ripley  and  Miss  Margaret  Ful- 
ler were  the  most  active  promoters  ;  Mr.  Ripley 
undertaking  the  business  management,  and  Miss 
Fuller  the  literary  editorship.  It  was  a  rash  and 
generous  enterprise,  for  the  subscribers  were  few 
and  the  promised  contributors  for  the  most  part 
unpractised  writers ;  and  it  was  sure  to  have  the 
dead  weight  of  the  reading  community  against  it. 
Miss  Fuller  herself  was  under  no  illusions  as  to 
their  prospects.  "  We  cannot  show  high  culture 
[she  writes],  and  I  doubt  about  vigorous  thought." 
Her  object,  however,  was  not  to  make  a  successful 
journal,  but  "  to  afford  an  avenue  for  what  of  lib- 
eral and  calm  thought  might  be  originated  among 
us  by  the  wants  of  individual  minds."  1 

It  was  an  experiment  worth  trying,  and  even 
if  it  succeeded  only  in  bringing  these  wants  into 
clearer  consciousness,  this  of  itself  ought  to  give  to 
the  Dial  a  place  of  honor  in  our  literary  annals. 
It  is  much  to  have  uniformly  taken  the  high- 
est tone  upon  all  subjects ;  and  whatever  may  be 
said  of  the  Dial,  this  praise  abundantly  belongs 
to  it. 

Success,  in  the  ordinary  sense  of  the  word,  was 
out  of  the  question,  —  if  from  no  other  reason,  from 

1  In  a  letter  quoted  by  Mr.  Cooke,  in   his    Life  of  Emerson, 
p.  78. 


404  RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

the  lack  of  complete  unity  of  purpose  in  the  pro- 
jectors. No  two  of  them  precisely  agreed  as  to 
what  they  would  have.  Some  of  its  oldest  friends 
had  been  alienated  by  the  want,  or  rather  the  avoid- 
ance, of  any  definite  aim.  Others  soon  began  to 
complain  that  it  still  savored  of  the  old  order  of 
things.  The  practical  reformers  sniffed  at  the 
superfine  idealism  of  many  of  its  pages.  Emer- 
son, for  his  part,  was  in  favor  of  the  largest  liberty 
and  the  most  extravagant  aspirations,  but  he  winced 
in  spite  of  himself  at  the  violations  of  literary 
form,  and  he  confessed,  in  strict  confidence,  that  he 
found  some  of  the  numbers  unreadable.  Miss  Ful- 
ler, writing  to  him  two  years  afterwards,  when  he 
relieved  her  of  her  charge,  says  that  the  change  of 
editors  cannot  but  change  the  aim  as  well  as  the 
character  of  the  journal :  — 

"  You  will  sometimes  reject  pieces  that  I  should 
not.  For  you  have  always  had  in  view  to  make  a 
good  periodical  and  represent  your  own  tastes ; 
while  I  have  had  in  view  to  let  all  kinds  of  people 
have  freedom  to  say  their  say,  for  better,  for 
worse." 

Emerson  cared  only  for  the  poetry,  or  for  the 
poetical  point  of  view ;  that  everything  should  be 
looked  upon,  as  he  said,  "  at  large  angles ;  "  and 
to  this  he  was  extremely  tolerant.  His  criticism 
on  the  first  number  (in  a  letter  to  Miss  Fuller) 
was  that  the  verse  was  not  sufficiently  conspicuous ; 


THE  DIAL.  405 

were  he  the  compositor,  he  would  set  it  in  larger 
type  than  the  prose.  But  he  did  not  find  that  the 
public  shared  his  tastes. 

"  Nowhere  [he  complains  in  a  letter  to  Miss 
Fuller,  July  8, 1840]  do  I  find  readers  of  the  Dial 
poetry,  which  is  my  one  thing  needful  in  the  en- 
terprise. I  ask  in  vain  after  Z.,  or  H.  T.,  or  '  new 
contributor,'  —  of  many  a  one.  They  wait  till  I 
have  done,  and  then  inquire  concerning  Mr.  Parker. 
I  think  Alcott's  paper  of  great  importance  to  the 
journal,  inasmuch  as  otherwise,  as  far  as  I  have 
read,  there  is  little  that  might  not  appear  in  any 
other  journal." 

Afterwards,  he  writes  to  Miss  Fuller,  August  4, 
1840,  he  began  "  to  wish  to  see  a  different  Dial 
from  that  which  I  first  imagined.  I  would  not  have 
it  too  purely  literary.  I  wish  we  might  make  a  jour- 
nal so  broad  and  great  in  the  survey  that  it  should 
lead  the  opinion  of  this  generation  on  every  great 
interest,  and  read  the  law  on  property,  government, 
education,  as  well  as  on  art,  letters,  and  religion. 
...  It  does  not  seem  worth  our  while  to  work 
with  any  other  than  sovereign  aims.  So  I  wish  we 
might  court  some  of  the  good  fanatics,  and  publish 
chapters  on  every  head  in  the  whole  art  of  living. 
I  am  just  now  turning  my  pen  to  scribble  and  copy 
on  the  subjects  of  Labor,  Farm,  Reform,  Do- 
mestic life,  etc.,  and  I  asked  myself,  Why  should 
not  the  Dial  present  this  homely  and  grave  sub- 


406  RALPH    WALDO  EMERSON. 

ject  to  the  men  and  women  of  the  land  ?  .  .  .  I 
know  the  dangers  of  such  latitude  of  plan  in  any 
but  the  best  conducted  journal.  It  becomes  friendly 
to  special  modes  of  reform  ;  partisan,  bigoted,  per- 
haps whimsical ;  not  universal  and  poetic.  But 
our  round-table  is  not,  I  fancy,  in  imminent  peril 
of  party  and  bigotry,  and  we  shall  not  bruise  each 
the  others'  whims  by  the  collision." 
And  in  his  diary  of  the  same  date  :  — 
"  I  think  our  Dial  ought  not  to  be  a  mere  lit- 
erary journal,  but  that  the  times  demand  of  us  all 
a  more  earnest  aim.  It  ought  to  contain  the  best 
advice  on  the  topics  of  Government,  Temperance, 
Abolition,  Trade,  and  Domestic  Life.  It  might 
well  add  such  poetry  and  sentiment  as  will  now 
constitute  its  best  merit.  Yet  it  ought  to  go 
straight  into  life,  with  the  devoted  wisdom  of  the 
best  men  and  women  in  the  land.  It  should  — 
should  it  not  ?  —  be  a  degree  nearer  to  the  hodi- 
ernal facts  than  my  writings  are.  I  wish  to  write 
pure  mathematics,  and  not  a  culinary  almanac  or 
application  of  science  to  the  arts." 

But  he  was  not  easy  to  suit  with  any  applica- 
tions that  offered  themselves,  —  for  instance,  Theo- 
dore Parker's,  though  he  acknowledged  Parker's 
earnestness  and  his  power  of  reaching  the  ear  of 
the  public  with  his  vigorous  rhetoric.  Afterwards, 
when  Emerson  had  assumed  the  editorship  and  the 
Dial  was  in  pecuniary  straits,  Mr.  Parker  sent  a 


THE  DIAL.  407 

long  article  concerning  the  Reverend  John  Pier- 
pont's  differences  with  his  parish  on  the  subject  of 
Temperance  ;  which  Emerson  wished  to  reject,  but 
admitted  at  last,  as  he  said,  pro  honoris  causa. 
When  that  number  of  the  journal  appeared,  Miss 
Elizabeth  Peabody,  who  was  then  the  publisher, 
wrote  to  Emerson  that  Parker's  article  had  sold 
the  whole  of  the  issue,  and  that  more  copies  were 
wanted. 

Miss  Fuller  struggled  bravely  on,  with  much 
labor  and  no  pay,  for  about  two  years,  and  then 
Emerson  felt  obliged  to  take  it  up,  though  very 
unwilling. 

"  The  Dial  [he  writes  in  his  diary]  is  to  be  sus- 
tained or  ended  ;  and  I  must  settle  the  question,  it 
seems,  of  its  life  or  death.  I  wish  it  to  live,  but  I 
do  not  wish  to  be  its  life.  Neither  do  I  like  to  put 
it  into  the  hands  of  the  Humanity  and  Reform  men, 
because  they  trample  on  letters  and  poetry ;  nor  in 
the  hands  of  the  scholars,  for  they  are  dead  and 
dry.  I  do  not  like  the  Plain  Speaker  so  well  as 
the  Edinburgh  Review.  The  spirit  of  the  last 
may  be  conventional  and  artificial,  but  that  of  the 
first  is  coarse,  sour,  indigent ;  dwells  in  a  cellar- 
kitchen  and  goes  to  make  suicides." 

"  Poor  Dial!  [he  writes  Dr.  Hedge]  — it  has  not 
pleased  any  mortal.  No  man  cried,  God  save  it ! 
And  yet,  though  it  contains  a  deal  of  matter  I 
could  gladly  spare,  I  yet  value  it  as  a  portfolio 


408       RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

which  preserves  and  conveys  to  distant  persons 
precisely  what  I  should  borrow  and  transcribe  to 
send  them  if  I  could.  It  wants  mainly  and  only 
some  devotion  on  the  part  of  its  conductor  to  it, 
that  it  may  not  be  the  herbarium  that  it  is  of  dried 
flowers,  but  the  vehicle  of  some  living  and  advanc- 
ing mind.  But  nobody  has  yet  conceived  himself 
born  for  this  end  only." 

The  Dial  "  enjoyed  its  obscurity,"  as  Emerson 
says,  two  years  longer  under  his  charge,  and  then 
expired,  in  April,  1844,1  to  his  great  relief ;  hav- 
ing cost  him,  I  conjecture,  some  money  as  well  as 
perpetual  worry. 

Emerson  had  done  what  he  could  to  forward  the 
birth  of  a  new  spirit  in  our  literature,  and  Miss 
Fuller  had  done  her  part ;  but  the  child  refused  to 
be  born.  The  genius  of  the  new  era  had  not  as 
yet  got  on  speaking  terms  with  its  day  and  genera- 
tion. 

About  the  same  time  with  the  Dial,  another 
scheme,  foreshadowing  the  later  Concord  School 
of  Philosophy,  appears  in  a  letter  from  Emerson 
to  Miss  Fuller :  — 

1  Rev.  George  William  Cooke  has  given,  in  the  Journal  of  Spec- 
ulative Philosophy  (July,  1885),  a  careful  account  of  the  Dial  and 
its  writers.  For  a  list  of  Emerson's  contributions  see  Appen- 
dix C. 


THE  DIAL.  409 

Concord,  August  16,  1840. 
.  .  .  Alcott  and  I  projected  the  other  day  a  whole 
university  out  of  our  straws.    Do  you  not  wish  that  I 
should  advertise  it  in  the  Dial  ?     Mr.  Ripley,  Mr. 
Hedge,  Mr.  Parker,  Mr.  Alcott  and  I  shall,  in  some 
country  town,  —  say  Concord   or  Hyannis,  —  an- 
nounce that  we  will  hold  a  semester  for  the  instruc- 
tion of   young  men,   say  from  October  to  April. 
Each  shall  announce  his  own  subject  and  topics, 
with  what  detail  he  pleases,  and  shall  hold,  say  two 
lectures  or  conversations  thereon  each  week;  the 
hours  being  so  arranged  that  any  pupil  may  attend 
all,  if  he  please.     We  may,  on  certain  evenings, 
combine  our  total  force  for  conversations,  and  on 
Sunday  we  may  meet  for  worship,  and  make  the 
Sabbath  beautiful  to  ourselves.     The  terms  shall 
be  left  to  the  settlement  of  the   scholar  himself. 
He  shall  understand  that  the  teachers  will  accept  a 
fee,  and  he  shall  proportion  it  to  his  sense  of  ben- 
efit received  and  his  means.     Suppose,  then,  that 
Mr.  Ripley  should  teach  the  History  of  Opinion, 
Theology,    Modern     Literature,    or    what    else; 
Hedge,  Poetry,   Metaphysics,   Philosophy  of  His- 
tory ;  Parker,  History  of  Paganism,  of  the  Catho- 
lic Church,  the  Modern  Crisis,  —  in  short,  Ecclesias- 
tical History ;  Alcott,  Psychology,  Ethics,  the  Ideal 
life;  and  I,  Beaumont  and  Fletcher,  Percy's  Re- 
liques,  Rhetoric,  Belles-Lettres.   Do  you  not  see  that 


410       RALPH  WALDO  EMERSON. 

by  addition  of  one  or  two  chosen  persons  we  might 
make  a  puissant  faculty,  and  front  the  world  with- 
out charter,  diploma,  corporation,  or  steward  ?  Do 
you  not  see  that  if  such  a  thing  were  well  and  hap- 
pily done  for  twenty  or  thirty  students  only  at  first, 
it  would  anticipate  by  years  the  education  of  New 
England  ?  Now  do  you  not  wish  to  come  here  and 
join  in  such  a  work?  What  society  shall  we  not 
have !  What  Sundays  shall  we  not  have  !  We 
shall  sleep  no  more,  and  we  shall  concert  better 
houses,  economics,  and  social  modes  than  any  we 
have  seen. 

What  the  New  England  leaders  of  opinion,  even 
such  as  were  the  least  averse  to  thinking  for  them- 
selves, thought  of  their  would-be  teachers  was  ex- 
pressed, though  in  rather  shrill  tones,  by  John 
Quincy  Adams  in  his  diary  at  this  time :  — 

"  The  sentiment  of  religion  is  at  this  time,  per- 
haps, more  potent  and  prevailing  in  New  England 
than  in  any  other  portion  of  the  Christian  world. 
For  many  years  since  the  establishment  of  the  the- 
ological school  at  Andover,  the  Calvinists  and  Uni- 
tarians have  been  battling  with  each  other  upon  the 
Atonement,  the  Divinity  of  Jesus  Christ,  and  the 
Trinity.  This  has  very  much  subsided,  but  this 
wandering  of  minds  takes  the  place  of  that,  and 
equally  lets  the  wolf  into  the  fold.  A  young  man 
named  Ralph  Waldo  Emerson,  a  son  of  my  once- 


EMERSON'S    TRANSCENDENTALISM.  411 

loved  friend  William  Emerson,  and  a  classmate  of 
my  lamented  George,  after  failing  in  the  every-day 
avocations  of  a  Unitarian  preacher  and  schoolmas- 
ter, starts  a  new  doctrine  of  Transcendentalism, 
declares  all  the  old  revelations  superannuated  and 
worn  out,  and  announces  the  approach  of  new  rev- 
elations and  prophecies.  Garrison  and  the  non- 
resistant  abolitionists,  Brownson  and  the  Marat 
democrats,  phrenology  and  animal  magnetism, — 
all  come  in,  furnishing  each  some  plausible  rascal- 
ity as  an  ingredient  for  the  bubbling  caldron  of 
religion  and  politics.  Pearse  Cranch,  ex  ephebis, 
preached  here  last  week,  and  gave  out  quite  a 
stream  of  Transcendentalism,  most  unexpectedly."  * 

Emerson  for  his  part  did  not  feel  that  there  had 
been  any  essential  change  in  his  position  of  mind 
towards  religion  since  the  days  when  he  was  a  Uni- 
tarian preacher.  In  an  address  to  his  old  friends 
of  the  Second  Church  (Sunday,  March  10,  1844), 
when  they  were  rebuilding  their  meeting-house  in 
Hanover  Street,  he  says :  — 

"  I  do  not  think  that  violent  changes  of  opinion 
very  often  occur  in  men.  As  far  as  I  know  they 
do  not  see  new  lights  and  turn  sharp  corners,  but 
commonly,  after  twenty  or  after  fifty  years  you 
shall  find  the  individual  true  to  his  early  tenden- 
cies.    The  change  is  commonly  in  this,  that  each 

1  Memoirs  of  John  Quincy  Adams,  x.  345. 


412       RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

becomes  a  more  pronounced  character  ;  that  he  has 
thrown  off  those  timidities  and  excessive  regard  to 
the  minds  of  others  which  masked  his  own.  I  have 
not  the  least  disposition  to  prove  any  consistency  in 
myself ;  a  great  enlargement,  a  discovery  of  gross 
errors  corrected,  would  please  me  much  more ;  but 
as  a  matter  of  fact  I  do  not  find  in  the  years  that 
have  elapsed  since  I  stood  here  to  teach  any  new 
varieties  of  thought,  but  rather  an  accumulation 
of  particular  experiences  to  establish,  or,  I  should 
rather  say,  illustrate,  the  leading  belief  of  my 
youth." 

He  was  looked  upon,  by  John  Quincy  Adams  and 
by  everybody,  as  the  representative  Transcenden- 
talist ;  yet,  in  a  lecture  in  1841,  when  he  was  at 
his  farthest  in  this  direction,  he  defines  Transcen- 
dentalism as  "  the  Saturnalia  or  excess  of  faith." 1 
Not  as  if  faith,  the  vision  of  the  absolute,  the  look 
to  the  ideal  as  our  reinforcement  against  the  ty- 
ranny of  mere  use  and  wont  tending  to  shut  us  up 
in  petty  cares  and  enjoyments,  —  not  as  if  this 
could  ever  too  much  abound ;  but  that  it  may  want 
"the  restraining  grace  of  common  sense,  .  .  . 
which  does  not  meddle  with  the  absolute,  but  takes 
things  at  their  word,  things  as  they  appear."  2  This 
restraint  was  never  wanting  to  Emerson ;  he  felt  safe 
against  the  dangers  of  "  divine  discontent,"  and 
this  feeling  made  him  the  more  charitable  towards 

i  Collected  Writings,  i.  320.  2  Ibid.,  viii.  9. 


EMERSON'S  TRANSCENDENTALISM.  413 

its  extreme  manifestations.  He  was  as  much  alive 
to  the  extravagances  as  anybody,  having  frequent 
occasion  to  observe  them ;  but  our  danger  he 
thought  did  not  He  on  that  side. 

"Buddhism,  Transcendentalism  [he  writes  in 
his  journal],  life  delights  in  reducing  ad  absurdum. 
The  child,  the  infant,  is  a  transcendentalist,  and 
charms  us  all ;  we  try  to  be,  and  instantly  run 
in  debt,  lie,  steal,  commit  adultery,  go  mad,  and 
die." 

"  The  trick  of  every  man's  conversation  we  soon 
learn.  In  one  this  remorseless  Buddhism  lies  all 
around,  threatening  with  death  and  night.  We 
make  a  little  fire  in  our  cabin,  but  we  dare  not  go 
abroad  one  furlong  into  the  murderous  cold.  Every 
thought,  every  enterprise,  every  sentiment,  has  its 
ruin  in  this  horrid  Infinite  which  encircles  us  and 
awaits  our  dropping  into  it.  If  killing  all  Bud- 
dhists would  do  the  least  good,  we  would  have  a 
slaughter  of  the  innocents  directly." 

"  It  must  be  admitted  that  civilization  is  onerous 
and  expensive,  —  hideous  expense  to  keep  it  up :  let 
it  go,  and  be  Indians  again.  But  why  Indians  ? 
That  is  costly,  too.  The  mudturtle-and-trout  life  is 
easier  and  cheaper,  and  oyster  cheaper  still.  '  Play 
out  the  game  ;  act  well  your  part ;  if  the  gods  have 
blundered,  we  will  not.'  " 

"  'T  is  necessary  that  you  honor  the  people's 
facts.     If  you  have  no  place  for  them,  the  people 


414  RALPH    WALDO  EMERSON. 

absolutely  have  no  place  for  you.  A  person,  what- 
ever he  may  have  to  say  or  do,  to  whom  politics 
is  nothing,  navigation  nothing,  railroads  nothing, 
money  nothing,  books  nothing,  men  and  women 
nothing,  may  have  his  seat  or  sphere  in  another 
planet,  but  once  for  all  has  nothing  to  do  here. 
The  earth  and  sea  and  air,  the  constitution  of 
things,  and  all  that  we  call  Fate,  is  on  the  people's 
side  ;  and  that  is  a  reasoner  not  liable  to  a  fal- 
lacy." 

" does  not  do  justice  to  the  merits  of  la- 
bor. The  whole  human  race  spend  their  lives  in 
hard  work,  for  simple  and  necessary  motives,  and 
feel  the  approbation  of  their  conscience ;  and  they 
meet  this  talker  at  the  gate,  who,  as  far  as  they 
see,  does  not  labor  himself,  and  takes  up  this  grat- 
ing tone  of  authority  and  accusation  against  them. 
His  unpopularity  is  not  all  wonderful.  There  must 
be,  not  a  few  fine  words,  but  very  many  hard 
strokes,  every  day,  to  get  what  even  an  ascetic 
wants." 

"  Let  a  man  hate  eddies,  hate  the  sides  of  the 
river,  and  keep  the  middle  of  the  stream.  The 
hero  did  nothing  apart  and  odd,  but  travelled  on 
the  highway  and  went  to  the  same  tavern  with  the 
whole  people,  and  was  very  heartily  and  naturally 
there  ;  no  dainty,  protected  person." 

"  I  speak  [he  says]  as  an  idealist,"  —  but  his 
idealism  never  made  him  blind  to  facts,  nor  did  it 


EMERSON'S    TRANSCENDENTALISM.  415 

make  him  wish  to  ignore  them.  Money,  for  in- 
stance, might  be,  as  was  then  much  urged,  a  very- 
rude  certificate  of  a  man's  worth  and  of  his  claims 
upon  his  fellow-men;  in  a  better  state  of  society 
the  "  cash-nexus "  would  be  superseded  by  the 
bonds  of  justice  and  love.  Meantime  let  us  not 
pretend  to  be  better  than  we  are :  — 

"  The  cant  about  money  and  the  railing  at  mean- 
souled  people  who  have  a  little  yellow  dirt  only  to 
recommend  them,  accuses  the  railer.  Money  is  a 
truly  admirable  invention,  and  the  delicacy  and 
perfection  with  which  this  mercury  measures  our 
good  sense  in  every  transaction  in  a  shop  or  in  a 
farm  ;  the  Egyptian  verdict  which  it  gives  :  thou 
hast  done  well :  thou  hast  overdone  :  thou  hast  un- 
done, —  I  cannot  have  a  better  voice  of  nature. 

"  Do  not  gloze  and  prate  and  mystify.     Here  is 

our  dear,  grand says,   You  shall  dig  in  my 

field  for  a  day,  and  I  will  give  you  a  dollar  when  it 
is  done,  and  it  shall  not  be  a  business  transaction. 
It  makes  me  sick.  Whilst  money  is  the  measure 
really  adopted  by  us  all  as  the  most  convenient 
measure  of  all  material  values,  let  us  not  affectedly 
disuse  the  name  and  mystify  ourselves  and  others ; 
let  us  not  '  say  no  and  take  it.'  We  may  very 
well  and  honestly  have  theoretical  and  practical 
objections  to  it ;  if  they  are  fatal  to  the  use  of 
money  and  barter,  let  us  disuse  them ;  if  they  are 
less   grave  than  the  inconvenience   of   abolishing 


416       RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

traffic,  let  us  not  pretend  to  have  done  with  it 
whilst  we  eat  and  drink  and  wear  and  breathe  it. 

"  However,  I  incline  to  think  that  among  angels 
the  money  or  certificate  system  might  have  some 
important  convenience,  —  not  for  thy  satisfaction 
of  whom  I  borrow,  but  for  my  satisfaction  that  I 
have  not  exceeded  carelessly  my  proper  wants, 
have  not  overdrawn." 

A  sound,  sincere,  and  catholic  man,  he  says,  is 
one  who  is  able  to  honor  at  the  same  time  the  ideal, 
or  laws  of  the  mind,  and  Fate,  or  the  order  of  Na- 
ture. "  For  wisdom  does  not  seek  a  literal  recti- 
tude, but  a  useful,  that  is  a  conditional  one,  —  such 
a  one  as  the  faculties  of  man  and  the  constitution 
of  things  will  warrant."  l  With  all  his  idealism 
Emerson  is  free  from  the  pedantry  of  ignoring  the 
actual  conditions,  or  the  existing  motives  by  which 
the  ideal  must  be  realized.  It  is  one  thing  to  do 
what  we  can  to  elevate  these  motives ;  it  is  quite 
another  to  call  upon  men  to  act  as  if  they  were 
different  from  what  they  really  are.  Thus,  for  in- 
stance, in  speaking  of  Education  as  it  ought  to  be, 
he  describes  the  prevailing  system  of  emulation 
and  display  as  "  the  calomel  of  culture  ;  "  easy  to 
use  and  prompt  in  its  effect,  but  a  "  quack  prac- 
tice." 2  But  once  when  he  found  this  view  too 
rashly  acted  on  by  one  of  the  smaller  New  Eng- 
land colleges,  he  calls  it  an  "  old  granny  system, 
l  Collected  Writings,  iv.  47  j  i.  286.  2  Ibid.,  x.  151. 


EMERSON'S    TRANSCENDENTALISM.  417 

President has  an  aversion  to  emulation,  as  in- 
jurious to  the  character  of  the  pupils.  He  there- 
fore forbids  the  election  of  members  into  the  two 
literary  societies  by  merit,  but  arranges  that  the 
first  scholar  alphabetically  on  the  list  shall  be  as- 
signed to  the  X  and  the  second  to  the  Y,  the  third 
to  the  X  and  the  fourth  to  the  Y,  and  so  on. 
'  Well,  but  there  is  a  first  scholar  in  the  class,  is 
there  not,  and  he  has  the  first  oration  at  Com- 
mencement ?  '  '  Oh  no,  the  parts  are  assigned  by 
lot.'  The  amiable  student  who  explained  it  added 
that  it  tended  to  remove  disagreeable  excitement 
from  the  societies.  I  answered,  Certainly,  and  it 
would  remove  more  if  there  were  no  colleges  at  all. 
I  recommended  morphine  in  liberal  doses  at  the 
college  Commons.  I  learn,  since  my  return,  that 
the  President  has  resigned ;  the  first  good  trait  I 
have  heard  of  in  the  man." 

And  when  a  youthful  admirer  of  his,  having  in 
mind  the  description  *  of  the  spiritual  life  as  that 
of  a  man  who  eats  angels'  food ;  "  who,  trusting 
to  his  sentiments,  found  life  made  of  miracles ; 
who,  working  for  universal  aims,  found  himself 
fed,  he  knew  not  how ;  clothed,  sheltered,  and  weap- 
oned,  he  knew  not  how,"  etc.,  —  sent  him  the  auto- 
biography of  George  Muller,  an  Englishman,  who 
found  himself  and  a  large  number  of  persons  under 
his  charge  supported  entirely  by  miraculous  meth- 

1  Collected  Writings,  i.  319. 


418       RALPH   WALDO   EMERSON. 

ods,  Emerson  expressed  surprise  that  the  book 
should  be  sent  to  him,  and,  when  he  returned  it, 
says : — 

"  I  send  back  the  book  with  thanks,  and,  as  I 
said,  with  some  wonder  at  your  interest  in  it.  I 
sometimes  think  that  you  and  your  coevals  missed 
much  that  I  and  mine  found ;  for  Calvinism  was 
still  robust  and  effective  on  life  and  character  in 
all  the  people  who  surrounded  my  childhood,  and 
gave  a  deep  religious  tinge  to  manners  and  con- 
versation. I  doubt  the  race  is  now  extinct,  and 
certainly  no  sentiment  has  taken  its  place  on  the 
new  generation,  —  none  as  pervasive  and  control- 
ling. But  they  were  a  high  tragic  school,  and  found 
much  of  their  own  belief  in  the  grander  traits  of 
the  Greek  mythology,  Nemesis,  the  Fates,  and  the 
Eumenides ;  and,  I  am  sure,  would  have  raised  an 
eyebrow  at  this  pistareen  Providence  of  Robert 
Huntington  and  now  of  George  Muller.  There  is 
piety  here,  but  't  is  pulled  down  steadily  into  the 
pantry  and  the  shoe-closet,  till  we  are  distressed  for 
a  breath  of  fresh  air.  Who  would  dare  to  be  shut 
up  with  such  as  these  from  year  to  year?  Cer- 
tainly there  is  a  philosophic  interest  and  question 
here  that  well  deserves  attention,  —  the  success, 
namely,  to  which  he  challenges  scrutiny,  through 
all  these  years  ;  God  coming  precisely  in  the  mode 
he  is  called  for,  and  to  the  hour  and  minute.  But 
this  narrative  would  not  quite  stand  cross-exam- 
ination." 


EMERSON'S   TRANSCENDENTALISM.        419 

"  There  is  illusion  that  shall  deceive  even  the 
elect ; "  and  idealism  may  be  one  form  of  it. 
Yet  the  desire  for  perfection,  the  discontent  with 
present  attainment,  is  the  spring  of  all  human  pro- 
gress ;  there  cannot  be  too  much  of  it,  there  may 
easily  be  too  little.  Indeed,  what  seems  excess  is 
rather  defect ;  an  infirm  faith  that  cannot  recog- 
nize its  ideals  in  the  masquerade  of  every-day  life. 
Care  will  be  taken  that  the  trees  do  not  grow  up 
into  the  sky  ;  if  only  sap  and  vigor  be  not  wanting, 
the  checks  will  supply  themselves  when  they  are 
needed. 

"  It  is  a  sort  of  maxim  with  me  never  to  harp 
on  the  omnipotence  of  limitations.  Least  of  all  do 
we  need  any  suggestion  of  checks  and  measures ; 
as  if  New  England  were  anything  else." 

The  one  thing  he  feared  was  an  insufficient  sup- 

pJy:  — 

"  Of  so  many  fine  people  it  is  true  that,  being  so 
much,  they  ought  to  be  a  little  more,  and,  missing 
that,  are  naught.  It  is  a  sort  of  King  Rene  period ; 
there  is  no  doing,  but  rare  thrilling  prophecy  from 
bands  of  competing  minstrels. 

"  We  are  wasted  with  our  versatility ;  with  the 
eagerness  to  grasp  on  every  possible  side.  The 
American  genius  runs  to  leaves,  to  suckers,  to  ten- 
drils, to  miscellany.  The  air  is  loaded  with  poppy, 
with  imbecility,  with  dispersion,  with  sloth. 

"Allston's  pictures  are  Elysian,  fair,  serene,  but 


420  RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

unreal.  I  extend  the  remark  to  all  the  American 
geniuses :  Irving,  Bryant,  Greenough,  Everett, 
Channing,  —  even  Webster,  in  his  recorded  elo- 
quence, —  all  lack  nerve  and  dagger. 

"Our  virtue  runs  in  a  narrow  rill :  we  have  never 
a  freshet.  One  would  like  to  see  Boston  and 
Massachusetts  agitated  like  a  wave  with  some  gen- 
erosity ;  mad  for  learning,  for  music,  for  philan- 
thropy, for  association,  for  freedom,  for  art.  We 
have  sensibility  and  insight  enough,  if  only  we 
had  constitution  enough.  But,  as  the  doctor  said 
in  my  boyhood,  '  You  have  no  stamina.'  What 
a  company  of  brilliant  young  persons  I  have  seen, 
with  so  much  expectation !  The  sort  is  very  good, 
but  none  is  good  enough  of  his  sort. 

"  Yet  the  poorness  or  recentness  of  our  experi- 
ence must  not  deter  us  from  affirming  the  law  of 
the  soul.  Nay,  although  there  never  was  any  life 
which  in  any  just  manner  represented  it,  yet  we  are 
bound  to  say  what  would  be  if  man  kept  the  divine 
law,  —  nay,  what  already  is,  and  is  explained  and 
demonstrated  by  every  right  and  wrong  of  ours ; 
though  we  are  far  enough  from  that  inward  health 
which  would  make  this  true  order  appear  to  be  the 
order  of  our  lives."     (Journal,  1839-43.) 


CHAPTER  XII. 

reform.  first  speech  on  slavery.  —  ad- 
dress on  west  indian  emancipation. let- 
ter to  president  van  buren  on  the  chero- 
kee outrage. brook  farm  and  fruitlands. 

—  emerson's  own  experiments  :  domestic 
service,  manual  labor,  vegetarianism.  — 
his  position  with  regard  to  reform. wo- 
men's rights. 

When  Emerson  said  in  his  letter  to  Margaret 
Fuller  that  he  wished  the  Dial  might  lead  the  opin- 
ion of  the  day  and  declare  the  law  on  every  great 
interest,  he  was  unconsciously  borrowing  a  tone 
that  did  not  belong  to  him.  He  had  no  disposition 
to  play  the  oracle,  or  to  declare  the  law  upon  any 
subject.  Transcendentalism  was  to  him  not  a  par- 
ticular set  of  doctrines,  but  a  state  of  mind;  the 
healthy  and  normal  state,  in  which  we  resist  the 
sleep  of  routine,  and  think  and  act  for  ourselves  in- 
stead of  allowing  circumstances  to  decide  for  us. 

"  I  told  Mr. [Emerson  writes  in  his  jour- 
nal] that  he  need  not  consult  the  Germans,  but,  if 
he  wished  at  any  time  to  know  what  the  Transcen- 
dentalists  believe,  he  might  simply  omit  what  in 


422  RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

his  own  mind  he  added  from  the  tradition,  and  the 
rest  would  be  Transcendentalism." 

Emerson's  sympathies,  in  that  age  of  renovation, 
of  confident  outlook  to  the  speedy  removal  of  the 
ills  that  beset  man's  condition,  were  of  course  with 
the  renovators,  the  temperance  men,  the  abolition- 
ists, the  seekers  after  improved  forms  of  society. 
But  "  abolition,  or  abstinence  from  rum,  or  any 
other  far-off  external  virtue  should  not  divert  at- 
tention from  the  all-containing  virtue  which  we 
vainly  dodge  and  postpone,  but  which  must  be  met 
and  obeyed  at  last,  if  we  wish  to  be  substance,  and 
not  accidents."  The  stress  that  was  laid  on  the 
importance  of  improved  conditions,  of  associations 
to  help  men  to  escape  from  bodily  or  mental  bon- 
dage, made  him  think  the  more  strongly  of  the 
prime  necessity  that  the  man  himself  should  be  re- 
newed, before  any  alterations  of  his  condition  can 
be  of  much  help  to  him. 

"  If  [he  writes  to  a  friend]  the  man  were  de- 
mocratized and  made  kind  and  faithful  in  his  heart, 
the  whole  sequel  would  flow  easily  out  and  instruct 
us  in  what  should  be  the  new  world ;  nor  should 
we  need  to  be  always  laying  the  axe  at  the  root  of 
this  or  that  vicious  institution." 

In  Emerson's  philosophy  "  all  that  we  call  Fate," 
or  external  condition,  has  to  be  reckoned  with,  since 
it  is  the  counterpart  of  our  internal  condition,  and 
holds  its  own  so  long  as  that  remains  unchanged. 
Here  are  some  extracts  from  his  journal  in  1840  :  — 


REFORM.  423 

"  I  told that  I  thought  he  must  be  a  very 

young  man,  or  his  time  hang  very  heavy  on  his 
hands,  who  can  afford  to  think  much  and  talk  much 
about  the  foibles  of  his  neighbor,  or  '  denounce,' 
and  play  the  '  son  of  thunder,'  as  he  called  it.  I 
am  one  who  believe  all  times  pretty  much  alike, 
and  yet  I  sympathize  so  keenly  with  this.  We 
want  to  be  expressed  ;  yet  you  take  from  us  War, 
that  great  opportunity  which  allowed  the  accumu- 
lations of  electricity  to  stream  off  from  both  poles, 
the  positive  and  the  negative.  Well,  now  you 
take  from  us  our  cup  of  alcohol,  as  before  you  took 
our  cup  of  wrath.  We  had  become  canting  moths 
of  peace,  our  helmet  was  a  skillet,  and  now  we 
must  become  temperance  milksops.  You  take 
away,  but  what  do  you  give  ?  Mr.  Jefts  has  been 
preached  into  tipping  up  his  barrel  of  rum  into  the 
brook  ;  but  day  after  to-morrow,  when  he  wakes  up 
cold  and  poor,  will  he  feel  that  he  has  somewhat 
for  somewhat  ?  If  I  could  lift  him  up  by  happy 
violence  into  a  religious  beatitude,  or  imparadise 
him  in  ideas,  then  should  I  have  greatly  more  than 
indemnified  him  for  what  I  have  taken.  I  should 
not  take  away ;  he  would  put  away,  —  or  rather, 
ascend  out  of  this  litter  and  sty  in  which  he  had 
rotted,  to  go  up  clothed  and  in  his  right  mind  into 
the  assembly  and  conversation  of  men. 

"  We  frigidly  talk  of  Reform  until  the  walls 
mock  us.     It  is  that  of  which  a  man  should  never 


424       RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

speak,  but,  if  he  have  cherished  it  in  his  bosom,  he 
should  steal  to  it  in  darkness,  as  an  Indian  to  his 
bride,  or  as  a  monk  should  go  privily  to  another 
monk  and  say,  Lo,  we  two  are  of  one  opinion ;  a 
new  light  has  shined  in  our  hearts ;  let  us  dare  to 
obey  it. 

"  I  have  not  yet  conquered  my  own  house ;  it  irks 
and  repents  me.  Shall  I  raise  the  siege  of  this 
hen-coop,  and  march  baffled  away  to  a  pretended 
siege  of  Babylon  ?  It  seems  to  me  that  so  to  do 
were  to  dodge  the  problem  I  am  set  to  solve,  and 
to  hide  my  impotency  in  the  thick  of  a  crowd. 

"  Does  he  not  do  more  to  abolish  slavery  who 
works  all  day  steadily  in  his  own  garden  than  he 
who  goes  to  the  abolition-meeting  and  makes  a 
speech  ?  He  who  does  his  own  work  frees  a  slave. 
He  who  does  not  his  own  work  is  a  slave-holder. 
Whilst  we  sit  here  talking  and  smiling,  some  per- 
son is  out  there  in  field  and  shop  and  kitchen,  do- 
ing what  we  need,  without  talk  or  smiles.  The 
world  asks,  Do  the  abolitionists  eat  sugar?  Do 
they  wear  cotton  ?  Do  they  smoke  tobacco  ?  Are 
they  their  own  servants  ?  Have  they  managed  to 
put  that  dubious  institution  of  servile  labor  on  an 
agreeable  and  thoroughly  intelligible  and  trans- 
parent foundation  ?  Two  tables  in  every  house  ! 
Abolitionists  at  one  and  servants  at  the  other !  It 
is  a  calumny  you  utter.  There  never  was,  I  am 
persuaded,  an  asceticism  so  austere  as  theirs,  from 


FIRST  SPEECH  ON  SLAVERY.  425 

the  peculiar  emphasis  of  their  testimony.  The 
planter  does  not  want  slaves ;  no,  he  wants  his  lux- 
ury, and  he  will  pay  even  this  price  for  it.  It  is 
not  possible,  then,  that  the  abolitionist  will  begin 
the  assault  on  his  luxury  by  any  other  means  than 
the  abating  of  his  own." 

In  November,  1837,  Emerson  was  requested  to 
deliver  an  address  at  Concord  on  the  subject  of 
Slavery.  There  was  some  difficulty  in  getting  a 
room  for  the  purpose,  all  agitation  of  the  question 
of  Slavery  being  at  that  time  generally  deprecated ; 
at  length  the  Second  Church  agreed  to  allow  the 
use  of  their  vestry.  In  his  speech  he  dwelt  espe- 
cially on  the  duty  of  resisting  all  attempts  to  stifle 
discussion.  It  is,  he  says,  the  eminent  prerogative 
of  New  England,  and  her  sacred  duty,  to  open  her 
churches  and  halls  to  the  free  discussion  of  every 
question  involving  the  rights  of  man. 

"  If  the  motto  on  all  palace-gates  is  '  Hush,'  the 
honorable  ensign  to  our  town-halls  should  be  '  Pro- 
claim.' I  account  this  a  matter  of  grave  impor- 
tance, because  symptoms  of  an  overprudence  are 
showing  themselves  around  us.  I  regret  to  hear 
that  all  the  churches  but  one,  and  almost  all  the 
public  halls  in  Boston,  are  closed  against  the  dis- 
cussion of  this  question.  Even  the  platform  of  the 
lyceum,  hitherto  the  freest  of  all  organs,  is  so  ban- 
daged and  muffled  that  it  threatens  to  be  silent. 


426       RALPH    WALDO   EMERSON. 

But,  when  we  have  distinctly  settled  for  ourselves 
the  right  and  wrong  of  this  question,  and  have  cov- 
enanted with  ourselves  to  keep  the  channels  of 
opinion  open,  each  man  for  himself,  I  think  we 
have  done  all  that  is  incumbent  on  most  of  us  to 
do.  Sorely  as  we  may  feel  the  wrongs  of  the  poor 
slave  in  Carolina  or  in  Cuba,  we  have  each  of  us 
our  hands  full  of  much  nearer  duties.  .  .  .  Let 
him  not  exaggerate  by  his  pity  and  his  blame  the 
outrage  of  the  Georgian  or  Virginian,  forgetful  of 
the  vices  of  his  own  town  and  neighborhood,  of 
himself.  Let  our  own  evils  check  the  bitterness  of 
our  condemnation  of  our  brother,  and,  whilst  we 
insist  on  calling  things  by  their  right  names,  let  us 
not  reproach  the  planter,  but  own  that  his  misfor- 
tune is  at  least  as  great  as  his  sin." 

To  the  abolitionists  this  tone  appeared  rather 
cool  and  philosophical,  and  some  of  his  friends  tried 
to  rouse  him  to  a  fuller  sense  of  the  occasion.  He 
was  insufficiently  alive,  they  told  him,  to  the  inter- 
ests of  humanity,  and  apt  to  allow  his  disgust  at 
the  methods  or  the  manDers  of  the  philanthropists 
to  blind  him  to  the  substantial  importance  of  their 
work.  He  was  ready  to  admit  that  there  might  be 
some  foundation  for  the  charge :  — 

"  I  had  occasion  to  say  the  other  day  to  Eliza- 
beth Hoar  that  I  like  best  the  strong  and  worthy 
persons,  like  her  father,  who  support  the  social  or- 
der without  hesitation  or  misgiving.     I  like  these  ; 


FIRST  SPEECH  ON  SLAVERY.  427 

they  never  incommode  us  by  exciting  grief,  pity, 
or  perturbation  of  any  sort.  But  the  professed 
philanthropists,  it  is  strange  and  horrible  to  say, 
are  an  altogether  odious  set  of  people,  whom  one 
would  shun  as  the  worst  of  bores  and  canters.  I 
have  the  same  objection  to  dogmatism  in  Reform 
as  to  dogmatism  in  Conservatism.  The  impatience 
of  discipline,  the  haste  to  rule  before  we  have 
served,  to  prescribe  laws  for  nations  and  humanity 
before  we  have  said  our  own  prayers  or  yet  heard 
the  benediction  which  love  and  peace  sing  in  our 
own  bosom,  —  these  all  dwarf  and  degrade ;  the 
great  names  are  profaned  ;  our  virtue  is  a  fuss  and 
sometimes  a  fit.  But  my  conscience,  my  unhappy 
conscience,  respects  that  hapless  class  who  see  the 
faults  and  stains  of  our  social  order,  and  who  pray 
and  strive  incessantly  to  right  the  wrong;  this 
annoying  class  of  men  and  women,  though  they 
commonly  find  the  work  altogether  beyond  their 
faculty,  and  their  results  are,  for  the  present,  dis- 
tressing. They  are  partial,  and  apt  to  magnify 
their  own.  Yes,  and  the  prostrate  penitent  also, — 
he  is  not  comprehensive,  he  is  not  philosophical  in 
those  tears  and  groans.  Yet  I  feel  that  under  him 
and  his  partiality  and  exclusiveness  is  the  earth 
and  the  sea  and  all  that  in  them  is,  and  the  axis 
around  which  the  universe  revolves  passes  through 
his  body  there  where  he  stands." 

It  was  not  fastidiousness  nor  inertia  that  made 


428  RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

Emerson  averse  to  active  participation  in  the  phi- 
lanthropic schemes,  so  much  as  a  necessity  of  his 
nature,  which  inclined  him  always  to  look  for  a 
relative  justification  of  the  offending  party  or  in- 
stitution ;  at  any  rate,  disinclined  him,  as  he  said, 
from  coveting  the  office  of  constable.  In  judging 
ourselves  we  rightly  apply  an  absolute  standard ; 
but  in  judging  others  we  ought  to  consider  the 
circumstances,  and  take  care  not  to  attribute  to  the 
individual  what  belongs  to  his  position  :  — 

"  Hostility,  bitterness  to  persons  or  to  the  age, 
indicate  infirm  sense,  unacquaintance  with  men; 
who  are  really  at  top  selfish,  and  really  at  bottom 
fraternal,  alike,  identical." 

For  us  to  keep  slaves  would  be  the  sum  of  wick- 
edness, but  in  the  planter  it  may  indicate  only  a 
degree  of  self-indulgence  which  we  may  parallel 
readily  enough  nearer  home  ;  in  attacking  him  we 
are  demanding  of  him  a  superiority  to  his  condi- 
tions which  we  do  not  demand  of  ourselves.  He  is 
to  blame,  of  course,  but  in  the  same  sense  the  slave 
is  to  blame  for  allowing  himself  to  be  held  as  a 
slave :  — 

"  The  degradation  of  that  black  race,  though 
now  lost  in  the  starless  spaces  of  the  past,  did  not 
come  without  sin.  The  condition  is  inevitable  to 
the  men  they  are,  and  nobody  can  redeem  them 
but  themselves.  The  exertions  of  all  the  aboli- 
tionists are  nugatory  except  for  themselves.     As 


FIRST  SPEECH  ON  SLAVERY.  429 

far  as  they  can  emancipate  the  North  from  slavery, 
well. 

"  The  secret,  the  esoteric  of  abolition  —  a  secret 
too  from  the  abolitionists  —  is  that  the  negro  and 
the  negro-holders  are  really  of  one  party,  and  that 
when  the  apostle  of  freedom  has  gained  his  first 
point,  of  repealing  the  negro  laws,  he  will  find  the 
free  negro  is  the  type  and  exponent  of  that  very 
animal  law ;  standing  as  he  does  in  nature  below 
the  series  of  thought,  and  in  the  plane  of  vegetable 
and  animal  existence,  whose  law  is  to  prey  on  one 
another,  and  the  strongest  has  it. 

"  The  abolitionist  (theoretical)  wishes  to  abolish 
slavery,  but  because  he  wishes  to  abolish  the  black 
man.  He  considers  that  it  is  violence,  brute  force, 
which,  counter  to  intellectual  rule,  holds  property 
in  man;  but  he  thinks  the  negro  himself  the  very 
representative  and  exponent  of  that  brute,  base 
force  ;  that  it  is  the  negro  in  the  white  man  which 
holds  slaves.  He  attacks  Legree,  Mac  Duffie,  and 
slave-holders,  North  and  South,  generally,  but  be- 
cause they  are  the  foremost  negroes  of  the  world, 
and  fight  the  negro  fight.  When  they  are  ex- 
tinguished, and  law,  intellectual  law,  prevails,  it 
will  then  appear  quickly  enough  that  the  brute  in- 
stinct rallies  and  centres  in  the  black  man.  He  is 
created  on  a  lower  plane  than  the  white,  and  eats 
men,  and  kidnaps  and  tortures  if  he  can.  The  negro 
is  imitative,  secondary ;  in  short,  reactionary  merely 


430  RALPH   WALDO   EMERSON. 

in  his  successes ;  and  there  is  no  organization  with 
him  in  mental  and  moral  spheres. 

"  It  is  becoming  in  the  scholar  to  insist  on  cen- 
tral soundness  rather  than  on  superficial  applica- 
tions. I  am  to  demand  the  absolute  right,  affirm 
that,  do  that ;  but  not  to  push  Boston  into  a  false, 
showy,  theatrical  attitude,  endeavoring  to  persuade 
her  she  is  more  virtuous  than  she  is." 

Meantime  he  was  heartily  glad  that  men  were 
found  willing  and  able  to  throw  themselves  un- 
hesitatingly into  the  contest.  They  might  be 
wrong-headed,  he  said,  but  they  were  wrong-headed 
in  the  right  direction  :  — 

"  The  haters  of  Garrison  have  lived  to  rejoice  in 
that  grand  world-movement  which,  every  age  or 
two,  casts  out  so  masterly  an  agent  for  good.  I 
cannot  speak  of  that  gentleman  without  respect.  I 
found  him  the  other  day  in  his  dingy  office." 
(Journal,  1844.) 

He  went  to  Garrison's  office,  perhaps,  to  concert 
for  a  meeting  which  the  abolitionists  held  in  the 
Concord  Court  -  House  *  on  the  1st  of  August  in 
this  year  (1844),  to  celebrate  the  anniversary  of 
the  liberation  of  the  slaves  in  the  British  West 
Indies.     Emerson  delivered  the  address,  which  is 

1  None  of  the  churches  would  open  their  doors  to  the  conven- 
tion. At  length  Thoreau  got  leave  to  use  the  old  court-house, 
and  himself  rang  the  bell. 


WEST  INDIAN  EMANCIPATION.  431 

printed  in  the  last  edition  of  his  works ; 1  a  most 
satisfactory  performance  (the  Liberator  says)  to 
the  abolitionists  who  were  present.  In  this  speech 
and  in  one  a  year  later,  Emerson  went  farther  than 
ever  before  in  maintaining  the  negro's  capability  of 
civilization.  He  esteemed  the  occasion  of  the  ju- 
bilee, he  said,  to  be  "  the  proud  discovery  that  the 
black  race  can  contend  with  the  white ;  that  in  the 
great  anthem  which  we  call  History,  —  a  piece  of 
many  parts  and  vast  compass,  —  after  playing  a 
long  time  a  very  low  and  subdued  accompaniment, 
they  perceive  the  time  arrived  when  they  can 
strike  in  with  effect  and  take  a  master's  part  in 
the  music.  The  civility  of  the  world  has  reached 
that  pitch  that  their  more  moral  genius  is  becom- 
ing indispensable,  and  the  quality  of  this  race  is  to 
be  honored  for  itself." 

And  in  a  speech  which  I  know  only  from  the 
report  in  the  New  York  Tribune2  (for  he  never 
printed  it,  and  seems  not  even  to  have  preserved 
the  manuscript),  on  the  same  anniversary  in  the 
next  year,  at  Waltham,  he  says  the  defence  of 
slavery  in  the  popular  mind  is  not  a  doubt  of  the 
equity  of  the  negro's  cause,  nor  a  stringent  self- 
interest,  but  the  objection  of  an  inferiority  of  race; 
a  fate,  pronouncing  against  the  abolitionist  and  the 
philanthropist ;  so  that  the  good-will  of  amiable  en- 
thusiasts in  the  negro's  behalf  will  avail  him  no 

1  Collected  Writings,  xi.  129.  2  August  7,  1845. 


432       RALPH   WALDO   EMERSON. 

more  than  a  pair  of  oars  against  the  falling  ocean 
at  Niagara. 

"  And  what  is  the  amount  of  the  conclusion  in 
which  the  men  of  New  England  acquiesce  ?  It  is 
that  the  Creator  of  the  negro  has  given  him  up  to 
stand  as  a  victim,  a  caricature  of  the  white  man 
beside  him  ;  to  stoop  under  his  pack,  to  bleed  under 
his  whip.  If  that  be  the  doctrine,  then  I  say,  if 
He  has  given  up  his  cause,  He  has  also  given  up 
mine,  who  feel  his  wrong.  But  it  is  not  so ;  the 
universe  is  not  bankrupt ;  still  stands  the  old  heart 
firm  in  its  seat,  and  knows  that,  come  what  will,  the 
right  is  and  shall  be ;  justice  is  forever  and  ever. 
And  what  is  the  reply  to  this  fatal  allegation  ?  I 
believe  there  is  a  sound  argument  derived  from 
facts  collected  in  the  United  States  and  in  the 
West  Indies  in  reply  to  this  alleged  hopeless  infe- 
riority of  the  colored  race.  But  I  shall  not  touch 
it.  I  concern  myself  now  with  the  morals  of  the 
system,  which  seem  to  scorn  a  tedious  catalogue  of 
particulars  on  a  question  so  simple  as  this.  The 
sentiment  of  right,  which  is  the  principle  of  civili- 
zation and  the  reason  of  reason,  fights  against  this 
damnable  atheism.  The  Persians  have  a  proverb: 
Beware  of  the  orphan ;  for,  when  the  orphan  is 
set  a-crying,  the  throne  of  the  Almighty  is  shaken 
from  side  to  side.  Whatever  may  appear  at  the 
moment,  however  contrasted  the  fortunes  of  the 
black  and  the  white,  yet  is  the  planter's  an  unsafe 


WEST  INDIAN  EMANCIPATION  433 

and  an  unblest  condition.  Nature  fights  on  the 
other  side,  and  as  power  is  ever  stealing  from  the 
idle  to  the  busy  hand,  it  seems  inevitable  that  a 
revolution  is  preparing,  at  no  distant  day,  to  set 
these  disjointed  matters  right." 

He  liked  the  sun's  way  of  making  civilization 
cast  off  its  disguises  better  than  the  storm's.  It  was 
always  a  painful  struggle  with  him  when  he  felt 
himself  constrained  to  undertake  the  office  of  cen- 
sor :  as  when,  some  years  earlier  than  this,  another 
national  crime,  the  violent  removal  of  the  Chero- 
kee Indians  by  the  State  of  Georgia,  backed  by  the 
army  of  the  United  States,  forced  from  him  a  cry 
of  indignation  in  a  letter  to  President  Van  Buren,1 
which  that  sleek  patriot  probably  never  read. 

"  April  19,  1838.  This  disaster  of  the  Chero- 
kees,  brought  to  me  by  a  sad  friend  to  blacken  my 
days  and  nights  :  I  can  do  nothing  why  shriek  ? 
Why  strike  ineffectual  blows  ?  I  stir  in  it  for  the 
sad  reason  that  no  other  mortal  will  move,  and  if  I 
do  not,  why  it  is  left  undone.  The  amount  of  it,  to 
be  sure,  is  merely  a  scream ;  but  sometimes  a  scream 
is  better  than  a  thesis." 

"  Yesterday  went  the  letter  to  Van  Buren,  —  a 
letter  hated  of  me  ;  a  deliverance  that  does  not  de- 
liver the  soid.  I  write  my  journal,  I  read  my  lec- 
ture with  joy  ;  but  this  stirring  in  the  philanthropic 

1  Appendix  D. 


434       RALPH  WALDO  EMERSON. 

mud  gives  me  no  peace.  I  will  let  the  republic 
alone  until  the  republic  comes  to  me.  I  fully  sym- 
pathize, be  sure,  with  the  sentiment  I  write ;  but  I 
accept  it  rather  from  my  friends  than  dictate  it.  It 
is  not  my  impulse  to  say  it,  and  therefore  my  ge- 
nius deserts  me  ;  no  muse  befriends  ;  no  music  of 
thought  or  word  accompanies." 

The  same  feeling,  that  sympathy  with  the  aims 
of  the  reformers  must  not  tempt  him  beyond  his 
proper  bounds,  made  him,  after  some  hesitation, 
draw  back  when  he  was  urged  to  join  in  the  Brook 
Farm  experiment  in  1840. 

"  What  a  brave  thing  Mr.  Ripley  has  done !  [he 
writes  to  Miss  Fuller ;]  he  stands  now  at  the  head 
of  the  Church  Militant,  and  his  step  cannot  be 
without  an  important  sequel.  For  the  '  commu- 
nity,' I  have  given  it  some  earnest  attention  and 
much  talk,  and  have  not  quite  decided  not  to  go. 
But  I  hate  that  the  least  weight  should  hang  on 
my  decision, — of  me,  who  am  so  unpromising  a 
candidate  for  any  society.  At  the  name  of  a  soci- 
ety all  my  repulsions  play,  all  my  quills  rise  and 
sharpen.  I  shall  very  shortly  go,  or  send  to  George 
Ripley  my  thoughts  on  the  subject." 

(Journal.)  "  October  17, 1840.  Yesterday  George 
and  Sophia  Ripley,  Margaret  Fuller,  and  Alcott 
discussed  here  the  new  social  plans.  I  wished  to 
be  convinced,  to  be  thawed,  to  be  made  nobly  mad 


BROOK  FARM.  435 

by  the  kindlings  before  my  eye  of  a  new  dawn  of 
human  piety.  But  this  scheme  was  arithmetic  and 
comfort ;  a  hint  borrowed  from  the  Tremont  House 
and  United  States  Hotel ;  a  rage  in  our  poverty 
and  politics  to  live  rich  and  gentlemanlike ;  an  an- 
chor to  leeward  against  a  change  of  weather.  And 
not  once  could  I  be  inflamed,  but  sat  aloof  and 
thoughtless ;  my  voice  faltered  and  fell.  It  was 
not  the  cave  of  persecution,  which  is  the  palace 
of  spiritual  power,  but  only  a  room  in  the  Astor 
House  hired  for  the  Transcendentalists.  I  do  not 
wish  to  remove  from  my  present  prison  to  a  prison 
a  little  larger.    I  wish  to  break  all  prisons." 

He  wrote  to  Mr.  Ripley,  towards  the  end  of  the 
year,  that  he  had  decided,  "  yet  very  slowly  and, 
I  may  almost  say,  with  penitence,"  not  to  join 
them ;  giving  his  reasons  for  thinking  himself 
unfit,  and  adding  some  advice  from  Mr.  Edmund 
Hosmer,  "a  very  intelligent  farmer  and  a  very 
upright  man  in  my  neighborhood,"  concerning  the 
details  of  the  farming. 

"  I  approve  every  wild  action  of  the  experiment- 
ers [he  writes  in  his  journal]  ;  I  say  what  they  say, 
and  my  only  apology  for  not  doing  their  work  is 
preoccupation  of  mind.  I  have  a  work  of  my  own, 
which  I  know  I  can  do  with  some  success.  It 
would  leave  that  undone  if  I  should  undertake  with 
them,  and  I  do  not  see  in  myself  any  vigor  equal 


436  RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

to  such  an  enterprise.  So  I  stay  where  I  am,  even 
with  the  degradation  of  owning  bank-stock  and 
seeing  poor  men  suffer  whilst  the  universal  genius 
apprises  me  of  this  disgrace,  and  beckons  me  to 
the  martyr's  and  redeemer's  office.  This  debility 
of  practice,  this  staying  by  our  work,  is  belief  too ; 
for  obedience  to  a  man's  genius  is  the  particular 
of  faith;  by  and  by  shall  come  the  universal  of 
faith." 

The  following  passage,  endorsed  "  December  12, 
1840,"  was  sent  to  me  by  the  late  Reverend 
William  Henry  Channing,  as  copied  by  Miss  Fuller 
from  some  letter  or  journal  of  Emerson's  :  — 

"  I  have  the  habitual  feeling  that  the  whole  of 
our  social  structure  —  State,  School,  Religion,  Mar- 
riage, Trade,  Science  —  has  been  cut  off  from  its 
root  in  the  soul,  and  has  only  a  superficial  life,  a 
'  name  to  live.'  It  would  please  me  then  to  restore 
for  myself  these  fruits  to  their  stock,  or  to  accept 
no  church,  school,  state,  or  society  which  did  not 
found  itself  in  my  own  nature.  I  should  like,  if  I 
cannot  at  once  abolish,  at  least  to  tend  to  abolish 
for  myself  all  goods  which  are  not  a  part  of  this 
good ;  to  stand  in  the  world  the  fool  of  ideas ;  to 
demonstrate  all  the  parts  of  faith ;  to  renounce  a 
property  which  is  an  accident  to  me,  has  no  rela- 
tion to  my  character  or  culture,  is  holden  and  ex- 
pended by  no  sweet  and  sublime  laws,  and  my 
dependence  on  which  is  an  infirmity  and  a  hurt  to 


BROOK  FARM.  437 

me.  I  should  like  to  make  my  estate  a  document 
of  my  faith,  and  not  an  anomalous  fact  which  was 
common  to  me,  a  believer,  with  a  thousand  unbe- 
lievers. I  know  there  must  be  a  possible  property 
which  flows  directly  from  the  nature  of  man,  and 
which  may  be  earned  and  expended  in  perfect  con- 
sent with  the  growth  of  plants,  the  ebb  and  flow  of 
tides,  and  the  orbit  of  planets.  But  now,  as  you 
see,  instead  of  being  the  hero  of  ideas  and  explor- 
ing by  a  great  act  of  trust  those  diviner  modes 
which  the  spirit  will  not  fail  to  show  to  those  who 
dare  to  ask,  I  allow  the  old  circumstance  of  mother, 
wife,  children,  and  brother  to  overpower  my  wish 
to  right  myself  with  absolute  Nature ;  and  I  also 
consent  to  hang,  a  parasite,  with  all  the  parasites 
on  this  rotten  system  of  property.  This  is  but  one 
example.  Diet,  medicine,  traffic,  books,  social  in- 
tercourse, and  all  the  rest  of  our  practices  and 
usages  are  equally  divorced  from  ideas,  are  empir- 
ical and  false.  I  should  like  to  put  all  my  prac- 
tices back  on  their  first  thoughts,  and  do  nothing 
for  which  I  had  not  the  whole  world  for  my  reason. 
If  there  are  inconveniences  and  what  is  called  ruin 
in  the  way,  because  we  have  so  enervated  and 
maimed  ourselves,  yet  it  would  be  like  dying  of 
perfumes  to  sink  in  the  effort  to  reattach  the  deeds 
of  every  day  to  the  holy  and  mysterious  recesses  of 
life. 

"  But  how  will  Mr.  R.'s  project  help  me  in  all 


438       RALPH    WALDO  EMERSON. 

this  ?  It  is  a  pretty  circuitous  route,  is  it  not,  to 
the  few,  simple  conditions  which  I  require  ?  I 
want  my  own  labor,  instead  of  that  which  is  hired, 
—  or,  at  least,  that  the  hired  shall  be  honorable 
and  honored.  Mr.  R.'s  plan  offers  me  this,  and 
with  another  great  good  for  me,  namely,  direction 
of  my  labor.  But  so  would  a  farm  which  I  should 
buy,  associating  to  me  two  or  three  friends  and  a 
hired  farmer,  secure  the  same  advantages.  To 
Mr.  R.'s  proposed  school  I  attach  no  special  inter- 
est. I  am  sure  that  I  should  contribute  my  aid  as 
effectually  to  the  education  of  the  country  on  my 
own  lonely  acres  as  I  can  in  this  formal  institution. 
Where  a  few  conditions  suffice,  is  it  wise  to  enter 
into  a  complex  system  ?  I  only  wish  to  make  my 
house  as  simple  as  my  vocation.  I  have  not  the 
least  faith  in  the  enlargement  of  influence  through 
an  external  largeness  of  your  plan.  Merely  the 
thought  in  which  you  work  makes  the  impression, 
and  never  the  circumstance.  I  have  the  dream  that 
a  small  family  of  ascetics,  working  together  on  a 
secluded  spot,  would  keep  each  other's  benevolence 
and  invention  awake,  so  that  we  should  every  day 
fall  on  good  hints  and  more  beautiful  methods. 
Then  there  is  no  secluding  of  influences.  It  is  the 
nature  of  light  to  shine." 

Nor  did  he  see  his  way  to  joining  the  little  com- 
munity of  Fruitlands,  established  a  year  or  so  later 
than  Brook  Farm,  by  Mr.  Alcott  and  some  English 


FRUITLANDS.  439 

friends,  Messrs.  Lane  and  Wright,  in  the  town  of 
Harvard,  not  far  from  Concord  :  — 

"  I  begged  A.  to  paint  out  his  project,  and  he 
proceeded  to  say  that  there  should  be  found  a  farm 
of  a  hundred  acres,  in  excellent  condition,  with 
good  buildings,  a  good  orchard,  and  grounds  which 
admitted  of  being  laid  out  with  great  beauty  ;  and 
this  should  be  purchased  and  given  to  them  in  the 
first  place.  I  replied,  You  ask  too  much.  This 
is  not  solving  the  problem ;  there  are  hundreds  of 
innocent  young  persons  who,  if  you  will  thus  estab- 
lish and  endow  and  protect  them,  will  find  it  no 
hard  matter  to  keep  their  innocency.  And  to  see 
their  tranquil  household  after  all  this  has  been  done 
for  them  will  in  no  wise  instruct  or  strengthen  me. 
But  he  will  instruct  and  strengthen  me  who,  there 
where  he  is,  unaided,  in  the  midst  of  poverty,  toil, 
and  traffic,  extricates  himself  from  the  corruptions 
of  the  same,  and  builds  on  his  land  a  house  of 
peace  and  benefit,  good  customs  and  free  thoughts. 
But,  replies  A.,  how  is  this  to  be  done  ?  How  can 
I  do  it,  who  have  wife  and  family  to  maintain  ?  I 
answered  that  he  was  not  the  person  to  do  it,  or  he 
would  not  ask  the  question.  When  he  that  shall 
come  is  born,  he  will  not  only  see  the  thing  to  be 
done,  but  invent  the  life  ;  invent  the  ways  and 
means  of  doing  it.  The  way  you  would  show  me 
does  not  commend  itself  to  me  as  the  way  of  great- 
ness.    The  spirit  does  not  stipulate  for  land  and 


440       RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

exemption  from  taxes,  but  in  great  straits  and 
want,  or  even  on  no  land,  with  nowhere  to  lay  its 
head,  it  manages,  without  asking  for  land,  to  oc- 
cupy and  enjoy  all  land ;  for  it  is  the  law  by  which 
land  exists ;  it  classifies  and  distributes  the  whole 
creation  anew.  If  you  ask  for  application  to  par- 
ticulars of  this  way  of  the  spirit,  I  shall  say  that 
the  cooperation  you  look  for  is  such  cooperation  as 
colleges  and  all  secular  institutions  look  for, — 
money.  True  cooperation  comes  in  another  man- 
ner. A  man  quite  unexpectedly  shows  me  that 
which  I  and  all  souls  looked  for ;  and  I  cry,  '  That 
is  it.  Take  me  and  mine.  I  count  it  my  chief 
good  to  do  in  my  way  that  very  thing.'  That  is 
real  cooperation,  unlimited,  uncalculating,  infinite 
cooperation.  The  spirit  is  not  half  so  slow,  or 
mediate,  or  needful  of  conditions  or  organs  as  you 
suppose.  A  few  persons  in  the  course  of  my  life 
have  at  certain  moments  appeared  to  me  not  meas- 
ured men  of  five  feet  five  or  ten  inches,  but  large, 
enormous,  indefinite ;  but  these  were  not  great  pro- 
prietors nor  heads  of  communities,  but,  on  the  con- 
trary, nothing  could  be  more  private.  They  were 
in  some  want  or  affliction  or  other  relation  which 
called  out  the  emanation  of  the  spirit,  which  digni- 
fied and  transfigured  them  to  my  eyes.  And  the 
good  spirit  will  burn  and  blaze  in  the  cinders  of 
our  condition,  in  the  drudgeries  of  our  endeavors, 
in  the  very  process  of  extricating  us  from  the  evils 


FRUITLANDS.  441 

of  a  bad  society.  But  this  fatal  fault  in  the  logic 
of  your  friends  still  appears ;  their  whole  doctrine 
is  spiritual,  but  they  always  end  with  saying,  Give 
us  much  land  and  money.  If  I  should  give  them 
anything,  it  would  be  from  facility  and  not  from 
beneficence.  Unless  one  should  say,  after  the  max- 
ims of  the  world,  Let  them  drink  their  own  error 
to  saturation,  and  this  will  be  the  best  hellebore. 

"  Not  this,  but  something  like  this  I  said ;  and 
then,  as  the  discourse,  as  so  often,  touched  char- 
acter, I  added  that  they  were  both  intellectual: 
they  assumed  to  be  substantial  and  central,  to 
be  the  very  thing  they  said,  but  were  not,  but 
only  intellectual;  or  the  scholars,  the  learned  of 
the  spirit  or  central  life.  If  they  were  that, — 
if  the  centres  of  their  life  were  coincident  with 
the  centre  of  life,  —  I  should  bow  the  knee ;  I 
should  accept  without  gainsaying  all  that  they  said, 
as  if  I  had  said  it, — just  as  our  saint  (though 
morbid)  Jones  Very  had  affected  us  with  what  was 
best  in  him,  —  but  that  I  felt  in  them  the  slight 
dislocation  of  these  centres,  which  allowed  them  to 
stand  aside  and  speak  of  these  facts  knowingly. 
Therefore  I  was  at  liberty  to  look  at  them,  not  as 
the  commanding  fact,  but  as  one  of  the  whole  circle 
of  facts.  They  did  not  like  pictures,  marbles,  wood- 
lands, and  poetry ;  I  liked  all  these,  and  Lane  and 
Alcott  too,  as  one  figure  more  in  the  various  land- 
scape. 


442       RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

"  And  now,  I  said,  will  you  not  please  to  pound 
me  a  little  before  I  go,  just  by  way  of  squaring  the 
account,  that  I  may  not  remember  that  I  alone  was 
saucy  ?  Alcott  contented  himself  with  quarrelling 
with  the  injury  done  to  greater  qualities  in  my 
company  by  the  tyranny  of  my  taste,  which  cer- 
tainly was  very  soft  pounding.  And  so  I  parted 
from  the  divine  lotos-eaters."  (Journal,  Novem- 
ber 19,  1842.) 

Yet  Emerson  had  so  much  at  heart  the  results 
aimed  at  by  these  communistic  schemes  that  he 
had  already  proposed  to  Mr.  Alcott  to  join  him  in 
the  attempt  to  secure  them  in  a  simpler  fashion. 
The  inequalities  of  condition  which  he  saw  about 
him,  even  in  New  England,  were  painful  to  him, 
—  as  indeed  they  never  ceased  to  be.  Later  in  life 
he  consoled  himself,  at  the  sight  of  great  posses- 
sions in  the  hands  of  men  whom  he  loved  and  re- 
spected, with  the  thought  that  these  men  stood  in  a 
just  relation  to  their  wealth,  having  the  faculty  to 
use  it  for  the  best  advantage.  None  should  be  rich, 
he  says,  but  those  who  understand  it ;  but  there 
may  be  such.  For  himself,  he  felt  at  this  time  a 
strong  desire  to  clear  himself  of  superfluities  and 
unnatural  relations.  In  a  paper  on  Labor,  after- 
wards rewritten  for  the  lecture  on  "  Man  the  Re- 
former," 1  in  1841,  he  says  :  — 

1  Collected  Writings,  i.  27. 


EMERSON'S  OWN  EXPERIMENTS.         443 

"  Living  has  got  to  be  too  ponderous  than  that 
the  poor  spirit  can  drag  any  longer  this  baggage- 
train.  Let  us  cut  the  traces.  The  bird  and  the 
fox  can  get  their  food  and  house  without  degrada- 
tion, without  domestic  servants,  and  without  ties, 
and  why  cannot  we  ?  I  much  prefer  going  with- 
out these  things  to  the  annoyance  of  having  them 
at  too  great  cost.  I  am  very  uneasy  when  one 
waits  on  me  at  table.  I  had  rather  stretch  my  arm 
or  rise  from  my  chair  than  be  served  by  one  who 
does  it  not  from  love.  Why  should  not  the  phi- 
losopher realize  in  his  daily  labor  his  high  doctrine 
of  self -trust  ?  Let  him  till  the  fruitful  earth  under 
the  glad  sun,  and  write  his  thought  on  the  face  of 
the  ground  with  hoe  and  spade.  Let  him  put  him- 
self face  to  face  with  the  facts  of  dire  need,  and 
know  how  to  triumph  by  his  own  warlike  hands 
and  head  over  the  grim  spectres.  Let  him  thus  be- 
come the  fellow  of  the  poor,  and  show  them  by 
experiment  that  poverty  need  not  be.  Let  him 
show  that  labor  need  not  enslave  a  man  more 
than  luxury  ;  that  labor  may  dwell  with  thought. 
This  is  the  heroic  life  possible  in  this  age  of  Lon- 
don, Paris,  and  New  York.  It  is  not  easy ;  if  it 
were  it  would  not  be  heroic.  But  he  who  can  solve 
the  problem  for  himself  has  solved  the  problem 
not  of  a  clique  or  corporation,  but  of  entire  human- 
ity. He  has  shown  every  young  man  for  a  thou- 
sand years  to  come  how  life  may  be  led  indepen- 


444       RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

dently,  gracefully,  justly.  Religion  does  not  seem 
to  me  to  tend  now  to  a  cidtus,  as  heretofore,  but  to  a 
heroic  life.  We  find  extreme  difficulty  in  conceiv- 
ing any  church,  any  liturgy,  any  rite,  that  would  be 
quite  genuine.  But  all  things  point  at  the  house 
and  the  hearth.  Let  us  learn  to  lead  a  man's  life. 
I  have  no  hope  of  any  good  in  this  piece  of  reform 
from  such  as  only  wish  to  reform  one  thing ;  which 
is  the  misfortune  of  almost  all  projectors.  A  par- 
tial reform  in  diet,  or  property,  or  war,  or  the 
praise  of  the  country-life,  is  always  an  extrava- 
gance. A  farm  is  a  poor  place  to  get  a  living 
by,  in  the  common  expectation.  But  he  who  goes 
thither  in  a  generous  spirit,  with  the  intent  to  lead 
a  man's  life,  will  find  the  farm  a  proper  place.  He 
must  join  with  it  simple  diet  and  the  annihilation 
by  one  stroke  of  his  will  of  the  whole  nonsense  of 
living  for  show.  He  must  take  ideas  instead  of 
customs.  He  must  make  the  life  more  than  meat, 
and  see,  as  has  been  greatly  said,  that  the  intel- 
lectual world  meets  man  everywhere  ;  in  his  dwell- 
ing, in  his  mode  of  living.  What  a  mountain  of 
chagrins,  inconveniences,  diseases,  and  sins  would 
sink  into  the  sea  with  the  uprise  of  this  doctrine ! 
Domestic  hired  service  would  go  over  the  dam. 
Slavery  would  fall  into  the  pit.  Shoals  of  maladies 
would  be  exterminated,  and  the  Saturnian  Age  re- 
vive. 

He  writes  to  his  brother  William :  — 


EMERSON'S   OWN  EXPERIMENTS.         445 

Concord,  December  2,  1840. 
...  I  am  quite  intent  on  trying  the  experiment 
of  manual  labor  to  some  considerable  extent,  and 
of  abolishing  or  ameliorating  the  domestic  service 
in  my  household.  Then  I  am  grown  a  little  im- 
patient of  seeing  the  inequalities  all  around  me; 
am  a  little  of  an  agrarian  at  heart,  and  wish  some- 
times that  I  had  a  smaller  house,  or  else  that  it 
sheltered  more  persons.  So  I  think  that  next 
April  we  shall  make  an  attempt  to  find  house-room 
for  Mr.  Alcott  and  his  family  under  our  roof ;  for 
the  wants  of  the  man  are  extreme  as  his  merits  are 
extraordinary.  But  these  last  very  few  persons 
perceive  ;  and  it  becomes  the  more  imperative  on 
those  few,  of  whom  I  am  in  some  respects  nearest, 
to  relieve  them.  He  is  a  man  who  should  be  main- 
tained at  the  public  cost  in  the  Prytaneum  ;  per- 
haps one  of  these  days  he  will  be.  ...  At  all 
events,  Lidian  and  I  have  given  him  an  invitation 
to  establish  his  household  with  us  for  one  year,  and 
have  explained  to  him  and  Mrs.  Alcott  our  views 
or  dreams  respecting  labor  and  plain  living ;  and 
they  have  our  proposal  under  consideration. 

Mrs.  Emerson  loyally  consented,  though  the 
scheme  appeared  to  her  a  wild  one ;  fortunately 
Mrs.  Alcott  declined  to  come  into  it. 

Meantime  an  experiment  towards  putting  the  do- 
mestic service  upon  a  more  ideal  footing  was  tried. 


446  RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

TO   WILLIAM   EMERSON". 

Concokd,  March  30,  1841. 
.  .  .  You  know  Lidian  and  I  had  dreamed  that 
we  would  adopt  the  country  practice  of  having  but 
one  table  in  the  house.  Well,  Lidian  went  out  the 
other  evening  and  had  an  explanation  on  the  sub- 
ject with  the  two  girls.  Louisa  accepted  the  plan 
with  great  kindness  and  readiness ;  but  Lydia,  the 
cook,  firmly  refused.  A  cook  was  never  fit  to  come 
to  table,  etc.  The  next  morning,  Waldo  was  sent 
to  announce  to  Louisa  that  breakfast  was  ready ; 
but  she  had  eaten  already  with  Lydia,  and  refused 
to  leave  her  alone.  With  our  other  project  we  are 
like  to  have  the  same  fortune,  as  Mrs.  Alcott  is  as 
much  decided  not  to  come  as  her  husband  is  ready 
to  come. 

Napoleon's  saying,  "  Respect  the  burden,"  was 
a  favorite  maxim  of  Emerson's,  and  often  incul- 
cated upon  his  children.  He  was  very  considerate 
in  his  treatment  of  servants  ;  winced  visibly  when 
they  were  reproved,  and  was  relieved  when  they 
left  the  room,  from  fear  lest  something  might 
chance  in  conversation  to  make  them  feel  dispar- 
agement. He  always  respected  their  holidays, 
even  to  the  inconvenience  of  their  employers,  and 
scrupulously  avoided  all  occasions  of  unnecessary 
increase  of  their  work.     At  a  birthday  party  at  his 


EMERSON'S   OWN  EXPERIMENTS.         447 

house,  the  little  guests  in  their  play  tumbled  over 
the  hay-cocks,  to  the  vexation  of  the  hired  man, 
at  whose  complaint  Emerson  came  out  with  long 
strides :  "  Lads  and  lasses !  You  must  n't  undo 
hard  work.  The  man  has  worked  in  the  heat  all 
day ;  now  all  go  to  work  and  put  up  the  cocks :  " 
and  stayed  and  saw  it  done,  working  himself. 

Another  part  of  the  scheme,  manual  labor,  was 
no  novelty  to  Emerson :  he  had  been  in  the  habit 
of  working  in  his  garden,  and  speaks  in  his  letters 
to  Miss  Fuller  of  hoeing  his  corn  and  tomatoes ; 
though  he  confesses  that  "  this  day-labor  of  mine 
has  hitherto  a  certain  emblematic  air,  like  the 
ploughing  of  the  Emperor  of  China,"  and  that 
his  son  Waldo  begs  him  not  to  hoe  his  leg.  But 
now  he  wished  that  he  "  might  make  it  an  honest 
sweat,  and  that  these  ornamental  austerities  might 
become  natural  and  dear."  Accordingly,  in  the 
spring  (1841)  he  invited  Thoreau  to  come  and  live 
with  him  a  year  and  teach  him.  "  He  is  to  have 
his  board,  etc.,  for  what  labor  he  chooses  to  do 
[Emerson  writes  to  his  brother  William],  and  he 
is  thus  far  a  great  benefactor  and  physician  to  me, 
for  he  is  an  indefatigable  and  a  very  skilful  la- 
borer, and  I  work  with  him  as  I  should  not  with- 
out him,  and  expect  to  be  suddenly  well  and 
strong ;  though  I  have  been  a  skeleton  all  the 
spring,  until  I  am  ashamed.  Thoreau  is  a  scholar 
and  a  poet,  and  as  full  of  buds  of  promise  as  a 
young  apple-tree." 


448       RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

Concord,  April  22,  1841. 
Dear  Margaret,  —  Thanks  for  your  kind  so- 
licitude, but  though  feeble,  and  of  late  feebler  than 
ever,  I  have  no  dangerous  complaints,  —  nothing 
but  ridiculously  narrow  limits,  which  if  I  overpass 
I  must  pay  for  it.  As  soon  as  my  old  friend  the 
south  wind  returns,  the  woods  and  fields  and  my 
garden  will  heal  me.  Henry  Thoreau  is  coming  to 
live  with  me,  and  work  with  me  in  the  garden,  and 
teach  me  to  graft  apples.  Do  you  know  the  issue 
of  my  earlier  plans,  —  of  Mr.  Alcott,  liberty,  equal- 
ity, and  a  common  table,  etc.  ?  I  will  not  write 
out  that  pastoral  here,  but  save  it  for  the  bucolical 
chapter  in  my  Memoirs.  ...  I  am  sorry  we  come 
so  quickly  to  the  kernel  and  through  the  kernel  of 
Cambridge  society  ;  but  I  think  I  do  not  know  any 
part  of  our  American  life  which  is  so  superficial. 
The  Hoosiers,  the  speculators,  the  custom-house 
officers,  —  to  say  nothing  of  the  fanatics,  —  interest 
us  much  more.  If  I  had  a  pocketful  of  money,  I 
think  I  should  go  down  the  Ohio  and  up  and  down 
the  Mississippi  by  way  of  antidote  to  what  small 
remains  of  the  Orientalism  (so  endemic  in  these 
parts)  there  may  still  be  in  me,  —  to  cast  out,  I 
mean,  the  passion  for  Europe  by  the  passion  for 
America  ;  and  our  reverence  for  Cambridge,  which 
is  only  a  part  of  our  reverence  for  London,  must 
be  transferred  across  the  Alleghany  ridge.  Yet  I, 
perverse,  take  an  extreme  pleasure  in  reading  Au- 


EMERSON'S   OWN  EXPERIMENTS.         449 

brey's  Anecdotes,  letters,  etc.,  of  English  scholars, 
Oxonian  and  other ;  for,  next  to  the  culture  of 
man,  the  demonstration  of  a  talent  is  the  most  at- 
tractive thing,  and  English  literary  life  has  been, 
if  it  is  no  longer,  a  most  agreeable  and  complete 
circle  of  means  and  ends.  .  .  .  We  ought  to  have 
good  verses  in  the  next  number  [of  the  Dial],  for 
we  must  have  levity  sufficient  to  compensate  the 
morgue  of  Unitarianism  and  Shelley  and  Ideal 
Life  and  Reform  in  the  last  number.  Lidian 
sends  her  love  to  you.  She  is  not  well,  but  thinks 
you  shall  make  her  well  when  you  come.  We  read 
Porphyry  and  Due  de  St.  Simon  and  Napier's  Pe- 
ninsular War  and  Carlyle's  lectures,  to  pass  away 
the  cold  and  rainy  season,  and  wish  for  letters 
every  day  from  Margaret  Fuller.  Do  you  know 
that  in  August  I  am  to  go  to  Waterville,  a  Baptist 
college,  and  deliver  a  literary  oration  to  some 
young  men  ?  For  which  of  my  sins  ?  Why  should 
we  read  many  books,  when  the  best  books  do  not 
now  avail  us  to  yield  that  excitement  and  solid  joy 
which  fifteen  years  ago  an  article  in  the  Edinburgh, 
or  almost  a  college  poem  or  oration,  would  give  ? 
.  .  .  And  yet  —  and  yet  —  towards  evening  and 
on  rainy  days  I  wish  to  go  to  Berlin  and  to  Dres- 
den before  I  quite  amputate  that  nonsense  called 
Europe. 

Yours  affectionately,         Waldo  E. 


450  RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

As  to  the  garden,  it  did  not  take  him  long  to 
find  out  that  he  had  another  garden  where  he  could 
labor  to  more  advantage.  In  his  journal,  before 
the  end  of  the  year,  he  says  :  — 

"  If  I  judge  from  my  own  experience,  I  should 
unsay  all  my  fine  things,  I  fear,  concerning  the 
manual  labor  of  literary  men.  If  you  would  be  a 
scholar  you  must  come  into  the  conditions  of  the 
scholar.  Tell  children  what  you  say  about  writing 
and  laboring  with  the  hands !  Can  the  glass-worker 
make  glass  by  minding  it  at  odd  times  ?  Or  the 
chemist  analyze  soils?  Or  the  pilot  sail  a  ship 
through  the  Narrows  ?  And  the  greatest  of  arts, 
the  subtilest  and  of  most  miraculous  effect,  you 
fancy  is  to  be  practised  with  a  pen  in  one  hand  and 
a  crow-bar  in  the  other  ?  The  writer  shall  not  dig. 
To  be  sure,  he  may  work  in  the  garden,  but  his 
stay  there  must  be  measured,  not  by  the  needs  of 
the  garden,  but  of  the  study."  "  When  the  terres- 
trial corn,  beets,  onions,  and  tomatoes  flourish  [he 
writes  to  Miss  Fuller]  the  celestial  archetypes  do 
not." 

Another  small  reform  he  tried  about  this  time,  — 
partly  induced,  perhaps,  by  the  example  of  Mr.  Al- 
cott,  —  namely,  vegetarianism ;  but  soon  gave  it  up, 
finding  it  of  no  particular  advantage. 

In  any  effort  he  might  feel  called  upon  to  make 
towards  better  modes  of  living,  Emerson  was  with- 


EMERSON'S   OWN  EXPERIMENTS.        451 

out  help  from  the  love  of  innovation.  There  was,  to 
be  sure,  a  certain  presumption  in  his  mind  in  favor 
of  opinions  which  he  had  not  been  accustomed  to 
hold,  but,  when  it  came  to  practice,  he  was  slow  to 
quit  the  accustomed  ways  and  glad  to  return  to 
them.  Of  the  tendency  to  variation,  which  plays 
so  important  a  part  in  civil  as  in  natural  history, 
he  had  a  very  small  share.  He  liked  to  hear  of 
new  projects,  because  they  showed  activity  of  mind ; 
adoption  of  them  was  another  matter  ;  it  must  come 
from  a  distinct  call  in  the  individual,  and  not  from 
a  persuasion  that  such  and  such  a  course  is  advi- 
sable for  people  in  general.  Still  less  sympathy 
had  he  with  chiding,  or  with  the  people  (though 
some  of  them  were  his  friends)  who  made  a  duty 
of  refusing  to  vote  or  to  pay  taxes. 

"  Don't  run  amuck  against  the  world.  Have  a 
good  case  to  try  the  question  on.  As  long  as  the 
State  means  you  well,  do  not  refuse  your  pistareen. 
You  have  a  tottering  cause ;  ninety  parts  of  the 
pistareen  it  will  spend  for  what  you  also  think 
good,  ten  parts  for  mischief :  you  cannot  fight 
heartily  for  a  fraction.  Wait  till  you  have  a  good 
difference  to  join  issue  upon." 

"  The  non-resistants  go  about  and  persuade  good 
men  not  to  vote,  and  so  paralyze  the  virtue  that  is 
in  the  conservative  party,  and  thus  the  patriotic 
vote  in  the  country  is  swamped.  But,  though  the 
non-voting  is  right   in  the  non-resistants,  it  is  a 


452       RALPH    WALDO   EMERSON. 

patch  and  pedantry  in  their  converts  ;  not  in  their 
system,  not  a  just  expression  of  their  state  of 
mind." 

"  A thought  he  could  find  as  good  a  ground 

for  quarrel  in  the  State  tax  as  Socrates  did  in  the 
edict  of  the  Judges.  Then,  I  say,  be  consistent, 
and  never  more  put  an  apple  or  a  kernel  of  corn 
into  your  mouth.  Would  you  feed  the  devil? 
Say  boldly,  There  is  a  sword  sharp  enough  to  cut 
sheer  between  flesh  and  spirit,  and  I  will  use  it, 
and  not  any  longer  belong  to  this  double-faced, 
equivocating,  mixed  Jesuitical  universe.  The  abo- 
litionists should  resist,  because  they  are  literalists  ; 
they  know  exactly  what  they  object  to,  and  there 
is  a  government  possible  which  will  content  them. 
Remove  a  few  specified  grievances,  and  this  present 
commonwealth  will  suit  them.  They  are  the  new 
Puritans,  and  as  easily  satisfied.  But  you  nothing 
will  content.  No  government  short  of  a  monarchy 
consisting  of  one  king  and  one  subject  will  appease 
you.  Your  objection,  then,  to  the  State  of  Massa- 
chusetts is  deceptive.  Your  true  quarrel  is  with 
the  state  of  Man." 

(Journal.)  "  Jock  could  not  eat  rice,  because  it 
came  west ;  nor  molasses,  because  it  came  north  ; 
nor  put  on  leathern  shoes,  because  of  the  methods 
by  which  leather  was  procured  ;  nor  indeed  wear  a 
woolen  coat.  But  Dick  gave  him  a  gold  eagle, 
that  he  might  buy  wheat  and  rye,  maple  sugar  and 


POSITION   WITH  REGARD   TO  REFORM.    453 

an  oaken  chest,  and  said  :  This  gold  piece,  unhappy 
Jock,  is  molasses,  and  rice,  and  horse-hide,  and 
sheep-skin." 

"  The  philosophers  of  Fruitlands  have  such  an 
image  of  virtue  before  their  eyes  that  the  poetry  of 
man  and  nature  they  never  see  ;  the  poetry  that  is 
in  a  man's  life,  the  poorest  pastoral,  clownish  life, 
the  light  that  shines  on  a  man's  hat,  in  a  child's 
spoon,  the  sparkle  on  every  wave  and  on  every 
mote  of  dust,  they  see  not." 

His  position  with  regard  to  reform  is  summed 
up  in  the  following  fragment  of  a  letter,  without 
address  or  date,  but  written,  I  conjecture,  about 
1840  :  — 

My  dear  Friend,  —  My  silence  is  a  very  poor 
account  of  the  pleasure  your  letter  and  your  book 
gave  me,  and  I  feel  that  it  is  very  likely  to  be  mis- 
interpreted. .  .  .  Your  letter  was  very  grateful  to 
me,  and  spoke  the  language  of  a  pure  region.  That 
language  let  us  always  speak.  I  would  willingly 
never  hear  any  other.  It  blended  in  my  ear  with 
whatever  of  best  and  highest  I  have  heard  among 
my  companions,  and  fortifies  my  good  hope  of  what 
society  may  yet  realize  for  us.  A  few  persons  with 
whom  I  am  acquainted  do  indeed  stand  in  strong 
contrast  with  the  general  tone  of  social  life.  They 
think  society  faithless  and  base  :  society  in  its  turn 
reckons  them  dreamers  and  fanatics.     And  they 


454  RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

must  pass  for  such  until  they  can  make  their  fine 
words  good,  by  adding  to  their  criticism  on  the 
pretension  and  sensuality  of  men  a  brave  dem- 
onstration to  the  senses  of  their  own  problems. 
Certainly  virtue  has  its  arithmetic,  as  well  as  vice, 
and  the  pure  must  not  eat  the  bread  of  the  im- 
pure, but  must  live  by  the  sweat  of  their  own  face, 
and  in  all  points  make  their  philosophy  affirmative. 
Otherwise  it  tends  so  fast  downward  to  mere  rail- 
ing and  a  greater  falseness  than  that  which  it  rep- 
robates. The  first  impulse  of  the  newly  stricken 
mind,  stricken  by  light  from  heaven,  is  to  lament 
the  death  with  which  it  is  surrounded.  As  far  as 
the  horizon  it  can  scarcely  see  anything  else  than 
tombs  and  ghosts  and  a  sort  of  dead-alive  popula- 
tion. War,  war  without  end  seems  then  to  be  its 
lot ;  how  can  it  testify  to  the  truth,  to  life,  but  by 
affirming  in  all  places  that  death  is  here  and  death 
is  there,  and  all  which  has  a  name  to  live  is  dead  ? 
Yet  God  has  higher  and  better  methods.  Come 
out,  he  saith,  from  this  death,  once  and  forever. 
Not  by  hate  of  death,  but  by  new  and  larger  life 
is  death  to  be  vanquished.  In  thy  heart  is  life. 
Obey  that ;  it  is  inventive,  creative,  prodigal  of 
life  and  beauty.  Thence  heroism,  virtue,  redemp- 
tion, succor,  opportunity,  come  to  thee  and  to  all. 
...  If  thou  wouldst  have  the  sense  of  poverty, 
squalid  poverty,  bestir  thyself  in  endless  procla- 
mation of  war  against  the  sins  of  society,  thyself 


WOMAN'S  RIGHTS.  455 

appearing  to  thyself  the  only  exception.  If  thou 
wouldst  inherit  boundless  joyful  wealth,  leave  the 
war  to  such  as  like  it. 

His  opinion  of  the  later  agitation  for  according 
political  functions  to  women  is  indicated  in  the 
following  letter  to  a  lady  who  had  asked  him  to 
take  part  in  calling  a  convention  for  that  pur- 
pose :  — 

Concord,  September  18,  1850. 

Dear  Madam,  —  I  have  waited  a  very  long 
time  since  I  had  your  letter,  because  I  had  no  clear 
answer  to  give.  .  .  .  The  fact  of  the  political  and 
civil  wrongs  of  woman  I  deny  not.  If  women 
feel  wronged,  then  they  are  wronged.  But  the 
mode  of  obtaining  a  redress,  namely,  a  public  con- 
vention called  by  women,  is  not  very  agreeable  to 
me,  and  the  things  to  be  agitated  for  do  not  seem 
to  me  the  best.  Perhaps  I  am  superstitious  and 
traditional,  but,  whilst  I  should  vote  for  every 
franchise  for  women,  ...  if  women  asked  or  if 
men  denied  it,  I  should  not  wish  women  to  wish 
political  functions,  nor,  if  granted,  assume  them. 
I  imaarine  that  a  woman  whom  all  men  would  feel 
to  be  the  best  would  decline  such  privileges  if 
offered,  and  feel  them  to  be  rather  obstacles  to  her 
legitimate  influence.  Yet  I  confess  I  lay  no  great 
stress  on  my  opinion;  ...  at  all  events,  that  I 
may  not  stand  in  the  way  of  any  right,  you  are  at 


456  RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

liberty,  if  you  wish  it,  to  use  my  name  as  one  of 
the  inviters  of  the  convention,  though  I  shall  not 
attend  it,  and  shall  regret  that  it  is  not  rather  a 
private  meeting  of  thoughtful  persons  sincerely  in- 
terested, instead  of  what  a  public  meeting  is  pretty 
sure  to  be,  —  a  heartless  noise,  which  we  are  all 
ashamed  of  when  it  is  over. 

Yours  respectfully,  R.  W.  Emerson. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

THE    BUSINESS     OP    LECTURING. PECUNIARY   CIR- 
CUMSTANCES.   POEMS. DEATH    OP   HIS    FIRST 

CHILD. HIS    WAYS    WITH    HIS    CHILDREN. 

The  period  from  1835  to  1845,  —  the  thirty- 
second  to  the  forty-second  year  of  Emerson's  life, 
—  the  heyday  of  the  Boston  Transcendentalism, 
was  also  the  period  of  his  greatest  productivity. 
That  it  took  the  shape  of  lectures  was  due  very 
much  to  circumstances,  and  not  to  his  will.  There 
was  something  questionable,  if  not  repugnant,  to 
him  in  thus  bringing  his  thoughts  to  market.  "  I 
feel  [he  writes  in  his  journal]  that  my  life  is  friv- 
olous and  public  ;  I  am  as  one  turned  out-of-doors ; 
I  live  in  a  balcony  or  on  the  street ;  "  and  he  is 
constantly  resolving  to  withdraw.  But  there  was 
really  no  help  ;  his  family  expenses  were  increas- 
ing ;  other  children,  two  daughters  and  another  son, 
were  born  to  him ;  other  persons  besides  those  of 
his  household  were  partly  dependent  on  him ;  he 
kept  open  house  ;  and,  with  the  strictest  economy, 
his  outlay  outran  his  income.  He  published  dur- 
ing this  period  two  books  (the  first  and  second 
series  of  Essays),  which  afterwards  sold  well,  but 


458  RALPH   WALDO   EMERSON. 

they  brought  him  at  first  very  little  money.  Em- 
erson was  always  careful  about  his  expenditures, 
and  he  had  nothing  of  the  contempt  for  money 
which  many  persons  at  that  time  thought  becom- 
ing, but  he  had  no  skill  to  earn  it.  "  It  is  an  essen- 
tial element  to  our  knowledge  of  the  man  [he  says 
in  his  lecture  on  Wealth]  what,  was  his  opinion, 
practice,  and  success  in  regard  to  the  institution  of 
property ; "  and  in  this  regard  Emerson's  position 
has  not  always  been  understood.  The  pains  he 
gave  himself  with  bargaining  and  with  bookseller's 
accounts  for  Carlyle,  and  the  common  sense  he  al- 
ways showed  in  practical  affairs,  have  sometimes 
given  the  impression  that  he  was  a  shrewd  man  of 
business.  But  in  bargaining  for  himself  he  was 
easily  led  to  undervalue  his  own  claims  and  to  take 
an  exaggerated  view  of  those  of  the  other  party, 
and  so  usually  bought  dear  and  sold  cheap.  Amus- 
ing instances  could  be  given,  were  it  on  the  whole 
worth  while.  He  had,  it  is  true,  from  the  first,  the 
help  of  his  friend  Mr.  Abel  Adams  in  his  money 
matters,  and  afterwards  that  of  other  efficient 
helpers ;  but  he  thought  it  the  duty  of  every  man 
to  attend  to  these  things  for  himself  :  — 

"  The  gods  deal  very  strictly  with  us,  make  out 
quarter-bills  and  exact  specie  payment,  allow  no 
partnerships,  no  stock  companies,  no  arrangements, 
but  hold  us  personally  liable  to  the  last  cent  and 
mill.      The  youth,  charmed  with  his  intellectual 


THE  BUSINESS  OF  LECTURING.  459 

dream,  can  neither  do  this  nor  that :  '  My  father 
lived  in  the  care  of  land  and  improvements,  valued 
his  meadow,  his  mill-dam ;  why  must  I  be  worried 
with  hay  and  grass,  my  cranberry-field,  my  burned 
wood-lot,  my  broken  mill,  the  rubbish  lumber,  my 
crop,  my  trees  ?  Can  I  not  have  a  partner  ?  Why 
not  organize  our  new  society  of  poets  and  lovers, 
and  have  somebody  with  talent  for  business  to  look 
after  these  things,  —  some  deacons  of  trees  and 
grass  and  buckwheat  and  cranberries,  —  and  leave 
me  to  letters  and  philosophy  ? '  But  the  nettled 
gods  say,  Go  to  ruin  with  your  arrangements  ;  you 
alone  are  to  answer  for  your  things.  Leases  and 
covenants  shall  be  punctually  signed  and  sealed. 
Arithmetic  and  the  practical  study  of  cause  and 
effect  in  the  laws  of  Indian  corn  and  rye-meal  are 
as  useful  as  betting  is  in  second-class  society  to 
teach  accuracy  of  statement,  or  duelling,  in  coun- 
tries where  the  perceptions  are  obtuse,  to  hold  men 
to  courteous  behavior.  To  a  certain  extent  every 
individual  is  holden  to  the  study  and  management 
of  his  domestic  affairs.  It  is  a  peremptory  point 
of  virtue  that  his  independence  be  secured,  and 
there  is  no  more  decisive  training  for  all  manly 
habits  than  the  household.  Take  from  me  the  feel- 
ing that  I  must  depend  on  myself,  give  me  the 
least  hint  that  I  have  good  friends  and  backers 
there  in  reserve  who  will  gladly  help  me,  and  in- 
stantly I  relax  my  diligence.     I  obey  the  first  im- 


460       RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

pulse  of  generosity  that  is  to  cost  me  nothing,  and 
a  certain  slackness  will  creep  over  all  my  conduct 
of  my  affairs." 

Emerson's  management,  however,  did  not  tend 
to  the  positive  increase  of  his  worldly  goods.  "  My 
prudence  [he  says]  consists  in  avoiding  and  go- 
ing without ;  not  in  the  inventing  of  means  and 
methods  ;  not  in  adroit  steering  ;  not  in  gentle  re- 
pairing." For  the  filling  of  his  purse  the  only 
means  he  could  invent  was  lecturing.  As  his  name 
grew  more  widely  known  to  the  managers  of  the 
country  lyceums  in  New  England  and  then  at  the 
West,  he  could,  with  much  travelling,  collect  fees 
enough  to  fill  the  ever-yawning  gap  betwixt  income 
and  outgo,  though  never  much  more  than  fill  it. 
His  fees  in  those  days  were  small;  not  so  large, 
perhaps,  as  more  skilful  management  might  have 
made  them.  He  writes  to  Mr.  Alexander  Ireland 
in  1847  that  the  most  he  ever  received  was  $570 
for  ten  lectures ;  in  Boston,  fifty  dollars ;  in  the 
country  lyceums,  ten  dollars  and  travelling  ex- 
penses. Then,  from  the  liberal  style  of  his  house 
and  his  housekeeping,  he  passed  with  his  neighbors 
for  a  well-to-do  man,  and  paid,  his  friends  thought, 
more  than  a  fair  proportion  of  the  town  taxes.  So 
it  came  about  that  all  these  years  in  the  forties 
were  years  of  unremitted  watchfulness  and  some- 
times anxiety  to  keep  out  of  debt.  This  appears 
from  time  to  time  in  his  letters  to  his  brother  Wil- 
liam in  New  York :  — 


THE  BUSINESS  OF  LECTURING.  461 

"  August  3,  1839.  Carlyle's  accounts  have  re- 
quired what  were  for  me  very  considerable  ad- 
vances, and  so  have  impoverished  me  in  the  cur- 
rent months  very  much.  I  shall  learn  one  day,  if 
I  live  much  longer,  to  keep  square  with  the  world, 
which  is  essential  to  my  freedom  of  mind. 

"  August  17.  I  see  plainly  I  shall  have  no 
choice  about  lecturing  again  next  winter.  I  must 
do  it.  Here  in  Concord  they  send  me  my  tax-bill 
for  the  current  year,  $161.73. 

"  April  4, 1840.  I  got  home  yesterday  morning. 
I  crowed  unto  myself  on  the  way  home  on  the 
strength  of  my  three  hundred  dollars  earned  in 
New  York  and  Providence.  So  should  I  pay  my 
debts.  But  pride  must  have  a  fall :  the  Atlas 
Bank  declared  no  dividend ;  so  I  find  myself  pretty 
nearly  where  I  was  before.  At  Providence  I  might 
have  enlarged  my  receipts  by  undertaking  a  course 
of  lectures  on  my  own  account,  after  my  six  were 
ended  ;  but  I  preferred  not. 

"April  20, 1840.  I  suppose  that  I  am  now  at  the 
bottom  of  my  wheel  of  debt  and,  shall  not  hastily 
venture  lower.  But  how  could  I  help  printing 
'  Chartism,'  103  pages,  sent  to  me  for  that  express 
purpose,  and  with  the  encouragement  of  the  book- 
sellers? They  will  give  T.  C.  fifteen  cents  per 
copy. 

"  May  11,  1840.  J.  Munroe  &  Co.,  in  making 
out  the  account  of  T.  C.  [find]  he  was  in  my  debt 


462       RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

between  six  and  seven  hundred  dollars,  although 
some  important  amounts  paid  by  me  were  not 
entered  in  the  account. 

"  October  7,  1841.  This  winter  I  must  hang 
out  my  bush  again,  and  try  to  sell  good  wine  of 
Castaly  at  the  Masonic  Temple.  Failing  there,  I 
will  try  the  west  end  of  New  York,  or  of  Philadel- 
phia, or,  as  I  have  lately  been  challenged  to  do,  of 
Baltimore. 

"  October  16,  1843.  I  think  not  to  lecture  by 
courses  this  winter ;  only  by  scattering  guerillas, 
and  see  if  I  can  make  a  new  book  [the  second 
series  of  Essays],  of  which  the  materials  collect 
themselves  day  by  day.  Yet  I  am  poor  enough  to 
need  to  lecture." 

And  lecture  he  did,  every  winter  but  one,  from 
the  time  he  came  to  Concord,  so  long  as  he  was 
able ;  gradually  extending  his  field  from  year  to 
year  towards  the  West. 

Some  of  the  lectures  of  the  course  on  the  "  Pres- 
ent Age,"  in  1839-40,  were  repeated  in  Provi- 
dence, R.  I.,  and  in  New  York,  as  well  as  near 
Boston.  The  next  winter,  1840-41,  he  seems  to 
have  turned  away  from  lecturing  to  the  preparation 
of  a  volume  of  essays,  which  came  out  in  the  spring 
of  1841.  In  the  summer,  being  asked  to  deliver  an 
address  at  Waterville  College,  Maine,  he  went  down 
to  Nantasket  for  a  breath   of  sea-air.     Emerson, 


THE  BUSINESS  OF  LECTURING.  463 

though  he  was  born  on  the  edge  of  the  salt  water, 
was  a  stranger  to  the  sea,  and  this  visit  made  a 
strong  impression  on  him. 

Worrick's  Hotel, 
Nantasket  Beach,  July  13,  1841. 

Dear  Lidian  :  .  .  .  I  find  this  place  very  good 
for  me  on  many  accounts,  perhaps  as  good  as  any 
public  place  or  house  full  of  strangers  could  be. 
I  read  and  write,  and  have  a  scheme  of  my  speech 
in  my  head.  I  read  Plato,  I  swim,  and  be  it  known 
unto  you  I  did  verily  catch  with  hook  and  line  yes- 
terday morning  two  haddocks,  a  cod,  a  flounder, 
and  a  pollock,  and  a  perch.  .  .  .  The  sea  is  great, 
but  reminds  me  all  the  time  of  Malta,  Sicily,  and 
my  Mediterranean  experiences,  which  are  the  most 
that  I  know  of  the  ocean ;  for  the  sea  is  the  same 
in  summer  all  the  world  over.  Nothing  can  be  so 
bland  and  delicious  as  it  is.  I  had  fancied  some- 
thing austere  and  savage,  a  touch  of  iron  in  it, 
which  it  hardly  makes  good.  I  love  the  dear  chil- 
dren, and  miss  their  prattle.  .  .  .  Take  great  care 
of  yourself,  and  send  me  immediate  word  that  you 
are  well  and  hope  everything  good.  That  hope 
shall  the  Infinite  Benevolence  always  justify. 
Your  affectionate  husband, 

Waldo  E. 


464       RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

TO    MISS    FULLER. 

My  dear  Margaret  :  .  .  .  I  am  here  making 
a  sort  of  peace-offering  to  the  god  of  waters, 
against  whom,  ever  since  my  childhood,  imprisoned 
in  streets  and  hindered  from  fields  and  woods,  I 
have  kept  a  sort  of  grudge.  Until  lately  every 
landscape  that  had  in  it  the  smallest  piece  of  the 
sea  seemed  to  me  a  little  vulgarized  (shall  I  say?) 
and  not  quite  festal.  Now  a  surfeit  of  acorns  and 
whortleberry-pastures  has  restored  the  equilibrium 
of  my  eyes  and  ears,  and  this  beach  and  grand  sea- 
line  receive  me  with  a  sort  of  paternal  love.  .  .  . 
I  gaze  and  listen  by  day,  I  gaze  and  listen  by 
night,  and  the  sea  and  I  shall  be  good  friends  all 
the  rest  of  my  life.  I  quite  comprehend  how 
Greece  should  be  Greece,  lying  in  the  arms  of  that 
sunny  sea.  Cut  off  its  backwoods  from  New  Eng- 
land, and  it  would  be  more  likely  to  repeat  that 
history  of  happy  genius.  Is  it  these  few  foolish 
degrees  of  the  thermometer  that  make  England 
(Old  and  New)  so  tough  and  mighty  instead  of  so 
graceful  and  keen  ?  Really  this  summer  bay  glistens 
before  my  eyes  so  azure  and  spiritual  that  I  won- 
der to  think  that  the  only  question  it  suggests  to 
the  tall  and  tanned  denizens  along  these  sounding 
shores  is,  "How's  fish?"  And  inland,  the  same 
question,  a  little  magnified  and  superficially  varied, 
makes  Wall  Street  and  State  Street.     But  Attica 


THE  BUSINESS  OF  LECTURING.  465 

and  Peloponnesus  were  not  so  easily  pleased.  I 
have  come  down  here  with  by-ends,  else  I  should  not 
be  of  the  true  New  England  blood  I  celebrate.  I 
hope  to  find  an  oration  under  some  of  the  boulders, 
or,  more  probably,  within  some  of  the  spouting- 
horns  of  this  shore. 

To  another  friend :  — 

"  I  like  the  sea.  What  an  ancient,  pleasant  sound 
is  this  of  the  rubbing  of  the  sea  against  the  land : 
this  satiating  expanse,  too,  —  the  only  thing  on 
earth  that  compares  with  the  sky  in  contenting  the 
eye,  which  it  more  contents  beheld  from  the  shore 
than  on  the  ocean.  And  then  these  pretty  gliding 
columnar  sail  which  so  enliven  and  adorn  the  field." 

July  21. 

Dear  Lidian  :  .  .  .  I  am  very  glad  you  get  on 
so  happily  and  hopefully  at  home,  though  I  do  not 
like  what  you  say  of  mother's  fasting  and  languor 
in  the  heats.  It  is  time  her  son  should  come  home. 
I  wish  he  was  a  better  son ;  but  Elizabeth  will 
come  back  again  soon,  whose  refreshing  influences 
none  of  us  can  quite  resist.  I  have  read  Henry's 
verses  thrice  over,  with  increasing  pleasure ;  they 
are  very  good.  I  wish  I  had  any  to  return,  but 
the  beach  has  not  yielded  me  any.  If  I  did  not 
remember  that  all  my  life  long  I  had  thought  To- 
day always  unprofitable  and  the  muses  of  the  Pres- 


466  RALPH    WALDO  EMERSON. 

ent  Hour  always  unkind,  I  should  think  myself  on 
this  present  21st  of  July  under  some  ban,  that 
nothing  tuneful  and  nothing  wise  should  visit  my 
heart  or  be  spoken  by  my  lips.  But  the  saying 
of  the  stream  is  the  motto  also  of  men :  "  And, 
the  more  falls  I  get,  move  faster  on."  We  fat  on 
our  failures  and  by  our  dumbness  we  speak.  .  .  . 
Thanks  again  for  the  news  from  the  nursery.  All 
angels  dwell  with  the  boy  and  the  girl,  and  with  all 
who  speak  and  behave  to  them  worthily !  In  the 
pocket  of  the  coat  I  will  put  a  pebble  from  the 
beach  for  Waldo.  .  .  . 

To  his  brother  William,  after  his  return  home :  — 

Concord,  July  27,  1841. 

At  Nantasket  I  found  delicious  and  bracing  airs 
and  sunniest  waters,  which  reminded  me  of  nothing 
but  my  Mediterranean  experiences ;  for  I  have 
never  seen  so  much  of  the  sea  before  at  home.  I 
hoped  there  to  write  an  oration,  but  only  my  out- 
line grew  larger  and  larger,  until  it  seemed  to  defy 
all  possibility  of  completion.  Desperate  of  success 
abroad,  I  rushed  home  again ;  having  before  found 
that  I  could  write  out  of  no  inkstand  but  my  own. 
Perhaps  not  out  of  that. 

Yet,  in  the  Waterville  address,  delivered  on  the 
11th  of  August,  we  seem  to  find  a  touch  of  the 
sea,  "  inexact  and  boundless,"  yet  distinct  in  its  tone 


THE  BUSINESS  OF  LECTURING.  467 

of  suggestion ;  and  Emerson  himself,  when  Mr. 
Whipple  long  afterwards  praised  it  to  him,  con- 
fessed that  it  was  "  the  heat  and  happiness  of  what  I 
thought  a  real  inspiration  "  that  was  extinguished 
by  the  cold  reception  which  the  discourse  met,  and 
the  warning  of  the  presiding  minister  in  his  clos- 
ing prayer  against  its  heresies  and  wild  notions.1 

TO    MISS    FULLER. 

Concord,  September  8,  1841. 
Dear  Margaret  :  ...  At  Waltham  I  promised 
to  consider  and  ascertain  whether  I  could  supply 
you  with  some  prose  pages  in  a  fortnight  from  Phi 
Beta  Kappa  night.  After  turning  over  many  top- 
ics, I  fancied  that  I  might  possibly  furnish  you 
with  a  short  article  on  Landor,  and  I  am  now  try- 
ing to  dissolve  that  pearl  or  opal  in  a  crucible  that 
is  perhaps  too  small ;  the  fire  may  be  too  low,  or 
the  menstruum  too  weak.  But  something  I  will 
send  you  on  Friday  or  Saturday  at  farthest.  .  .  . 
I  have  nothing  to  say ;  not  a  mouse  stirring  in  all 
the  horizon.     Not  a  letter  comes  to  me  from  any 

1  Recollections  of  Eminent  Men,  etc.  By  Edwin  Percy  Whip- 
ple. Boston,  1887  :  p.  145.  The  same  story  is  told  of  the  Middle- 
bury  (Vt. )  address,  four  years  later.  Possibly,  in  his  account  to 
Mr.  Whipple,  Emerson  confounded  them  together.  The  minis- 
ter's prayer  was  that  they  might  be  delivered  from  ever  again 
hearing  such  transcendental  nonsense  from  the  sacred  desk.  Em- 
erson, the  story  goes,  asked  the  name  of  the  clergyman,  and  said, 
' '  He  seems  a  very  conscientious,  plain-spoken  man. ' ' 


468       RALPH    WALDO  EMERSON. 

quarter ;  not  a  new  book ;  not  a  vision  out  of  the 
sky  of  night  or  noon.  And  yet  I  remember  that 
the  autumn  has  arrived,  and  already  I  have  felt  his 
infusions  in  the  air,  —  wisest  and  preciousest  of 
seasons.  Presently  it  will  be  —  will  it  not  ?  —  the 
rage  to  die.  After  so  much  precocity,  apathy,  and 
spiritual  bankruptcy,  the  age  of  suicide  may  be 
shortly  expected.  We  shall  die  with  all  manner  of 
enthusiasm.  Nothing  at  the  book-shops  but  Wer- 
ther,  and  Cato  by  Plutarch.  Buddhism  cometh  in 
like  a  flood.  Sleep  is  better  than  waking,  death 
than  life.  The  serpent  of  the  pyramids  has  begun 
to  swallow  himself.  The  scorpion-stung  scorpion 
is  the  only  cipher  and  motto.  .  .  . 

November  9.  ...  I  read  little,  I  write  little.  I 
seek,  but  with  only  my  usual  gypsy  diligence,  to 
drive  my  loitering  troops  metaphysical  into  pha- 
lanx, into  line,  into  section ;  but  the  principle  of 
infinite  repulsion  and  every  one  for  himself,  and 
the  hatred  of  society  which  animates  their  master, 
animates  them  to  the  most  beautiful  defiance. 
These  are  the  asserters  of  immortality ;  these  are 
they  who  by  implication  prove  the  length  of  the 
day  in  which  such  agents  as  we  shall  work ;  for  in 
less  than  millenniums  what  towers  could  be  built, 
what  brick  could  be  laid,  if  every  straw  was  enemy 
to  every  straw !  Gray  clouds,  short  days,  moon- 
less nights,  a  drowsy  sense  of  being  dragged  easily 
somewhere  by  that  locomotive  Destiny,  which,  never 


THE  BUSINESS  OF  LECTURING.  469 

seen,  we  yet  know  must  be  hitched  on  to  the  cars 
wherein  we  sit,  —  that  is  all  that  appears  in  these 
November  weeks.  Let  us  hope  that,  as  often  as 
we  have  defamed  days  which  turned  out  to  be  ben- 
efactors, and  were  whispering  oracles  in  the  very 
droning  nurses'  lullabies  which  soothed  us  to  sleep, 
so  this  may  prove  a  profitable  time.  .  .  . 

This  was  the  time  of  Emerson's  Transcendental 
apogee,  the  extreme  of  his  impulse  to  withdraw 
from  lecturing  and  betake  himself  to  solitary  con- 
templation. Henceforth  he  lectured  diligently. 
In  the  course  on  "  The  Times,"  in  the  winter  1841- 
42,  his  impatience  of  the  "universal  whiggery," 
that  is,  of  decent,  self-complacent  routine,  is  bal- 
anced by  a  more  explicit  recognition  of  the  claims 
of  the  actual  order  of  things,  not  merely  as  inev- 
itable, but  as  the  germ  of  a  better.  Three  of  these 
lectures,  "  The  Times,"  "  The  Conservative,"  and 
"The  Transcendentalist,"  were  published  in  the 
Dial,  and  afterwards  in  the  first  volume  of  his 
collected  writings.  The  course  was  repeated  in 
Providence,  in  New  York,  and  elsewhere.  In  1843 
he  read  five  lectures  on  "  New  England  "  in  New 
York,  Philadelphia,  Baltimore,  and  other  places, 
spending  the  whole  winter  away  from  home. 


470  RALPH   WALDO   EMERSON. 

Baltimore,  January  7,  1843. 
Deae  Margaret,  —  I  received  in  Boston  your 
packet  for  William  Channing,  and  the  next  morn- 
ing I  left  it  with  my  brother  in  New  York.  I 
spent  one  night  at  Staten  Island  [with  William] 
and  two  nights  in  Philadelphia,  and  am  here  ready 
to  attend  high  mass  in  the  Cathedral  to-morrow 
morning.  In  Philadelphia  I  had  great  pleasure  in 
chatting  with  Furness,  for  we  had  ten  or  a  dozen 
years  to  go  over  and  compare  notes  upon.  .  .  .  And 
he  is  the  happiest  companion.  Those  are  good 
companions  to  whom  we  have  the  keys.  How  true 
and  touching  in  the  romance  is  the  saying,  "  But 
you  can  never  be  to  them  Vich  Ian  Vohr"  !  and 
each  of  us  is  an  unsuppliable  Vich  Ian  Vohr  to 
somebody.  Furness  is  my  dear  gossip,  almost  a 
gossip  for  the  gods,  there  is  such  a  repose  of  worth 
and  honor  in  the  man.  He  is  a  hero-worshipper, 
and  so  collects  the  finest  anecdotes,  and  told  very 
good  stories  of  Mrs.  Butler,  Dr.  Channing,  etc.  I 
meant  to  add,  a  few  lines  above,  that  the  tie  of 
school-fellow  and  playmate  from  the  nursery  on- 
ward is  the  true  clanship  and  key  that  cannot  be 
given  to  another.  At  Mrs.  Morrison's,  last  night,  I 
heard  Knoop  and  the  Sefiora  de  Goni  ;  which  was 
very  good  exercise,  —  " me  satis  exercuisti"  said 
the  honest  professor  to  the  young  Sam.  Clarke  when 
he  wrangled,  —  and  we  are  all  glad  to  be  turned 
into  strings  and  finely  and  thoroughly  played  upon. 


THE   BUSINESS  OF  LECTURING.  471 

But  the  guitar  is  a  mean,  small-voiced  instrument, 
and  but  for  the  dignity  that  attaches  to  every  na- 
tional instrument,  and  its  fine  form,  would  not  be 
tolerated,  would  it?  Very  hard  work  and  very 
small  cry,  Senora. 

Sunday,  p.  m.  This  morning  I  went  to  the 
Cathedral  to  hear  mass,  with  much  content.  It  is 
so  dignified  to  come  where  the  priest  is  nothing 
and  the  people  nothing,  and  an  idea  for  once  ex- 
cludes these  impertinences.  The  chanting  priest, 
the  pictured  walls,  the  lighted  altar,  the  surpliced 
boys,  the  swinging  censer,  every  whiff  of  which  I 
inhaled,  brought  all  Rome  again  to  mind.  And 
Rome  can  smell  so  far !  It  is  a  dear  old  church, 
—  the  Roman,  I  mean,  —  and  to-day  I  detest  the 
Unitarians  and  Martin  Luther  and  all  the  parlia- 
ment of  Barebones.  We  understand  so  well  the 
joyful  adhesion  of  the  Winckelmanns  and  Tiecks 
and  Schlegels,  —  just  as  we  seize  with  joy  the  fine 
romance  and  toss  the  learned  Heeren  out  of  the 
window  ;  unhappily  with  the  same  sigh  as  belongs 
to  the  romance,  —  "  Ah,  that  one  word  of  it  were 
true !  "  One  small  element  of  new  views  has,  how- 
ever, got  into  the  American  cathedral,  namely, 
pews  ;  and  after  service  I  detected  another,  a  rail- 
road which  runs  from  one  angle  of  the  altar  down 
into  the  broad  aisle,  for  the  occasional  transporta- 
tion of  a  pulpit.  We  are  as  good  for  that  as  the 
French,  who  pared  apples  at  dinner  with  little  guil- 


472       RALPH    WALDO   EMERSON. 

lotines.  ...  In  Baltimore,  though  I  have  enquired 
as  diligently  as  Herod  the  king  after  holy  chil- 
dren, I  have  not  yet  heard  of  any  in  whom  the 
spirit  of  the  great  gods  dwelleth.  And  yet,  with- 
out doubt,  such  are  in  every  street.  Travelling  I 
always  find  instructive,  but  its  lessons  are  of  no 
sudden  application.  I  cannot  use  them  all  in  less 
than  seven  transmigrations  of  Indur,  hardly  one  of 
them  in  this  present  mortal  and  visible.  .  .  . 

Your  friend,         Waldo. 

TO    HIS    WIFE. 

January  8,  1843. 

To-day  I  heard  high  mass  in  the  Cathedral 
here,  and  with  great  pleasure.  It  is  well  for  my 
Protestantism  that  we  have  no  cathedral  in  Con- 
cord ;  E.  H.  and  I  should  be  confirmed  in  a  fort- 
night.   The  Unitarian  church  forgets  that  men  are 

poets.     Even  Mr. himself  does  not  bear  it  in 

mind. 

(Journal.)  "The  Catholic  religion  respects 
masses  of  men  and  ages.  It  is  in  harmony  with 
nature,  which  loves  the  race  and  ruins  the  individ- 
ual. The  Protestant  has  his  pew,  which,  of  course, 
is  the  first  step  to  a  church  for  every  individual 
citizen,  a  church  apiece." 

In  1844-45  he  lectured  in  many  places,  and  still 


THE  BUSINESS  OF  LECTURING.  473 

more  widely  in  1845-46,  giving,  this  winter,  the 
course  on  "  Representative  Men."  He  complains 
in  his  journal  of  "  the  long,  weary  absences  at  New 
York  and  Philadelphia.  I  am  a  bad  traveller; 
the  hotels  are  mortifications  to  all  sense  of  well- 
being  in  me.  The  people  who  fill  them  oppress 
me  with  their  excessive  virility,  and  it  would  soon 
become  intolerable  but  for  a  few  friends,  who,  like 
women,  temper  the  arid  mass.  Henry  James  was 
true  comfort ;  wise,  gentle,  polished,  with  heroic 
manners,  and  a  serenity  like  the  sun. 

"  I  was  born  to  stay  at  home,  not  to  ramble.  I 
was  not  made  for  an  absentee.  I  have  no  thoughts, 
no  aims,  and  seem  never  to  have  had  any.  I  must 
cower  down  into  my  own  fens  presently,  and  con- 
sult the  gods  again." 

He  writes  to  a  friend  from  one  of  these  lectur- 
ing-tours :  — 

"  It  is  strange  how  people  act  on  me.  I  am  not 
a  pith-ball  nor  raw  silk,  yet  to  human  electricity  is 
no  piece  of  humanity  so  sensible.  I  am  forced  to 
live  in  the  country,  if  it  were  only  that  the  streets 
make  me  desolate.  Yet  if  I  talk  with  a  man  of 
sense  and  kindness  I  am  imparadised  at  once. 
Pity  that  the  light  of  the  heart  should  resemble 
the  light  of  the  eyes  in  being  so  external,  and  not 
to  be  retained  when  the  shutters  are  closed.  Now 
that  I  am  in  the  mood  for  confession,  you  must 
even  hear  the  whole.     It  is  because  I  am  so  ill  a. 


474  RALPH    WALDO  EMERSON. 

member  of  society ;  because  men  turn  me,  by  their 
mere  presence,  to  wood  and  to  stone ;  because  I  do 
not  get  the  lesson  of  the  world  where  it  is  set  be- 
fore me,  that  I  need  more  than  others  to  run  out 
into  new  places  and  multiply  my  chances  for  obser- 
vation and  communion.  Therefore,  whenever  I 
get  into  debt,  which  usually  happens  once  a  year, 
I  must  make  the  plunge  into  this  great  odious  river 
of  travellers,  into  these  wild  eddies  of  hotels  and 
boarding-houses,  —  farther,  into  these  dangerous 
precincts  of  charlatanism,  namely,  lectures ;  that 
out  of  all  the  evil  I  may  draw  a  little  good,  in  the 
correction  which  every  journey  makes  to  my  exag- 
geration, in  the  plain  facts  I  get,  and  in  the  rich 
amends  I  draw  for  many  listless  days  in  the  dear 
society  of  here  and  there  a  wise  and  great  heart. 
I  hate  the  details,  but  the  whole  foray  into  a  city 
teaches  me  much." 

Philadklphia,  January  20,  1843. 

Dear  Lidian  :  .  .  .  I  find  that  advantage  as 
before  in  wandering  so  far  from  home,  that  I  be- 
come acquainted  with  "  the  Indians  who  have  the 
Spirit."  ...  I  have  seen  no  winter  since  I  left  New 
York,  but  the  finest  October  weather  prevails.  The 
bland  speech  and  courtly  manners  of  these  people, 
too,  is  as  kindly  a  contrast  to  our  more  selfish  man- 
ners. If  I  ask  my  way  in  the  street,  there  is  sure 
to  be  some  gracefulness  in  conveying  the  informa- 


THE  BUSINESS  OF  LECTURING.  475 

tion.  And  the  service  of  the  negroes  in  the  hotels 
is  always  courteous.  It  looks  as  if  it  would  be  a 
long  time  before  I  get  home,  and  I  am  getting  tired 
of  my  picnic.  I  learn  something  all  the  time,  but 
I  write  nothing,  and,  as  usual,  vow  each  week  that 
I  will  not  play  Signor  Blitz  again.  So  you  must 
find  out,  dear  wife,  how  to  starve  gracefully,  — 
you  and  I  and  all  of  us,  another  year.  Very  re- 
freshing is  it  to  me  to  know  that  I  have  a  good 
home.  ...  So  peace  be  with  you,  and  joy ! 

Yours,  Waldo. 

TO    WILLIAM    EMERSON. 

Philadelphia,  January  8,  1843. 
I  had  a  very  comfortable  ride  hither  from  the 
cabin  of  the  Jersey  ferry-boat,  and  soon  got  snugly 
ensconced  in  the  warm  entrails  of  an  argument  on 
the  divine  decrees  with  a  thoroughbred  Presby- 
terian  clergyman.      B was  here,   but   I  had 

tasted  him,  and  preferred  the  bear's  meat  which 
we  can  never  get  at  home.  I  can  very  well  afford 
to  set  up  this  lottery.  I  can  never  draw  quite  a 
blank ;  for  though  I  wish  money  to-day,  I  wish  ex- 
perience always,  and  a  good  failure  is  always  a  good 
experience,  which  is  mother  of  much  poetry  and 
prose  for  me. 


476  RALPH  WALDO  EMERSON. 

TO    MISS    FULLER. 

Poktland,  December  21,  1842. 
.  .  .  Many  and  many  a  mile,  nothing  but  snow 
and  pine-trees  ;  and  in  travelling  it  is  possible 
sometimes  to  have  a  superfluity  of  these  fine  ob- 
jects ;  the  villages  few  and  cold  as  the  Tobolsk  and 
Irkutsk  of  Siberia,  and  I  bethought  myself,  as  I 
stared  into  the  white  night,  whether  I  had  not  com- 
mitted some  misdemeanor  against  some  Czar,  and, 
while  I  dreamed  of  Maine,  was  bound  a  thousand 
versts  into  Arctic  Asia.  .  .  .  Here  have  I  seen, 
besides  others,  Judge ,  who  was  lately  a  com- 
missioner on  the  part  of  Maine  on  the  Ashburton 
negotiations ;  a  very  sensible  person,  but,  what  is 
remarkable,  called  a  good  Democrat  here,  whilst 
his  discourse  is  full  of  despondency  on  the  entire 
failure  of  republican  institutions  in  this  country : 
they  have  neither  cherished  talent  nor  virtue ;  they 
have  never  had  large  nor  even  prudent  aims,  —  none 
but  low  personal  ones,  and  the  lowest ;  and  the  offi- 
cers of  government  are  taken  every  year  from  a  lower 
and  lower  class.  And  the  root  of  the  whole  evil 
is  universal  suffrage.  .  .  .  Every  man  deserves  an 
answer,  but  few  get  one.  Words  are  a  pretty  game, 
but  Experience  is  the  only  mathematician  who  can 
solve  problems ;  and  yet  I  amused  the  man  with 
my  thrum  that  anarchy  is  the  form  and  theocracy 
the  fact  to  which  we  and  all  people  are  tending, 


THE  BUSINESS  OF  LECTURING.  477 

which  seemed  to  him  a  pretty  soap-bubble.  I 
never  see  people  without  observing  that  strength  or 
weakness  is  a  kind  of  atmospheric  fact :  if  a  man  is 
so  related  to  the  topic  and  the  by-standers  that 
he  happily  expresses  himself,  well ;  if  not,  he  is  a 
fool,  — quite  independently  of  the  relations  of  both 
to  reason  and  truth.  Plainly  we  are  cackling 
geese  when  we  do  not  feel  relations,  let  the  Abso- 
lute be  as  grand  as  he  will.  Therefore  let  time 
and  space  stand,  and  man  and  meeting-house,  and 
Washington  and  Paris,  and  phrenology  and  mes- 
merism, and  the  old  Beelzebub  himself ;  for  rela- 
tions shall  rule,  and  realities  shall  strike  sail. 

It  was  not  merely  the  incidental  annoyances  or 
the  disturbance  to  his  habits  that  made  it  repug- 
nant to  Emerson  "  to  go  peddling  with  my  literary 
pack  of  notions ; "  but  there  was  also  a  recoil  from 
what  seemed  like  a  profanation  of  things  dear  and 
sacred.  "  Are  not  lectures  a  kind  of  Peter  Parley's 
story  of  Uncle  Plato,  and  a  puppet  show  of  the  El- 
eusinian  mysteries  ?  " 

He  felt  this  sometimes  even  in  the  select  conver- 
sations :  — 

TO    MISS    FULLER. 

Concord,  March  14,  1841. 
The  young  people  wished  to  know  what  possessed 
me  to  tease  you  with  so  much  prose,  and  becloud 
the  fine  conversation.     I  could  only  answer  that  it 


478  RALPH    WALDO  EMERSON. 

was  not  an  acute  fit  of  Monday  evening,  but  was 
chronic  and  constitutional  with  me.  I  asked  them 
in  my  turn  when  they  had  heard  me  talk  anything 
else.  So  I  silenced  them.  But  how  to  reply  to 
your  fine  Eastern  pearls  with  chuckstones  of  gran- 
ite and  slate  ?  There  is  nothing  for  it  but  to  pay 
you  the  grand  compliment,  which  you  deserve  if  we 
can  pay  it,  of  speaking  the  truth.  Even  prose  I 
honor  in  myself  and  others  very  often  as  an  awk- 
ward worship  of  truth ;  it  is  the  plashing  and  strug- 
gling in  the  water  of  one  who  would  learn  to  swim. 
I  know  but  one  solution  to  my  nature  and  relations, 
which  I  find  in  remembering  the  joy  with  which  in 
my  boyhood  I  caught  the  first  hint  of  the  Berke- 
leyan  philosophy,  and  which  I  certainly  never  lost 
sight  of  afterwards.  There  is  a  foolish  man  who 
goes  up  and  down  the  country  giving  lectures  on 
electricity :  this  one  secret  he  has,  to  draw  a  spark 
out  of  every  object,  from  desk  and  lamp  and  wooden 
log  and  the  farmer's  blue  frock ;  and  by  this  he 
gets  his  living.  Well,  I  was  not  an  electrician,  but 
an  idealist.  I  could  see  that  there  was  a  Cause  be- 
hind every  stump  and  clod,  and,  by  the  help  of  some 
fine  words,  could  make  every  old  wagon  and  wood- 
pile and  stone-wall  oscillate  a  little  and  threaten 
to  dance ;  nay,  give  me  fair  field,  and  the  select- 
men of  Concord  and  the  Reverend  Pound-me-down 
himself  began  to  look  unstable  and  vaporous.  You 
saw  me  do  my  feat,  it  fell  in  with  your  own  studies, 


poems.  479 

and  you  would  give  me  gold  and  pearls.  Now 
there  is  this  difference  between  the  electrician  — 
Mr.  Quimby  is  his  name  ?  I  never  saw  him  —  and 
the  idealist,  namely,  that  the  spark  is  to  that  phi- 
losopher a  toy,  but  the  dance  is  to  the  idealist  terror 
and  beauty,  life  and  light.  It  is  and  it  ought  to 
be,  and  yet  sometimes  there  is  a  sinful  empiric  who 
loves  exhibition  too  much.  This  insight  is  so  pre- 
cious to  society  that  where  the  least  glimmer  of  it 
appears,  all  men  should  befriend  and  protect  it  for 
its  own  sake.  You,  instead  of  wondering  at  my 
cloistered  and  unfriendly  manners,  should  defend 
me.  You  and  those  others  who  are  dear  to  me 
should  be  so  rightly  my  friends  as  never  to  suffer 
me  for  a  moment  to  attempt  the  game  of  wits  and 
fashionists,  —  no,  nor  even  that  of  those  you  call 
friends ;  but,  by  expecting  of  me  a  song  of  laws 
and  causes  only,  should  make  me  noble  and  the 
encoiirager  of  your  nobility.   .  .  . 

To  lecturing  he  could  reconcile  himself,  and  even 
find  in  it  a  good  side ;  but  it  was  after  all  a  pis 
alter,  an  expedient,  not  the  mode  of  utterance  to 
which  he  aspired.  That  was  verse ;  not  so  much, 
I  think,  from  a  direct  impulse  towards  rhythmical 
expression  as  for  the  sake  of  freer  speech ;  because, 
he  says,  we  may  speak  ideal  truth  in  verse,  but  we 
may  not  in  prose.  It  was  "  the  harmony  of  laws 
and  causes,"  not  the  music  of  words  and  images, 


480  RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

that  primarily  attracted  him ;  the  purely  poetical 
impulse  was  so  heavily  weighted  with  thought 
that  it  seemed  to  him  feeble,  and  he  lamented  his 
hard  fate  in  being  only  "half  a  bard,"  or,  as 
he  wrote  to  Carlyle,1  "  not  a  poet,  but  a  lover  of 
poetry  and  poets,  and  merely  serving  as  writer,  etc., 
in  this  empty  America,  before  the  arrival  of  the 
poets." 

Nevertheless,  poems  of  his  had  been  handed 
about  amongst  intimate  friends,  and  there  were 
already  those  who  found  in  them  a  supreme  attrac- 
tion. James  Freeman  Clarke  had  got  leave  to 
publish  three  of  them  in  the  Western  Messenger 
(Louisville,  Kentucky),  of  which  he  was  then 
the  editor,  and  now  applications  came  from  the 
Boston  publishers. 

"  Yesterday  [Emerson  writes  to  his  brother  Wil- 
liam, December  3,  1843],  for  the  second  time,  I 
had  an  application  from  the  bookseller  to  print  a 
volume  of  poems  ;  on  which  proposition  —  which 
it  seems  he  makes  at  the  instance  of  others  —  I 
might  sit  a  little,  —  I,  uncertain  always  whether  I 
have  one  true  spark  of  that  fire  which  burns  in 
verse.  When  such  a  request  comes  to  me  I  am  in- 
clined to  cut  my  customary  cords,  and  run  to  woods 
and  deserts,  into  Berkshire,  into  Maine,  and  dwell 
alone,  to  know  whether  I  might  not  yield  myself 
up  to  some  higher,  better  influences  than  any  I  am 
1  Carlyle-Emerson  Correspondence,  Supplementary  Letters,  64. 


DEATH  OF  HIS  FIRST   CHILD.  481 

wont  to  share  in  this  pewter  world.  But  months 
and  years  pass,  and  the  aspirant  is  found  in  his  old 
place,  unchanged."  And  two  years  afterwards  he 
writes  to  his  brother :  — 

"  As  for  the  poems  about  which  you  ask  once 
more,  a  critical  friend  of  mine  has  discovered  so 
many  corrigible  and  reparable  places  in  them,  re- 
quiring too  the  freest  leisure  and  the  most  favor- 
able poetic  mood,  that  I  have  laid  them  aside  for 
two  months."  It  was  yet  nearly  two  years  before 
they  were  published. 

One  of  the  last  pieces  in  the  volume  was  the 
"  Threnody  "  on  his  eldest  child,  a  beautiful  boy, 
little  more  than  five  years  old,  who  died  at  the  be- 
ginning of  this  period  (January  27,  1842),  after 
four  days'  illness  of  scarlet  fever.  "  A  domesti- 
cated sunbeam,"  says  a  friend  of  the  house,  "  with 
his  father's  voice,  but  softened,  and  beautiful  dark 
blue  eyes  with  long  lashes.  He  was  his  father's 
constant  companion,  and  would  stay  for  hours  to- 
gether in  the  study,  never  interrupting  him." 

After  the  first  outburst  of  passionate  grief,  Em- 
erson was  as  if  stunned,  and  incapable  of  expres- 
sion until  long  afterwards. 

"  The  innocent  and  beautiful  [he  writes  to  a 
friend]  should  not  be  sourly  and  gloomily  la- 
mented, but  with  music  and  fragrant  thoughts  and 
sportive  recollections.  Alas !  I  chiefly  grieve  that 
I  cannot  grieve.    Dear  boy,  too  precious  and  unique 


482  RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

a  creation  to  be  huddled  aside  into  the  waste  and 
prodigality  of  things  ;  yet  his  image,  so  gentle,  so 
rich  in  hopes,  blends  easily  with  every  happy  mo- 
ment, every  fair  remembrance,  every  cherished 
friendship,  of  my  life.  Calm  and  wise,  calmly  and 
wisely  happy,  the  beautiful  Creative  Power  looked 
out  from  him,  and  spoke  of  anything  but  chaos  and 
interruption.  What  was  the  moral  of  sun  and 
moon,  of  roses  and  acorns,  that  was  the  moral  of 
the  sweet  boy's  life ;  softened  only  and  humanized 
by  blue  eyes  and  infant  eloquence." 

Some  months  later,  in  his  answer  to  the  letter  of 
a  lady  who  had  been  Waldo's  teacher,  he  says  :  — 

"Meantime  life  wears  on,  and  ministers  to 
you,  no  doubt,  as  to  me  its  un  delaying  and  grand 
lessons,  its  uncontainable  endless  poetry,  its  short 
dry  prose  of  scepticism,  —  like  veins  of  cold  air  in 
the  evening  woods,  quickly  swallowed  by  the  wide 
warmth  of  June,  —  its  steady  correction  of  the  rash- 
ness and  short  sight  of  youthful  judgments,  and  its 
pure  repairs  of  all  the  rents  and  seeming  ruin  it 
operates  in  what  it  gave ;  although  we  love  the 
first  gift  so  well  that  we  cling  long  to  the  ruin,  and 
think  we  will  be  cold  to  the  new  if  new  shall  come. 
But  the  new  steals  on  us  like  a  star  which  rises  be- 
hind our  back  as  we  walk,  and  we  are  borrowing 
gladly  its  light  before  we  know  the  benefactor.  So 
be  it  with  you,  with  me,  and  with  all." 

To  Miss  Fuller  two  years  later :  — 


DEATH  OF  HIS  FIRST  CHILD.  483 

Concord,  January  30,  1844. 

When,  last  Saturday  night,  Lidian  said,  "  It  is 
two  years  to-day,"  I  only  heard  the  bell-stroke 
again.  I  have  had  no  experience,  no  progress,  to 
put  me  into  better  intelligence  with  my  calamity 
than  when  it  was  new.  I  read  lately,  in  Drum- 
mond  of  Hawthornden,  Ben  Jonson's  narrative  to 
him  of  the  death  of  his  son,  who  died  of  the  plague 
in  London.  Ben  Jonson  was  at  the  time  in  the 
country,  and  saw  the  boy  in  a  vision  ;  "  of  a  manly 
shape,  and  of  that  growth,  he  thinks,  he  shall  be  at 
the  resurrection."  That  same  preternatural  ma- 
turity did  my  beautiful  statue  assume  the  day  after 
death ;  and  so  it  often  comes  to  me,  to  tax  the 
world  with  frivolity.  But  the  inarticulateness  of 
the  Supreme  Power  how  can  we  insatiate  hearers, 
perceivers,  and  thinkers  ever  reconcile  ourselves 
unto  ?  It  deals  all  too  lightly  with  us  low-levelled 
and  weaponed  men.  Does  the  Power  labor  as  men 
do  with  the  impossibility  of  perfect  application, 
that  always  the  hurt  is  of  one  kind  and  the  com- 
pensation of  another?  My  divine  temple,  which 
all  angels  seemed  to  love  to  build,  and  which  was 
shattered  in  a  night,  I  can  never  rebuild :  and  is 
the  facility  of  entertainment  from  thought,  or 
friendship,  or  affairs  an  amends  ?  Rather  it  seems 
like  a  cup  of  Somnus  or  of  Momus.  Yet  the  na- 
ture of  things,  against  all  appearances  and  special- 
ities whatever,  assures  us  of  eternal  benefit.     But 


484       RALPH   WALDO   EMERSON. 

these  affirmations  are  tacit  and  secular;  if  spoken, 
they  have  a  hollow  and  canting  sound.  And  thus 
all  our  being,  dear  friend,  is  evermore  adjourned. 
Patience,  and  patience,  and  patience  !  I  will  try, 
since  you  ask  it,  to  copy  my  rude  dirges  to  my  dar- 
ling, and  send  them  to  you. 

Emerson  gave  much  more  of  his  time  and 
thought  to  his  children,  from  their  infancy,  than 
was  usual  with  busy  fathers  in  New  England  forty 
years  ago,  or  is,  perhaps,  now.  "  There  is  nothing 
[he  writes  in  his  journal]  that  is  not  of  the  great- 
est interest  in  the  nursery.  Every  tear  and  every 
smile  deserves  a  history,  to  say  nothing  of  the 
stamping  and  screaming ;  "  and  he  kept  a  record 
of  their  childish  doings  and  sayings,  in  which  these 
"  pretty  oracles  "  are  chronicled  like  the  anecdotes 
of  Plutarch.  Their  play  and  their  work,  their 
companions  and  their  lessons,  their  out-of-door 
rambles  and  their  home  occupations,  were  objects 
of  his  constant  care.  The  home  discipline  was 
never  neglected,  though  it  was  enforced  by  the 
gentlest  methods.  The  beginning  of  a  childish 
quarrel,  outbursts  of  petulance  and  silliness,  were 
averted  by  requests  to  run  into  the  study  and  see 
if  the  stove-door  was  shut,  or  to  go  to  the  front 
gate  and  look  at  the  clouds  for  a  minute.  "  His 
interest  and  sympathy  about  every  detail  of  school 
affairs,  school  politics  and  school  pleasures  [says 


HIS    WAYS   WITH  HIS   CHILDREN.  485 

one  of  his  children]  were  unbounded.    We  told  him 
every  word  as  we  should  have  told  our  mates,  and 
I  think  he  had  as  much  enjoyment  out  of  it  as  we. 
He  considered  it  as  our  duty  to  look  after  all  the 
strangers  that  came  to  the   school;  at  his   desire 
we  had  large  tea-parties  every  year,  to  be  sure  to 
have  all  the  out-of-town  boys  and  girls  come  to  the 
house.     He  used  to  ask  me,  when  I  told  him  of  a 
new    scholar,  '  Did  you    speak  to  her  ? '     '  No,   I 
had  n't  anything  to  say.'     '  Speak,   speak,  if  you 
haven't  anything  to   say.       Ask  her,    Don't  you 
admire    my  shoe-strings  ? '     And   he    was    always 
kind  and  friendly  to  them  when  they  came  to  tea ; 
made  them  talk  and  entered  into  what  they  said. 
On    Sunday   afternoons    he  came    into    the    front 
entry  at  four  o'clock,  and  whistled  or  said,  '  Four 
o'clock,'  and  we  all  walked  with    him,  from  four 
to  eight  miles,  according  to  the  walking  and  the 
flowers  we  went  to  see ;  as,  when  a  rare  flower  was 
in  bloom,  we  went  to  find  it,  in  Becky  Stow's  Hole, 
or  Ledum  Swamp,  or  Copan,  Columbine   Rock  or 
Conantum.     Mr.  Channing  often  gave  the  names 
to  the  spots,  and  showed  them  to  father  in  their 
glory ;  then  he  would  conduct  us  to  see  the  show, 
or  take  us  to  places  he  had  found  beautiful  in  the 
course  of  the  week ;  full  of  pretty  speeches  about 
what  we  were  to  see,  making  it  a  great  mystery. 
Once  I  expressed  my  fear  that  he  would  cut  down 
his  Walden  grove  or  sell  it :  he  answered,  '  No,  it 


486  RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

is  my  camel's  hump.  When  the  camel  is  starving 
in  the  desert  and  can  find  nothing  else,  he  eats  his 
own  hump.  I  shall  keep  these  woods  till  every- 
thing else  is  gone.'  One  day  when  he  saw  smoke 
in  the  direction  of  the  grove,  he  cried  out  with  such 
love  and  fear  in  his  voice,  '  My  woods,  my  beauti- 
ful woods  !  '  and  hurried  off  to  the  rescue.  A  baby 
could  not  be  too  young  or  small  for  him  to  hold 
out  his  hands  instantly  to  take  it  into  his  arms. 
As  long  as  he  was  strong  enough  to  bear  it,  the 
[grand]  children  were  constantly  in  his  study." 

The  following  extract  from  a  letter  to  his  wife 
shows  that  even  at  the  time  when  he  most  jealously 
guarded  the  retirement  of  his  study  the  babies 
were  not  excluded  :  — 

"  February  19,  1838.  .  .  .  Here  sits  Waldo  be- 
side me  on  the  cricket,  with  mamma's  best  crimson 
decanter-stand  in  his  hand,  experimenting  on  the 
powers  of  a  cracked  pitcher-handle  to  scratch  and 
remove  crimson  pigment.  News  comes  from  the 
nursery  that  Hillman  has  taught  him  A  and  E  on 
his  cards,  and  that  once  he  has  called  T.  All 
roasted  with  the  hot  fire,  he  at  present  gives  little 
sign  of  so  much  literature,  but  seems  to  be  in  good 
health,  and  has  just  now  been  singing,  much  in  the 
admired  style  of  his  papa,  as  heard  by  you  only 
on  several  occasions." 

At  New  Year's  time  he  planned  with  them  about 
their  little  presents  to  the  cousins  in  New  York. 
He  writes  to  his  brother  William  :  — 


HIS    WAYS  WITH  HIS   CHILDREN.  487 

Concord,  February  3,  1845. 

The  precious  gifts  of  the  cousins  to  the  cousins 
arrived  as  safely  as  such  auspicious  parcels  should ; 
which  doubtless  have  all  angels  that  love  children 
to  convoy  them  to  their  destination.  A  happy 
childhood  have  these  babes  of  yours  and  mine  ;  no 
cruel  interferences,  and  what  store  of  happy  days ! 
We  cannot  look  forward  far,  but  these  little  feli- 
cities, so  natural  and  suitable  to  them,  should  be 
introductory  to  better,  and  not  leading  into  any 
dark  penumbra.  We  must  arm  them  with  as  much 
good  sense  as  we  can,  and  throw  them  habitually 
on  themselves  for  a  moral  verdict. 

I  do  not  wonder  that  you  and  Susan  should  de- 
light in  the  boys.  I  spend  a  great  deal  of  time  on 
my  own  little  trinity,  —  for  my  own  pleasure,  too, 
—  if  we  could  divide  it  from  theirs.  But  these 
interests  are  luckily  inseparable,  and  all  our  cordial 
study  of  the  bewitching  manners  and  character  of 
the  children  is  a  more  agreeable  kind  of  self-knowl- 
edge, and  a  repairing  of  the  defects  of  our  memory 
of  those  earliest  experiences. 

On  the  birth  of  his  first  grandchild  he  writes :  — 

My  dear  :  Happy  wife  and  mother  that 

you  are,  and  not  the  less,  surely,  that  the  birth  of 
your  babe  touches  this  old  house  and  its  people 
and  neighbors  with  unusual  joy.     I  hope  the  best 


488       RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

gifts  and  graces  of  his  father  and  mother  will  com- 
bine for  this  blossom,  and  highest  influences  hallow 
and  ripen  the  firm  and  perfect  fruit.  There  is 
nothing  in  this  world  so  serious  as  the  advent  of 
a  child,  with  all  his  possibilities,  to  parents  with 
good  minds  and  hearts.  Fair  fall  the  little  boy ! 
he  has  come  among  good  people.  I  do  not  grudge 
to and  you  the  overflow  of  fondness  and  won- 
der ;  and  to  the  boy  it  is  the  soft  pillow  prepared 
for  him.  It  is  long  before  he  will  come  to  himself, 
but  I  please  myself  already  that  his  fortunes  will 
be  worthy  of  these  great  days  of  his  country ;  that 
he  will  not  be  frivolous  ;  that  he  will  be  noble  and 
true,  and  will  know  what  is  sacred. 

Emerson  was  playful  and  winning  in  his  ways 
with  his  children,  but  he  did  not  often  romp  with 
them,  and  he  discouraged  their  devoting  the  early 
hours,  even  of  a  holiday,  to  amusement.  "  He 
taught  us  that  at  breakfast  all  must  be  calm  and 
sweet,  nothing  must  jar ;  we  must  not  begin  the  day 
with  light  reading  or  games  ;  our  first  and  best 
hours  should  be  occupied  in  a  way  to  match  the 
sweet  and  serious  morning." 

From  the  age  of  thirteen  or  fourteen  he  thought 
they  should  be  encouraged  as  much  as  possible  to 
regulate  their  own  conduct.  He  would  put  the 
case,  and  leave  them  to  think  and  act  for  them- 
selves ;  and  he  did  not  fear  to  inculcate,  even  at  this 


HIS   WAYS    WITH  HIS  CHILDREN.  489 

age,  the  whole  of  his  own  doctrine  of  self-reliance. 
To  one  of  his  daughters  who  was  away  from  home, 
at  school,  he  writes  :  — 

"  Finish  every  day  and  be  done  with  it.  For 
manners  and  for  wise  living  it  is  a  vice  to  remem- 
ber. You  have  done  what  you  could ;  some  blun- 
ders and  absurdities  no  doubt  crept  in;  forget 
them  as  soon  as  you  can.  To-morrow  is  a  new  day ; 
you  shall  begin  it  well  and  serenely,  and  with  too 
high  a  spirit  to  be  cumbered  with  your  old  non- 
sense. This  day  for  all  that  is  good  and  fair.  It  is 
too  dear,  with  its  hopes  and  invitations,  to  waste  a 
moment  on  the  rotten  yesterdays." 

Soon  after  his  son's  death  Emerson  went  upon  a 
lecturing-tour  to  Providence  and  New  York,  and 
paid  a  visit  to  his  brother  William. 

Staten  Island,  March  1,  1842. 
Dear  Lidian  :  .  .  .  Yesterday  I  dined  with  Mr. 
Horace  Greeley  and  Mr.  Brisbane,  the  socialist,  at 
a  Graham  boarding-house.  Mr.  Brisbane  promised 
me  a  full  exposition  of  the  principles  of  Fourier- 
ism  and  Association  as  soon  as  I  am  once  lodged  at 
the  Globe  Hotel.  One  must  submit,  yet  I  foresaw, 
in  the  moment  when  I  encountered  these  two  new 
friends  here,  that  I  cannot  content  them.  They 
are  bent  on  popular  actions.  I  am,  in  all  my  the- 
ory, ethics,   and  politics,  a  poet ;  and  of  no  more 


490       RALPH    WALDO  EMERSON. 

use  in  their  New  York  than  a  rainbow  or  a  firefly. 
Meantime  they  fasten  me  in  their  thought  to  "  Tran- 
scendentalism," whereof  you  know  I  am  wholly 
guiltless,  and  which  is  spoken  of  as  a  known  and 
fixed  element,  like  salt  or  meal.  So  that  I  have 
to  begin  by  endless  disclaimers  and  explanations : 
"  I  am  not  the  man  you  take  me  for."  One  of 
these  days  shall  we  not  have  new  laws  forbidding 
solitude,  and  severe  penalties  on  all  separatists  and 
unsocial  thinkers?  .  .  .  Those  poor  little  girls 
whose  crown  of  glory  is  taken  from  them  interest 
me  still,  if  it  were  only  for  pity,  and  I  would 
gladly  know  how  they  fare.  Tell  mother  that  Su- 
san and  William  had  greatly  hoped  to  see  her  in  the 
winter,  but  now  that  they  learn  how  formidable 
the  journey  looked  to  her  they  are  content  that  she 
did  not  come.  They  say  she  shall  come  when  you 
and  I  make  a  summer  visit  here.  They  are  the 
same  faultless,  affectionate  people  here  that  they 
ever  were.  In  their  temple  of  love  and  veneration 
Elizabeth  [Hoar]  holds  undisputed  possession  of 
the  highest  niche.  William  is  not  the  isolated 
man  I  used  to  find  or  fancy  him,  but,  under  the 
name  of  "the  judge,"  seems  to  be  an  important 
part  of  the  web  of  life  here  in  his  island.  .  .  . 
Write  to  me  all  the  particulars  of  home,  including 
Elizabeth,  you  can ;  that  you  are  yourself  very 
peaceful  and  still  beneficent  to  me  and  to  all.  Give 
my  love  to  Henry  and  a  kiss  to  each  of  the  babes. 
Yours  affectionately,  W. 


HIS    WAYS    WITH  HIS   CHILDREN.  491 

New  York,  March,  1842. 
Thanks,  dear  Lidian,  for  this  morning's  welcome 
letter,  which  informed  me  of  what  I  most  wished 
to  know.  .  .  .  We  had  a  pretty  good  company  in 
the  lecture-room,  although  the  hall  is  small,  and  I 
see  not  how  it  will  hold  people  enough  to  answer 
any  of  my  profane  and  worldly  purposes,  which 
you  and  I  at  this  moment  have  so  much  at  heart. 
And  for  the  sacred  purposes  of  influence  and  pro- 
vocation, —  why,  we  know  that  a  room  which  will 
hold  two  persons  holds  audience  enough;  is  not 
that  thy  doctrine,  O  unambitious  wife  ?  .  .  .  This 
p.  M.  Mr.  Brisbane  indoctrinated  me  in  the  high 
mysteries  of  Attractive  Industry,  in  a  conversa- 
tion which  I  wish  you  all  might  have  heard.  He 
wishes  me,  "  with  all  my  party,"  to  come  in  di- 
rectly and  join  him.  What  palaces !  what  con- 
certs !  what  pictures,  lectures,  poetry,  and  flowers  ! 
Constantinople,  it  seems,  Fourier  showed  was  the 
natural  capital  of  the  world,  and  when  the  earth  is 
planted,  and  gardened,  and  templed  all  over  with 
"groups"  and  "communities,"  each  of  2000  men 
and  6000  acres,  Constantinople  is  to  be  the  me- 
tropolis ;  and  we  poets  and  miscellaneous  tran- 
scendental persons  who  are  too  great  for  your  Con- 
cords and  New  Yorks  will  gravitate  to  that  point 
for  music  and  architecture  and  society  such  as  wit 
cannot  paint  nowadays.  Well,  to-morrow  p.  m.  I 
am  to  hear  the  rest  of  the  story,  so  you  shall  have 


492       RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

no  more  of  it.  I  doubt,  I  doubt  if  I  find  anything 
here  in  New  York  of  gain,  outward  or  inward, 
that  it  is  at  all  worth  while  to  break  up  my  dull  rou- 
tine for.  I  should  have  invented  a  better  expedi- 
ent at  home,  and  stayed  there,  and  come  hither  later, 
in  another  or  a  following  year.  However,  my  Ides 
of  March  are  not  quite  gone  yet.  Thanks  for  all 
the  tidings,  of  Elizabeth  too.  Perhaps  she  will 
yet  want  to  write  to  me,  though  I  really  might  not 
care,  in  this  empty,  listless,  homeless  mood,  to  write 
her  in  reply  !  Chat  away,  little  Ellen ;  might  all 
her  words  countervail  one  the  Boy  should  speak. 
.  .  .  William  and  Susan  are  the  best  of  husband 
and  wife,  brother  and  sister,  host  and  friend,  that 
can  be  to  sad,  estranged,  misad ventured,  estrayed 

Waldo  Emerson. 


These  years,  as  I  have  said,  were  years  of  strait- 
ened circumstances  to  the  Concord  family;  strait- 
ened in  part  by  extraordinary  expenses,  some 
unavoidable,  others  such  as,  on  the  whole,  Emer- 
son did  not  choose  to  avoid :  for  instance,  in  the 
purchase  of  land  to  preserve  a  bit  of  his  favorite 
woodlands  from  the  otherwise  inevitable  axe. 

TO   WILLIAM   EMERSON. 

Concord,  October  4,  1844. 
I  have  lately  added  an  absurdity  or  two  to  my 


HIS    WALDEN   WOOD-LOT.  493 

usual  ones,  which  I  am  impatient  to  tell  you  of. 
In  one  of  my  solitary  wood-walks  by  Walclen  Pond 
I  met  two  or  three  men  who  told  me  they  had  come 
thither  to  sell  and  to  buy  a  field,  on  which  they 
wished  me  to  bid  as  purchaser.  As  it  was  on  the 
shore  of  the  pond,  and  now  for  years  I  had  a  sort 
of  daily  occupancy  in  it,  I  bid  on  it  and  bought  it, 
eleven  acres,  for  $8.10  per  acre.  The  next  day 
I  carried  some  of  my  well-beloved  gossips  to  the 
place,  and  they  deciding  that  the  field  was  not  good 
for  anything  if  Heartwell  Bigelow  should  cut  down 
his  pine-grove,  I  bought,  for  $125  more,  his  pretty 
wood-lot  of  three  or  four  acres,  and  am  now  land- 
lord and  water-lord  of  fourteen  acres,  more  or  less, 
on  the  shore  of  Walden,  and  can  raise  my  own 
blackberries. 

Emerson  found  great  satisfaction  in  his  wood- 
lot.  "  My  spirits,"  he  says,  "  rise  whenever  I  en- 
ter it.  I  can  spend  the  entire  day  there  with 
hatchet  and  pruning-shears,  making  paths,  without 
the  remorse  of  wasting  time.  I  fancy  the  birds 
know  me,  and  even  the  trees  make  little  speeches, 
or  hint  them." 

He  had  more  misgivings  over  the  purchase  of  a 
piece  of  land  adjoining  his  homestead  on  the  east. 
It  was  needful  in  order  to  prevent  a  threatened  in- 
terruption of  his  only  free  outlook ;  but  it  was  ar- 
able land,  and  had  to  be  "  improved  "  with  orchard 


494  RALPH    WALDO  EMERSON. 

and  kitchen-garden.  The  orchard  was  a  pure  de- 
light to  him,  but  the  addition  to  his  agriculture  in- 
volved additional  responsibilities  and  worries,  and 
it  involved  expenses  which  had  to  be  met  by  lec- 
turing. The  passage  in  "  Wealth " x  about  the 
scholar  who  pulls  down  his  wall  and  adds  a  field  to 
his  homestead  was  a  reflection  on  this  piece  of  his 
own  experience. 

Perhaps  the  need  of  replenishing  his  stock  of 
materials  for  lectures  may  have  weighed  with  him 
in  deciding  upon  an  offer  which  came  to  him  at 
this  time  from  England. 

"I  had  lately  an  irregular  application  from  dif- 
ferent quarters  in  England  [he  writes  to  his  brother 
William,  December  29,  1846],  proposing  to  me  to 
come  thither  to  lecture,  and  promising  me  engage- 
ments to  that  end  in  the  great  towns  if  I  would. 
And  I  understand  the  Queenie  (not  Victoria,  but 
Lidian)  to  say  that  I  must  go." 

The  invitation  came  at  a  good  time,  for  he  was 
in  need  of  recreation,  and  this  he  could  find  only 
in  some  fresh  task.  Emerson's  method  of  work 
left  him  without  the  momentum  which  in  general 
serves  the  man  of  letters  to  carry  him  over  the 
dead-points  of  life.  Wanting  the  fly-wheel  of  a 
regular,  continuous  occupation,  the  impulse  had  to 
be  supplied  wholly  from  within. 

1  Collected  Writings,  vi.  113. 


INVITATION  TO  ENGLAND.  495 

Now  he  had  come  to  one  of  those  dead-points, 
those  "  solstices  when  the  stars  stand  still  in  our  in- 
ward firmament,  and  when  there  is  required  some 
foreign  force,  some  diversion  or  alterative,  to  pre- 
vent stagnation."  1  "  As  I  manage  it  now  [he 
writes  to  Miss  Fuller] ,  I  who  have  never  done  any- 
thing never  shall  do  anything."  And  to  another 
friend  who  was  in  Europe :  — 

"  No  news  or  word  from  abroad,  no  lion  roars, 
no  mouse  cheeps ;  we  have  discovered  no  new 
book  ;  but  the  old  atrophy,  inanition,  and  drying- 
up  proceeds  at  an  accelerated  rate,  and  you  must 
hasten  hither  before  any  high  wind  shall  sweep  us 
into  past  and  pluperfect  tenses." 

"  Here  am  I  [he  writes  in  his  journal]  with  so 
much  all  ready  to  be  revealed  to  me  as  to  others, 
if  only  I  could  be  set  aglow.  I  have  wished  for  a 
professorship  ;  much  as  I  hate  the  Church  I  have 
wished  the  pulpit,  that  I  might  have  the  stimulus 
of  a  stated  task.  R.  spoke  more  truly  than  he 
knew,  perchance,  when  he  recommended  an  aboli- 
tion-campaign to  me.  I  doubt  not  a  course  of 
mobs  would  do  me  much  good." 

An  English  audience,  he  fancied,  might  furnish 
"that  stimulation  which  my  capricious,  languid, 
and  languescent  study  needs.  The  Americans  are 
too  easily  pleased.  We  get  our  education  ended 
a  little  too  quick  in  this  country.     As  soon  as  we 

1  Collected  Writings,  vi.  142. 


496       RALPH   WALDO   EMERSON. 

have  learned  to  read  and  write  and  cipher  we  are 
dismissed  from  school  and  set  up  for  ourselves  ;  we 
are  writers  and  leaders  of  opinion,  and  we  write 
away  without  check  of  any  kind,  play  what  prank, 
indulge  what  spleen  or  oddity  or  obstinacy,  comes 
into  our  dear  head,  and  even  feel  our  complacency 
therein ;  and  thus  fine  wits  come  to  nothing.  We 
are  wits  of  the  provinces,  Caesars  in  Arden,  who 
easily  fill  all  measures,  and  lie  on  our  oars  with  the 
fame  of  the  villages.  We  see  none  who  calls  us  to 
account,  and  so  consult  our  ease ;  no  Douglas  cast 
of  the  bar,  no  pale  Cassius,  reminds  us  of  inferior- 
ity. In  the  acceptance  that  my  papers  find  among 
my  thoughtful  countrymen  in  these  days,  I  cannot 
help  seeing  how  limited  is  their  reading.  If  they 
read  only  the  books  that  I  do,  they  would  not  ex- 
aggerate so  wildly." 

He  wished  to  find  those  powerful  workers,  those 
well-equipped  scholars,  whom  he  admired  from  a 
distance  ;  to  see  them  close  at  hand  and  feel  him- 
self among  them.  He  did  not  mean  to  thrust  him- 
self upon  them ;  he  might  accept  a  challenge,  but 
he  would  offer  none.  He  said  nothing  to  Carlyle, 
not  wishing  that  the  smallest  pains  should  be  taken 
to  collect  an  audience  for  him.  But  in  the  course 
of  the  winter  he  received,  through  the  friendly  of- 
fices of  Mr.  Alexander  Ireland,  regular  invitations 
to  lecture  before  various  Mechanics'  Institutes  in 
Lancashire  and  Yorkshire,  which  he  accepted  for 


MASSACHUSETTS  QUARTERLY  REVIEW.    497 

the  following  autumn  (1847).  Carlyle,  too,  hear- 
ing of  his  intentions,  wrote  to  promise  him  "  an 
audience  of  British  aristocracy  "  in  London. 

In  the  spring  before  he  sailed  there  were  meet- 
ings at  his  house  looking  to  a  new  quarterly  review 
which  should   be  more  alive  than  was  the  North 
American  to  the  questions  of  the  day.     Theodore 
Parker  and    Dr.  Samuel  Gridley  Howe,  I  think, 
were  the  persons  most  forward  in  the  matter.     Mr. 
Sumner  came  up  and  spoke  approvingly  of  the  un- 
dertaking, but  doubted  whether  the  time  was  quite 
ripe  for  it.    Thoreau  was  there,  but  contented  him- 
self with  asking  whether  any  one  present  found 
difficulty  in   publishing   in    the   existing   journals 
anything  that  he  might  have  occasion  to  say.     On 
the  whole,  but  little  zeal  was  manifested,  nor  would 
anybody  promise   definite    contributions.      But    it 
was  taken  for  granted  that  the  new  review  was  to 
be  ;  the  main  discussion  was  about  the  editor.     Mr. 
Parker  wished  to  put  Emerson  forward,  but  Em- 
erson declined ;  other  persons  were  talked  of,  but 
nothing  was  distinctly  agreed  upon,  that  I  remem- 
ber, except  a  committee,  consisting  of   Emerson, 
Parker,  and  Howe,  for  the  drafting  of  a  manifesto 
to  the  public.     This  Emerson  wrote,  and  he  seems 
to    have    supposed   his   office  thereby  discharged. 
But  when  the  first  number  of  the  Massachusetts 
Quarterly  Revieio  reached    him  in   England,   he 
found  himself  set  down,  with  Mr.  Parker  and  me, 


498       RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

"  assisted  by  several  other  gentlemen,"  as  the  edi- 
tors. He  did  not  like  this,  but  suffered  his  name 
to  stand  upon  the  covers  until,  after  his  return 
home,  the  fourth  number  appeared  with  the  an- 
nouncement that  he  would  now  "  of  course  "  con- 
tribute regularly.  Then  he  insisted  upon  with- 
drawing, and  Mr.  Parker  became,  what  in  fact  he 
had  always  been,  sole  editor.  Emerson  had  no 
part  in  it  beyond  writing  the  Editor's  Address. 

This  spring,  also,  he  went  to  Nantucket  to  lec- 
ture, and  while  there,  at  the  request  of  the  minister 
of  the  place,  he  read  (I  suppose  for  the  last  time) 
a  Sunday  discourse  from  the  pulpit.  The  sub- 
ject was  Worship.  He  said  he  was  not  a  clergy- 
man ;  he  had  long  ceased  to  take  any  active  part 
in  churches,  and  perhaps  also  had  private  objection 
that  withheld  him  from  the  pulpit.  But  he  was 
unwilling  to  refuse  to  speak  on  a  topic  which  con- 
cerns not  only  every  churchman,  but  every  man,  — 
the  cardinal  topic  of  the  moral  nature. 

Somewhat  earlier  in  the  year  he  had  lectured  in 
New  Bedford,  and  no  doubt  met  there  some  of  his 
Quaker  friends,  one  of  whom  (probably  Miss  Mary 
Rotch)  wrote  him  a  letter,  to  which  he  made  the 
following  reply :  — 

Concord,  March  28,  1847. 

My  dear  Friend,  —  It  was  a  great  pleasure  to 
hear  from  you,  if  only  by  a  question  in  philosophy. 


LETTER   ON  THEOLOGY.  499 

And  the  terrors  of  treading  that  difficult  and  quak- 
ing ground  shall  not  hinder  me  from  writing  to 
you.  I  am  quite  sure,  however,  that  I  never  said 
any  of  those  fine  things  which  you  seem  to  have 
learned  about  me  from  Mr.  Griswold,  and  I  think 
it  would  be  but  fair,  as  he  deduces  them,  that  he 
should  explain  them,  and,  if  he  can,  show  that  they 
hold.  No,  I  never  say  any  of  these  scholastic 
things,  and  when  I  hear  them  I  can  never  tell  on 
which  side  I  belong.  I  never  willingly  say  any- 
thing concerning  "  God  "  in  cold  blood,  though  I 
think  we  all  have  very  just  insights  when  we  are 
"  in  the  mount,"  as  our  fathers  used  to  say.  In 
conversation  sometimes,  or  to  humility  and  temper- 
ance, the  cloud  will  break  away  to  show  at  least 
the  direction  of  the  rays  of  Absolute  Being,  and  we 
see  the  truth  that  lies  in  every  affirmation  men 
have  made  concerning  it,  and,  at  the  same  time, 
the  cramping  partiality  of  their  speech.  For  the 
science  of  God  our  language  is  unexpressive  and 
merely  prattle :  we  need  simpler  and  universal 
signs,  as  algebra  compared  with  arithmetic.  Thus 
I  should  affirm  easily  hoth  those  propositions,  which 
our  Mr.  Griswold  balances  against  one  another ; 
that,  I  mean,  of  Pantheism  and  the  other  ism. 

Personality,  too,  and  impersonality,  might  each 
be  affirmed  of  Absolute  Being  ;  and  what  may  not 
be  affirmed  of  it,  in  our  own  mind  ?  And  when  we 
have  heaped  a  mountain  of  speeches,  we  have  still 


500  RALPH   WALDO   EMERSON. 

to  begin  again,  having  nowise  expressed  the  simple 
unalterable  fact. 

So  I  will  not  turn  schoolman  to-day,  but  prefer 
to  wait  a  thousand  years  before  I  undertake  that 
definition  which  literature  has  waited  for  so  long 
already.  Do  not  imagine  that  the  old  venerable 
thought  has  lost  any  of  its  awful  attraction  for  me. 

I  should  very  heartily  —  shall  I  say,  tremulously, 
—  think  and  speak  with  you  on  our  experiences  or 
gleams  of  what  is  so  grand  and  absorbing ;  and  I 
never  forget  the  statements,  so  interesting  to  me, 
you  gave  me  many  years  ago  of  your  faith  and  that 
of  your  friends.  Are  we  not  wonderful  creatures 
to  whom  such  entertainments  and  passions  and 
hopes  are  afforded  ? 

Yours  with  respect  and  affection, 

R.  W.  Emerson. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

SECOND   VISIT  TO   ENGLAND.  —  PAKIS. 

1847-1848. 

Emerson  sailed  from  Boston  in  the  packet-ship 
Washington  Irving,  on  the  5th  of  October,  reached 
Liverpool  on  the  22d,  and  soon  afterwards  pro- 
ceeded to  London. 

Chelsea,  London,  October  27,  1847. 
Dear  Lidian  :  .  .  .  I  found  at  Liverpool  after 
a  couple  of  days  a  letter  which  had  been  once  there 
seeking  me  (and  once  returned  to  Manchester  be- 
fore it  reached  my  hands)  from  Carlyle,  addressed 
to  "  R.  W.  E.,  on  the  instant  he  lands  in  Eng- 
land," conveying  so  hearty  a  welcome  and  so  urgent 
an  invitation  to  house  and  hearth  that  I  could  no 
more  resist  than  I  could  gravitation ;  and  finding 
that  I  should  not  be  wanted  for  a  week  in  the  lec- 
ture-rooms, I  came  hither  on  Monday,  and,  at  ten 
at  night,  the  door  was  opened  to  me  by  Jane  Car- 
lyle, and  the  man  himself  was  behind  her  with  a 
lamp  in  the  entry.  They  were  very  little  changed 
from  their  old  selves  of  fourteen  years  ago  (in 
August),  when   I   left   them   at   Craigenputtock. 


502  RALPH    WALDO  EMERSON. 

"  Well,"  said  Carlyle,  "  here  we  are,  shovelled  to- 
gether again."  The  floodgates  of  his  talk  are 
quickly  opened,  and  the  river  is  a  great  and  con- 
stant stream.  We  had  large  communication  that 
night  until  nearly  one  o'clock,  and  at  breakfast 
next  morning  it  began  again.  At  noon  or  later  we 
went  together,  Carlyle  and  I,  to  Hyde  Park  and 
the  palaces  (about  two  miles  from  here),  to  the 
National  Gallery,  and  to  the  Strand,  —  Carlyle 
melting  all  Westminster  and  London  down  into 
his  talk  and  laughter  as  he  walked.  We  came 
back  to  dinner  at  five  or  later ;  then  Dr.  Carlyle 
came  in  and  spent  the  evening,  which  again  was 
long  by  the  clock,  but  had  no  other  measures. 
Here  in  this  house  we  breakfast  about  nine  ;  Car- 
lyle is  very  apt,  his  wife  says,  to  sleep  till  ten  or 
eleven,  if  he  has  no  company.  An  immense  talker 
he  is,  and  altogether  as  extraordinary  in  his  con- 
versation as  in  his  writing,  —  I  think  even  more  so. 
You  will  never  discover  his  real  vigor  and  range, 
or  how  much  more  he  might  do  than  he  has  ever 
done,  without  seeing  him.  I  find  my  few  hours' 
discourse  with  him  in  Scotland,  long  since,  gave  me 
not  enough  knowledge  of  him,  and  I  have  now  at 
last  been  taken  by  surprise.  .  .  .  Carlyle  and  his 
wife  live  on  beautiful  terms.  Nothing  can  be  more 
engaging  than  their  ways,  and  in  her  bookcase  all 
his  books  are  inscribed  to  her,  as  they  came,  from 
year  to  year,  each  with  some  significant  lines. 


SECOND   VISIT  TO  ENGLAND.  503 

But  you  will  wish  to  hear  more  of  my  adven- 
tures, which  I  must  hasten  to  record.  On  Wednes- 
day, at  the  National  Gallery,  Mrs.  Bancroft  greeted 
me  with  the  greatest  kindness,  and  insisted  on  pre- 
senting me  to  Mr.  Rogers,  who  chanced  to  come 
into  the  gallery  with  ladies.  Mr.  Rogers  invited 
me  to  breakfast,  with  Mrs.  B.,  at  his  house  on 
Friday.  .  .  .  The  smoke  of  London,  through  which 
the  sun  rarely  penetrates,  gives  a  dusky  magnifi- 
cence to  these  immense  piles  of  building  in  the 
west  part  of  the  city,  which  makes  my  walking 
rather  dream-like.  Martin's  pictures  of  Babylon, 
etc.,  are  faithful  copies  of  the  west  part  of  Lon- 
don ;  light,  darkness,  architecture,  and  all.  Friday 
morning  at  half  past  nine  I  presented  myself  at  Mr. 
Bancroft's  door,  90  Eaton  Square,  which  was  opened 
by  Mr.  Bancroft  himself !  in  the  midst  of  servants 
whom  that  man  of  eager  manners  thrust  aside, 
saying  that  he  would  open  his  own  door  for  me. 
He  was  full  of  goodness  and  of  talk.  .  .  .  Mrs.  Ban- 
croft appeared,  and  we  rode  in  her  carriage  to  Mr. 
Rogers'  house.  .  .  .  Mr.  Rogers  received  us  with 
cold,  quiet,  indiscriminate  politeness,  and  enter- 
tained us  with  abundance  of  anecdote,  which  Mrs. 
Bancroft  very  skilfully  drew  out  of  him,  about  peo- 
ple more  or  less  interesting  to  me.  Scott,  Words- 
worth, Byron,  Wellington,  Talleyrand,  Mme.  de 
Stael,  Lafayette,  Fox,  Burke,  and  crowds  of  high 
men  and  women  had  talked  and  feasted  in  these 


504       RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

rooms  in  which  we  sat,  and  which  are  decorated 
with  every  precious  work.  ...  I  think  it  must  be 
the  chief  private  show  of  London,  this  man's  collec- 
tion. But  I  will  not  bore  you  with  any  more  particu- 
lars. From  this  house  Mrs.  Bancroft  carried  me  to 
the  cloister  of  Westminster  Abbey  and  to  the  Ab- 
bey itself,  and  then  insisted  on  completing  her  boun- 
ties by  carrying  me  in  her  coach  to  Carlyle's  door 
at  Chelsea,  a  very  long  way.  ...  At  five  P.  M.  yes- 
terday, after  spending  four  complete  days  with  my 
friends,  I  took  the  fast  train  for  Liverpool,  and 
came  hither,  212  miles,  in  six  hours;  which  is 
nearly  twice  our  railway  speed.  In  Liverpool  I 
drank  tea  last  Saturday  night  with  James  Marti- 
neau,  and  heard  him  preach  on  Sunday  night  last. 
He  is  a  sincere,  sensible,  good  man,  and  though 
greatly  valued  as  a  preacher,  yet  I  thought  him  su- 
perior to  his  books  and  his  preaching.  I  have  seen 
Mr.  Ireland,  also,  at  Manchester  on  my  way  to 
London,  and  his  friends.  It  seems  I  am  to  read 
six  lectures  in  this  town  in  three  weeks,  and  at  the 
same  time  three  lectures  in  each  week  in  Manches- 
ter, on  other  evenings.  When  this  service  is  ended 
I  may  have  as  many  new  engagements  as  I  like, 
they  tell  me.  I  am  to  begin  at  Manchester  next 
Tuesday  evening. 

November  1,  Tuesday  evening.  I  am  heartily 
tired  of  Liverpool.  I  am  oppressed  by  the  seeing 
of  such  multitudes  :  there  is  a  fierce  strength  here 


SECOND   VISIT  TO  ENGLAND.  505 

in  all  the  streets  ;  the  men  are  bigger  and  solider 
far  than  our  people,  more  stocky,  both  men  and 
women,  and  with  a  certain  fixedness  and  determi- 
nation in  each  person's  air,  that  discriminates  them 
from  the  sauntering  gait  and  roving  eyes  of  Amer- 
icans. In  America  you  catch  the  eye  of  every  one 
you  meet;  here  you  catch  no  eye,  almost.  The 
axes  of  an  Englishman's  eyes  are  united  to  his 
backbone.  .  .  .  Yesterday  morning  I  got  your  wel- 
come letter  (by  Mr.  Ireland).  I  am  greatly  con- 
tented to  know  that  all  is  so  well  with  you.  .  .  . 
Ever  affectionately  yours,  Waldo  E. 

In  a  fragment,  apparently  a  rough  draft  of  some 
letter  at  this  time,  he  says  :  — 

"  I  had  good  talk  with  Carlyle  last  night.  He 
says  over  and  over  for  months,  for  years,  the  same 
thing.  Yet  his  guiding  genius  is  his  moral  sense, 
his  perception  of  the  sole  importance  of  truth  and 
justice,  and  he  too  says  that  there  is  properly  no 
religion  in  England.  He  is  quite  contemptuous 
about  Kunst  also,  in  Germans,  or  English,  or 
Americans.  .  .  .  His  sneers  and  scoffs  are  thrown 
in  every  direction.  He  breaks  every  sentence  with 
a  scoffing  laugh,  —  '  windbag,'  '  monkey,'  '  donkey,' 
'  bladder ; '  and  let  him  describe  whom  he  will,  it  is 
always  '  poor  fellow.'  I  said :  «  What  a  fine  fellow 
are  you,  to  bespatter  the  whole  world  with  this  oil 
of  vitriol ! '    'No  man,'  he  replied, ' speaks  truth  to 


506  RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

me.'  I  said :  '  See  what  a  crowd  of  friends  listen 
to  and  admire  you.'  '  Yes,  they  come  to  hear  me, 
and  they  read  what  I  write ;  but  not  one  of  them 
has  the  smallest  intention  of  doing  these  things." 

Manchester,  December  1,  1847. 
Dear  Lidian,  —  What  can  be  the  reason  that  I 
have  no  letter  by  this  Caledonia  which  has  arrived  ? 
It  is  just  possible  that  letters  have  gone  to  London 
and  back  to  Liverpool,  and  will  reach  me  to-night. 
Care  of  Alexander  Ireland,  Esq.,  Examiner  Office, 
Manchester,  is  still  for  the  present  the  best  ad- 
dress. You  cannot  write  too  often  or  too  largely. 
After  January  1,  I  believe  there  is  a  steamer  once 
a  week,  and  if  you  will  enclose  anything  to  Abel 
Adams,  he  will  find  the  right  mail-bag.  I  trust 
you  and  the  children  are  well,  —  that  you  are  well, 
and  the  children  are  well,  —  two  facts,  and  not  one; 
two  facts  highly  important  to  an  exile,  you  will  be- 
lieve. Ah !  perhaps  you  should  see  the  tragic  spec- 
tacles which  these  streets  show, — these  Manchester 
and  those  Liverpool  streets,  by  day  and  by  night, 
—  to  know  how  much  of  happiest  circumstance, 
how  much  of  safety,  of  dignity,  and  of  opportunity, 
belongs  to  us  so  easily,  that  is  ravished  from  this 
population.  Woman  is  cheap  and  vile  in  England, 
it  is  tragical  to  see  ;  childhood,  too,  I  see  oftenest 
in  the  state  of  absolute  beggary.  My  dearest  little 
Edie,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  costs  me  many  a  penny, 


SECOND    VISIT  TO  ENGLAND.  507 

day  by  day.  I  cannot  go  up  the  street  but  I  shall 
see  some  woman  in  rags,  with  a  little  creature  just 
of  Edie's  size  and  age,  but  in  coarsest  ragged 
clothes  and  barefooted,  stepping  beside  her :  and  I 
look  curiously  into  her  Edie's  face,  with  some  ter- 
ror lest  it  should  resemble  mine,  and  the  far-off 
Edie  wins  from  me  the  halfpence  for  this  near  one. 
Bid  Ellen  and  Edie  thank  God  they  were  born  in 
New  England,  and  bid  them  speak  the  truth,  and 
do  the  right  forever  and  ever,  and  I  hope  they  and 
theirs  will  not  stand  barefooted  in  the  mud  on  a 
bridge  in  the  rain  all  day  to  beg  of  passengers. 
But  beggary  is  only  the  beginning  and  the  sign  of 
sorrow  and  evil  here. 

You  are  to  know  in  general  that  I  am  doing  well 
enough  in  health  and  in  my  work.  I  have,  which 
is  a  principal  thing,  read  two  new  lectures  in  the 
last  two  weeks :  one  on  Books,  or  a  course  of 
reading ;  and  the  other  on  the  Superlative,  which 
was  my  lecture  on  Hafiz  and  my  Persian  readings. 
The  next  new  one  I  get  out  will  be  the  Natural 
Aristocracy,  or  some  such  thing. 

I  have  had  the  finest  visit  to  Mrs.  Paulet,  at 
Seaforth  House,  near  Liverpool,  where  I  was  lodged 
in  Canning's  chamber  in  a  grand  chateau  ;  also  a 
visit  to  be  thankful  for  to  Mr.  Kathbone  at  Green- 
bank. 

Birmingham,  December  16,  1847. 

Dear   Lidian  :  .  .  .  I  find  very  kind  friends 


508  RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

here,  and  many  such.  I  have  even  given  up  my 
caprice  of  not  going  to  private  houses,  and  now 
scarcely  go  to  any  other.  At  Nottingham  I  was 
the  guest  on  four  nights  of  four  different  friends. 
At  Derby  I  spent  two  nights  with  Mr.  Birch,  Mr. 
Alcott's  friend.  Here  also  I  am  hospitably  re- 
ceived ;  and  at  towns  which  I  have  promised  to  visit 
1  have  accepted  invitations  from  unknown  hosts. 
.  .  .  The  newspapers  here  report  my  lectures 
(and  London  papers  reprint)  so  fully  that  they 
are  no  longer  repeatable,  and  I  must  dive  deeper 
into  the  bag  and  bring  up  older  ones,  or  write  new 
ones,  or  cease  to  read.  Yet  there  is  great  advan- 
tage to  me  in  this  journeying  about  in  this  fashion. 
I  see  houses,  manufactories,  halls,  churches,  land- 
scape, and  men.  There  is  also  great  vexation.  At 
any  moment  I  may  turn  my  back  on  it  and  go  to 
London ;  and,  if  it  were  not  winter,  might  embark 
and  come  home.  So  give  my  love  to  mother,  —  to 
whom  you  must  send  all  my  letters,  for  I  do  not 
write  to  her,  —  and  say  I  much  doubt  whether  I  go 
to  France.  Love  to  all  the  darlings  at  home,  whom 
I  daily  and  nightly  behold.  I  am  much  disap- 
pointed that  no  steamer  yet  arrives  from  you;  it 
is  overdue  by  a  day,  or  two,  or  three.  I  dare  not 
begin  to  name  the  friends  near  and  nearest  in  these 
lines,  they  are  so  many  and  so  loved,  but  I  have 
yet  no  letter  from  Elizabeth  H.,  and  none  from 
George  Bradford.     Tell  George  that  I  respect  the 


SECOND   VISIT  TO  ENGLAND.  509 

English  always  the  more,  the  sensible,  handsome, 
powerful  race  ;  they  are  a  population  of  lords,  and 
if  one  king  should  die,  there  are  a  thousand  in  the 
street  quite  fit  to  succeed  him.  But  I  shall  have 
letters  from  you,  I  trust,  to-morrow,  so  good-night. 

W. 

Alexander  Ireland  approves  himself  the  king  of 
all  friends  and  helpful  agents  ;  the  most  active,  un- 
weariable,  imperturbable.  ...  A  wonderful  place 
is  England ;  the  mechanical  might  and  organiza- 
tions it  is  oppressive  to  behold.  I  ride  everywhere 
as  on  a  cannon-ball  (though  cushioned  and  com- 
forted in  every  manner),  high  and  low,  over  rivers 
and  towns,  through  mountains  in  tunnels  of  three 
miles  and  more,  at  twice  the  speed  and  with  half 
the  motion  of  our  cars,  and  read  quietly  the  Times 
newspaper,  which  seems  to  have  mechanized  the 
world  for  my  occasions. 

Manchester,  December  25,  1847. 
Dear  Lidian,  —  I  did  not  receive  your  letters 
by  the  last  steamer  until  the  moment  when  my  own 
must  be  forwarded,  so  that  I  could  not  write  the 
shortest  note  to  Mrs.  Ripley,  nor  to  you.  I  shall 
write  to  her  a  letter  to  accompany  this.1  Sudden 
and  premature  and  shattering  so  many  happy  plans 

1  Reverend  Samuel  Ripley  died  very  suddenly  soon  after  his  re- 
moval to  Concord. 


510  RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

as  his  death  does,  yet  there  was  so  much  health  and 
sunshine  and  will  and  power  to  come  at  good  ends 
in  him  that  nothing  painful  or  mournful  will  at- 
tach to  his  name.  He  will  be  sure  to  be  remem- 
bered as  living  and  serving,  and  not  as  suffering. 
I  am  very  sorry  that  I  should  not  have  been  at 
home,  for  he,  who  was  so  faithful  to  all  the  claims 
of  kindred,  should  have  had  troops  of  blood-rela- 
tions to  honor  him  around  his  grave.  I  think 
often  how  serious  is  his  loss  to  mother.  I  remem- 
ber him  almost  as  long  as  I  can  remember  her,  and, 
from  my  father's  death  in  my  early  boyhood,  he 
has  always  been  an  important  friend  to  her  and  her 
children.  You  know  how  generous  he  was  to  me 
and  to  my  brothers  in  our  youth,  at  college  and 
afterwards.  He  never  ceased  to  be  so,  and  he  was 
the  same  friend  to  many  others  that  he  was  to  us. 
I  am  afraid  we  hardly  thanked  him ;  it  was  so 
natural  to  him  to  interest  himself  for  other  people 
that  he  could  not  help  it.  And  whenever  or  wher- 
ever we  shall  now  think  of  him,  we  shall  see  him 
engaged  in  that  way.  .  .  .  You  must  see  Mrs.  Rip- 
ley as  much  as  you  can.  We  cannot  afford  to  live 
as  far  from  her  (in  habits,  I  mean)  as  we  have 
done.  ...  I  am  a  wanderer  on  the  face  of  this 
island,  and  am  so  harried  by  this  necessity  of  read- 
ing lectures  —  which,  if  accepted,  must  be  accepted 
in  manner  and  quantity  not  desirable  —  that  I  shall 
not  now  for  a  fortnight  or  three  weeks  have  time 


SECOND  VISIT  TO  ENGLAND.  511 

to  write  any  good  gossip,  you  may  be  sure.  What 
reconciles  me  to  the  clatter  and  routine  is  the  very 
excellent  opportunity  it  gives  me  to  see  England. 
I  see  men  and  things  in  each  town  in  a  close  and 
domestic  way.  I  see  the  best  of  the  people  (hith- 
erto never  the  proper  aristocracy,  which  is  a  stra- 
tum of  society  quite  out  of  sight  and  out  of  mind 
here  on  all  ordinary  occasions)  —  the  merchants, 
the  manufacturers,  the  scholars,  the  thinkers,  men 
and  women  —  in  a  very  sincere  and  satisfactory 
conversation.  I  am  everywhere  a  guest.  Never 
call  me  solitary  or  Ishmaelite  again.  I  began  here 
by  refusing  invitations  to  stay  at  private  houses, 
but  now  I  find  an  invitation  in  every  town,  and 
accept  it,  to  be  at  home.  I  have  now  visited  Pres- 
ton, Leicester,  Chesterfield,  Birmingham,  since  I 
returned  from  Nottingham  and  Derby,  of  which  I 
wrote  you,  and  have  found  the  same  profuse 
kindness  in  all.  My  admiration  and  my  love  of 
the  English  rise  day  by  day.  I  receive,  too,  a 
great  many  private  letters,  offering  me  house  and 
home  in  places  yet  unvisited.  You  must  not  think 
that  any  change  has  come  over  me,  and  that  my 
awkward  and  porcupine  manners  are  ameliorated 
by  English  air  ;  but  these  civilities  are  all  offered 
to  that  deceiving  Writer  who,  it  seems,  has  really 
beguiled  many  young  people  here,  as  he  did  at 
home,  into  some  better  hope  than  he  could  realize 
for  them.  .  .   .    To-day  is  Christmas,   and   being 


512       RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

just  returned  yesterday  p.  m.  from  a  long  circuit,  I 
am  bent  on  spending  it  quite  domestically,  and 
Mr.  Ireland  and  Mr.  Cameron  are  coming  pres- 
ently to  dine  with  me.  On  Wednesday  I  go  spin- 
ning again  to  Worcester,  and  then  presently  to 
those  Yorkshire  engagements  which  at  home  were 
first  heard  of.  Parliament  is  now  in  holidays 
again  until  February,  and  of  course  London  empty. 
But  it  looks  as  if  I  should  not  arrive  there  for  any 
residence  until  March.  I  am  often  tempted  to  slip 
out  of  my  trade  here,  by  some  shortest  method, 
and  go  to  London  for  peace.  .  .  .  At  Leicester  I 
just  missed  seeing  Gardiner,  author  of  the  "  Music 
of  Nature."  At  Chesterfield  I  dined  in  company 
with  Stephenson,  the  old  engineer  who  built  the 
first  locomotive,  and  who  is,  in  every  way,  one  of 
the  most  reniai'kable  men  I  have  seen  in  England. 
I  do  not  know  but  I  shall  accept  some  day  his  reit- 
erated invitations  "  to  go  to  his  house  and  stay  a 
few  days,  and  see  Chatsworth  and  other  things." 
.  .  .  Every  word  you  send  me  from  the  dear  chil- 
dren is  excellent.  Our  Spartan-Buddhist  Henry  is 
pere  or  bonhomme  malgre  lui,  and  it  is  a  great 
comfort  daily  to  think  of  him  there  with  you.  .  .  . 
You  ask  for  newspapers,  but  you  do  not  want  re- 
ports of  my  lectures,  which  they  give  too  abundant- 
ly ;  nor  the  attacks  of  the  clergymen  upon  them ; 
nor  the  pale  though  brave  defences  of  my  friends : 
there  are    such    things,  but  I  do  not  read    them. 


SECOND   VISIT  TO  ENGLAND.  513 

When  there  is,  if  there  should  be,  anything  really 
good,  I  will  send  it.  But  first  there  must  be  some- 
thing really  good  of  mine  to  build  it  upon.  Ah 
me  !  Elizabeth  has  written  the  best  and  fullest  of 
letters,  and  I  dare  not  say  that  I  shall  write  to  her 
by  the  going  steamer.  Tell  Ellen  that  I  fear  I 
shall  not  see  Tennyson,  for,  though  Dr.  John  Car- 
ry le  writes  me  yesterday  that  he  has  just  met  him  at 
his  brother's,  he  is  going  to  Rome,  and  I  hardly 
think  I  shall  follow  him  there.  He  has  not  three 
children  who  say  all  these  things  which  my  wife 
records.  .  .  .  Elizabeth  says  that  aunt  Mary  thinks 
to  come  to  Concord ;  by  all  means,  seduce  her  into 
the  house,  and  make  her  forget,  if  it  be  possible, 
her  absurd  resolutions  and  jealousies.  .  .  .  Here 
is  no  winter  thus  far,  but  such  days  as  we  have  at 
the  beginning  of  November.  I  am  as  well  in  body 
as  ever,  and  not  worse  in  spirit  than  when  I  am 
spinning  to  winter  lectures  at  home.  But  mortal 
man  must  always  spin  somewhere,  and  I  bow  to  my 
destiny. 

TO  MISS   ELIZABETH   HOAR. 

Manchester,  December  28,  1847. 

Dear  Elizabeth,  —  You  are  the  best  of  sis- 
ters, and  good  by  yourself  and  without  provocation. 
.  .  .  How  generously  you  give  me  trust  for  indefi- 
nite periods !  You  must  believe,  too,  that  I  appre- 
ciate this  magnanimity,  though  too  dull  and  heavy 


514  RALPH  WALDO  EMERSON. 

to  make  a  sign.  The  hour  will  come  and  the  world, 
wherein  we  shall  quite  easily  render  that  account 
of  ourselves  which  now  we  never  render,  and  shall 
be  very  real  brothers  and  sisters.  .  .  .  When  I 
see  my  muscular  neighbors  day  by  day  I  say,  Had 
I  been  born  in  England,  with  but  one  chip  of  Eng- 
lish oak  in  my  willowy  constitution !  .  .  .  I  have 
seen  many  good,  some  bright,  and  some  powerful 
people  here,  but  none  yet  to  fall  in  love  with,  nei- 
ther man  nor  woman.  I  have,  however,  some 
youthful  correspondence  —  you  know  my  failing  — 
with  some  friendly  young  gentlemen  in  different 
parts  of  Britain.  I  keep  all  their  letters,  and  you 
shall  see.  At  Edinburgh  I  have  affectionate  invi- 
tations from  Dr.  Samuel  Brown,  of  whom  I  believe 
you  know  something.  He  saw  Margaret  F.  At 
Newcastle,  from  Mr.  Crawshay,  who  refused  the 
tests  at  Cambridge  after  reading  my  essays !  as  he 
writes  me.  And  so  with  small  wisdom  the  world 
is  moved,  as  of  old.  In  the  press  of  my  trifles  I 
have  ceased  to  write  to  Carlyle,  and  I  hear  nothing 
from  him.  You  have  read  his  paper  in  Fraser  ?  1 
He  told  me  the  same  story  at  his  house,  but  it 
reads  incredible,  and  everybody  suspects  some 
mystification,  —  some  people  fancying  that  Carlyle 
himself  is  trying  his  hand  that  way !  But  Carlyle 
takes  Cromwell  sadly  to  heart.     When  I  told  him 

1  December,    1847.       Thirty-Jive   Unpublished  Letters  of  Oliver 
Cromwell.     Communicated  by  Thomas  Carlyle. 


SECOND   VISIT  TO  ENGLAND.  515 

that  he  must  not  expect  that  people  as  old  as  I 
could  look  at  Cromwell  as  he  did,  he  turned  quite 
fiercely  upon  me.  ...  If  I  do  not  find  time  for 
another  note,  am  I  the  less  your  constant  brother  ? 

Waldo. 

Manchester,  January  8,  1848. 
Dear  Lidian  :  .  .  .  There  is  opportunity  enough 
to  read  over  again  a  hundred  times  yet  these  musty 
old  lectures,  and  when  I  go  to  a  new  audience  I 
say,  It  is  a  grossness  to  read  these  things  which 
you  have,  fully  reported,  in  so  many  newspapers. 
Let  me  read  a  new  manuscript  never  yet  published 
in  England.  But  no,  the  directors  invariably 
refuse.  "  We  have  heard  of  these,  advertised 
these ;  there  can  be  no  other."  It  really  seems 
like  China  and  Japan.  But  the  great  profession 
and  mystery  of  Bards  and  Trouveurs  does  hereby 
suffer  damage  in  my  person,  and  I  fear  no  decent 
man  in  London  will  speak  to  me  when  I  come 
thither  ;  to  say  nothing  of  the  absolute  suspension 
and  eclipse  which  all  my  faculties  suffer  in  this 
routine,  so  that,  at  whatever  perils,  I  must  end  it. 
I  have  had  a  letter  from  George  Bradford,  very 
good  to  read ;  never  one  from  Parker  or  any  of  the 
3fassachusetts  Quarterly  men.  Their  journal  is 
of  a  good  spirit,  and  has  much  good  of  Agassiz, 
but  no  intellectual  tone  such  as  is  imperatively 
wanted ;  no  literary  skill,  even,  and,  without  a  lof- 


516       RALPH    WALDO   EMERSON. 

tier  note  than  any  in  this  number,  it  will  sink  into 
a  North  American  at  once.  In  a  day  or  two  I 
shall  have  good  news  again  from  you,  and  news 
from  the  nursery  and  school,  ever  heartily  wel- 
come. ...  I  hope  you  keep  —  you  must  keep  —  a 
guest-chamber  with  a  fire  this  winter  and  every 
winter,  as  last  winter  we  had  none.  I  may  send 
you  a  young  Mr.  Stansfield,  a  Leeds  merchant, 
who  offers  to  carry  letters  for  me,  and  the  nephew 
of  Mr.  Stansfield,  of  Halifax,  who  showed  me 
great  hospitality ;  and  it  would  chill  my  bones  to 
believe  that  he  passed  a  New  England  winter  night 
without  fire,  so  unprepared  by  the  habits  of  Eng- 
lish at  home.  I  shall  perhaps  say  to  Mr.  S.,  if  he 
wishes  to  go  into  the  country  and  look,  you  will 
gladly  give  him  a  night's  lodging.  And  if  he 
comes,  —  or  any  Englishman,  —  give  him  bread 
and  wine  before  he  goes  to  bed,  for  these  people 
universally  eat  supper  at  nine  or  ten  P.  M.,  and  there- 
fore must  be  hungry  in  Concord ;  which  would 
make  me  hungry  all  my  life,  they  have  been  so 
careful  of  me.     Farewell.     Yours,  W. 

Manchester,  January  26,  1848. 
Dear  Lidian  :  .  .  .  I  have  been  at  York  and 
at  Flaraborough  Head  since  I  wrote  you  last.  I 
have  no  special  notes  to  write  of  these  places  — 
and  persons  ;  persons  are  like  stars,  which  always 
keep  afar.      No  angel  alights  on  my  orb,  —  such 


SECOND   VISIT  TO  ENGLAND.  517 

presences  being  always  reserved  for  angels.     But  I 
was  proceeding  to  tell  you  that  I  am  now  spend- 
ing a  few  peaceful  days  at  Manchester,  after  rack- 
eting about  Yorkshire  in  the  last  weeks.     I  was 
disgusted  with  reading  lectures,  and  wrote  to  all 
parties  that  I  would  read  no  more ;  but  in  vain. 
Secretaries  had  misunderstood,  had  promised  and 
pledged  me.     I  myself  had  not  forbidden  it.     Did 
not  Mr.  E.   remember  ?  etc.,  etc.     And  at  last  I 
have  consented  to  drudge  on  a  little  longer  after 
this  peaceful  fortnight  is  ended,  and  shall  go  to 
Edinburgh  on  the  7th  February,  and  end  all  my 
northern  journeys  on   the  25th.      Then   I  return 
hither  and  proceed  to  London  to  spend  March  and 
April,  and  (unless  I  go  to  Paris)  May  also.     I  am 
writing  in  these  very  days  a  lecture  which  I  will 
try  at  Edinburgh,  on  Aristocracy.    The  other  night 
at  Sheffield  I  made  shift,  with  some  old  papers  and 
some  pages  suggested  lately  by  the  Agassiz  reports, 
to  muster  a  discourse  on  Science.     Last  night  I 
heard  a  lecture  from  Mr.  Cameron,  whom  I  have 
heretofore  mentioned,  on  some  poetic  and  literary 
matters.     He  talked,  without  note  or  card  or  com- 
pass, for  his  hour,  on  Headers  and  Reading ;  very 
manly,  very  gaily  ;  not  quite  deeply  enough,  —  it 
did  not  cost  him  enough,  —  yet  what  would  I  not 
do  or  suffer  to  buy  that  ability  ?     "  To  each  his 
own."     A  manly  ability,   a  general  sufficiency,  is 
the  genius  of  the  English.    They  have  not,  I  think, 


518       RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

the  special  and  acute  fitness  to  their  employment 
that  Americans  have,  but  a  man  is  a  man  here ;  a 
quite  costly  and  respectable  production,  in  his  own 
and  in  all  other  eyes.  To-morrow  evening  I  am 
to  attend  what  is  called  the  "  Free-Trade  Banquet," 
when  Cobden,  Bright,  Fox,  and  the  free-traders 
are  to  speak.  .  .  .  Peace  be  with  all  your  house- 
hold ;  with  the  little  and  with  the  larger  members ! 
Many  kisses,  many  blessings,  to  the  little  and  the 
least.  I  am  glad  the  children  had  their  good  visit 
to  Boston  and  Roxbury ;  but  I  would  keep  them 
at  home  in  winter.  You  speak  of  Ellen's  letter ; 
surely  I  wrote  one  to  Edith  also,  and  if  Eddie  will 
wait,  or  will  only  learn  to  read  his  own  name,  he 
shall  have  one  too,  at  least  a  picture.  So  with 
love  to  all,  Yours,  W. 

Gateshead  Ikon  Works,  February  10,  1848. 
...  I  have  written  a  lecture  on  Natural  Aris- 
tocracy, which  I  am  to  read  in  Edinburgh  to-mor- 
row, and  interpolated  besides  some  old  webs  with 
patches  of  new  tapestry,  contrary  to  old  law.  The 
day  before  leaving  Manchester  we  had  a  company 
of  friends  assembled  at  Dr.  Hodgson's  house  and 
mine  :  two  from  Nottingham,  Neuberg  and  Sutton  ; 
Mr.  Gill  from  Birmingham  ;  one  from  Hudders- 
fielcl :  and  Ireland,  Cameron,  Espinasse,  and  Bal- 
lantyne  from  Manchester.  I  gave  them  all  a  din- 
ner on  Sunday.     These  are  all  men  of  merit,  and 


SECOND   VISIT  TO  ENGLAND.  519 

of  various  virtues  and  ingenuities.  I  have  been 
once  more  at  Mr.  Stansfield's  in  Halifax ;  and  yes- 
terday, at  Barnard  Castle,  I  found  myself  in  the 
scene  of  Scott's  Rokeby.  ...  I  find  here  at  New- 
castle a  most  accomplished  gentleman  in  Mr.  Craw- 
shay,  at  whose  counting-room  in  his  iron  works  I 
am  now  sitting,  after  much  conference  on  many 
fine  and  useful  arts.  .  .  .  My  reception  here  is 
really  a  premium  often  on  authorship ;  and  if 
Henry  [Thoreau]  means  one  day  to  come  to  Eng- 
land, let  him  not  delay  another  day  to  print  his 
book.     Or  if  he  do  not,  let  him  print  it. 

Perth,  February  21,  1848. 
Dear  Lidian  :  .  .  .  All  these  touching  anec- 
dotes and  now  drawings  and  letters  of  my  darlings 
duly  come,  and  to  my  great  joy,  and  ought  to  draw 
answers  to  every  letter  and  almost  to  every  piece 
of  information.  I  cannot  answer  but  with  most 
ungrateful  brevity,  but  you  shall  have  a  short 
chronicle  of  my  late  journeys.  Well,  then,  I  came 
from  Newcastle  to  Edinburgh  [and  after  some 
mischance,  delaying  him  on  the  way,  reached  the 
lecture-room  a  quarter  of  an  hour  late].  It  was 
really  a  brilliant  assembly,  and  contained  many  re- 
markable men  and  women,  as  1  afterwards  found. 
After  lecture  I  went  home  with  my  friend,  Dr. 
[Samuel]  Brown,  to  his  lodgings,  and  have  been 
his  guest  all  the  time  I  was  in  Edinburgh.     There 


520       RALPH    WALDO  EMERSON. 

I  found  David  Scott,  the  painter,  a  sort  of  Bronson 
Alcott  with  easel  and  brushes,  a  sincere  great  man, 
grave,  silent,  contemplative,  and  plain.  .  .  .  The 
next  day  I  was  presented  to  Wilson  (Christopher 
North),  to  Mrs.  Jeffrey,  and  especially  to  Mrs. 
Crowe,  a  very  distinguished  good  person  here. 
...  I  looked  all  around  this  most  picturesque  of 
cities,  and  in  the  evening  met  Mr.  Robert  Cham- 
bers (author  of  the  "  Vestiges  of  Creation  ")  by 
appointment  at  Mr.  Ireland's  (father  of  Alexan- 
der), at  supper.  The  next  day  at  twelve,  I  visited 
by  appointment  Lord  Jeffrey,  .  .  .  and  then  to 
Mrs.  Crowe's  at  5.30  to  dine  with  De  Quincey  and 
David  Scott  and  Dr.  Brown.  De  Quincey  is  a  small 
old  man  of  seventy  years,  with  a  very  handsome 
face,  and  a  face,  too,  expressing  the  highest  refine- 
ment ;  a  very  gentle  old  man,  speaking  with  the 
greatest  deliberation  and  softness,  and  so  refined  in 
speech  and  manners  as  to  make  quite  indifferent 
his  extremely  plain  and  poor  dress.  For  the  old 
man,  summoned  by  message  on  Saturday  by  Mrs. 
Crowe  to  this  dinner,  had  walked  on  this  stormy, 
muddy  Sunday  ten  miles,  from  Lass  Wade,  where 
his  cottage  is,  and  was  not  yet  dry  ;  and  though 
Mrs.  Crowe's  hospitality  is  comprehensive  and  mi- 
nute, yet  she  had  no  pantaloons  in  her  house. 
Here  De  Quincey  is  very  serene  and  happy  among 
just  these  friends  where  I  found  him  ;  for  he  has 
suffered  in  all  ways,  and  lived  the  life  of  a  wretch 


SECOND   VISIT  TO  ENGLAND.  521 

for  many  years,  but  Samuel  Brown  and  Mrs.  C. 
and  one  or  two  more  have  saved  him  from  himself, 
and  defended  him  from  bailiffs  and  a  certain  Fury 
of  a  Mrs.  Macbold  (I  think  it  is),  whom  he  yet 
shudders  to  remember,  and  from  opium  ;  and  he  is 
now  clean,  clothed,  and  in  his  right  mind.  .  .  .  He 
talked  of  many  matters,  all  easily  and  well,  but 
chiefly  social  and  literary;  and  did  not  venture 
into  any  voluminous  music.  When  they  first 
agreed,  at  my  request,  to  invite  him  to  dine,  I  fan- 
cied some  figure  like  the  organ  of  York  Minster 
would  appear.  In  tete-a-tete,  I  am  told,  he  some- 
times soars  and  indulges  himself,  but  not  often  in 
company.  He  invited  me  to  dine  with  him  on  the 
following  Saturday  at  Lass  Wade,  where  he  lives 
with  his  three  daughters,  and  I  accepted.  The 
next  day  I  breakfasted  with  David  Scott,  who  in- 
sists on  sittings  for  a  portrait ;  and  sat  to  him  for 
an  hour  or  two.  .  .  .  This  man  is  a  noble  stoic, 
sitting  apart  here  among  his  rainbow  allegories, 
very  much  respected  by  all  superior  persons.  Of 
him  I  shall  have  much  more  to  say.  At  one  o'clock 
I  went  to  Glasgow,  and  read  my  story  there  to  an 
assembly  of  two  or  three  thousand  people,  in  a  vast 
lighted  cavern  called  the  City  Hall.  .  .  .  Next  day 
I  dined  at  Edinburgh  with  Robert  Chambers,  and 
found  also  his  brother  William.  .  .  .  This  day  I 
went  to  the  University  to  see  Professor  Wilson, 
and  hear  him  lecture  (on  Moral  Philosophy)  to  his 


522       RALPH    WALDO  EMERSON. 

class.  We,  that  is  always  Dr.  B.  and  I,  went  first 
into  his  private  retiring-room  and  had  a  pretty  long 
talk  with  him.     He  is  a  big  man,  gross  almost  as 

S ,  and  tall,  with  long  hair  and  much  beard, 

dressed  large  and  slouching.  His  lecture  had 
really  no  merit.  It  was  on  the  association  of  ideas, 
and  was  a  very  dull  sermon,  without  a  text,  but 
pronounced  with  great  bodily  energy,  sometimes 
his  mouth  all  foam  ;  he  reading,  the  class  writing, 
and  I  at  last  waiting  a  little  impatiently  for  it  to  be 
over.  No  trait  was  there  of  Christopher  North ;  not 
a  ray.  Afterwards  we  went  to  Sir  William  Ham- 
ilton's lecture  on  Logic.  He  is  the  great  man  of 
the  college,  master  of  his  science,  and  in  every  way 
truly  respected  here.  ...  In  the  evening,  at  Mr. 
Stoddart's,  I  saw  George  Combe,  who  had  called 
on  me  and  had  invited  me  to  breakfast.  .  .  .  Next 
morning  I  breakfasted  with  Mr.  Combe.  Mrs. 
Combe  is  the  daughter  of  Mrs.  Siddons,  whom  she 
more  and  more  resembles,  they  all  say,  in  these 
days.  Combe  talked  well  and  sensibly  about 
America.  But,  for  the  most  part,  there  is  no  elas- 
ticity about  Scotch  sense ;  it  is  calculating  and 
precise,  but  has  no  future.  Then  to  Glasgow,  and 
spent  the  night  at  Professor  Nichol's  observatory, 
well  appointed  and  rarely  placed,  but  a  cloudy 
night  and  no  moon  or  star.  I  saw,  next  day,  the 
Saut  Market  and  oh  !  plenty  of  women  (fishwives 
and  others)  and  children,  barefooted,  barelegged, 


SECOND   VISIT  TO  ENGLAND.  523 

on  this  cold  18th  of  February,  in  the  streets.  .  .  . 
At  Edinburgh  again  I  dined  with  Mr.  Nichol, 
brother  of  the  Professor,  and  in  the  evening,  by 
invitation,  visited  Lord  Jeffrey,  with  Mrs.  Crowe. 
.  .  .  Jeffrey,  as  always,  very  talkative,  very  dis- 
putatious, very  French  ;  every  sentence  interlarded 
with  French  phrases ;  speaking  a  dialect  of  his 
own,  neither  English  nor  Scotch,  marked  with  a 
certain  petitesse,  as  one  might  well  say,  and  an  af- 
fected elegance.  I  should  like  to  see  him  put  on 
his  merits  by  being  taxed  by  some  of  his  old  peers, 
as  Wilson,  or  Hallam,  or  Macaulay ;  but  here  he 
is  the  chief  man,  and  has  it  all  his  own  way.  .  .  . 
The  next  day  I  dined  with  De  Quincey  and  his 
pleasing  daughters.  A  good  deal  of  talk,  which  I 
see  there  is  no  time  to  relate.  We  carried  our 
host  back  with  us  to  Edinburgh,  to  Mrs.  Crowe's, 
and  to  my  lecture !  De  Quincey  at  lecture !  And 
thereat  I  was  presented  to  Helen  Faucit,  the  ac- 
tress, who  is  a  beauty  ;  and  to  Sir  William  Allan, 
the  painter,  Walter  Scott's  friend ;  and  to  Profes- 
sor Simpson,  a  great  physician  here ;  and  to  others. 
Next  day  I  sat  to  Scott  again,  and  dined  again  with 
Mrs.  Crowe,  and  De  Quincey  and  Helen  Faucit 
came  to  tea,  and  we  could  see  Antigone  at  our  ease. 
One  thing  I  was  obliged  to  lose  at  Edinburgh,  with 
much  regret.  Robert  Chambers  is  the  local  anti- 
quary, knows  more  of  the  "  Old  Town,"  etc.,  than 
any  other  man,  and  he  had  fixed  an  hour  to  go  and 


524       RALPH  WALDO   EMERSON. 

show  me  some  of  the  historical  points  and  crypts 
of  the  town  ;  but  I  was  obliged  to  write  and  excuse 
myself  for  want  of  time.  .  .  .  What  I  chiefly  re- 
gret is  that  I  cannot  begin  on  the  long  chronicle 
of  our  new  Paracelsus  here,  Dr.  Samuel  Brown, 
who  is  a  head  and  heart  of  chiefest  interest  to  me 
and  to  others,  and  a  person  from  whom  everything 
is  yet  to  be  expected.1  .  .  .  On  Saturday  I  leave 
Scotland,  and  shall  stop  a  day,  I  think,  at  Amble- 
side, with  Harriet  Martineau,  and  visit  Words- 
worth, if  it  is  practicable,  on  my  way  to  Manches- 
ter. There  I  shall  pack  up  my  trunk  again  (for  it 
is  always  there)  and  go  to  London.  .  .  .  Excuse 
me  to  everybody  for  not  writing ;  I  simply  cannot. 
Ah!  and  excuse  me  to  my  dear  little  correspon- 
dents. .  .  .  Papa  never  forgets  them,  never  ceases 
to  wish  to  see  them,  and  is  often  tempted  to  run 
ignominiously  away  from  Britain  and  France  for 
that  purpose.  .  .  .  Love  to  all  who  love  —  the 
truth !  and  continue  you  to  be  merciful  and  good 
to  me.  Your  affectionate  W. 

On  his  way  to  London  he  stayed,  he  writes  to 
Miss  Fuller,  "  two  days  with  Harriet  Martineau, 
and  spent  an  hour  and  a  half  with  Wordsworth, 
who  was  full  of  talk  on  French  news,  bitter  old 

1  Dr.  Brown  was  expecting  to  reduce  several  chemical  ele- 
ments (perhaps  all  matter)  to  one  substance,  a  line  of  specula- 
tion always  fascinating  to  Emerson. 


SECOND    VISIT  TO  ENGLAND.  525 

Englishman  he  is ;  on  Scotchmen,  whom  he  con- 
temns ;  on  Gibbon,  who  cannot  write  English  ;  on 
Carlyle,  who  is  a  pest  to  the  English  tongue ;  on 
Tennyson,  whom  he  thinks  a  right  poetic  genius, 
though  with  some  affectation  ;  on  Thomas  Taylor, 
an  English  national  character  ;  and  on  poetry  and 
so  forth.  But,  though  he  often  says  something,  I 
think  I  could  easily  undertake  to  write  table-talk 
for  him  to  any  extent,  for  the  newspapers  ;  and  it 
should  cost  me  nothing  and  be  quite  as  good  as  any 
one  is  likely  to  hear  from  his  own  lips.  But  he  is 
a  fine,  healthy  old  man,  with  a  weather-beaten  face, 
and  I  think  it  is  a  high  compliment  we  pay  to  the 
cultivation  of  the  English  generally  that  we  find 
him  not  distinguished.  .  .  .  To-morrow,  through 
all  these  wondrous  French  news  which  all  tongues 
and  telegraphs  discuss,  I  go  to  London." 

At  London  and  on  the  way  he  received  many  in- 
vitations to  lecture  there,  but  apparently  of  a  kind 
that  seemed  to  pledge  him  to  subjects  which  did 
not  suit  him ;  at  all  events,  none  that  he  wished  to 
accept,  though  his  home-letters  told  him  of  claims 
that  made  it  desirable  for  him  to  earn  money  if  he 
could.  Six  weeks  after  he  reached  London  he  was 
still  undecided  about  lecturing.  Meantime  he  was 
making  good  use  of  his  social  opportunities.  A 
day  or  two  after  his  arrival  he  writes  :  — 


526  RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

London,  142  Strand,  March  8,  1848. 

Dear  Lidian  :  .  .  .  Ah,  you  still  ask  nie  for 
that  unwritten  letter,  always  due,  it  seems,  always 
unwritten  from  year  to  year  by  me  to  you,  dear 
Lidian ;  I  fear,  too,  more  widely  true  than  you 
mean,  —  always  due  and  unwritten  by  me  to  every 
sister  and  brother  of  the  human  race.  I  have  only 
to  say  that  I  also  bemoan  myself  daily  for  the  same 
cause ;  that  I  cannot  write  this  letter,  that  I  have 
not  stamina  and  constitution  enough  to  mind  the 
two  functions  of  seraph  and  cherub,  —  oh,  no  !  let 
me  not  use  such  great  words ;  rather  say  that  a 
photometer  cannot  be  a  stove.  .  .  .  Well,  I  will 
come  home  again  shortly,  and  behave  the  best  I 
can.  Only  I  foresee  plainly  that  the  trick  of  soli- 
tariness never,  never  can  leave  me.  My  own  pur- 
suits and  calling  often  appear  to  me  like  those  of 
an  Astronomer  Royal,  whose  whole  duty  is  to  make 
faithful  minutes  which  have  only  value  when  kept 
for  ages,  and  in  one  life  are  insignificant. 

I  have  dined  once  with  Carlyle,  and  have  found 
the  Bancrofts  again  very  kind  and  thoughtful  for 
me.  Mr.  B.  has  supplied  me  with  means  of  access 
to  both  Houses  of  Parliament,  and  Mrs.  Bancroft 
sends  me  a  card  to  Lady  Morgan's  soirees,  where 
she  assures  me  I  shall  see  good  people.  Bancroft 
shares,  of  course,  to  the  highest  point,  in  the  enthu- 
siasm for  the  French.  So  does  Carlyle  in  his  way, 
and  now  for  the  first  time  in  his  life  takes  in  the 


SECOND   VISIT  TO  ENGLAND.  527 

Times  newspaper  daily.  ...  I  also  read  the  Times 
every  day.  I  have  been  to  the  House  of  Lords  one 
evening,  and  attended  during  the  whole  sitting ; 
saw  Wellington.  Once  also  to  the  Commons ;  to 
the  British  Museum,  long  an  object  of  great  desire 
to  me.  .  .  .  Last  night,  by  Carlyle's  advice,  I  at- 
tended a  meeting  of  Chartists,  assembled  to  receive 
the  report  of  the  deputation  they  had  sent  to  con- 
gratulate the  French  Republic.  It  was  crowded, 
and  the  people  very  much  in  earnest.  The  Mar- 
seillaise was  sung  as  songs  are  in  our  abolition 
meetings.  London  is  disturbed  in  these  days  by  a 
mob  which  meets  every  day  this  week,  and  creates 
great  anxiety  among  shopkeepers  in  the  districts 
where  it  wanders,  breaking  windows  and  stealing. 
London  has  too  many  glass  doors  to  afford  riots. 
.  .  .  Yet,  though  there  is  a  vast  population  of 
hungry  operatives  all  over  the  kingdom,  the  peace 
will  probably  not  be  disturbed  by  them  ;  they  will 
only,  in  the  coming  months,  give  body  and  terror 
to  the  demands  made  by  the  Cobdens  and  Brights 
who  agitate  for  the  middle  class.  When  these  are 
satisfied,  universal  suffrage  and  the  republic  will 
come  in.  But  it  is  not  this  which  you  will  wish  to 
hear  now.  The  most  wonderful  thing  I  see  is  this 
London,  at  once  seen  to  be  the  centre  of  the  world  ; 
the  immense  masses  of  life,  of  power,  of  wealth, 
and  the  effect  upon  the  men  of  running  in  and  out 
amidst  the  play  of  this  vast  machinery  ;  the  effect 


528  RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

to  keep  them  tense  and  silent,  and  to  mind  every 
man  his  own.  It  is  all  very  entertaining,  I  assure 
you.  I  think  sometimes  that  it  would  well  become 
me  to  sit  here  a  good  while  and  study  London 
mainly,  and  the  wide  variety  of  classes  that,  like 
so  many  nations,  are  dwelling  here  together.  .  .  . 

March  23.  ...  I  have  seen  a  great  many  peo- 
ple, some  very  good  ones.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Bancroft, 
and  Carlyle,  and  Milnes  have  taken  kind  care  to 
introduce  me.  At  Mr.  Bancroft's  I  dined  with 
Macaulay,  Bunsen,  Lord  Morpeth,  Milman,  Milnes, 
and  others.  Carlyle,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Lyell,  Mrs. 
Butler,  and  others  came  in  the  evening.  At  Mr. 
Milman's  I  breakfasted  with  Macaulay,  Hallam, 
Lord  Morpeth,  and  a  certain  brilliant  Mr.  Charles 
Austin.  ...  At  Mr.  Procter's  (Barry  Cornwall) 
I  dined  with  Forster  of  the  Examiner,  Kinglake 
(Eothen),  and  others.  .  .  .  Carlyle  carried  me  to 
Lady  Harriet  Baring,  who  is  a  very  distinguished 
person,  and  the  next  day  to  Lady  Ashburton,  her 
mother,  and  I  am  to  dine  with  them  both.  .  .  . 
Mrs.  Jameson  I  have  seen  a  good  deal.  Then 
there  is  a  scientific  circle  of  great  importance.  Mr. 
Owen,  who  is  in  England  what  Agassiz  is  in 
America,  has  given  me  a  card  to  his  lectures  at 
the  College  of  Surgeons,  and  shown  me  the  Hun- 
terian  Museum.  His  lecture  gratified  me  the  more, 
or  entirely,  I  may  say,  because,  like  Agassiz,  he  is 
an  idealist  in  physiology.     Then  Mr.  Hutton,  to 


SECOND  VISIT  TO  ENGLAND.  629 

whom  Harriet  Martineau  introduced  me,  carried 
me  to  the  Geological  Society,  where  I  heard  the 
best  debate  I  have  heard  in  England,  the  House  of 
Commons   and  the    Manchester    banquet   not   ex- 
cepted ;   Buckland  (of  the  Bridge  water  treatise), 
a  man  of  great  wit  and  sense  and  science,  and  Car- 
penter, and  Forbes,  and  Lyell,  and  Daubeny  being 
among  the  speakers.     I  was  then  presented  to  the 
Marquis  of  Northampton,  who  invited  me  to  his 
soiree.     These  people  were  all  discoverers  in  their 
new  science,  and  loaded  to  the  lips,  so  that  what 
might  easily  seem  in  a  newspaper  report  a  dull 
affair  was  full  of  character  and  eloquence.     Some 
of  these  above-named  good  friends  exerted  them- 
selves for  me  to  the  best  effect  in  another  way, 
so  that  I  was   honored  with  an  election   into    the 
Athenaeum  Club  during  my  temporary  residence  in 
England,  a  privilege  one  must  prize.  .  .  .  Milnes 
and  other  good  men  are  always  to  be  found  there. 
Milnes  is  the  most  good-natured  man  in  England, 
made  of  sugar ;  he  is  everywhere  and  knows  every- 
thing.   He  told  of  Landor  that  one  day,  in  a  tower- 
ing passion,  he  threw  his  cook  out  of  the  window, 
and  then  presently  exclaimed,  "  Good  God,  I  never 
thought  of  those  poor  violets  !  "     The  last  time  he 
saw  Landor  he  found  him  expatiating  on  our  cus- 
tom of  eating  in  company,  which  he  esteems  very 
barbarous.     He  eats  alone,  with  half-closed  win- 
dows, because  the  light  interferes  with  the  taste. 


530       RALPH    WALDO   EMERSON. 

He  has  lately  heard  of  some  tribe  in  Crim  Tartary 
who  have  the  practice  of  eating  alone,  and  these 
he  extols  as  much  superior  to  the  English.  .  .  . 
Macaulay  is  the  king  of  diners-out.  I  do  not  know 
when  I  have  seen  such  wonderful  vivacity.  He 
has  the  strength  of  ten  men,  immense  memory,  fun, 
fire,  learning,  politics,  manners,  and  pride,  and 
talks  all  the  time  in  a  steady  torrent.  You  would 
say  he  was  the  best  type  of  England.  .  .  . 

March  24.  Yesterday,  or  rather  last  night,  I 
dined  at  Mr.  Baring's  (at  eight  o'clock).  The 
company  was,  Lord  and  Lady  Ashburton,  Lord 
Auckland,  Carlyle,  Milnes,  Thackeray,  Lord  and 
Lady  Castlereagh,  the  Bishop  of  Oxford  (Wilber- 
force),  and  in  the  evening  came  Charles  Buller ; 
who,  they  say  in  introducing  me  to  him,  "  was  the 
cleverest  man  in  England  until  he  attempted  also 
to  be  a  man  of  business."  .  .  .  French  politics  are 
incessantly  discussed  in  all  companies,  and  so  here. 
Besides  the  intrinsic  interest  of  the  spectacle,  and 
the  intimate  acquaintance  which  all  these  people 
have  with  all  the  eminent  persons  in  France,  there 
is  evidently  a  certain  anxiety  to  know  whether  our 
days  also  are  not  numbered.  .  .  .  Carlyle  de- 
claimed a  little  in  the  style  of  that  raven  prophet 
who  cried,  "  Woe  to  Jerusalem,"  just  before  its  fall. 
But  Carlyle  finds  little  reception  even  in  this  com- 
pany, where  some  were  his  warm  friends.  All  his 
methods  included  a  good  deal  of  killing,  and  he 


SECOND  VISIT  TO  ENGLAND.  531 

does  not  see  his  way  very  clearly  or  far.  The 
aristocrats  say,  "  Put  that  man  in  the  House  of 
Commons,  and  you  will  hear  no  more  of  him."  It 
is  a  favorite  tactics  here,  and  silences  the  most 
turbulent.  There  he  will  be  permitted  to  declaim 
once,  only  once  ;  then,  if  he  have  a  measure  to  pro- 
pose, it  will  be  tested  ;  if  not,  he  must  sit  still. 
One  thing  is  certain :  that  if  the  peace  of  England 
should  be  broken  up,  the  aristocracy  here  —  or,  I 
should  say,  the  rich  —  are  stout-hearted,  and  as 
ready  to  fight  for  their  own  as  the  poor ;  are  not 
very  likely  to  run  away.  .  .  .  You  will  wish  to 
know  my  plans.  Alas,  I  have  none.  As  long  as 
I  have  these  fine  opportunities  opening  to  me  here, 
I  prefer  to  use  them  and  stay  where  I  am.  France 
may  presently  shut  its  doors  to  me  and  to  all  peace- 
ful men ;  so  that  I  may  not  go  there  at  all.  But  I 
shall  soon  spend  all  my  money  if  I  sit  here,  and  I 
have  not  yet  taken  any  step  in  London  towards 
filling  my  pocket.  How  can  I  ?  I  must  soon  de- 
cide on  something.  I  have  declined  such  lecturing 
as  was  offered  me ;  you  do  not  wish  me  to  read 
lectures  to  the  Early-closing  Institution?  I  saw 
Macready  the  other  night  as  Lear,  and  Mrs.  But- 
ler as  Cordelia.  Mrs.  Bancroft  is  very  happy  and 
a  universal  favorite.  She  sees  the  best  people  of 
all  the  best  circles,  and  she  has  virtues  and  graces 
which  I  see  to  greater  advantage  in  London  than 
in  Boston  :  for  her  true  love  of  her  old  friends  and 


532       RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

her  home  is  very  obvious.  Her  friend  Miss  Murray 
and  Mrs.  Jameson  were  concocting  a  plot  for  in- 
troducing me  to  Lady  Byron,  who  lives  retired  and 

reads !  .  .  .  But  I  shall,  no  doubt,  remember 

many  traits  and  hues  of  this  Babylonish  dream 
when  I  come  home  to  the  woods. 

April  2.  Yesterday  night  I  went  to  the  soiree 
of  the  Marquis  of  Northampton,  where  may  be 
found  all  the  savants  who  are  in  London.  There 
I  saw  Prince  Albert,  to  whom  Dr.  Buckland  was 
showing  some  microscopic  phenomena.  The  prince 
is  handsome  and  courteous,  and  I  watched  him  for 
some  minutes  across  the  table,  as  a  personage  of 
much  historical  interest.  Here  I  saw  Mantell, 
Captain  Sabine,  Brown  the  great  botanist,  Crabb 
Robinson  (who  knew  all  men,  Lamb,  Southey, 
Wordsworth,  Madame  de  Stael,  and  Goethe),  Sir 
Charles  Fellowes,  who  brought  home  the  Lycian 
marbles ;  and  many  more.  Then  I  went,  by  an  in- 
vitation sent  me  through  Milnes,  to  Lady  Palmer- 
ston's,  and  saw  quite  an  illustrious  collection,  such 
as  only  London  and  Lord  Palmerston  could  collect : 
princes  and  high  foreigners ;  Bunsen ;  Rothschild 
(that  London  proverb)  in  flesh  and  blood ;  Dis- 
raeli, to  whom  I  was  presented,  and  had  with  him 
a  little  talk ;  Macaulay ;  Mr.  Cowper,  a  very  cour- 
teous gentleman,  son  of  Lady  Palmerston,  with 
whom  I  talked  much ;  and  many  distinguished 
dames,  some  very  handsome.  .  .  .  Lord   Palmer- 


SECOND  VISIT  TO  ENGLAND.  533 

ston  is  frank  and  affable,  of  a  strong  but  cheerful 
and  ringing  speech.  But  I  ought  to  have  told  you 
that  on  the  morning  of  this  day  when  I  saw  all  these 
fine  figures  I  had  come  from  Oxford,  where  I  spent 
something  more  than  two  days,  very  happily.  I 
had  an  old  invitation  from  Mr.  Clough,  a  Fellow  of 
Oriel,  and  last  week  I  had  a  new  one  from  Dr. 
Daubeny,  the  botanical  professor.  I  went  on 
Thursday.  I  was  housed  close  upon  Oriel,  though 
not  within  it,  but  I  lived  altogether  on  college  hos- 
pitalities, dining  at  Exeter  College  with  Palgrave, 
Froude,  and  other  Fellows,  and  breakfasting  next 
morning  at  Oriel  with  Clough,  Dr.  Daubeny,  etc. 
They  all  showed  me  the  kindest  attentions,  .  .  . 
but,  much  more,  they  showed  me  themselves ;  who 
are  many  of  them  very  earnest,  faithful,  affection- 
ate, some  of  them  highly  gifted  men  ;  some  of 
them,  too,  prepared  and  decided  to  make  great  sac- 
rifices for  conscience'  sake.  Froude  is  a  noble 
youth,  to  whom  my  heart  warms ;  I  shall  soon  see 
him  again.  Truly  I  became  fond  of  these  monks  of 
Oxford.  Last  Suuday  I  dined  at  Mr.  Bancroft's 
with  Lady  Morgan  and  Mrs.  Jameson,  and  ac- 
cepted Lady  Morgan's  invitation  for  the  next  even- 
ing to  tea.  At  her  house  I  found,  beside  herself 
(who  is  a  sort  of  fashionable  or  London  edition  of 
aunt  Mary;  the  vivacity,  the  wit,  the  admirable 
preservation  of  social  powers,  being  retained,  but 
the  high  moral  genius  being  left  out),  Mrs.  Gore, 


534       RALPH   WALDO   EMERSON. 

of  the  fashionable  novels,  a  handsome  Lady  Moles- 
worth,  a  handsome,  sensible  Lady  Louisa  Tenny- 
son, Mr.  Kinglake,  Mr.  Conyngham,  a  friend  of 
John  Sterling's,  and  others. 

Pray,  after  this  ostentation  of  my  fashionable  ac- 
quaintance, do  you  believe  that  my  rusticities  are 
smoothed  down,  and  my  bad  manners  mended  ? 
Not  in  the  smallest  degree.  I  have  not  acquired 
the  least  facility,  nor  can  hope  to.  But  I  do  not 
decline  these  opportunities,  as  they  are  all  valuable 
to  me,  who  would,  at  least,  know  how  that  "  other 
half  of  the  world "  lives,  though  I  cannot  and 
would  not  live  with  them.  I  find  the  greatest  sim- 
plicity of  speech  and  manners  among  these  people ; 
great  directness,  but,  I  think,  the  same  (or  even 
greater)  want  of  high  thought  as  you  would  notice 
in  a  fashionable  circle  in  Boston.  Yes,  greater. 
But  then  I  know  these  people  very  superficially. 
I  have  not  yet  told  you,  I  believe,  of  my  dinner  at 
Lord  Ashburton's,  where  I  sat  between  Mr.  Hallam 
and  Lord  Northampton,  and  saw  Lockhart,  Buck- 
land,  Croker,  Lady  Davy  (of  Sir  Humphrey  D.), 
Lord  Monteagle,  and  more.  Another  day  I  went 
to  the  house,  and  Lord  Ashburton  showed  me  all 
his  pictures,  which  are  most  precious  and  re- 
nowned. Hallam  was  very  courteous  and  com- 
municative, and  has  since  called  on  me.  To-mor- 
row I  am  to  dine  with  Mr.  Lyell,  and  the  next 
day  with   the   Geological  Club   at   the  invitation 


SECOND  VISIT  TO  ENGLAND.  535 

of  — oh,  tell  not  Dr.  C.  T.  J.  [Dr.  Charles  T. 
Jackson,  his  brother-in-law,  geologist  and  man  of 
science]  —  Sir  Henry  Delabeche,  the  president.  .  .  . 
I  spend  the  first  hours  of  the  day  usually  in  my 
chamber,  and  have  got  a  new  chapter  quite  for- 
ward, if  it  have  rather  a  musty  title.  Whether  to 
go  to  France  or  not,  I  have  not  quite  determined : 
I  suppose  I  must,  in  all  prudence ;  though  I  have 
no  money,  nor  any  plain  way  of  obtaining  any. 

London,  April  20,  1848. 
Dear  Lidian,  —  The  steamer  is  in  :  everybody 
has  letters,  and  I  have  none,  none  from  you  or  the 
dear  little  Ellen  who  writes  me  short,  pert,  good 
notes,  — all  blessings  fall  on  the  child  !  It  must  be 
that  you  too  have  decided  that  boats  run  a  little 
too  often  for  mere  human  pens  moved  by  hands 
that  have  many  more  things  to  drive.  ...  I  have 
been  busy  during  the  last  fortnight,  but  have  added 
no  very  noticeable  persons  to  my  list  of  acquaint- 
ances. A  good  deal  of  time  is  lost  here  in  their 
politics,  as  I  read  the  newspaper  daily,  and  the 
revolution,  fixed  for  the  10th  instant,  occupied  all 
men's  thought  until  the  Chartist  petition  was  ac- 
tually carried  to  the  Commons.  And  the  rain,  too, 
which  falls  at  any  time  almost  every  day,  —  these 
things,  and  the  many  miles  of  street  you  must 
afoot  or  by  'bus  or  cab  achieve  to  make  any  visit, 
put  me,  who  am,  as  you  know,  always  faint-hearted 


536  RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

at  the  name  of  visiting,  much  out  of  the  humor  of 
prosecuting  my  social  advantages.  I  have  dined  with 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Lyell  one  day,  and  one  with  a  good 
Dr.  Forbes,  who  carried  me  to  the  Royal  Institu- 
tion to  hear  Faraday,  who  is  reckoned  the  best  lec- 
turer in  London.  It  seems  very  doubtful  whether 
I  shall  read  lectures  here  even  now.  Chapman 
makes  himself  very  busy  about  it,  and  a  few  people, 
and  I  shall,  no  doubt,  have  a  good  opportunity,  but 
I  am  not  ready,  and  it  is  a  lottery  business,  and  I 
do  much  incline  to  decline  it,  —  on  grounds  that  I 
can  only  tell  you  of  at  home,  —  and  go  to  Paris  for 
a  few  weeks,  get  my  long-promised  French  lesson, 
and  come  home  to  be  poor  and  pay  for  my  learning. 
I  have  really  been  at  work  every  day  here  with  my 
old  tools  of  book  and  pen,  and  shall  at  last  have 
something  to  show  for  it  all. 

The  best  sights  I  have  seen  lately  are,  the  British 
Museum,  whose  chambers  of  antiquities  I  visited 
with  the  Bancrofts  on  a  private  day,  under  the  gui- 
dance of  Sir  Charles  Fellowes,  who  brought  home 
the  Xanthian  marbles,  and  really  gave  us  the  most 
instructive  chapter  on  the  subject  of  Greek  remains 
that  I  have  ever  heard  or  read  of .  .  .  .  Then  the 
King's  Library,  which  I  saw  under  the  guidance  of 
Panizzi,  the  librarian,  and  afterwards  of  Coventry 
Patmore,  a  poet,  who  is  a  sub-librarian.  Then  I 
heard  Grisi  the  other  night  sing  at  Covent  Garden, 
—  Grisi  and  Alboni,  the  rivals  of  the  opera.    Being 


SECOND  VISIT  TO  ENGLAND.  537 

admitted  an  honorary  member  of  the  Reform  Club, 
I  went  over  all  that  magnificent  house  with  Mr. 
Field,  through  its  kitchen,  reckoned  the  best  in 
Europe,  which  was  shown  to  me  by  Soyer,  renowned 
in  the  literature  of  saucepan  and  soup.  Another 
day  through,  over,  and  under  the  new  Houses  of  Par- 
liament, .  .  .  among  the  chiefest  samples  of  the 
delight  which  Englishmen  find  in  spending  a  great 
deal  of  money.  Carlyle  has  been  quite  ill  lately 
with  inflamed  sore  throat,  and  as  he  is  a  very  in- 
tractable patient,  his  wife  and  brother  have  no  small 
trouble  to  keep  him  in  bed  or  even  in  the  house.  I 
certainly  obtained  a  fairer  share  of  the  conversation 
when  I  visited  him.  He  is  very  grim  lately  on 
these  ominous  times,  which  have  been  and  are 
deeply  alarming  to  all  England. 

I  find  Chapman  very  anxious  to  establish  a  jour- 
nal common  to  Old  and  New  England,  as  was  long 
ago  proposed.  Froude  and  Clough  and  other  Ox- 
onians and  others  would  gladly  conspire.  Let  the 
Massachusetts  Quarterly  give  place  to  this,  and 
we  should  have  two  legs  and  bestride  the  sea.  But 
what  do  I,  or  what  does  any  friend  of  mine  in 
America,  care  for  a  journal  ?  Not  enough,  I  fear,  to 
secure  any  energetic  work  on  that  side.  ...  'T  is 
certain  the  Mass.  Q.  B.  will  fail  unless  Henry 
Thoreau  and  Alcott  and  Channing  and  Charles 
Newcomb  —  the  f ourf old-visaged  four  —  fly  to  the 
rescue.     I  am  sorry  that  Alcott's  editor,  the  Du- 


538  RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

mont  of  our  Bentham,  Baruch  of  our  Jeremiah,  is  so 
slow  to  be  born.  .  .  .  Young  Palgrave  at  Oxford 
gave  me  a  letter  to  Sir  William  Hooker,  who  pre- 
sides over  Kew  Gardens,  and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Bancroft 
having  a  good  will  to  go  there,  and  being  already 
acquainted  with  him,  we  went  thither  yesterday  in 
their  carriage,  and  had  the  benefit  of  this  eminent 
guide  through  these  eminent  gardens.  The  day  was 
the  finest  of  the  year,  and  the  garden  is  the  richest 
on  the  face  of  the  earth.  Adam  would  find  all  his 
old  acquaintances  of  Eden  here.  Since  I  have  been 
in  London  I  have  not  earned  a  single  pound.  The 
universal  anxiety  of  people  on  political  and  social 
dangers  makes  no  favorable  theatre  for  letters  and 
lectures.  The  poor  booksellers  sell  no  book  for  the 
last  month.  Neither  have  I  yet  had  any  new  chap- 
ters quite  ripe  to  offer  for  reading  to  a  private  class. 
But  all  this  question  must  very  shortly  decide  it- 
self. Either  I  shall  undertake  something  in  Lon- 
don, or  go  to  Liverpool  or  to  Bristol,  as  has  been 
proposed,  or  renounce  all  such  thought,  and  deter- 
mine to  pay  for  my  pleasures  by  publishing  my 
new  papers  when  I  get  home.  My  newest  writing 
(except  always  an  English  journal  which  grows  a 
little  day  by  day)  is  a  kind  of  "  Natural  History  of 
Intellect ; "  very  unpromising  title,  is  it  not  ?  and, 
you  will  say,  the  better  it  is,  the  worse.  I  dined  with 
the  Geological  Club  yesterday,  and  in  the  evening 
attended  the  meeting  of  the  Society,  and  had  a  very 


SECOND  VISIT  TO  ENGLAND.  539 

good  opportunity  of  hearing  Sedgwick,  who  is  their 
best  man,  Ramsay,  Jukes,  Forbes,  Buckland,  and 
others.  To-day  I  have  heard  Dr.  Carpenter  lecture 
at  the  Royal  Institution.  .  .  .  Dear  love  to  all  the 
children  three,  and  to  dear  friends  whom  I  do  not 
besrin  to  name  for  fear  to  choose.  I  never  name 
any  without  a  sense  of  crying  injustice,  so  multitu- 
dinous are  my  debts,  happy,  unhappy  man  that  I 
am !     Fare  you  well.  Waldo. 

May  4.  I  am  going  on  Saturday  to  Paris.  I 
mean  to  read  six  lectures  in  London,  which  will  be 
forthwith  advertised,  to  begin  three  weeks  from  next 
Tuesday.  And  I  shall  spend  the  interim  in  France. 
I  had  all  but  decided  not  to  read  in  London,  but  was 
much  pressed,  and  came  at  last  to  have  a  feeling 
that  not  to  do  it  was  a  kind  of  skulking.  I  cannot 
suit  myself  yet  with  a  name  for  the  course.  I  am 
leading  the  same  miscellaneous  London  life  as 
when  I  have  written  before :  dining  out  in  a  great 
variety  of  companies,  seeing  shilling  shows,  attend- 
ing scientific  and  other  societies,  seeing  picture- 
galleries,  operas,  and  theatres.  One  day  I  met 
Dickens  at  Mr.  Forster's,  and  liked  him  very  well. 
Carlyle  dined  there  also,  and  it  seemed  the  habit  of 
the  set  to  pet  Carlyle  a  good  deal,  and  draw  out 
the  mountainous  mirth.  The  pictures  which  such 
people  together  give  one  of  what  is  really  going 
forward  in  private  and  in  public  life   are  inesti- 


540       RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

mable.  Day  before  yesterday  I  dined  with  the 
Society  of  Antiquaries,  sat  beside  the  veritable 
Collier  (of  Shakspeare  criticism)  and  discussed  the 
Sonnets.  Among  the  toasts  my  health  was  actually 
proposed  to  the  company  by  the  president,  Lord 
Mahon,  and  I  made  a  speech  in  reply  ;  all  which 
was  surprising  enough.  To-morrow  I  am  to  dine 
with  Tennyson,  whom  I  have  not  yet  seen,  at  Cov- 
entry Patmore's.  .  .  .  Miss  Martineau  is  here,  not, 
as  I  supposed,  for  a  frolic  after  so  much  labor, 
but  to  begin,  with  Knight,  hard  work  for  a  twelve- 
month in  writing  a  penny  journal  called  Voice  of 
the  People  ;  which  the  government  have  procured 
these  two  to  emit  in  these  wild  times,  and  which 
seems  to  foolish  me  like  a  sugar-plum  thrown  to  a 
mad  bull.  .   .  . 

(Journal.)  "  I  saw  Tennyson  first  at  the  house 
of  Coventry  Patmore,  where  we  dined  together. 
I  was  contented  with  him  at  once.  He  is  tall  and 
scholastic-looking,  no  dandy,  but  a  great  deal  of 
plain  strength  about  him,  and,  though  cultivated, 
quite  unaffected.  Quiet,  sluggish  sense  and  thought ; 
refined,  as  all  English  are,  and  good-humored. 
There  is  in  him  an  air  of  general  superiority  that 
is  very  satisfactory.  He  lives  with  his  college  set, 
.  .  .  and  has  the  air  of  one  who  is  accustomed  to 
be  petted  and  indulged  by  those  he  lives  with. 
Take  away  Hawthorne's  bashfulness,  and  let  him 


PARIS  IN  1848.  541 

talk  easily  and  fast,  and  yon  would  have  a  pretty 
good  Tennyson.  I  told  him  that  his  friends  and 
I  were  persuaded  that  it  was  important  to  his 
health  an  instant  visit  to  Paris,  and  that  I  was  to 
go  on  Monday  if  he  was  ready.  He  was  very  good- 
humored,  and  affected  to  think  that  I  should  never 
come  back  alive  from  France  ;  it  was  death  to  go. 
But  he  had  been  looking  for  two  years  for  some- 
body to  go  to  Italy  with,  and  was  ready  to  set  out 
at  once,  if  I  would  go  there.  .  .  .  He  gave  me  a 
cordial  invitation  to  his  lodgings  (in  Buckingham 
Place),  where  I  promised  to  visit  him  before  I  went 
away.  ...  I  found  him  at  home  in  his  lodgings, 
but  with  him  was  a  clergyman  whose  name  I  did 
not  know,  and  there  was  no  conversation.  He 
was  sure  again  that  he  was  taking  a  final  farewell 
of  me,  as  I  was  going  among  the  French  bullets, 
but  promised  to  be  in  the  same  lodgings  if  I  should 
escape  alive.  .  .  .  Carlyle  thinks  him  the  best  man 
in  England  to  smoke  a  pipe  with,  and  used  to  see 
him  much  ;  had  a  place  in  his  little  garden,  on  the 
wall,  where  Tennyson's  pipe  was  laid  up. 

Pabis,  May  17,  1848. 
Dear  Lidian,  —  I  came  to  Paris  by  Boulogne 
Saturday  night,  May  6.  I  have  been  at  lodgings 
ever  since,  in  the  Rue  des  Petits  Augustins,  where 
I  manage  to  live  very  comfortably.  On  Monday 
(day  before  yesterday),  as   you  will   read   in  the 


542  RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

papers,  there  was  a  revolution  defeated  which  came 
within  an  ace  of  succeeding.  We  were  all  assured 
for  an  hour  or  two  that  the  new  government  was 
proclaimed  and  the  old  routed,  and  Paris,  in  terror, 
seemed  to  acquiesce  ;  but  the  National  Guards,  who 
are  all  but  the  entire  male  population  of  Paris,  at 
last  found  somebody  to  rally  and  lead  them,  and 
they  swept  away  the  conspirators  in  a  moment. 
Blanqui  and  Barbes,  the  two  principal  ringleaders, 
I  knew  well,  as  I  had  attended  Blanqui's  club  on 
the  evenings  of  Saturday  and  Sunday,  and  heard 
his  instructions  to  his  Montagnards,  and  Barbes' 
club  I  had  visited  last  week,  and  I  am  heartily 
glad  of  the  shopkeepers'  victory.  I  saw  the  sudden 
and  immense  display  of  arms  when  the  rappel  was 
beaten,  on  Monday  afternoon ;  the  streets  full  of 
bayonets,  and  the  furious  driving  of  the  horses 
dragging  cannon  towards  the  National  Assembly  ; 
the  rapid  succession  of  proclamations  proceeding 
from  the  government  and  pasted  on  the  walls  at 
the  corners  of  all  streets,  eagerly  read  by  crowds 
of  people  ;  and,  not  waiting  for  this,  the  rapid  pas- 
sage of  messengers  with  proclamations  in  their 
hands,  which  they  read  to  knots  of  people  and  then 
ran  on  to  another  knot,  and  so  on  down  a  street. 
The  moon  shone  as  the  sun  went  down ;  the  river 
rolled  under  the  crowded  bridges,  along  the  swarm- 
ing quays  ;  the  tricolor  waved  on  the  great  mass  of 
the  Tuileries,  which  seemed  too  noble  a  palace  to 


PARIS  IN  1848.  543 

doubt  of  the  owner  ;  but  before  night  all  was  safe, 
and  our  new  government,  who  had  held  the  seats  for 
a  quarter  of  an  hour,  were  fast  in  jail.  ...  I  have 
seen  Rachel  in  Phedre,  and  heard  her  chant  the 
Marseillaise.     She  deserves  all  her   fame,  and   is 
the  only  good  actress  I  have  ever  seen.     I  went  to 
the  Sorbonne,  and  heard  a  lecture  from  Leverrier 
on  mathematics.     It  consisted  chiefly  of  algebraic 
formulas  which  he  worked  out  on  the  blackboard ; 
but  I  saw  the  man.     I  heard  Michelet  on  Indian 
philosophy.      But,    though  I  have  been   to   many 
places,  I  find  the  clubs  the  most  interesting;  the 
men  are  in  terrible  earnest.     The  fire  and  fury  of 
the  people,  when  they  are  interrupted  and  thwarted, 
are  inconceivable  to  New  England.     The  costumes 
are  foi'midable.     All  France  is  bearded  like  goats 
and  lions;  then   most   of  Paris  is  in   some   kind 
of  uniform,  —  red    cap,    red  sash,    blouse   perhaps 
bound  by  red  sash,  brass  helmet,  and  sword,  and 
everybody  supposed  to  have  a  pistol  in  his  pocket. 
But   the  deep  sincerity  of  the  speakers,  who  are 
agitating  social,  not  political  questions,  and  who  are 
studying  how  to  secure  a  fair  share  of  bread    to 
every  man,  and  to  get  God's  justice  done  through 
the    land,  is  very  good  to  hear.  .  .  .  Clough,  my 
Oxford  friend,  is  here,  and  we  usually  dine  together. 
...  I  have  just  sent  my  programme  of   lectures 
to  London,  but  am  not  to  begin  until  the  6th  of 
June ;    thence    count    three   long   weeks   for   the 


544  RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

course  to  fill,  and  I  do  not  set  out  for  Boston  until 
almost  the  1st  of  July.  By  that  time  you  must 
make  up  your  minds  to  let  me  come  home.  And 
I  am  losing  all  these  weeks  and  months  of  my 
children ;  which  I  daily  regret.  I  shall  bring 
home,  with  a  good  many  experiences  that  are  well 
enough,  a  contentedness  with  home,  I  think,  for 
the  rest  of  my  days.  Indeed,  I  did  not  come 
here  to  get  that,  for  I  had  no  great  good-will  to 
come  away,  but  it  is  confirmed  after  seeing  so  many 
of  the  "  contemporaries." 

I  think  we  are  fallen  on  shallow  agencies.  Is 
there  not  one  of  your  doctors  who  treats  all  disease 
as  diseases  of  the  skin?  All  these  orators  in  blouse 
or  broadcloth  seem  to  me  to  treat  the  matter  quite 
literarily,  and  with  the  ends  of  the  fingers.  They 
are  earnest  and  furious,  but  about  patent  methods 
and  ingenious  machines. 

May  24.  I  find  Paris  a  place  of  the  largest  liberty 
that  is,  I  suppose,  in  the  civilized  world  ;  and  I  am 
thankful  for  it,  just  as  I  am  for  etherization,  as  a 
resource  when  the  accident  of  any  hideous  surgery 
threatens  me ;  so  Paris  in  the  contingency  of  my  ever 
needing  a  place  of  diversion  and  independence  ;  this 
shall  be  my  best-bower  anchor.  All  winter  I  have 
been  admiring  the  English  and  disparaging  the 
French.  Now  in  these  weeks  I  have  been  correct- 
ing my  prejudice,  and  the  French  rise  many  entire 
degrees.     Their  universal  good-breeding  is  a  great 


PARIS  IN  1848.  545 

convenience ;  and  the  English  and  American 
superstition  in  regard  to  broadcloth  seems  really 
diminished,  if  not  abolished,  here.  Knots  of  people 
converse  everywhere  in  the  street,  and  the  blouse, 
or  shirt-sleeves  without  blouse,  becomes  as  readily 
the  centre  of  discourse  as  any  other ;  and  Super- 
fine and  Shirt,  who  never  saw  each  other  before, 
converse  in  the  most  earnest  yet  deferential  way. 
Nothing  like  it  could  happen  in  England.  They 
are  the  most  joyous  race,  and  put  the  best  face  on 
everything.  Paris,  to  be  sure,  is  their  main  perfor- 
mance ;  but  one  can  excuse  their  vanity  and  pride, 
it  is  so  admirable  a  city.  The  Seine  adorns  Paris  ; 
the  Thames  is  out  of  sight  in  London.  The  Seine 
is  quayed  all  the  way,  so  that  broad  streets  on  both 
sides  the  river,  as  well  as  gay  bridges,  have  all  the 
good  of  it,  and  the  sun  and  moon  and  stars  look 
into  it  and  are  reflected.  At  London  I  cannot  re- 
member seeing  the  river.  Here  are  magnificent 
gardens,  neither  too  large  nor  too  small  for  the 
convenience  of  the  whole  people,  who  spend  every 
evening  in  them.  Here  are  palaces  tridy  royal.  If 
they  have  cost  a  great  deal  of  treasure  at  some 
time,  they  have  at  least  got  a  palace  to  show  for  it, 
and  a  church  too,  in  Notre  Dame  ;  whilst  in  Eng- 
land there  is  no  palace,  with  all  their  floods  of  mil- 
lions of  guineas  that  have  been  spent.  I  witnessed 
the  great  national  fete  on  Sunday  last,  when  over 
120,000  people  stood  in  the  Champ  de  Mars,  and 


546  RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

it  was  like  an  immense  family;  the  perfect  good- 
humor  and  fellowship  is  so  habitual  to  them  all. 
.  .  .  You  will  like  to  know  that  I  heard  Lamartine 
speak  to-day  in  the  Chamber  ;  his  great  speech,  the 
journals  say,  on  Poland.  Mr.  Rush  lent  me  his 
own  ticket  for  the  day.  He  did  not  speak,  however, 
with  much  energy,  but  is  a  manly,  handsome,  gray- 
haired  gentleman,  with  nothing  of  the  rust  of  the 
man  of  letters,  and  delivers  himself  with  great 
ease  and  superiority.  .  .  .  Clough  is  still  here,  and 
is  my  chief  dependence  at  the  dining  hour  and  after- 
wards. I  am  to  go  to  a  soiree  at  De  Tocqueville's 
to-night.  My  French  is  far  from  being  as  good  as 
Madame  de  Stael's. 

London,  June  8,  1848. 

I  came  from  Paris  last  Saturday  hither,  after 
spending  twenty-five  days  there,  and  seeing  little  of 
the  inside  of  the  houses.  I  had  one  very  pleasant 
hour  with  Madame  d'Agout.  .  .  .  An  artist  of  the 
name  of  Lehmann  offered  me  also  good  introduc- 
tions, and  I  was  to  see  Quinet,  Lamennais,  and 
others,  but  I  turned  my  back  and  came  to  London. 
Still,  Paris  is  much  the  more  attractive  to  me  of  the 
two ;  in  great  part,  no  doubt,  because  it  yields  itself 
up  entirely  to  serve  us.  I  wholly  forget  what  I  have 
already  written  you  concerning  Paris,  and  must  not 
venture  on  repeating  my  opinions,  which  are  stereo- 
typed as  usual,  and  will  surely  come  in  the  same 
words.     Besides,  I  have  no  right  to  be  writing  you 


SECOND  VISIT  TO  ENGLAND.  547 

at  all,  dear  wife,  as  I  have  been  writing  all  day, 
have  read  my  second  lecture  to-day,  and  must 
write  all  to-morrow  on  my  third  for  Saturday.  We 
have  a  very  moderate  audience,  and  I  was  right,  of 
course,  in  not  wishing  to  undertake  it ;  for  I  spoil 
my  work  by  giving  it  this  too  rapid  casting.  .  .  . 
It  is  a  regret  to  me  to  lose  this  summer ;  for  in 
London  all  days  and  all  seasons  are  alike,  and  I 
have  not  realized  one  natural  day.  .  .  .  Carlyle 
talks  of  editing  a  newspaper,  he  has  so  much  to 
say  about  the  evil  times.  You  have  probably  al- 
ready seen  his  articles.  I  send  you  two  of  them 
in  the  Spectator.  ...  It  grieves  me  that  I  cannot 
write  to  the  children :  to  Edie  for  her  printed  let- 
ter, which  is  a  treasure ;  to  Ellen,  who  must  be  my 
own  secretary  directly.  I  cannot  hear  that  the 
railroad  bridge  is  built,  and  you  would  not  have 
me  come  home  till  I  can  go  clean  from  Boston  to 
Concord?  Will  this  idle  scrawling  tell  you  the 
sad  secret  that  I  cannot  with  heavy  head  make  the 
smallest  way  in  my  inevitable  morrow's  work? 

June  16.  My  last  lecture  is  to-morrow,  and  is 
far  from  ready.  Then  do  not  expect  me  to  leave 
England  for  a  fortnight  yet,  for  I  must  make 
amends  for  my  aristocratic  lecturing  in  Edwards 
Street,  at  prices  which  exclude  all  my  public,  by 
reading  three  of  my  old  chapters  in  Exeter  Hall 
to  a  city  association.  Our  little  company  at 
Marylebone  has  grown  larger  on  each  day,  and  is 


548       RALPH    WALDO  EMERSON. 

truly  a  dignified  company,  in  which  several  notable 
men  and  women  are  patiently  found.  .  .  .  Carlyle 
takes  a  lively  interest  in  our  lectures,  especially  in 
the  third  of  the  course  [on  the  "  Tendencies  and 
Duties  of  Men  of  Thought"],  and  he  is  a  very 
observed  auditor,  't  is  very  plain.  The  Duchess  of 
Sutherland,  a  magnificent  lady,  comes,  and  Lady 
Ashburton,  and  Lord  Lovelace,  who  is  the  husband 
of  "  Ada,  sole  daughter  of  my  house  and  heart, " 
and  Mrs.  Jameson,  and  Spence  (of  Kirby  and 
Spence),  and  Barry  Cornwall,  and  Lyell,  and  a 
great  many  more  curiosities  ;  but  none  better  than 
Jane  Carlyle  and  Mrs.  Bancroft,  who  honestly 
come.     Love  to  the  little  saints  of  the  nursery.  .  .  . 

London,  June  21. 
We  finished  the  Marylebone  course  last  Saturday 
afternoon,  to  the  great  joy,  doubt  not,  of  all  par- 
ties. It  was  a  curious  company  that  came  to  hear 
the  Massachusetts  Indian,  and  partly  new,  Carlyle 
says,  at  every  lecture.  Some  of  the  company  pro- 
bably came  to  see  others ;  for,  besides  our  high 
Duchess  of  Sutherland  and  her  sister,  Lord  Mor- 
peth and  the  Duke  of  Argyle  came,  and  other 
aristocratic  people  ;  and  as  there  could  be  no  pre- 
diction what  might  be  said,  and  therefore  what 
must  be  heard  by  them,  and  in  the  presence  of 
Carlyle  and  Monckton  Milnes,  etc.,  there  might  be 
fun ;  who  knew  ?     Carlyle,  too,  makes  loud  Scot- 


SECOND  VISIT  TO  ENGLAND.  549 

tish-Covenanter  gruntings  of  laudation,  or  at  least 
of  consideration,  when  anything  strikes  him,  to 
the  edifying  of  the  attentive  vicinity.  As  it  befell, 
no  harm  was  done ;  no  knives  were  concealed  in 
the  words,  more 's  the  pity  !  Many  things  —  sup- 
posed by  some  to  be  important,  but  on  which  the 
better  part  suspended  their  judgment  —  were  pro- 
pounded, and  the  assembly  at  last  escaped  without 
a  revolution.  Lord  Morpeth  sent  me  a  compliment 
in  a  note,  and  I  am  to  dine  with  him  on  the  28th. 
The  Duchess  of  Sutherland  sent  for  me  to  come  to 
lunch  on  Monday,  and  she  would  show  me  her 
house.  Lord  Lovelace  called  on  me  on  Saturday, 
and  I  am  to  dine  with  him  to-morrow,  and  see  By- 
ron's daughter.  I  met  Lady  Byron  at  Mrs.  Jame- 
son's, last  week,  one  evening.  She  is  a  quiet,  sen- 
sible woman,  with  this  merit  among  others,  that 
she  never  mentions  Lord  Byron  or  her  connection 
with  him,  and  lets  the  world  discuss  her  supposed 
griefs  or  joys  in  silence.  Last  night  I  visited 
Leigh  Hunt,  who  is  a  very  agreeable  talker,  and 
lays  himself  out  to  please ;  gentle,  and  full  of  an- 
ecdote. And  there  is  no  end  of  the  Londoners. 
Did  I  tell  you  that  Carlyle  talks  seriously  about 
writing  a  newspaper,  or  at  least  short  off-hand 
tracts,  to  follow  each  other  rapidly,  on  the  political 
questions  of  the  day  ?  I  had  a  long  talk  with  him 
on  Sunday  evening,  to  much  more  purpose  than  we 
commonly  attain.     He  is  solitary  and  impatient  of 


550       RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

people ;  lie  has  no  weakness  of  respect,  poor  man, 
such  as  is  granted  to  other  scholars  I  wot  of,  and  I 
see  no  help  for  him.  ...  I  have  been  taxed  with 
neglecting  the  middle  class  by  these  West-End  lec- 
tures, and  now  am  to  read  expiatory  ones  in  Exeter 
Hall ;  only  three,  —  three  dull  old  songs. 

TO   MISS   HOAR. 

London,  June  21,  1848. 

Deak  Elizabeth,  —  I  have  been  sorry  to  let 
two,  or  it  may  be  three,  steamers  go  without  a  word 
to  you  since  your  last  letter.  But  there  was  no 
choice.  Now  my  literary  duties  in  London  and 
England  are  for  this  present  ended,  and  one  has 
leisure  not  only  to  be  glad  that  one's  sister  is  alive, 
but  to  say  so.  I  believe  you  are  very  impatient  of 
my  impatience  to  come  home,  but  my  pleasure,  like 
everybody's,  is  in  my  work,  and  I  get  many  more 
good  hours  in  a  Concord  week  than  in  a  London 
one.  Then  my  atelier  in  all  these  years  has  grad- 
ually gathered  a  little  sufficiency  of  tools  and  con- 
veniences for  me,  and  I  have  missed  its  apparatus 
continually  in  England.  The  rich  Athenaeum 
(Club)  library,  yes,  and  the  dismaying  library  of  the 
British  Museum  could  not  vie  with  mine  in  con- 
venience. And  if  my  journeying  has  furnished 
me  new  materials,  I  only  wanted  my  atelier  the 
more.  To  be  sure,  it  is  our  vice  —  mine,  I  mean 
—  never  to  be  well ;  and  to  make  all  our  gains  by 


SECOND  VISIT  TO  ENGLAND.  551 

this  indisposition.  So  you  will  not  take  my  wish- 
ings  for  any  more  serious  calamity  than  the  com- 
mon lot.  And  yet  you  must  be  willing  that  I 
should  desire  to  come  home  and  see  you  and  the 
rest.  Dear  thanks  for  all  the  true  kindness  your 
letter  brings.  How  gladly  I  would  bring  you  such 
pictures  of  my  experiences  here  as  you  would  bring 
me,  if  you  had  them !  Sometimes  I  have  the 
strongest  wish  for  your  daguerreotyping  eyes  and 
narrative  eloquence,  but  I  think  never  more  than 
the  day  before  yesterday.  The  Duchess  of  Suth- 
erland sent  for  me  to  come  to  lunch  with  her  at 
two  o'clock,  and  she  would  show  me  Stafford  House. 
Now  you  must  know  this  eminent  lady  lives  in  the 
best  house  in  the  kingdom,  the  Queen's  not  excepted. 
I  went,  and  was  received  with  great  courtesy  by 
the  Duchess,  who  is  a  fair,  large  woman,  of  good 
figure,  with  much  dignity  and  sweetness,  and  the 
kindest  manners.  She  was  surrounded  by  company, 
and  she  presented  me  to  the  Duke  of  Argyle,  her 
son-in-law,  and  to  her  sisters,  the  Ladies  Howard. 
After  we  left  the  table  we  went  through  this  magnif- 
icent palace,  this  young  and  friendly  Duke  of  Argyle 
being  my  guide.  He  told  me  he  had  never  seen  so 
fine  a  banquet  hall  as  the  one  we  were  entering ; 
and  galleries,  saloons,  and  anterooms  were  all  in 
the  same  regal  proportions  and  richness,  full  every- 
where with  sculpture  and  painting.  We  found  the 
Duchess  in  the  gallery,  and  she  showed  me  her 


552       RALPH   WALDO   EMERSON. 

most  valued  pictures.  ...  I  asked  her  if  she  did 
not  come  on  fine  mornings  to  walk  alone   amidst 
these  beautiful    forms ;    which  she    professed   she 
liked  well  to  do.     She  took  care  to  have  every  best 
thing  pointed  out  to  me,  and  invited  me  to  come 
and  see  the  gallery  alone  whenever  I  liked.     I  as- 
sure you  in  this  little  visit  the  two  parts  of  Duchess 
and  of  palace  were  well  and  truly  played.  ...  I 
have  seen  nothing  so  sumptuous  as  was  all  this. 
One  would  so  gladly  forget  that  there  was  anything 
else  in  England  than  these  golden  chambers  and 
the  high  and  gentle  people  who  walk  in    them ! 
May  the  grim  Revolution  with  his  iron  hand  —  if 
come  he  must  —  come  slowly  and  late  to  Stafford 
House,  and  deal  softly  with  its  inmates!  .  .  . 
Your  affectionate  brother,  Waldo. 

TO   HIS   WIFE. 

London,  June  28. 

.  .  .  All  my  duties  will  be  quite  at  an  end  on  Friday 
night  at  Exeter  Hall,  and  I  have  then  to  determine 
which  to  choose  of  all  the  unseen  spectacles  of  Eng- 
land. I  have  not  seen  Stonehenge,  nor  Chatsworth, 
nor  Canterbury,  nor  Cambridge,  —  nor  even  Eton 
and  Windsor,  which  lie  so  near  London.  I  have 
good  friends  who  send  for  me,  but  I  do  not  mean 
to  engage  myself  to  new  people  or  places.  As  Mr. 
Burke  said,  "  I  have  had  my  day  ;  I  can  shut  the 
book."    I  am  really  very  willing  to  see  no  new  face 


SECOND  VISIT  TO  ENGLAND.  553 

for  a  year  to  come,  —  unless  only  it  were  a  face 
that  made  all  things  new.     There  is  very  much  to 
be   learned  by  coming  to    England   and    France. 
The  nations  are  so  concentrated  and  so  contrasted 
that  one  learns  to  tabulate  races  and  their  manners 
and  traits  as  we  do  animals  or  chemical  substances, 
and  look  at  them  as  through  the  old  Swedish  eye- 
glass, each  as  one  proper  man.     Also,  it  must  be 
owned,  one  meets  now  and  then  here  with  wonder- 
fully witty  men,  all-knowing,  who  have  tried  every- 
thing and  have  everything,  and  are  quite  superior 
to  letters  and  science.     What  could  they  not,  if 
they  only  would  ?    I  saw  such  a  one  yesterday,  with 
the  odd  name,  too,  of  Arthur  Helps.     On  Sunday 
I  dined  at  Mr.  Field's  at  Hampstead,  and  found  the 
Egyptian  savant  Mr.  Sharpe,   Rowland  Hill   (of 
the  Penny  Post),  Stanfield  the  painter,  and  other 
good  men.     I  breakfasted  next  morning  with  Stan- 
field,  and  went  with  him  to  see  a  famous  gallery  of 
Turner's  pictures  at  Tottenham.    That  day  I  dined 
with  Spence,  and  found  Richard  Owen,  who  is  the 
anatomist.     To-morrow  he  is  to  show  me  his  mu- 
seum.   I  esteem  him  one  of  the  best  heads  in  Eng- 
land.    Last   evening  I  went   to  dine  with   Lord 
Morpeth,  and  found  my  magnificent  Duchess  of 
Sutherland,  and  the  Duke  and  Duchess  of  Argyle, 
and  the  Ladies  Howard,  and  Lady  Graham,  and  Mr. 
Helps,  so  omniscient,  as  I  said.  .  .  .  This  morning 
I  breakfasted  with  him  and  Lady  Lovelace,  as  Lord 


554       RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

L.  wished  to  read  me  a  certain  paper  he  had  been 
writing  on  a  book  of  Quetelet.  We  had  quite  a 
scientific  time,  and  I  learned  some  good  things.  I 
am  to  go  there  again  to-morrow  evening,  to  see  Mrs. 
Somerville.  .  .  . 

And  so  on,  day  after  day  while  he  is  in  London. 
I  have  detailed  at  such  length  (though  still  far 
from  the  whole)  the  breakfast,  dinners,  and  recep- 
tions, in  order  to  show  how  much  Emerson  had  at 
heart  to  learn  his  London  lesson.  There  was  much 
to  learn,  and  he  would  not  neglect  his  opportunities, 
but  the  process  was  not  altogether  enjoyable  to 
him.  "  I  find  [he  writes  to  Miss  Fuller]  that  all 
the  old  deoxygenation  and  asphyxia  that  have,  in 
town  or  in  village,  existed  for  me  in  that  word  '  a 
party '  exist  unchanged  in  London  palaces."  But 
he  liked  to  see  everything  at  its  best.  "  To  see  the 
country  of  success  [he  writes  in  his  journal]  I,  who 
delighted  in  success,  departed."  He  writes  to  a 
friend  :  — 

London,  March  20,  1848. 

.  .  .  What  shall  I  say  to  you  of  Babylon  ?  I  see 
and  hear  with  the  utmost  diligence,  and  the  lesson 
lengthens  as  I  go ;  so  that  at  some  hours  I  incline 
to  take  some  drops  or  grains  of  lotus,  forget  my 
home  and  selfish  solitude,  and  step  by  step  estab- 
lish my  acquaintance  with  English  society.  There 
is  nowhere  so  much  wealth  of  talent  and  character 


SECOND  VISIT  TO  ENGLAND.  555 

and  social  accomplishment ;  every  star  outshone 
by  one  more  dazzling,  and  you  cannot  move  with- 
out coming  into  the  light  and  fame  of  new  ones. 
I  have  seen,  I  suppose,  some  good  specimens, 
chiefly  of  the  literary-fashionable  and  not  of  the 
fashionable  sort.  .  .  .  They  have  all  carried  the 
art  of  agreeable  sensations  to  a  wonderful  pitch ; 
they  know  everything,  have  everything ;  they  are 
rich,  plain,  polite,  proud,  and  admirable.  But, 
though  good  for  them,  it  ends  in  the  using.  I  shall 
or  should  soon  have  enough  of  this  play  for  my 
occasion.  The  seed-corn  is  oftener  found  in  quite 
other  districts.  .  .  .  Perhaps  it  is  no  fault  of  Brit- 
ain, —  no  doubt  't  is  because  I  grow  old  and  cold, 
—  but  no  persons  here  appeal  in  any  manner  to 
the  imagination.  I  think  even  that  there  is  no  per- 
son in  England  from  whom  I  expect  more  than 
talent  and  information.  But  I  am  wont  to  ask 
very  much  more  of  my  benefactors,  —  expansions, 
that  amount  to  new  horizons. 

"I  leave  England  [he  writes  to  Miss  Fuller] 
with  an  increased  respect  for  the  Englishman.  His 
stuff  or  substance  seems  to  be  the  best  of  the  world. 
I  forgive  him  all  his  pride.  My  respect  is  the 
more  generous  that  I  have  no  sympathy  with  him, 
only  an  admiration." 

The  Englishman,  Emerson  says  in  a  lecture 
after  his  return,  stands  in  awe  of  a  fact  as  some- 


556       RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

thing  final  and  irreversible,  and  confines  his 
thoughts  and  his  aspirations  to  the  means  of  deal- 
ing with  it  to  advantage  ;  he  does  not  seek  to  com- 
prehend it,  but  only  to  utilize  it  for  enjoyment  or 
display,  at  any  rate  to  adapt  himself  to  it ;  and  he 
values  only  the  faculties  that  enable  him  to  do  this. 
He  admires  talent  and  is  careless  of  ideas.  "  The 
English  have  no  higher  heaven  than  Fate.  Even 
their  ablest  living  writer,  a  man  who  has  earned 
his  position  by  the  sharpest  insights,  is  politically 
a  fatalist.  In  his  youth  he  announced  himself  as  '  a 
theoretical  sans-cidotte,  fast  threatening  to  become 
a  practical  one.'  Now  he  is  practically  in  the  Eng- 
lish system,  a  Venetian  aristocracy,  with  only  a  pri- 
vate stipulation  in  favor  of  men  of  genius.  The 
Norse  heaven  made  the  stern  terms  of  admission 
that  a  man  could  do  something  excellent  with  his 
hands,  his  feet,  or  with  his  voice,  eyes,  ears,  or  with 
his  whole  body  ;  and  it  was  the  heaven  of  the  Eng- 
lish ever  since.  Every  Englishman  is  a  House  of 
Commons,  and  expects  you  will  not  end  your  speech 
without  proposing  a  measure ;  the  scholars  no  less  ; 
a  stanza  of  the  '  Song  of  Nature  '  they  have  no  ear 
for,  and  they  do  not  value  the  expansive  and  medi- 
cinal influence  of  intellectual  activity,  studious  of 
truth,  without  a  rash  generalization." 

It  was  this  feeling,  perhaps,  that  made  him  hesi- 
tate so  long  about  lecturing  in  London,  and  made 
his  lecturing,  when  it  was  done,  seem  to  him  rather 


SECOND  VISIT  TO  ENGLAND.  557 

ineffectual.  The  Marylebone  course  does  not  ap- 
pear to  have  attracted  much  notice  ;  it  was  hardly 
mentioned  in  the  London  literary  newspapers.  He 
was  careful  in  his  letters  to  guard  against  the  in- 
ference that  his  friends  were  slack,  or  that  they 
had  been  too  confident  in  their  assurances,  but  it 
comes  out  incidentally  in  a  letter  to  his  brother 
William  that  instead  of  ,£200,  which  he  had  been 
led  to  expect,  he  received  but  <£80  for  the  six  lec- 
tures, when  all  expenses  were  paid. 

The  lack  of  response,  at  which  he  hints  in  the 
letter  at  the  close  of  the  course,  would  be  the  more 
felt  by  him  because  on  this  occasion  he  had  made  a 
new  departure,  in  pursuance  of  a  scheme  he  had 
long  cherished  of  reading  a  series  of  connected  dis- 
courses on  the  first  principles  of  philosophy.  In  a 
letter  to  Miss  Fuller,  he  says  :  — 

"  I  am  working  away  in  these  mornings  at  some 
papers  which,  if  I  do  not,  as  I  suppose  I  shall  not, 
get  ready  for  lectures  here,  will  serve  me  in  a  bet- 
ter capacity  as  a  kind  of  book  of  metaphysics,  to 
print  at  home.  Does  not  James  Walker  [Profes- 
sor of  Moral  Philosophy  at  Harvard  College]  want 
relief,  and  to  let  me  be  his  lieutenant  for  one 
semester  to  his  class  in  Locke  ?  " 

For  the  ordinary  metaphysics  he  felt  something 
as  near  contempt  as  was  possible  for  so  undogmatic 
a  nature  as  his.     "  Who  [he  asks  in  his  introduc- 


558  RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

tory  lecture]  has  not  looked  into  a  metaphysical 
book  ?  And  what  sensible  man  ever  looked  twice  ?  " 
Yet  the  repulsiveness  lay,  he  thought,  not  in  the 
subject,  but  in  the  way  in  which  it  is  treated. 
"  Why  should  it  not  be  brought  into  connection 
with  life  and  nature  ?  Why  cannot  the  laws  and 
powers  of  the  mind  be  stated  as  simply  and  as  at- 
tractively as  the  physical  laws  are  stated  by  Owen 
and  Faraday?  Those  too  are  facts,  and  suffer 
themselves  to  be  recorded,  like  stamens  and  verte- 
brae. But  they  have  a  higher  interest  as  being 
nearer  to  the  mysterious  seat  of  creation.  The 
highest  value  of  physical  science  is  felt  when  it 
goes  beyond  its  special  objects  and  translates  their 
rules  into  a  universal  cipher,  in  which  we  read  the 
rules  of  the  intellect  and  the  rules  of  moral  prac- 
tice. It  is  this  exceeding  and  universal  part  that 
interests  us,  because  it  opens  the  true  history  of 
that  kingdom  where  a  thousand  years  is  as  one  day. 
The  Natural  History  of  the  Intellect  would  be  an 
enumeration  of  the  laws  of  the  world,  —  laws  com- 
mon to  chemistry,  anatomy,  geometry,  moral  and 
social  life.  In  the  human  brain  the  universe  is 
reproduced  with  all  its  opulence  of  relations  ;  it  is 
high  time  that  it  should  be  humanly  and  popularly 
unfolded,  that  the  Decalogue  of  the  Intellect 
should  be  written."  He  was  not  so  hardy,  he  said, 
as  to  think  any  single  observer  could  accomplish 
this,  still  less  that  he  could ;  but  he  would  attempt 
some  studies  or  sketches  for  such  a  picture. 


SECOND  VISIT  TO  ENGLAND.  559 

"  If  any  man  had  something  sure  and  certain  to 
tell  on  this  matter,  the  entire  population  would 
come  out  to  him.  Ask  any  grave  man  of  wide  ex- 
perience what  is  best  in  his  experience,  he  will  say : 
A  few  passages  of  plain  dealing  with  wise  people. 
The  question  I  would  ask  of  my  friend  is :  Do  you 
know  what  you  worship  ?  What  is  the  religion  of 
1848?  What  is  the  mythology  of  1848?  Yet 
these  questions  which  really  interest  men,  how  few 
can  answer !  Here  are  clergymen  and  presby- 
teries, but  would  questions  like  these  come  into 
mind  when  I  see  them  ?  Here  are  Academies,  yet 
they  have  not  propounded  these  for  any  prize. 
Seek  the  literary  circles,  the  class  of  fame,  the  men 
of  splendor,  of  bon-mots,  —  will  they  yield  me  sat- 
isfaction ?  Bring  the  best  wits  together,  and  they 
are  so  impatient  of  each  other,  so  vulgar,  there  is 
so  much  more  than  their  wit,  a  plain  man  finds 
them  so  heavy,  dull,  and  oppressive  with  bad  jokes 
and  conceit  and  stupefying  individualism,  that  he 
comes  to  write  in  his  tablets, '  Avoid  the  great  man 
who  is  privileged  to  be  an  unprofitable  companion.' 
The  course  of  things  makes  the  scholars  either 
egotists,  or  worldly  and  jocose.  O  excellent  Ther- 
sites  !  when  you  come  to  see  me,  if  you  would  but 
leave  your  dog  at  the  door.  And  then,  was  there 
ever  prophet  burdened  with  a  message  to  his  peo- 
ple who  did  not  cloud  our  gratitude  by  a  strange 
confusion  of  private  folly  with  his  public  wisdom  ? 


560  RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

Others,  though  free  of  this  besetting  sin  of  seden- 
tary men,  escape  from  it  by  adopting  the  manners 
and  estimate  of  the  world,  and  play  the  game  of 
conversation  as  they  play  billiards,  for  pastime  and 
credit.  Who  can  resist  the  charm  of  talent?  The 
lover  of  truth  loves  power  also.  Among  the  men 
of  wit  and  learning  he  could  not  withhold  his  hom- 
age from  the  gaiety,  the  power  of  memory,  luck 
and  splendor  ;  such  exploits  of  discourse,  such  feats 
of  society!  These  were  new  powers,  new  mines  of 
wealth.  But  when  he  came  home  his  sequins  were 
dry  leaves.  What  with  egotism  on  one  side  and 
levity  on  the  other,  we  shall  have  no  Olympus. 
And  then  you  English  have  hard  eyes.  The  Eng- 
lish mind,  in  its  proud  practicalness,  excludes  con- 
templation. Yet  the  impression  the  stars  and  hea- 
venly bodies  make  on  us  is  surely  more  valuable 
than  our  exact  perception  of  a  tub  or  a  table  on 
the  ground." 

The  English  aristocracy,  Emerson  remarks  in 
"  English  Traits,"  have  never  been  addicted  to  con- 
templation ;  and  Emerson's  idealism,  thus  abruptly 
presented,  was  not  calculated  to  win  them  to  it. 
In  his  "  Natural  History  of  the  Intellect,"  meta- 
physical notions  are  treated  as  if  they  were  poetical 
images,  which  it  would  be  useless  and  impertinent 
to  explain.  I  shall  return  to  this  point  on  occasion 
of  his  resumption  of  the  same  topic  in  later  years ; 


SECOND  VISIT  TO  ENGLAND.  561 

meantime  it  is  obvious  that,  so  conceived,  there  is 
little  to  be  said  about  them  to  those  who  do  not 
see  things  as  we  do.  We  can  only  lament  that 
they  are  blind  of  their  spiritual  faculties,  and  use 
only  their  senses  and  their  understanding ;  and 
they  on  their  side  will  think  that  we  are  dreaming. 
Emerson's  London  audience,  to  be  sure,  would  pro- 
bably in  any  case  have  given  themselves  but  little 
concern  with  his  ideas ;  it  was  not  the  ideas,  but 
the  man,  that  attracted  them,  so  far  as  they  were 
attracted.     Crabbe  Robinson  writes  : 1  — 

"  It  was  with  a  feeling  of  pre-determined  dislike 
that  I  had  the  curiosity  to  look  at  Emerson  at 
Lord  Northampton's  a  fortnight  ago ;  when  in  an 
instant  all  my  dislike  vanished.  He  has  one  of 
the  most  interesting  countenances  I  ever  beheld,  — 
a  combination  of  intelligence  and  sweetness  that 
quite  disarmed  me.  I  can  do  no  better  than  tell 
you  what  Harriet  Martineau  says  about  him,  which 
I  think  admirably  describes  the  character  of  his 
mind :  '  He  is  a  man  so  sui  generis  that  I  don't 
wonder  at  his  not  being  apprehended  till  he  is  seen. 
His  influence  is  of  an  evasive  sort.  There  is  a 
vague  nobleness  and  thorough  sweetness  about  him 
which  move  people  to  their  very  depths  without 
their  being  able  to  explain  why.  The  logicians  have 
an  incessant  triumph  over  him,  but  their  triumph  is 
of  no  avail.  He  conquers  minds  as  well  as  hearts 
wherever   he  goes,  and,  without   convincing   any- 

1  Diary  of  Henry  Crabbe  Robinson.     Boston,  1869:  p.  371. 


562       RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

body's  reason  of  any  one  thing,  exalts  their  reason 
and  makes  their  minds  of  more  worth  than  they 
ever  were  before.' " 

Emerson  seems  to  have  felt  no  encouragement 
to  continue  his  "  Song  of  Nature."  Of  the  six  lec- 
tures, but  three  were  concerned  with  the  Natural 
History  of  the  Intellect ;  the  rest  were  miscellane- 
ous papers  which  he  had  read  in  the  North  of  Eng- 
land. At  Exeter  Hall  he  repeated  three  more  of 
these,  and  he  seems  afterwards  to  have  read  another 
at  Marylebone. 

"  At  Exeter  Hall  [he  writes  to  his  wife]  Carlyle 
came  on  Tuesday  evening,  and  was  seated,  by  the 
joyful  committee,  directly  behind  me  as  I  spoke  ;  a 
thing  odious  to  me.  Perhaps  he  will  go  with  me 
to  Stonehenge  next  week.     We  have  talked  of  it." 

Carlyle  at  this  time  was  in  a  mood  in  which  Em- 
erson's optimism  was  apt  to  call  forth  "  showers 
of  vitriol  "upon  all  men  and  things.  They  did  not 
meet  often  nor  with  much  pleasure  on  either  side  ; 
but  their  regard  and  affection  for  each  other  were 
unabated,  and  when  the  time  of  Emerson's  depar- 
ture drew  near,  it  was  agreed  between  them  that 
they  should  make  an  excursion  together  to  some 
place  of  interest  which  Emerson  had  not  seen. 
Stonehenge  was  selected,  and  they  made  the  visit 
which  Emerson  records  in  "  English  Traits." 

He  sailed  from  Liverpool  on  the  15th  of  July, 
and  reached  home  before  the  end  of  the  month. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

LECTURING  AT  THE  WEST.  —  DEATH  OF  MARGARET 
FULLER.  —  DEATH  OF  EMERSON'S  MOTHER.  — 
THE   ANTI- SLAVERY    CONFLICT. 

1848-1865. 

After  his  return,  Emerson  lectured  on  "  Eng- 
land,"—  keeping  his  notes  by  him,  however,  until 
they  were  published,  seven  years  later,  as  "  English 
Traits,"  —  also  on  "  France,"  and  on  various  top- 
ics, in  many  places,  extending  his  range  gradually 
westward,  until,  in  1850,  he  went  as  far  as  St. 
Louis  and  Galena.  Thenceforth,  for  nearly  twenty 
years,  a  Western  lecturing-tour  was  a  regular  em- 
ployment of  his  winter  ;  sometimes  taking  up  the 
greater  part  of  it.  From  one  of  these  winter  rounds 
he  writes  :  — 

"  This  climate  and  people  are  a  new  test  for  the 
wares  of  a  man  of  letters.  All  his  thin,  watery 
matter  freezes ;  't  is  only  the  smallest  portion  of 
alcohol  that  remains  good.  At  the  lyceum  the 
stout  Illinoisian,  after  a  short  trial,  walks  out  of 
the  hall.  The  committees  tell  you  that  the  people 
want  a  hearty  laugh  ;  and  Saxe  and  Park  Benja- 
min, who  give  this,  are  heard  with  joy.     Well,  I 


564       RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

think,  with  Governor  Reynolds,  the  people  are  al- 
ways right  (in  a  sense),  and  that  the  man  of  letters 
is  to  say,  These  are  the  new  conditions  to  which  I 
must  conform.  The  architect  who  is  asked  to  build 
a  house  to  go  upon  the  sea  must  not  build  a  Par- 
thenon, but  a  ship ;  and  Shakspeare,  or  Franklin, 
or  Esop,  coming  to  Illinois,  would  say,  I  must 
give  my  wisdom  a  comic  form,  and  I  well  know  how 
to  do  it.  And  he  is  no  master  who  cannot  vary  his 
form  and  carry  his  own  end  triumphantly  through 
the  most  difficult  conditions." 

For  his  own  part,  he  made  no  attempt  to  give  his 
wisdom  a  comic  form,  though  he  took  some  pains 
with,  anecdotes  and  illustrations  to  make  it  more 
acceptable  to  a  chance  audience.  But  in  the  lec- 
tures of  this  time,  for  instance,  those  on  the  "  Con- 
duct of  Life,"  if  we  compare  them  with  "  Nature  " 
and  the  early  lectures,  we  may  observe  a  less  abso- 
lute tone  ;  the  idealism  of  ten  years  before  remains 
as  true  as  ever,  but  there  is  more  explicit  recogni- 
tion of  the  actual  conditions.  In  a  lecture  on  the 
"  Spirit  of  the  Age,"  in  1850,  he  says  of  the  ideal- 
ists, "  I  regard  them  as  themselves  the  effects  of 
the  age  in  which  we  live,  and,  in  common  with 
many  other  good  facts,  the  efflorescence  of  the  pe- 
riod, and  predicting  a  good  fruit  that  ripens,  but 
not  the  creators  they  believe  themselves.  Compacts 
of  brotherly  love  are  an  absurdity,  inasmuch  as  they 
imply  a  sentimental  resistance  to  the  gravities  and 


LECTURING  AT  THE  WEST.  565 

tendencies  which  will  steadily,  by  little  and  little, 
pull  down  your  air-castle.  I  believe  in  a  future  of 
great  equalities,  but  our  inexperience  is  of  inequal- 
ities. The  hope  is  great,  the  day  distant ;  but  as 
island  and  continents  are  built  up  by  corallines,  so 
this  juster  state  will  come  from  culture  on  culture, 
and  we  must  work  in  the  assurance  that  no  ray  of 
light,  no  pulse  of  good,  is  ever  lost." 

He  found  in  the  West,  on  the  whole,  abundant 
acceptance  and  sometimes  a  fellowship  of  thought 
and  feeling  that  made  bright  places  in  the  dull  ex- 
panse. The  country  and  the  people  were  interest- 
ing, could  he  have  seen  them  at  leisure  and  on  his 
own  terms.  Here  was  the  heroic  age  come  again  : 
"  Here  is  America  in  the  making,  America  in  the 
raw.  But  it  does  not  want  much  to  go  to  lecture, 
and  't  is  pity  to  drive  it.  Everywhere  the  young 
committees  are  the  most  friendly  people."  He  was 
much  invited,  and  he  was  glad  to  go  ;  at  any  rate 
for  the  sake  of  the  money,  which  was  needful  to 
him,  his  books  still  bringing  him  little  in  that  kind. 
Like  his  friend  Agassiz,  he  could  not  afford  the 
time  to  make  money  ;  but  he  would  not  be  ham- 
pered by  the  want  of  it,  if  the  want  were  removable 
by  any  reasonable  amount  of  exertion.  Upon  his 
return  from  one  of  these  winter  excursions  he  writes 
in  his  journal :  — 

"  ?T  was  tedious,  the  obstructions  and  squalor  of 


566       RALPH    WALDO  EMERSON. 

travel.  The  advantage  of  these  offers  made  it 
needful  to  go.  It  was,  in  short,  —  this  dragging  a 
decorous  old  gentleman  out  of  home  and  out  of 
position,  to  this  juvenile  career,  —  tantamount  to 
this :  '  I  '11  bet  you  fifty  dollars  a  day  for  three 
weeks  that  you  will  not  leave  your  library,  and 
wade,  and  freeze,  and  ride,  and  run,  and  suffer  all 
manner  of  indignities,  and  stand  up  for  an  hour 
each  night  reading  in  a  hall ; '  and  I  answer,  'I  '11 
bet  I  will.'  I  do  it  and  win  the  nine  hundred  dol- 
lars." 

Pittsburgh,  March  21,  1851. 

Dear  Lidian,  —  I  arrived  here  last  night  after 
a  very  tedious  and  disagreeable  journey  from  Phil- 
adelphia, by  railway  and  canal,  with  little  food  and 
less  sleep ;  two  nights  being  spent  in  the  rail-cars 
and  the  third  on  the  floor  of  a  canal-boat,  where  the 
cushion  allowed  me  for  a  bed  was  crossed  at  the 
knees  by  another  tier  of  sleepers  as  long-limbed  as 
I,  so  that  in  the  air  was  a  wreath  of  legs  ;  and  the 
night,  which  was  bad  enough,  would  have  been  far 
worse  but  that  we  were  so  thoroughly  tired  we 
could  have  slept  standing.  The  committee  wished 
me  to  lecture  in  the  evening,  if  possible,  and  I,  who 
wanted  to  go  to  bed,  answered  that  I  had  prelim- 
inary statements  to  make  in  my  first  lecture,  which 
required  a  little  time  and  faculty  to  make  ready, 
which  now  coidd  not  be  had;  but  if  they  would 


LECTURING  AT  THE  WEST.  567 

let  me  read  an  old  lecture  I  would  omit  the  bed 
and  set  out  for  the  hall.  So  it  was  settled  that  I 
should  read  poor  old  "  England  "  once  more,  which 
was  done ;  for  the  committee  wished  nothing  bet- 
ter, and,  like  all  committees,  think  me  an  erratic 
gentleman,  only  safe  with  a  safe  subject.  .  .  . 

Springfield,  Illinois,  January  11,  1853. 

Here  am  I  in  the  deep  mud  of  the  prairies,  mis- 
led, I  fear,  into  this  bog,  not  by  a  will-o'-the-wisp, 
such  as  shine  in  bogs,  but  by  a  young  New  Hamp- 
shire editor,  who  overestimated  the  strength  of  both 
of  us,  and  fancied  I  should  glitter  in  the  prairie 
and  draw  the  prairie  birds  and  waders.  It  rains 
and  thaws  incessantly,  and  if  we  step  off  the  short 
street  we  go  up  to  the  shoulders,  perhaps,  in  mud. 
My  chamber  is  a  cabin ;  my  fellow-boarders  are 
legislators.  .  .  .  Two  or  three  governors  or  ex- 
governors  live  in  the  house.  But  in  the  prairie  we 
are  all  new  men  just  come,  and  must  not  stand  for 
trifles.  'T  is  of  no  use,  then,  for  me  to  magnify 
mine.  But  I  cannot  command  daylight  and  soli- 
tude for  study  or  for  more  than  a  scrawl,  nor,  I 
fear,  will  my  time  here  be  paid  for  at  any  such 
rate  as  was  promised  me.  .  .  . 

January  3,  1856.  A  cold,  raw  country  this,  and 
plenty  of  night-travelling  and  arriving  at  four  in 
the  morning  to  take  the  last  and  worst  bed  in  the 
tavern.     Advancing  day  brings  mercy  and  favor  to 


568  RALPH   WALDO   EMERSON. 

me,  but  not  the  sleep.  .  .  .  Mercury  15°  below 
zero.  But  I  pick  up  some  materials,  as  I  go,  for 
my  chapter  of  the  Anglo-American,  if  I  should 
wish  to  finish  that.  I  hope  you  are  not  so  cold 
and  not  so  hard  riders  at  home.  I  find  well-dis- 
posed, kindly  people  among  these  sinewy  farmers 
of  the  North,  but  in  all  that  is  called  cultivation 
they  are  only  ten  years  old  ;  so  that  there  is  plenty 
of  non-adaptation  and  yawning  gulfs  never  bridged 
in  this  ambitious  lyceum  system  they  are  trying  to 
import.  Their  real  interest  is  in  prices,  in  sections 
and  quarter-sections  of  swamp-land. 

As  late  as  1860  he  writes  :  "  February  13.  .  .  . 
I  had  travelled  all  the  day  before  through  Wis- 
consin, with  horses,  and  we  could  not  for  long 
distances  find  water  for  them ;  the  wells  were  dry, 
and  people  said  they  had  no  water,  but  snow,  for 
the  house.  The  cattle  were  driven  a  mile  or  more 
to  the  lake. 

"  Marshall,  17.  At  Kalamazoo  a  good  visit,  and 
made  intimate  acquaintance  with  a  college,  wherein 
I  found  many  personal  friends,  though  unknown  to 
me,  and  one  Emerson  was  an  established  authority. 
Even  a  professor  or  two  came  along  with  me  to 
Marshall  to  hear  another  lecture.  My  chief  ad- 
venture was  the  necessity  of  riding  in  a  buggy 
forty-eight  miles  to  Grand  Rapids ;  then,  after  lec- 
ture,  twenty  more  on  the  return  ;   and  the  next 


LECTURING  AT  THE  WEST.  569 

morning  getting  back  to  Kalamazoo  in  time  for 
the  train  hither  at  twelve.  So  I  saw  Michigan  and 
its  forests  and  the  Wolverines  pretty  thoroughly." 
And  in  1867  :  "  Yesterday  morning  in  bitter  cold 
weather  I  had  the  pleasure  of  crossing  the  Missis- 
sippi in  a  skiff  with  Mr.  ,  we  the  sole  passen- 
gers, and  a  man  and  a  boy  for  oarsmen.  I  have 
no  doubt  they  did  their  work  better  than  the  Har- 
vard six  could  have  done  it,  as  much  of  the  rowing 
was  on  the  surface  of  fixed  ice,  in  fault  of  running 
water.  But  we  arrived  without  other  accident  than 
becoming  almost  fixed  ice  ourselves  ;  but  the  long 
run  to  the  Tepfer  House,  the  volunteered  rubbing 
of  our  hands  by  the  landlord  and  clerks,  and  good 
fire  restored  us." 

Among  the  new  lectures  of  the  early  part  of  this 
period  were  those  on  the  "  Conduct  of  Life,"  after- 
wards elaborated  in  the  first  six  essays  of  the  vol- 
ume of  that  title  which  appeared  in  1860.  The 
elaboration  consisted  in  striking  out  whatever  could 
be  spared,  especially  anecdotes  and  quotations. 
What  was  kept  remained  mostly  as  it  was  first 
spoken ;  but,  in  repeating  his  lectures,  Emerson 
was  in  the  habit  of  using  different  papers  together, 
in  a  way  that  makes  the  particular  title  often  an 
uncertain  indication  of  what  was  actually  read  upon 
a  given  occasion.  What  was  nominally  the  same 
lecture  was  varied  by  the  substitution  of  parts  of 


570       RALPH    WALDO   EMERSON. 

others,  as  one  or  another  aspect  of  a  group  of  sub- 
jects was  prominent  to  his  mind.  This  practice, 
together  with  his  objection  to  reports  in  the  news- 
papers and  his  carelessness  to  preserve  his  manu- 
scripts after  they  were  printed,  makes  it  difficult 
to  assign  precise  dates  to  his  writings  after  his  re- 
turn home  in  1848. 

He  begins  already  to  complain  of  failing  produc- 
tivity. "  I  scribble  always  a  little,  —  much  less  than 
formerly,"  he  writes  to  Carlyle.1  Yet  he  was  then 
writing  the  "  chapter  on  Fate,"  and  the  other  essays 
of  the  "  Conduct  of  Life  "  which  Carlyle  reckoned 
the  best  of  all  his  books.  And  he  was  at  the  height 
of  his  fame  as  a  lecturer.  Even  N.  P.  Willis,  who 
hitherto,  he  says,  "  had  never  taken  the  trouble  to 
go  and  behold  him  as  a  prophet,  with  the  idea  that 
he  was  but  an  addition  to  the  prevailing  Boston 
beverage  of  Channing-and-water,"  was  attracted 
to  hear  the  lecture  on  "  England,"  and  gave  a  de- 
scription 2  of  Emerson's  voice  and  appearance  which 
is  worth  reading,  —  with  due  allowance  :  — 

"  Emerson's  voice  is  up  to  his  reputation.  It 
has  a  curious  contradiction  in  it  which  we  tried  in 
vain  to  analyze  satisfactorily.  But  it  is  noble,  alto- 
gether. And  what  seems  strange  is  to  hear  such  a 
voice  proceeding  from  such  a  body.     It  is  a  voice 

1  Carlyle-Emerson  Correspondence,  ii.  217. 

2  Reproduced  in  Hurry  graphs,  New  York,  1851. 


DEATH  OF  MARGARET  FULLER.  571 

with  shoulders  in  it,  which  he  has  not ;  with  lungs 
in  it  far  larger  than  his  ;  with  a  walk  which  the 
public  never  see  ;  with  a  fist  in  it  which  his  own 
hand  never  gave  him  the  model  for ;  and  with  a 
gentleman  in  it  which  his  parochial  and  'bare- 
necessaries-of-life  '  sort  of  exterior  gives  no  other 
betrayal  of.  We  can  imagine  nothing  in  nature 
(which  seems  too  to  have  a  type  for  everything) 
like  the  want  of  correspondence  between  the  Em- 
erson that  goes  in  at  the  eye  and  the  Emerson  that 
goes  in  at  the  ear.  ...  A  heavy  and  vase-like  blos- 
som of  a  magnolia,  with  fragrance  enough  to  per- 
fume a  whole  wilderness,  which  should  be  lifted  by 
a  whirlwind  and  dropped  into  a  branch  of  an  aspen, 
would  not  seem  more  as  if  it  could  never  have  grown 
there  than  Emerson's  voice  seems  inspired  and 
foreign  to  his  visible  and  natural  body.  Indeed 
(to  use  one  of  his  own  similitudes),  his  body  seems 
'  never  to  have  broken  the  umbilical  cord '  which 
held  it  to  Boston  ;  while  his  soul  has  sprung  to  the 
adult  stature  of  a  child  of  the  universe,  and  his 
voice  is  the  utterance  of  the  soul  only." 

In  1849  Emerson  collected  his  separate  addresses 
and  "  Nature "  in  one  volume.  In  July,  1850, 
"  Representative  Men "  was  published.  In  the 
same  month,  Margaret  Fuller,  returning  home  from 
Italy,  was  shipwrecked  and  drowned,  with  her  hus- 
band and  child,  on  Eire  Island  beach. 


572       RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

Whatever  "  fences "  there  may  have  been  be- 
tween them,  she  was  perhaps  the  person  most 
closely  associated  with  the  boundless  hope  and  the 
happy  activity  of  the  Transcendental  time,  and  he 
readily  joined  her  friends,  William  Henry  Chan- 
ning  and  James  Freeman  Clarke,  in  the  Memoirs 
that  were  published  in  1852.  As  to  his  own  con- 
tribution he  writes  in  his  journal :  — 

"  All  that  can  be  said  is  that  she  represents  an 
interesting  hour  and  group  in  American  cultiva- 
tion ;  then  that  she  was  herself  a  fine,  generous, 
inspiring,  vinous  talker,  who  did  not  outlive  her 
influence;  and  a  kind  of  justice  requires  of  us  a 
monument,  because  crowds  of  vulgar  people  taunt 
her  with  want  of  position." 

But  he  was  glad  that  her  nearer  friends  were 
able  to  say  much  more. 


In  1853  Emerson's  mother  died  at  his  house, 
here  she  had  lived  sin 
to  his  brother  William 


where  she  had  lived  since  his  marriage.    He  writes 


Concoed,  November  19,  1853. 
...  It  was  an  end  so  graduated  and  tranquil, 
all  pain  so  deadened,  and  the  months  and  days  of 
it  so  adorned  by  her  own  happy  temper  and  by  so 
many  attentions  of  so  many  friends  whom  it  drew 
to  her,  that  even  in  these  last  days  almost  all  gloom 
was  removed  from  death.     Only  as  we  find  there  is 


DEATH  OF  EMERSON'S  MOTHER.  573 

one  less  room  to  go  to  for  sure  society  in  the  house, 
one  less  sure  home  in  the  house.  I  would  gladly 
have  asked,  had  it  been  anywise  practicable,  that 
the  English  litui'gy  should  be  read  at  her  burial ; 
for  she  was  born  a  subject  of  King  George,  and 
had  been  in  her  childhood  so  versed  in  that  service 
that,  though  she  had  lived  through  the  whole  exist- 
ence of  this  nation,  and  was  tied  all  round  to  later 
things,  it  seemed  still  most  natural  to  her,  and  the 
Book  of  Common  Prayer  was  on  her  bureau. 

After  the  "  Conduct  of  Life,"  Emerson's  chief 
occupation  was  "  English  Traits,"  which  was  pub- 
lished in  1856.  The  essays  that  make  up  "  Society 
and  Solitude  "  were  all  written  before  1860  ;  most 
of  them  long  before,  though  the  book  was  not  pub- 
lished until  1870. 

Emerson  showed  little  appearance  of  old  age 
during  the  period  of  which  I  am  writing,  yet  he 
had  long  since  begun  to  think  and  speak  of  himself 
as  an  old  man,  because,  he  says,  he  did  not  so  rea- 
dily find  a  thought  waiting  for  him  when  he  went 
to  his  study  in  the  morning.  In  1847  (when  he 
was  forty-four)  he  writes  to  Carlyle  :  "  In  my  old 
age  I  am  coming  to  see  you."  And,  ten  years  be- 
fore, he  writes  in  his  diary :  "  After  thirty  a  man 
is  too  sensible  of  the  strait  limitations  which  his 
physical  constitution  sets  to  his  activity.  The 
stream  feels  its  banks,  which  it  had  forgotten  in 


574  RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

the  run  and  overflow  of  the  first  meadows."  In 
1850  he  writes :  "  Unless  I  task  myself  I  have  no 
thoughts."  Whether  it  would  have  been  better  for 
him  had  he  tasked  himself  by  some  regular  occu- 
pation may  be  a  question.  He  seems  at  times  to 
have  thought  so.  I  suppose  the  visit  to  England 
was  undertaken  partly  with  this  feeling,  and  the 
compiling  of  his  notes  served  him  to  some  extent 
as  a  regular  task  during  the  next  six  or  seven 
years. 

Meanwhile  his  tranquil  meditations  on  his  own 
topics  were  more  and  more  broken  in  upon  by  the 
noise  of  external  affairs.  A  matter  which  had 
always  been  of  grave  moment,  but  hitherto  had 
not  seemed  to  touch  him  specially,  became  of  press- 
ing instance,  —  the  encroachments  of  slavery. 
The  thunder-clouds  which  had  long  been  muttering 
on  the  Southern  horizon,  certain  to  come  up  some 
day,  began  to  rise  higher  and  to  growl  menace  to 
the  peace  and  the  honor  of  New  England.  The  im- 
minence of  the  crisis  did  not  force  itself  upon  him 
all  at  once.  In  January,  1845,  Emerson,  as  one 
of  the  curators  of  the  Concord  Lyceum,  had  urged 
upon  his  colleagues  the  acceptance  of  a  lecture  on 
slavery,  by  Wendell  Phillips,  on  two  grounds  :  — 

"  First,  because  the  Lyceum  was  poor,  and  should 
add  to  the  length  and  variety  of  the  entertainment 
by  all  innocent  means,  especially  when  a  discourse 


THE  ANTI-SLAVERY  CONFLICT.  575 

from  one  of  the  best  speakers  in  the  common- 
wealth was  volunteered.  Second,  because  I  thought, 
in  the  present  state  of  the  country,  the  particular 
subject  of  slavery  had  a  commanding  right  to  be 
heard  in  all  places  in  New  England,  in  season  and 
out  of  season.  The  people  must  be  content  to  be 
plagued  with  it  from  time  to  time  until  something 
was  done  and  we  had  appeased  the  negro  blood  so." 
In  the  same  month  a  public  meeting  was  held  in 
the  Concord  Court- House  (January  26,  1845),  to 
take  counsel  about  the  case  of  Mr.  Samuel  Hoar, 
of  Concord,  who  had  been  sent  to  South  Carolina 
as  the  agent  of  Massachusetts  to  protect  the  rights 
of  her  colored  citizens,  and  was  expelled  by  the 
mob  ;  also  upon  the  question  of  the  annexation 
of  Texas.  Emerson  was  one  of  the  business  com- 
mittee (Dr.  John  Gorham  Palfrey  being  the  chair- 
man), who  reported,  says  a  writer  in  the  Liberator 
(January  31),  resolutions  rather  mild  in  character, 
declining  to  countenance  anything  that  looked  to  the 
dissolution  of  the  Union.  On  the  22d  of  Septem- 
ber there  was  a  convention  at  Concord  of  persons 
opposed  to  the  annexation.  Emerson  was  present, 
and,  I  suppose,  made  a  speech ;  at  least  I  find 
among  his  papers  what  seems  to  be  the  partial 
draft  of  a  speech  of  that  time,  though  it  is  not 
mentioned  in  the  Liberator,  being  regarded,  per- 
haps, as  of  too  mild  a  type  for  the  occasion.  It 
was  but  lately  that  he  had  decided  —  moved,  per- 


576       RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

haps  by  the  eloquence  of  his  friend  William  Henry 
Channing  —  against  annexation.  In  1844  he  writes 
in  his  journal :  — 

"  The  question  of  the  annexation  of  Texas  is 
one  of  those  which  look  very  differently  to  the  cen- 
turies and  to  the  years.  It  is  very  certain  that 
the  strong  British  race,  which  have  now  overrun 
so  much  of  this  continent,  must  also  overrun  that 
tract,  and  Mexico  and  Oregon  also ;  and  it  will,  in 
the  course  of  ages,  be  of  small  import  by  what 
particular  occasions  and  methods  it  was  done." 

In  the  paper  of  1845  he  says :  "  The  great  majority 
of  Massachusetts  people  are  essentially  opposed  to 
the  annexation,  but  they  have  allowed  their  voice  to 
be  muffled  by  the  persuasion  that  it  would  be  of  no 
use.  This  makes  the  mischief  of  the  present  con- 
juncture, —  our  timorous  and  imbecile  behavior, 
and  not  the  circumstance  of  the  public  vote.  The 
event  is  of  no  importance  ;  the  part  taken  by  Mas- 
sachusetts is  of  the  last  importance.  The  addition 
of  Texas  to  the  Union  is  not  material ;  the  same 
population  will  possess  her  in  either  event,  and 
similar  laws ;  but  the  fact  that  an  upright  commu- 
nity have  held  fast  their  integrity,  —  that  is  a  great 
and  commanding  event.  I  wish  that  the  private 
position  of  the  men  of  this  neighborhood,  of  this 
county,  of  this  State,  should  be  erect  in  this  mat- 
ter. If  the  State  of  Massachusetts  values  the 
treaties  with  Mexico,  let  it  not  violate  them.     If  it 


THE  ANTI-SLAVERY  CONFLICT.  577 

approves  of  annexation,  but  does  not  like  the  au- 
thority by  which  it  is  made,  let  it  say  so.  If  it 
approves  the  act  and  the  authority,  but  does  not 
wish  to  join  hands  with  a  barbarous  country  in 
which  some  men  propose  to  eat  men,  or  to  steal 
men,  let  it  say  that  well.  If  on  any  or  all  of  these 
groimds  it  disapproves  the  annexation,  let  it  utter  a 
cheerful  and  peremptory  No,  and  not  a  confused, 
timid,  and  despairing  one." 

In  1851  the  mischief  had  come  nearer;  it  was 
in  the  streets,  it  was  at  the  door.  The  Fugitive 
Slave  Law  of  1850  made  every  man  in  Massachu- 
setts liable  to  official  summons  in  aid  of  the  return 
of  escaped  slaves.  And  it  had  been  passed  with 
the  aid  of  Massachusetts  votes,  and  with  the  out- 
spoken advocacy  of  the  foremost  Massachusetts 
man.  Mr.  Webster  had  gone  about  upholding  the 
righteousness  of  the  law,  and  declaring  that  he 
found  no  serious  opposition  to  it  in  the  North. 
And,  in  fact,  instead  of  being  execrated  and  re- 
sisted, it  appeared  to  be  received  with  acquiescence, 
if  not  with  approval,  by  most  men  of  standing  and 
influence  in  the  State.  Here,  Emerson  felt,  was 
an  issue  which  he  had  not  made  and  could  not 
avoid.  On  Sunday  evening,  May  3,  1851,  he  de- 
livered an  address  to  the  citizens  of  Concord,  "  on 
the  great  question  of  these  days,"  in  a  tone  which 
must  have  been  more  satisfactory  to  his  abolition- 
ist friends.  He  accepted  the  invitation  to  speak, 
he  said,  because  there  seemed  to  be  no  option  :  — 


578  RALPH  WALDO  EMERSON. 

"The  last  year  has  forced  us  all  into  politics. 
There  is  an  infamy  in  the  air.  I  wake  in  the 
morning  with  a  painful  sensation  which  I  carry 
about  all  day,  and  which,  when  traced  home,  is  the 
odious  remembrance  of  that  ignominy  which  has 
fallen  on  Massachusetts.  I  have  lived  all  my  life 
in  this  State,  and  never  had  any  experience  of  per- 
sonal inconvenience  from  the  laws  until  now.  They 
never  came  near  me,  to  my  discomfort,  before. 
But  the  Act  of  Congress  of  September  18,  1850, 
is  a  law  which  every  one  of  you  will  break  on  the 
earliest  occasion,  —  a  law  which  no  man  can  obey  or 
abet  the  obeying  without  loss  of  self-respect  and 
forfeiture  of  the  name  of  a  gentleman." 

Such  was  his  indignation  against  "this  filthy 
law  "  that  it  moved  him  for  once  in  his  life  to  per- 
sonal denunciation,  and  this  of  a  man  who  had 
hithei'to  been  to  him  an  object  of  admiration  and 
pride.  From  his  boyhood  he  had  been  an  eager 
listener  to  Mr.  Webster ;  he  exulted  in  the  magnifi- 
cent presence  of  the  man,  and  in  the  very  tones  of 
his  voice.  In  1843  Webster  came  to  Concord  to 
argue  an  important  case,  and  was  a  guest  at  Emer- 
son's house,  where  there  was  a  gathering  of  neigh- 
bors to  meet  him. 

"  Webster  [he  writes  in  his  journal]  appeared 
among  these  best  lawyers  of  the  Suffolk  bar  like 
a  schoolmaster  among  his  boys.  Understanding 
language  and  the  use  of  the  positive  degree,  all  his 


THE  ANTI-SLAVERY  CONFLICT  579 

words  tell.  What  is  small  lie  shows  as  small ;  and 
makes  the  great,  great.  His  splendid  wrath,  when 
his  eyes  become  fires,  is  good  to  see,  so  intellectual 
it  is,  —  the  wrath  of  the  fact  and  cause  he  espouses, 
and  not  all  personal  to  himself.  One  feels  every 
moment  that  he  goes  for  the  actual  world,  and 
never  for  the  ideal.  Perhaps  it  was  this,  perhaps 
it  was  a  mark  of  having  outlived  some  of  my  once 
finest  pleasures,  that  I  found  no  appetite  to  return 
to  the  court  in  the  afternoon.  He  behaves  admira- 
bly well  in  society.  These  village  parties  must  be 
dish-water  to  him,  yet  he  shows  himself  just  good- 
natured,  just  nonchalant  enough ;  and  he  has  his 
own  way,  without  offending  any  one  or  losing  any 
ground.  He  quite  fills  our  little  town,  and  I  doubt 
if  I  shall  get  settled  down  to  writing  until  he  is 
well  gone  from  the  county.  He  is  a  natural  empe- 
ror of  men ;  they  remark  in  him  the  kingly  talent 
of  remembering  persons  accurately,  and  knowing 
at  once  to  whom  he  has  been  introduced,  and  to 
whom  not.  It  seems  to  me  the  quixotism  of  criti- 
cism to  quarrel  with  Webster  because  he  has  not 
this  or  that  fine  evangelical  property.  He  is  no 
saint,  but  the  wild  olive-wood,  ungrafted  yet  by 
grace,  but,  according  to  his  lights,  a  very  true  and 
admirable  man.  His  expensiveness  seems  neces- 
sary to  him ;  were  he  too  prudent  a  Yankee  it 
would  be  a  sad  deduction  from  his  magnificence. 
I  only  wish  he  would  not  truckle ;  I  do  not  care 
how  much  he  spends." 


580       RALPH   WALDO   EMERSON. 

In  1851  the  truckling  had  gone  too  far,  and  Mr. 
Webster's  example  seemed  to  have  debauched  the 
public  conscience  of  Emerson's  native  town.  His 
beloved  Boston,  "  spoiled  by  prosperity,  must  bow 
its  ancient  honor  in  the  dust.  The  tameness  is  in- 
deed complete ;  all  are  involved  in  one  hot  haste 
of  terror,  —  presidents  of  colleges  and  professors, 
saints  and  brokers,  lawyers  and  manufacturers  ; 
not  a  liberal  recollection,  not  so  much  as  a  snatch 
of  an  old  song  for  freedom,  dares  intrude  on 
their  passive  obedience.  I  met  the  smoothest  of 
Episcopal  clergymen  the  other  day,  and,  allusion 
being  made  to  Mr.  Webster's  treachery,  he  blandly 
replied,  '  Why,  do  you  know,  I  think  that  the  great 
action  of  his  life.'  I  have  as  much  charity  for  Mr. 
Webster,  I  think,  as  any  one  has.  Who  has  not 
helped  to  praise  him  ?  Simply  he  was  the  one  em- 
inent American  of  our  time  whom  we  could  pro- 
duce as  a  finished  work  of  nature.  We  delighted 
in  his  form  and  face,  in  his  voice,  in  his  eloquence, 
in  his  daylight  statement.  But  now  he,  our  best 
and  proudest,  the  first  man  of  the  North,  in  the  very 
moment  of  mounting  the  throne,  has  harnessed 
himself  to  the  chariot  of  the  planters.  Mr.  Web- 
ster tells  the  President  that  he  has  been  in  the 
North,  and  has  found  no  man  whose  opinion  is  of 
any  weight  who  is  opposed  to  the  law.  Ah !  Mr. 
President,  trust  not  to  the  information.  This  '  final 
settlement,'  this  '  measure  of  pacification  and  union,' 


THE  ANTI-SLAVERY  CONFLICT.  581 

has  turned  every  dinner-table  into  a  debating-club 
and  made  one  sole  subject  for  conversation  and 
painful  thought  throughout  the  continent,  namely, 
slavery.  Mr.  Webster  must  learn  that  those  to 
whom  his  name  was  once  dear  and  honored  dis- 
own him  ;  that  he  who  was  their  pride  in  the  woods 
and  mountains  of  New  England  is  now  their  mor- 
tification. Mr.  Webster,  perhaps,  is  only  following 
the  laws  of  his  blood  and  constitution.  I  suppose 
his  pledges  were  not  quite  natural  to  him.  He  is 
a  man  who  lives  by  his  memory ;  a  man  of  the 
past,  not  a  man  of  faith  and  of  hope.  All  the 
drops  of  his  blood  have  eyes  that  look  downward, 
and  his  finely  developed  understanding  only  works 
truly  and  with  all  its  force  when  it  stands  for  ani- 
mal good ;  that  is,  for  property.  He  looks  at  the 
Union  as  an  estate,  a  large  farm,  and  is  excellent 
in  the  completeness  of  his  defence  of  it  so  far. 
What  he  finds  already  written  he  will  defend. 
Lucky  that  so  much  had  got  well  written  when  he 
came,  for  he  has  no  faith  in  the  power  of  self-gov- 
ernment. Not  the  smallest  municipal  provision,  if 
it  were  new,  would  receive  his  sanction.  In  Mas- 
sachusetts in  1776,  he  would,  beyond  all  question, 
have  been  a  refugee.  He  praises  Adams  and  Jef- 
ferson, but  it  is  a  past  Adams  and  Jefferson.  A 
present  Adams  or  Jefferson  he  would  denounce. 
The  destiny  of  this  country  is  great  and  liberal, 
and  is   to  be  greatly  administered ;  according   to 


582       RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

what  is  and  is  to  be,  and  not  according  to  what  is 
dead  and  gone.  In  Mr.  Webster's  imagination  the 
American  Union  was  a  huge  Prince  Rupert's  drop, 
which,  if  so  much  as  the  smallest  end  be  shivered 
off,  the  whole  will  snap  into  atoms.  Now  the  fact  is 
quite  different  from  this.  The  people  are  loyal,  law- 
abiding.  The  union  of  this  people  is  a  real  thing ; 
an  alliance  of  men  of  one  stock,  one  language,  one 
religion,  one  system  of  manners  and  ideas.  It 
can  be  left  to  take  care  of  itself.  As  much  union 
as  there  is  the  statutes  will  be  sure  to  express.  As 
much  disunion  as  there  is,  no  statutes  can  long  con- 
ceal. The  North  and  the  South,  —  I  am  willing  to 
leave  them  to  the  facts.  If  they  continue  to  have 
a  binding  interest,  they  will  be  pretty  sure  to  find 
it  out ;  if  not,  they  will  consult  their  peace  in  part- 
ing. But  one  thing  appears  certain  to  me,  that  the 
Union  is  at  an  end  as  soon  as  an  immoral  law  is 
enacted.  He  who  writes  a  crime  into  the  statute- 
book  digs  under  the  foundations  of  the  Capitol. 
One  intellectual  benefit  we  owe  to  the  late  disgraces. 
The  crisis  had  the  illuminating  power  of  a  sheet  of 
lightning  at  midnight.  It  showed  truth.  It  ended 
a  good  deal  of  nonsense  we  had  been  wont  to  hear 
and  to  repeat,  on  the  19th  April,  the  17th  June, 
and  the  4th  July.  It  showed  the  slightness  and 
unreliableness  of  our  social  fabric.  .  .  .  What  is 
the  use  of  admirable  law  forms  and  political  forms 
if  a  hurricane  of  party  feeling  and  a  combination 


THE  ANTI-SLAVERY  CONFLICT.  583 

of  moneyed  interests  can  beat  them  to  the  ground  ? 
.  .  .  The  poor  black  boy,  whom  the  fame  of  Bos- 
ton had  reached  in  the  recesses  of  a  rice-swamp  or 
in  the  alleys  of  Savannah,  on  arriving  here  finds  all 
this  force  employed  to  catch  him.  The  famous 
town  of  Boston  is  his  master's  hound.  .  .  .  The 
words  of  John  Randolph,  wiser  than  he  knew,  have 
been  ringing  ominously  in  all  echoes  for  thirty 
years  :  '  We  do  not  govern  the  people  of  the  North 
by  our  black  slaves,  but  by  their  own  white  slaves.' 
.  .  .  They  come  down  now  like  the  cry  of  fate,  in 
the  moment  when  they  are  fulfilled. 

"  What  shall  we  do  ?  First,  abrogate  this  law ; 
then  proceed  to  confine  slavery  to  slave  States,  and 
help  them  effectually  to  make  an  end  of  it.  Since 
it  is  agreed  by  all  sane  men  of  both  parties  (or 
was  yesterday)  that  slavery  is  mischievous,  why 
does  the  South  itself  never  offer  the  smallest  coun- 
sel of  her  own  ?  I  have  never  heard  in  twenty 
years  any  project  except  Mr.  Clay's.  Let  us  hear 
any  project  with  candor  and  respect.  It  is  really 
the  project  for  this  country  to  entertain  and  accom- 
plish. It  is  said  it  will  cost  a  thousand  millions  of 
dollars  to  buy  the  slaves,  which  sounds  like  a  fab- 
ulous price.  But  if  a  price  were  named  in  good 
faith,  I  do  not  think  any  amount  that  figures  could 
tell  would  be  quite  unmanageable.  Nothing  is  im- 
practicable to  this  nation  which  it  shall  set  itself 
to  do.     Were  ever  men  so  endowed,  so  placed,  so 


584       RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

weaponed  ?  their  power  of  territory  seconded  by  a 
genius  equal  to  every  work.  By  new  arts  the  earth 
is  subdued,  and  we  are  on  the  brink  of  new  won- 
ders. The  sun  paints ;  presently  we  shall  organize 
the  echo,  as  now  we  do  the  shadow.  These  thirty 
nations  are  equal  to  any  work,  and  are  every  mo- 
ment stronger.  In  twenty-five  years  they  will  be 
fifty  millions ;  is  it  not  time  to  do  something  be- 
sides ditching  and  draining  ?  Let  them  confront 
this  mountain  of  poison,  and  shovel  it  once  for  all 
down  into  the  bottomless  pit.  A  thousand  millions 
were  cheap. 

"  But  grant  that  the  heart  of  financiers  shrinks 
within  them  at  these  colossal  amounts  and  the  em- 
barrassments which  complicate  the  problem,  and 
that  these  evils  are  to  be  relieved  only  by  the  wis- 
dom of  God  working  in  ages,  and  by  what  instru- 
ments none  can  tell ;  —  one  thing  is  plain.  We 
cannot  answer  for  the  Union,  but  we  must  keep 
Massachusetts  true.  Let  the  attitude  of  the  State 
be  firm.  Massachusetts  is  a  little  State.  Coun- 
tries have  been  great  by  ideas.  Europe  is  little, 
compared  with  Asia  and  Africa.  Greece  was  the 
least  part  of  Europe ;  Attica  a  little  part  of  that, 
one  tenth  of  the  size  of  Massachusetts,  yet  that 
district  still  rules  the  intellect  of  men.  Judaea 
was  a  petty  country.  Yet  these  two,  Greece  and 
Judaea,  furnish  the  mind  and  the  heart  by  which 
the  rest  of  the  world  is  sustained.     And  Massa- 


THE  ANTI-SLAVERY  CONFLICT.  585 

chusetts  is  little,  but  we  must  make  it  great  by- 
making  every  man  in  it  true.  Let  us  respect  the 
Union  to  all  honest  ends,  but  let  us  also  respect  an 
older  and  wider  union ;  the  laws  of  nature  and  rec- 
titude. Massachusetts  is  as  strong  as  the  universe 
when  it  does  that.  We  will  never  intermeddle 
with  your  slavery,  but  you  can  in  no  wise  be  suf- 
fered to  bring  it  to  Cape  Cod  or  Berkshire.  This 
law  must  be  made  inoperative.  It  must  be  abro- 
gated and  wiped  out  of  the  statute-book;  but, 
whilst  it  stands  there,  it  must  be  disobeyed.  Let 
us  not  lie  nor  steal,  nor  help  to  steal,  and  let  us  not 
call  stealing  by  any  fine  names,  such  as  union  or 
patriotism." 

Dr.  Palfrey  was  then  candidate  for  Congress 
from  Emerson's  district,  and  Emerson  repeated  his 
speech  at  several  places  in  Middlesex  County,  hop- 
ing, he  said,  to  gain  some  votes  for  his  friend  ; 
among  other  places,  Cambridge,  where  he  was  in- 
terrupted by  clamors  from  some  of  "the  young 
gentlemen  from  the  college,"  Southern  gentlemen, 
the  newspaper  said ;  but  this  was  denied  by  a  South- 
ern student,  who  wrote  to  say  that  Southern  gentle- 
men had  too  much  respect  for  themselves  and  re- 
gard for  the  rights  of  others  to  condescend  to  any 
such  petty  demonstrations  of  dissent,  and  that  the 
disturbers  were  Northern  men  who  were  eager  to 
keep  up  a  show  of  fidelity  to  the  interests  of  the 
South.     Mr.  Whipple,  in  his  reminiscences  of  Em- 


586       RALPH  WALDO  EMERSON. 

erson,1  says  that  Emerson  was  not  disturbed  by  the 
hissing,  but  seemed  absolutely  to  enjoy  it.  This 
would  argue  a  temperament  more  alive  than  Emer- 
son's to  the  joys  of  conflict.  He  would  not  be  dis- 
turbed, but  he  must  have  been  profoundly  grieved 
to  see  men  of  his  own  order  —  young  men,  too, 
whom  above  all  others  he  would  have  wished  to 
influence  —  so  utterly  wrong  -  headed.  Professor 
James  B.  Thayer,  who  was  present,  says  in  a  note 
to  me :  — 

"  The  hisses,  shouts,  and  cat-calls  made  it  impos- 
sible for  Mr.  Emerson  to  go  on.  Through  all  this 
there  never  was  a  finer  spectacle  of  dignity  and  com- 
posure than  he  presented.  He  stood  with  perfect 
quietness  until  the  hubbub  was  over,  and  then  went 
on  with  the  next  word.  It  was  as  if  nothing  had 
happened :  there  was  no  repetition,  no  allusion  to 
what  had  been  going  on,  no  sign  that  he  was 
moved,  and  I  cannot  describe  with  what  added 
weight  the  next  words  fell." 

The  college  authorities  were  supposed  to  be  on 
the  side  of  the  South,  and  upon  another  occasion 
Mr.  Horace  Mann,  speaking  in  Cambridge,  was  in- 
terrupted by  shouts  of   applause   for  "  Professor 

and  Mr.  Potter,  of  Georgia,"  a  collocation 

not  distinctly  understood,  but  felt  to  convey  a  gen- 
eral Southern  sentiment.     In  fact,  all  the  "  author- 

1  Recollections  of  Eminent  Men.  By  Edwin  Percy  Whipple. 
Boston,  1887 :  p.  140. 


THE  ANTI-SLAVERY  CONFLICT.  587 

ities,"  nearly  all  the  leading  men  among  the  schol- 
ars and  the  clergy,  as  well  as  the  merchants,  were 
upon  that  side  or  but  feebly  against  it.  This,  to 
Emerson,  was  a  most  depressing  experience ;  it 
seemed,  he  said,  to  show  that  our  civilization  was 
rotten  before  it  was  ripe.  He  could  not  take  a  very 
active  share  in  the  agitation  of  the  question,  but 
he  made  no  secret  of  his  opinion,  and  the  Boston 
Daily  Advertiser  remarked,  more  in  sorrow  than 
in  anger,  that  Mr.  Emerson  attended  the  anti- 
slavery  meetings,  and  might  be  fairly  looked  on  as 
a  decided  abolitionist. 

On  the  7th  of  March,  1854,  the  anniversary  of 
Webster's  famous  speech  in  1850,  Emerson  read 
in  New  York  the  address  on  the  Fugitive  Slave  Law 
which  has  been  published  in  his  writings.1  In 
January  of  the  following  year  he  delivered  one  of 
the  lectures  in  a  course  on  slavery,  at  the  Tremont 
Temple  in  Boston,  in  which  men  of  different  sen- 
timents, from  all  parts  of  the  country,  were  invited 
to  take  part.    He  writes  to  his  brother  William :  — 

Concord,  January  17,  1855. 
...  I  am  trying  hard  in  these  days  to  see  some 
light  in  the  dark  slavery  question,  to  which  I  am 
to  speak  next  week  in  Boston.  But  to  me  as  to  so 
many  't  is  like  Hamlet's  task  imposed  on  so  unfit 
an  agent  as  Hamlet.     And  the  mountains  of  cot- 

i  Collected  Writings,  xi.  203. 


588       RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

ton  and  sugar  seem  unpersuadable  by  any  words  as 
Sebastopol  to  a  herald's  oration.  Howbeit,  if  we 
only  drum,  we  must  drum  well. 

"  The  subject  [he  said  in  his  speech]  seems  ex- 
hausted, and  it  would  perhaps  have  been  well  to 
leave  the  discussion  of  slavery  entirely  to  its  pa- 
trons and  natural  fathers.  But  they,  with  one  or 
two  honorable  exceptions,  have  refused  to  come ; 
feeling,  perhaps,  that  there  is  nothing  to  be  said. 
Nor  for  us  is  there  anything  further  to  say  of  sla- 
very itself.  An  honest  man  is  soon  weary  of  cry- 
ing '  thief  ; '  it  is  for  us  to  treat  it,  not  as  a  thing 
by  itself,  but  as  it  stands  in  our  system.  A  high 
state  of  general  health  cannot  coexist  with  mortal 
disease  in  any  part.  Slavery  is  an  evil,  as  cholera 
or  typhus  is,  that  will  be  purged  out  by  the  health 
of  the  system.  Being  unnatural  and  violent,  we 
know  that  it  will  yield  at  last,  and  go  with  canni- 
balism and  burking ;  and  as  we  cannot  refuse  to 
ride  in  the  same  planet  with  the  New  Zealander,  so 
we  must  be  content  to  go  with  the  Southern  plan- 
ter, and  say,  You  are  you  and  I  am  I,  and  God 
send  you  an  early  conversion.  But  to  find  it  here 
in  our  own  sunlight,  here  in  the  heart  of  Puritan 
traditions,  under  the  eye  of  the  most  ingenious,  in- 
dustrious, and  self-helping  men  in  the  world,  stag- 
gers our  faith  in  progress ;  for  it  betrays  a  stupen- 
dous frivolity  in  the  heart  and  head  of  a  society 


THE  ANTI-SLAVERY  CONFLICT.  589 

without  faith,   without    aims,  dying   of  inanition. 
An  impoverishing  scepticism  scatters  poverty,  dis- 
ease,   and    cunning    through    our    opinions,    then 
through  our  practice.     Young  men  want  object, 
want  foundation.     They  would  gladly  have  some- 
what to  do  adequate  to  the  powers  they  feel,  some 
love  that  would  make  them  greater  than  they  are ; 
which  not  finding,  they  take  up  some  second-best, 
some  counting-room  or  railroad  or  whatever  credit- 
able employment,  —  not  the  least  of  whose  uses  is 
the  covert  it  affords.     Among  intellectual  men  you 
will  find  a  waiting  for,  an  impatient  quest  for,  more 
satisfying  knowledge.     It  is  believed  that  ordina- 
rily the  mind  grows  with  the  body ;  that  the  mo- 
ment of  thought  comes  with  the  power  of  action ; 
and  that,  in  nations,  it  is  in  the  time  of  great  ex- 
ternal power  that  their  best  minds  have  appeared. 
But,  in  America,  a  great  imaginative  soul,  a  broad 
cosmopolitan  mind,  has  not  accompanied  the  im- 
mense industrial  energy.     Among  men  of  thought, 
the  readers  of  books,  the  unbelief  is  found  as  it  is 
in  the  laymen.      A   dreary   superficiality ;    critics 
instead   of    thinkers,    punsters    instead   of    poets. 
Yes,  and  serious  men  are  found  who  think  our 
Christianity  and  religion  itself  effete ;  forms  and 
sentiments  that  belonged  to  the  infancy  of  mankind. 
"  I  say  intellectual  men ;  but  are  there  such?    Go 
into  the  festooned  and  tempered  brilliancy  of  the 
drawing-rooms,  and  see  the  fortunate  youth  of  both 


590       RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

sexes,  the  flower  of  our  society,  for  whom  every  fa- 
vor, every  accomplishment,  every  facility,  has  been 
secured.  Will  you  find  genius  and  courage  expand- 
ing those  fair  and  manly  forms  ?  Or  is  their  beauty 
only  a  mask  for  an  aged  cunning  ?  No  illusions  for 
them.  A  few  cherished  their  early  dreams  and  re- 
sisted to  contumacy  the  soft  appliances  of  fashion. 
But  they  tired  of  resistance  and  ridicule,  they  fell 
into  file,  and  great  is  the  congratulation  of  the  re- 
fined companions  that  these  self-willed  protestants 
have  settled  down  into  sensible  opinions  and  prac- 
tices. God  instructs  men  through  the  imagination. 
The  ebb  of  thought  drains  the  law,  the  religion,  the 
education  of  the  land.  Look  at  our  politics,  —  the 
great  parties  coeval  with  the  origin  of  the  govern- 
ment, —  do  they  inspire  us  with  any  exalted  hope  ? 
Does  the  Democracy  stand  really  for  the  good  of 
the  many  ?  Of  the  poor  ?  For  the  elevation  of 
entire  humanity?  The  party  of  property,  of  edu- 
cation, has  resisted  every  progressive  step.  They 
would  nail  the  stars  to  the  sky.  With  their  eyes 
over  their  shoulders  they  adore  their  ancestors,  the 
framers  of  the  Constitution.  What  means  this 
desperate  grasp  on  the  past,  except  that  they  have 
no  law  in  their  own  mind,  no  principle,  no  hope,  no 
future  of  their  own?  Some  foundation  we  must 
have,  and  if  we  can  see  nothing,  we  cling  desper- 
ately to  those  who  we  believe  can  see. 

"  There  are  periods  of  occultation,  when  the  light 


THE  ANTI-SLAVERY  CONFLICT.  591 

of  mind  seems  partially  withdrawn  from  nations  as 
well  as  from  individuals.  In  the  French  Revolu- 
tion there  was  a  day  when  the  Parisians  took  a 
strumpet  from  the  street,  seated  her  in  a  chariot, 
and  led  her  in  procession,  saying,  '  This  is  the  God- 
dess of  Reason.'  And  in  1850  the  American  Con- 
gress passed  a  statute  which  ordained  that  justice 
and  mercy  should  be  subject  to  fine  and  imprison- 
ment, and  that  there  existed  no  higher  law  in  the 
universe  than  the  Constitution  and  this  paper  stat- 
ute which  uprooted  the  foundations  of  rectitude 
and  denied  the  existence  of  God.  This  was  the 
hiding  of  the  light.  But  the  light  shone,  if  it  was 
intercepted  from  us.  What  is  the  effect  of  this 
evil  government  ?  To  discredit  government.  When 
the  public  fails  in  its  duty,  private  men  take  its 
place.  And  we  have  a  great  debt  to  the  brave  and 
faithful  men  who,  in  the  hour  and  place  of  the  evil 
act,  made  their  protest  for  themselves  and  their 
countrymen  by  word  and  deed.  When  the  Amer- 
ican government  and  courts  are  false  to  their  trust, 
men  disobey  the  government  and  put  it  in  the 
wrong. 

"  Yet  patriotism,  public  opinion,  have  a  real 
meaning,  though  there  is  so  much  counterfeit,  rag- 
money  abroad  under  the  name.  It  is  delicious  to 
act  with  great  masses  to  great  aims.  The  State  is 
a  reality ;  Society  has  a  real  function,  that  of  our 
race  being  to  evolve  liberty.     It  is  a  noble  office  ; 


592  RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

for  liberty  is  the  severest  test  by  which,  a  govern- 
ment can  be  tried. .  All  history  goes  to  show  that 
it  is  the  measure  of  all  national  success.  Most  un- 
happily, this  universally  accepted  duty  and  feeling 
has  been  antagonized  by  the  calamity  of  Southern 
slavery  ;  and  that  institution,  through  the  stronger 
personality,  shall  I  say,  of  the  Southern  people,  and 
through  their  systematic  devotion  to  politics,  has 
had  the  art  so  to  league  itself  with  the  government 
as  to  check  and  pervert  the  natural  sentiment  of 
the  people  by  their  respect  for  law  and  statute. 
But  we  shall  one  day  bring  the  States  shoulder  to 
shoulder  and  the  citizens  man  to  man  to  extermi- 
nate slavery.  Why  in  the  name  of  common  sense 
and  the  peace  of  mankind  is  not  this  made  the  sub- 
ject of  instant  negotiation  and  settlement  ?  Why 
not  end  this  dangerous  dispute  on  some  ground  of 
fair  compensation  on  one  side,  and  of  satisfaction 
on  the  other  to  the  conscience  of  the  Free  States? 
It  is  really  the  great  task  fit  for  this  country  to 
accomplish,  to  buy  that  property  of  the  planters, 
as  the  British  nation  bought  the  West  Indian 
slaves.  I  say  buy,  —  never  conceding  the  right  of 
the  planter  to  own,  but  that  we  may  acknowledge 
the  calamity  of  his  position,  and  bear  a  country- 
man's share  in  relieving  him ;  and  because  it  is  the 
only  practicable  course,  and  is  innocent.  Here  is 
a  right  social  or  public  function,  which  one  man 
cannot  do,  which  all  men  must  do.     'T  is  said  it 


THE  ANTI-SLAVERY  CONFLICT.  593 

will  cost  two  thousand  millions  of  dollars.  Was 
there  ever  any  contribution  that  was  so  enthusiasti- 
cally paid  as  this  will  be  ?  We  will  have  a  chimney- 
tax.  We  will  give  up  our  coaches,  and  wine,  and 
watches.  The  churches  will  melt  their  plate.  The 
father  of  his  country  shall  wait,  well  pleased,  a  lit- 
tle longer  for  his  monument ;  Franklin  for  his  ;  the 
Pilgrim  Fathers  for  theirs ;  and  the  patient  Colum- 
bus for  his.  The  mechanics  will  give  ;  the  needle- 
women will  give ;  the  children  will  have  cent-so- 
cieties. Every  man  in  the  land  will  give  a  week's 
work  to  dig  away  this  accursed  mountain  of  sorrow 
once  and  forever  out  of  the  world." 

In  all  these  years  from  the  passage  of  the  Fugi- 
tive Slave  Bill  in  1850  to  its  natural  fruit  in  1861, 
the  politics  of  the  day  occupy  an  unusual  space  in 
Emerson's  journals,  and  intrude  themselves  upon 
all  his  speculations.  A  lecture  on  Art  has  an  ex- 
ordium on  the  state  of  the  country ;  in  Morals,  his 
impatience  of  the  lukewarm  good-nature  of  the 
North  gives  value  even  to  malignity :  — 

"  I  like  to  hear  of  any  strength  ;  as  soon  as  they 
speak  of  the  malignity  of  Swift,  we  prick  up  our 
ears.  I  fear  there  is  not  strength  enough  in  Amer- 
ica that  anything  can  be  qualified  as  malignant. 
I  fancy  the  Americans  have  no  passions ;  alas  !  only 
appetites." 

He  did  not  doubt  that  the  right  would  win ;  but 
he  did  not  believe  that  it  would  win  easily :  — 


594  RALPH   WALDO   EMERSON. 

"  Our  success  is  sure ;  its  roots  are  in  our  pov- 
erty, our  Calvinism,  our  schools,  our  thrifty  habitual 
industry ;  in  our  snow  and  east  wind  and  farm-life. 
But  it  is  of  no  use  to  tell  me,  as  Brown  and  others 
do,  that  the  Southerner  is  not  a  better  fighter  than 
the  Northerner,  when  I  see  that  uniformly  a  South- 
ern minority  prevails  and  gives  the  law.  Why, 
but  because  the  Southerner  is  a  fighting  man,  and 
the  Northerner  is  not  ?  " 

He  had  been  much  impressed  in  his  college-days 
by  the  forceful  personality  of  the  Southern  boys  ; 
he  says  he  always  fell  a  prey  to  their  easy  assu- 
rance, and  he  had  seen  the  same  effect  on  others 
ever  since.  In  a  lecture  on  "New  England"  in 
1843,  he  says  :  — 

"  The  Southerner  lives  for  the  moment ;  relies 
on  himself  and  conquers  by  personal  address.  He 
is  wholly  there  in  that  thing  which  is  now  to  be 
done.  The  Northerner  lives  for  the  year,  and  does 
not  rely  on  himself,  but  on  the  whole  apparatus  of 
means  he  is  wont  to  employ  ;  he  is  only  half  present 
when  he  comes  in  person  ;  he  has  a  great  reserved 
force  which  is  coming  up.  The  result  corre- 
sponds. The  Southerner  is  haughty,  wilful,  gen- 
erous, unscrupulous  ;  will  have  his  way  and  has  it. 
The  Northerner  must  think  the  thing  over,  and  his 
conscience  and  his  common  sense  throw  a  thousand 
obstacles  between  himself  and  his  wishes,  which 
perplex  his  decision  and  unsettle  his  behavior.    The 


THE  ANTI-SLAVERY  CONFLICT.  595 

Northerner  always  has  the  advantage  at  the  end  of 
ten  years,  and  the  Southerner  always  has  the  ad- 
vantage to-day." 

The  disadvantage  of  the  reflective  temperament 
and  the  habit  of  thinking  what  may  be  said  for  the 
other  side,  in  comparison  with  the  impulsive  habit 
that  needs  no  self -justification  but  acts  at  once,  was 
illustrated  at  large  in  the  behavior  of  the  North 
twenty  years  later.  Emerson  himself  was  an  ex- 
ample of  it.  He  had  not  the  happiness  of  being 
able  to  look  upon  slaveholding  simply  as  an  out- 
rage, to  be  resisted  and  put  down  without  parley,-  he 
could  not  help  feeling  some  relative  justification  for 
the  slaveholder  ;  and  this  feeling  debarred  him  from 
complete  sympathy  with  the  abolitionists.  He  ad- 
mired their  courage  and  persistence,  but  he  coidd 
not  act  with  them,  —  any  more  than  they  could 
entertain  his  scheme  for  buying  the  slaves,  or  re- 
press their  scorn  when  he  spoke  of  the  "  calamity  " 
of  the  planter's  position.  He  says  (in  his  journal) 
of  one  of  the  foremost  abolitionists  :  — 

" is  venerable  in  his  place,  like  the  tart 

Luther ;  but  he  cannot  understand  anything  you 
say,  and  neighs  like  a  horse  when  you  suggest  a 
new  consideration,  as  when  I  told  him  that  the  fate 
element  in  the  negro  question  he  had  never  con- 
sidered." 

But,  as  events  thickened  towards  the  crisis,  he 
was  forced  to  see  that  the  encroachments  of  slavery 


596  RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

must  be  resisted  by  force.  In  May,  1856,  in  bis 
speech  at  Concord,  on  occasion  of  the  assault  upon 
Mr.  Sumner  in  the  Senate-Chamber  of  the  United 
States,  he  says :  "I  think  we  must  get  rid  of  slavery 
or  we  must  get  rid  of  freedom."  And  at  the  Kan- 
sas-Relief meeting  at  Cambridge,  in  September  of 
that  year,  he  warmly  advocated  the  sending  of  arms 
to  the  settlers  in  Kansas,  for  resistance  to  the  pro- 
slavery  raids  from  Missouri,  and  thought  that  aid 
should  be  contributed  by  the  legislature  of  Massa- 
chusetts. In  1857  John  Brown  came  to  Concord, 
and  gave,  Emerson  says,  "  a  good  account  of  him- 
self in  the  Town  Hall  last  night  to  a  meeting  of 
citizens.  One  of  his  good  points  was  the  folly  of 
the  peace  party  in  Kansas,  who  believed  that  their 
strength  lay  in  the  greatness  of  their  wrongs, 
and  so  discountenanced  resistance.  He  wished  to 
know  if  their  wrong  was  greater  than  the  negro's, 
and  what  kind  of  strength  that  gave  to  the 
negro." 

In  a  lecture  on  "  Courage,"  in  Boston  (Novem- 
ber, 1859),  Emerson  quoted  Brown's  words  about 
"  the  unctuous  cant  of  peace  parties  in  Kansas," 
and  called  upon  the  citizens  of  Massachusetts  to  say, 
"  We  are  abolitionists  of  the  most  absolute  aboli- 
tion, as  every  man  must  be.  Only  the  Hottentots, 
only  the  barbarous  or  semi-barbarous  societies,  are 
not.  We  do  not  try  to  alter  your  laws  in  Alabama, 
nor  yours  in  Japan  or  the  Feejee  Islands,  but  we 


THE  ANTI-SLAVERY   CONFLICT.  597 

do  not  admit  them  or  permit  a  trace  of  them  here. 
Nor  shall  we  suffer  you  to  carry  your  Thuggism 
north,  south,  east,  or  west,  into  a  single  rod  of  ter- 
ritory which  we  control.  We  intend  to  set  and 
keep  a  cordon  sanitaire  all  round  the  infected 
district,  and  by  no  means  suffer  the  pestilence  to 
spread."  Speaking  of  the  different  kinds  of  cour- 
age corresponding  to  different  levels  of  civilization, 
he  says  :  "  With  the  shooting  complexion,  like  the 
cobra  capello  and  scorpion,  that  abounds  mostly  in 
warm  climates,  war  is  the  safest  terms.  That  marks 
them,  and  if  they  cross  the  line  they  can  be  dealt 
with  as  all  fanged  animals  must  be." 

It  does  not  appear  that  Emerson  was  acquainted 
in  advance  with  Brown's  Virginia  project,  but  in 
this  lecture,  which  was  delivered  while  Brown  was 
lying  in  prison  under  sentence  of  death,  he  spoke 
of  him  as  "  that  new  saint,  than  whom  none  purer 
or  more  brave  was  ever  led  by  love  of  men  into 
conflict  and  death,  —  the  new  saint  awaiting  his 
martyrdom,  and  who,  if  he  shall  suffer,  will  make 
the  gallows  glorious  like  the  cross."  In  the  essay 
as  published  ten  years  later,  these  passages  were 
omitted  ;  distance  of  time  having  brought  the  case 
into  a  juster  perspective. 

But  the  strongest  mark  of  the  disturbance  of 
Emerson's  native  equilibrium  is  to  be  found  in  his 
condemnation  of  the  judges  and  the  state  officials 
for  not  taking  the  law  into  their  own  hands.    Law, 


598       RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

he  said,  is  the  expression  of  the  universal  will ;  an 
immoral  law  is  void,  because  it  contravenes  the 
will  of  humanity.  And  he  passed  at  once  to  the 
conclusion,  not  merely  that  the  Fugitive  Slave  Law 
was  to  be  disobeyed  by  those  who  felt  it  to  be  im- 
moral, but  that  the  official  interpreters  and  the  ex- 
ecutive were  bound  to  make  and  enforce  righteous 
laws  of  their  own  ;  than  which  nothing  could  well 
be  more  opposed  to  his  own  principles.  "  Justice 
was  poisoned  at  the  fountain.  In  our  Northern 
States  no  judge  appeared  of  sufficient  character 
and  intellect  to  ask,  not  whether  the  slave  law  was 
constitutional,  but  whether  it  was  right.  The  first 
duty  of  a  judge  was  to  read  the  law  in  accordance 
with  equity,  and,  if  it  jarred  with  equity,  to  disown 
the  law."  (Speech  of  January  26,  1855.)  Yet 
no  one  could  be  more  prompt  than  he  to  repudiate 
the  claim  of  any  one  to  decide  for  other  people  what 
is  right,  or  what  is  the  will  of  humanity.  He  had 
been  protesting  against  such  assumptions  all  his 
life. 

The  speech  about  John  Brown  spoiled  his  wel- 
come in  Philadelphia,  and  an  invitation  to  lecture 
there  was  withdrawn  ;  apparently  also  to  some  ex- 
tent in  Boston,  though  he  lectured  in  other  parts  of 
New  England  and  at  the  West.  He  made  no  more 
anti-slavery  speeches  at  this  time,  but  being  invited 
by  Mr.  Wendell  Phillips  to  speak  at  the  annual 


THE  ANTI-SLAVERY  CONFLICT.  599 

meeting  of  the  Massachusetts  Anti-Slavery  Society 
in  1861  (Tremont  Temple,  January  24),  he  took 
a  place  on  the  platform,  and,  when  he  was  called 
upon,  tried  to  make  himself  heard,  but  in  vain.1 
"  Esteeming  such  invitation  a  command  [he  writes 
in  his  journal],  though  sorely  against  my  incli- 
nation and  habit,  I  went,  and,  though  I  had  noth- 
ing to  say,  showed  myself.  If  I  were  dumb,  yet  I 
would  have  gone,  and  mowed  and  muttered,  or 
made  signs.  The  mob  roared  whenever  I  at- 
tempted to  speak,  and  after  several  beginnings  I 
withdrew." 

The  outbreak  of  the  war  relieved  Emerson  from 
his  worst  apprehension,  that  some  show  of  peace 
and  union  would  be  patched  up  when  no  real  union 
existed.  For  two  winters  (1859-61)  he  had  given 
no  course  of  lectures  in  Boston,  though  he  had 
frequently  addressed  Theodore  Parker's  congrega- 
tion in  the  absence  and  after  the  death  of  their 
pastor.  But  in  April,  1861,  he  was  in  the  midst  of 
a  course  on  "Life  and  Literature,"  when  the  news 
came  of  the  attack  on  Fort  Sumter;  not  unex- 
pected, yet  with  an  effect  on  the  public  temper  that 
took  Emerson  as  well  as  others  by  surprise.  In 
place  of  the  lecture  which  had  been  announced,  on 
the  "Doctrine  of  Leasts,"   he   gave  one  entitled 

1  There  is  an  account  of  the  meeting  in  the  Liberator,  Febru- 
ary 1,  1861. 


600       RALPH    WALDO  EMERSON. 

"  Civilization  at  a  Pinch,"  in  which  he  confessed 
his  relief  that  now,  at  length,  the  dragon  that  had 
been  coiled  round  us  and  from  which  we  could  not 
escape,  had  uncoiled  himself  and  was  thrust  out- 
side the  door.  "  How  does  Heaven  help  us  when 
civilization  is  at  a  hard  pinch  ?  Why,  by  a  whirl- 
wind of  patriotism,  not  believed  to  exist,  but  now 
magnetizing  all  discordant  masses  under  its  terrific 
unity.  It  is  an  affair  of  instincts ;  we  did  not 
know  we  had  them ;  we  valued  ourselves  as  cool 
calculators ;  we  were  very  fine  with  our  learning 
and  culture,  with  our  science  that  was  of  no  coun- 
try, and  our  religion  of  peace ;  —  and  now  a  senti- 
ment mightier  than  logic,  wide  as  light,  strong  as 
gravity,  reaches  into  the  college,  the  bank,  the 
farm-house,  and  the  church.  It  is  the  day  of  the 
populace  ;  they  are  wiser  than  their  teachers. 
Every  parish-steeple  marks  a  recruiting  -  station  ; 
every  bell  is  a  tocsin.  Go  into  the  swarming  town- 
halls,  and  let  yourself  be  played  upon  by  the  stormy 
winds  that  blow  there.  The  interlocutions  from 
quiet-looking  citizens  are  of  an  energy  of  which  I 
had  no  knowledge.  How  long  men  can  keep  a  se- 
cret !  I  will  never  again  speak  lightly  of  a  crowd. 
We  are  wafted  into  a  revolution  which,  though  at 
first  sight  a  calamity  of  the  human  race,  finds  all 
men  in  good  heart,  in  courage,  in  a  generosity  of 
mutual  and  patriotic  support.  We  have  been  very 
homeless,  some  of  us,  for  some  years  past,  —  say 


THE  ANTI-SLAVERY   CONFLICT.  601 

since  1850  ;  but  now  we  have  a  country  again.  Up 
to  March  4,  1861,  in  the  very  place  of  law  we 
found,  instead  of  it,  war.  Now  we  have  forced 
the  conspiracy  out-of-doors.  Law  is  on  this  side 
and  War  on  that.  It  was  war  then,  and  it  is  war 
now ;  but  declared  war  is  vastly  safer  than  war  un- 
declared. This  affronting  of  the  common  sense  of 
mankind,  this  defiance  and  cursing  of  friends  as 
well  as  foes,  has  hurled  us,  willing  or  unwilling, 
into  opposition ;  and  the  nation  which  the  Seces- 
sionists hoped  to  shatter  has  to  thank  them  for  a 
more  sudden  and  hearty  union  than  the  history  of 
parties  ever  showed." 

War,  upon  such  an  issue,  was  to  be  welcomed. 
He  asked  a  friend  to  show  him  the  Charlestown 
Navy- Yard,  and  looking  round  upon  the  warlike 
preparations  he  said,  "  Ah !  sometimes  gunpowder 
smells  good."  On  the  19th  of  April,  the  anniver- 
sary of  Concord  Fight,  a  company  of  his  townsmen 
left  home  to  join  the  army.  He  writes  the  next 
day:  — 

Dear :  You  have    heard   that  our  village 

was  all  alive  yesterday  with  the  departure  of  our 
braves.  Judge  Hoar  made  a  speech  to  them  at 
the  depot ;  Mr.  Reynolds  made  a  prayer  in  the 
ring;  the  cannon,  which  was  close  by  us,  making 
musical  beats  every  minute  to  his  prayer.  And 
when  the  whistle  of  the  train  was  heard,  and  George 


602  RALPH   WALDO   EMERSON. 

Prescott  (the  commander)  —  who  was  an  image  of 
manly  beauty  —  ordered  his  men  to  march,  his  wife 
stopped  him  and  put  down  his  sword  to  kiss  him, 
and  grief  and  pride  ruled  the  hour.  All  the  fam- 
ilies were  there.  They  left  Concord  forty -five  men, 
but,  on  the  way,  recruits  implored  to  join  them, 
and  when  they  reached  Boston  they  were  sixty- 
four. 

He  was  slow  to  believe  (as  indeed  who  was  not  ?) 
that  the  disrupted  fragments  of  the  country  could, 
within  any  assignable  time,  come  together  with  mu- 
tual good-will  in  a  political  union.  It  was  "  a  war 
of  manners,"  the  conflict  of  two  incompatible  states 
of  civilization ;  and,  for  the  present,  could  only 
end  in  a  separation  in  which  the  incompatibilities 
should  be  acknowledged  and  somehow  provided 
for.  "No  treaties,  no  peace,  no  constitution,  can 
paper  over  the  red  lips  of  that  crater.  Only  when 
at  last  the  parts  of  the  country  can  combine  on  an 
equal  and  moral  contract  to  protect  each  other 
in  humane  and  honest  activities,  —  only  such  can 
combine  firmly."  For  the  time  it  was  enough  that 
the  United  States  had  become  the  country  of  free 
institutions,  of  which  hitherto  we  had  bragged 
most  falsely.  To  the  Southern  States  also  the  war 
had  been  of  signal  benefit :  "  I  think  they  have 
never,  since  their  first  planting,  appeared  to  such 
advantage.     They  have  waked  to  energy,  to  self- 


THE  ANTI-SLAVERY  CONFLICT.  603 

help,  to  economy,  to  valor,  to  self-knowledge  and 
progress.  They  have  put  forth  for  the  first  time 
their  sleepy,  half-palsied  limbs,  and  as  soon  as  the 
blood  begins  to  tingle  and  flow,  it  will  creep  with 
new  life  into  the  moribund  extremes  of  the  sys- 
tem, and  the  '  white  trash '  will  say,  '  We,  too,  are 
men.' " 

In  the  first  lecture  of  the  course,  delivered  on 
the  9th  of  April,  three  days  before  the  bombard- 
ment of  Fort  Sumter,  he  had  spoken  with  equanim- 
ity of  "  the  downfall  of  our  character-destroying  civ- 
ilization ;  "  and  in  the  next,  a  few  days  later,  even 
speculates  on  the  advantages  of  its  downfall :  — 

"  The  facility  with  which  a  great  political  fabric 
can  be  broken,  the  want  of  tension  in  all  ties  which 
had  been  supposed  adamantine,  is  instructive,  and 
perhaps  opens  a  new  page  in  civil  history.  These 
frivolous  persons  with  their  fanaticism  perhaps  are 
wiser  than  they  know,  or  indicate  that  the  hour  is 
struck,  so  long  predicted  by  philosophy,  when  the 
civil  machinery  that  has  been  the  religion  of  the 
world  decomposes  to  dust  and  smoke  before  the 
now  adult  individualism ;  and  the  private  man  feels 
that  he  is  the  State,  and  that  a  community  in  like 
external  conditions  of  climate,  race,  sentiment,  em- 
ployment, can  drop  with  impunity  much  of  the 
machinery  of  government,  as  operose  and  clumsy, 
and  get  on  cheaper  and  simpler  by  leaving  to  every 


604       RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

man  all  his  rights  and  powers,  checked  by  no  law 
but  his  love  or  fear  of  the  rights  and  powers  of  his 
neighbor. 

"  Property  has  proved  too  much  for  the  man ; 
and  now  the  men  of  science,  art,  intellect,  are  pretty 
sure  to  degenerate  into  selfish  housekeepers,  de- 
pendent on  wine,  coffee,  furnace,  gaslight,  and 
furniture.  We  find  that  civilization  crowed  too 
soon,  that  our  triumphs  were  treacheries  ;  we  had 
opened  the  wrong  door  and  let  the  enemy  into  the 
castle.  Civilization  was  a  mistake,  and,  in  the 
circumstances,  the  best  wisdom  was  an  auction  or 
a  fire  ;  since  the  foxes  and  birds  have  the  right  of 
it,  with  a  warm  nest  or  covert  to  fend  the  weather, 
and  no  more." 

The  echoes  of  Sumter  put  an  end  to  these  fan- 
cies. The  war,  as  he  said  afterwards,  was  "  an 
eye-opener,  and  showed  men  of  all  parties  and 
opinions  the  values  of  those  primary  forces  that 
lie  beneath  all  political  action.  Every  one  was 
taken  by  surprise,  and  the  more  he  knew  probably 
the  greater  was  his  surprise.  We  had  plotted 
against  slavery,  compromised,  made  state  laws, 
colonization  societies,  underground  railroads  ;  and 
we  had  not  done  much ;  the  counteraction  kept  pace 
with  the  action  ;  the  man- way  did  not  succeed.  But 
there  was  another  way.  Another  element  did  not 
prove  so  favorable  to  slavery  and  the  great  politi- 
cal and  social  parties  that  were  roused  in  its  de- 


THE  ANTI-SLAVERY  CONFLICT.  605 

fence ;  namely,  friction,  an  unexpected  hitch  in  the 
working  of  the  thing'.  With  everything  for  it,  it 
did  not  get  on ;  California  and  Kansas  would  have 
nothing  of  it,  even  Texas  was  doubtful ;  and  at  last 
the  slaveholders,  blinded  with  wrath,  destroyed 
their  idol  with  their  own  hands.  It  was  God's  do- 
ing, and  is  marvellous  in  our  eyes. 

"  The  country  is  cheerful  and  jocund  in  the  be- 
lief that  it  has  a  government  at  last.  What  an 
amount  of  power  released  from  doing  harm  is  now 
ready  to  do  good  !  At  the  darkest  moment  in  the 
history  of  the  republic,  when  it  looked  as  if  the 
nation  would  be  dismembered,  pulverized  into  its 
original  elements,  the  attack  on  Fort  Sumter  crys- 
tallized the  North  into  a  unit,  and  the  hope  of  man- 
kind was  saved.  If  Mr.  Lincoln  appear  slow  and 
timid  in  proclaiming  emancipation,  and,  like  a  bash- 
ful suitor,  shows  the  way  to  deny  him,  it  is  to  be 
remembered  that  he  is  not  free  as  a  poet  to  state 
what  he  thinks  ideal  or  desirable,  but  must  take  a 
considered  step,  which  he  can  keep.  Otherwise  his 
proclamation  would  be  a  weak  bravado,  without 
value  or  respect." 

Still,  Emerson  himself  was  not  without  his  fears. 
The  hold  of  slavery  upon  the  national  capital 
seemed  not  yet  entirely  broken.  In  January,  1862, 
being  at  Washington,  he  took  occasion  to  bear  his 
testimony  at  the  seat  of  government  to  the  senti- 
ment of  the  North.     "  A  nation  [he  said  in  a  lee- 


606       RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

ture  at  the  Smithsonian  Institution 1  on  "  Amer- 
ican Civilization "  is  not  a  conglomeration  of 
voters,  to  be  represented  by  hungry  politicians  em- 
powered to  partition  the  spoils  of  office,  but  a  peo- 
ple animated  by  a  common  impulse  and  seeking  to 
work  out  a  common  destiny.  The  destiny  of  Amer- 
ica is  mutual  service ;  labor  is  the  corner-stone  of 
our  nationality,  —  the  labor  of  each  for  all.  In  the 
measure  in  which  a  man  becomes  civilized  he  is 
conscious  of  this,  and  finds  his  well-being  in  the 
work  to  which  his  faculties  call  him.  He  coins 
himself  into  his  labor ;  turns  his  day,  his  strength, 
his  thought,  his  affection,  into  some  product  which 
remains  as  the  visible  sign  of  his  power ;  to  protect 
that,  to  secure  his  past  self  to  his  future  self,  is  the 
object  of  all  government.  But  there  is  on  this  sub- 
ject a  confusion  in  the  mind  of  the  Southern  peo- 
ple, which  leads  them  to  pronounce  labor  disgrace- 
ful, and  the  well-being  of  a  man  to  consist  in  sitting 
idle  and  eating  the  fruit  of  other  men's  labor.  We 
have  endeavored  to  hold  together  these  two  states 
of  civilization  under  one  law,  but  in  vain  ;  one  or 
the  other  must  give  way.  America  now  means 
opportunity,  the  widest  career  to  human  activities. 
Shall  we  allow  her  existence  to  be  menaced  through 
the  literal  following  of  precedents  ?     Why  cannot 

1  In  the  presence,  Mr.  Conway  says  {Emerson  at  Home  and 
Abroad.  By  Moncure  Daniel  Conway.  Boston,  1882:  p.  313), 
of  the  President  and  his  Cabinet.     But  this  seems  doubtful. 


THE  ANTI-SLAVERY  CONFLICT.  607 

the  higher  civilization  be  allowed  to  extend  over 
the  whole  country?  The  Union  party  has  never 
been  strong  enough  to  kill  slavery,  but  the  wish 
that  never  had  legs  long  enough  to  cross  the  Poto- 
mac can  do  so  now.  Emancipation  is  the  demand 
of  civilization,  the  inevitable  conclusion  reached 
by  the  logic  of  events.  The  war  will  have  its  own 
way ;  one  army  will  stand  for  slavery  pure  and  one 
for  freedom  pure,  and  victory  will  fall  at  last  where 
it  ought  to  fall.  The  march  of  ideas  will  be  found 
irresistible,  and  this  mountainous  nonsense  insult- 
ing the  daylight  will  be  swept  away,  though  ages 
may  pass  in  the  attempt.  But  ideas  must  work 
through  the  brains  and  arms  of  good  and  brave 
men,  or  they  are  no  better  than  dreams.  There 
can  be  no  safety  until  this  step  is  taken." 

On  the  22d  of  September,  Mr.  Lincoln,  who  up 
to  the  last  moment  had  been  anxiously  pondering 
the  matter  under  pressure  of  "  the  most  opposite 
opinions  and  advice,"  at  length  issued  his  procla- 
mation that  slavery  would  be  abolished  on  the  1st 
of  January,  1863,  in  those  States  which  should  then 
be  in  rebellion  against  the  United  States.  At  a 
meeting  in  Boston  soon  afterwards,  Emerson  ex- 
pressed his  hearty  satisfaction  with  the  President's 
action  (which  was  violently  condemned  by  some  of 
the  Boston  newspapers  and  rather  pooh-poohed,  as 
ineffectual,  by  others),  his  appreciation  of  the  diffi- 
culties of  the  President's  decision,  and  his  confi- 
dence that  the  step  thus  taken  was  irrevocable. 


608  RALPH    WALDO  EMERSON. 

On  the  day  when  the  Emancipation  went  into 
effect  a  "  Jubilee  Concert  "  was  given  at  the  Music 
Hall,  and  Emerson  read  there  his  "Boston  Hymn  " 
by  way  of  prologue. 

If  the  geographical  position  of  Washington  and 
the  traditions  of  Southern  rule  made  the  politicians 
there  less  alive  than  they  should  be  to  the  Amer- 
ican idea,  the  patriotism  of  New  England  was 
affected  with  a  like  apathy  from  a  different  cause, 
the  colonial  spirit  that  still  lingered  in  the  well- 
to-do  class  of  persons,  the  mimicking  of  English 
aristocratic  ideas.  In  a  lecture  in  Boston  in  1863, 
the  darkest  period  of  the  struggle,  on  the  "  For- 
tune of  the  Republic, "  Emerson  said  that  with  all 
the  immense  sympathy  which  at  first  and  again  had 
upheld  the  war,  he  feared  that  we  did  not  yet  ap- 
prehend the  salvation  that  was  offered  us,  and  that 
we  might  yet  be  punished  to  rouse  the  egotists,  the 
sceptics,  the  fashionist,  the  pursuers  of  ease  and 
pleasure.  These  persons  take  their  tone  from  Eng- 
land, or  from  certain  classes  of  the  English :  — 

"  To  say  the  truth,  England  is  never  out  of  mind. 
Nobody  says  it,  but  all  think  and  feel  it.  England 
is  the  model  in  which  they  find  their  wishes  ex- 
pressed, —  not,  of  course,  middle-class  England,  but 
rich,  powerful,  and  titled  England.  Our  politics 
threaten  her.  Her  manners  threaten  us.  A  man 
is  coming,  here  as  there,  to  value  himself  upon 
what  he  can  buy." 


TEE  ANTI-SLAVERY  CONFLICT.  609 

In  this  class  of  Englishmen  we  had  found,  in- 
stead of  sympathy,  only  an  open  or  ill-concealed 
satisfaction  at  the  prospect  of  our  downfall.  They 
are  worshippers  of  Fate,  of  material  prosperity 
and  privilege ;  blind  to  all  interests  higher  than 
commercial  advantage  or  class  prejudice.  Never  a 
lofty  sentiment,  never  a  duty  to  civilization,  never 
a  generosity,  is  suffered  to  stand  in  the  way  of 
these  ;  and  we  are  infected  with  this  materialism. 
But,  thanks  to  the  war,  we  were  coming,  he  hoped, 
to  a  nationality  and  an  opinion  of  our  own.  "  Na- 
ture says  to  the  American,  I  give  you  the  land  and 
the  sea,  the  forest  and  the  mine,  the  elemental 
forces,  nervous  energy.  Where  I  add  difficulty  I 
add  brain.  See  to  it  that  you  hold  and  administer 
the  continent  for  mankind.  Let  the  passion  for 
America  cast  out  the  passion  for  Europe.  Learn 
to  peril  your  life  and  fortune  for  a  principle,  and 
carry  out  your  work  to  the  end." 

A  year  later,  in  November,  1864,  on  the  second 
election  of  Mr.  Lincoln,  Emerson  says  in  a  letter 
to  a  friend  who  was  in  Europe  :  — 

"  I  give  you  joy  of  the  election.  Seldom  in  his- 
tory was  so  much  staked  on  a  popular  vote.  I 
suppose  never  in  history.  One  hears  everywhere 
anecdotes  of  late,  very  late  remorse  overtaking  the 
hardened  sinners,  and  just  saving  them  from  final 
reprobation." 


610  RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

And  in  beginning  a  course  of  lectures  in  Boston 
he  congratulated  his  countrymen  "that  a  great 
portion  of  mankind  dwelling  in  the  United  States 
have  given  their  decision  in  unmistakable  terms  in 
favor  of  social  and  statute  order ;  that  a  nation 
shall  be  a  nation,  and  refuses  to  hold  its  existence 
on  the  tenure  of  a  casual  gathering  of  passengers 
at  a  railroad  station  or  a  picnic,  held  by  no  bond, 
but  meeting  and  parting  at  pleasure  ;  that  a  nation 
cannot  be  trifled  with,  but  involves  interests  so 
dear  and  so  vast  that  its  unity  shall  be  held  by 
force  against  the  forcible  attempt  to  break  it. 
What  gives  commanding  weight  to  this  decision  is 
that  it  has  been  made  by  the  people  sobered  by  the 
calamity  of  the  war,  the  sacrifice  of  life,  the  waste 
of  property,  the  burden  of  taxes,  and  the  uncer- 
tainty of  the  result.  They  protest  in  arms  against 
the  levity  of  any  small  or  any  numerous  minority 
of  citizens  or  States  to  proceed  by  stealth  or  by 
violence  to  dispart  a  country.  They  do  not  decide 
that  if  a  part  of  the  nation,  from  geographical 
necessities  or  from  irreconcilable  interests  of  pro- 
duction and  trade,  desires  a  separation,  no  such 
separation  can  be.  Doubtless  it  may,  because  the 
permanent  interest  of  one  part  to  separate  will 
come  to  be  the  interest  and  good-will  of  the  other 
part.  But  at  all  events  it  shall  not  be  done  in  a 
corner,  not  by  stealth,  not  by  violence,  but  as  a 
solemn  act,  with  all  the  forms,  on  the  declared 


THE  ANTI-SLAVERY  CONFLICT.  611 

opinions  of  the  entire  population  concerned,  and 
with  mutual  guarantees  and  compensations." 

The  Union,  whatever  its  extent,  should  be  the 
expression  of  a  real  unity,  and  not  a  contrivance 
to  make  up  for  the  want  of  it. 

The  subject  of  the  lecture  to  which  this  was  the 
exordium  was  Education.  What  chapters  of  in- 
struction, he  said,  has  not  the  war  opened  to  us ! 
It  has  cost  many  valuable  lives,  but  it  has  made 
many  lives  valuable  that  were  not  so  before, 
through  the  start  and  expansion  it  has  given.  It 
has  added  a  vast  enlargement  to  every  house,  to 
every  heart.  Every  one  of  these  millions  was  a 
petty  shopkeeper,  farmer,  mechanic,  or  scholar, 
driving  his  separate  affair,  letting  all  the  rest  alone 
if  they  would  let  him  alone,  abstaining  from  read- 
ing the  newspapers  because  their  mean  tidings  dis- 
graced him  or  froze  him  into  selfishness.  But  in 
every  one  of  these  houses  now  an  American  map 
hangs  unrolled :  the  symbol  that  the  whole  country 
is  added  to  his  thought.  "  I  often  think,  when  we 
are  reproached  with  brag  by  the  people  of  a  small 
home-territory  like  the  English,  that  ours  is  only 
the  gait  and  bearing  of  a  tall  boy  by  the  side  of 
small  boys.  They  are  jealous  and  quick-sighted 
about  their  inches.  Everything  this  side  the  water 
inspires  large  prospective  action.  America  means 
freedom,  power,  and,  very  naturally,  when  these 
instincts  are  not  supported  by  moral  and  mental 


612       RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

training  they  run  into  the  grandiose,  into  exagge- 
ration and  vaporing.  This  is  odious ;  and  yet  let 
us  call  bad  manners  by  the  right  name. 

"  I  think  the  genius  of  this  country  has  marked 
out  her  true  policy,  —  hospitality ;  a  fair  field  and 
equal  laws  to  all ;  a  piece  of  land  for  every  son  of 
Adam  who  will  sit  down  upon  it;  then,  on  easy 
conditions,  the  right  of  citizenship,  and  education 
for  his  children." 

In  the  early  part  of  the  war  the  drying-up  of  all 
sources  of  income  threatened  Emerson  with  pecu- 
niary straits.  He  writes  to  his  brother  William  in 
1862:  — 

"  The  1st  of  January  has  found  me  in  quite  as 
poor  a  plight  as  the  rest  of  the  Americans.  Not  a 
penny  from  my  books  since  last  June,  which  usually 
yield  five  or  six  hundred  a  year  ;  no  dividends 
from  the  banks  or  from  Lidian's  Plymouth  pro- 
perty. Then  almost  all  income  from  lectures  has 
quite  ceased  ;  so  that  your  letter  found  me  in  a 
study  how  to  pay  three  or  four  hundred  dollars 
with  fifty.  ...  I  have  been  trying  to  sell  a  wood- 
lot  at  or  near  its  appraisal,  which  would  give  me 
something  more  than  three  hundred,  but  the  pur- 
chaser does  not  appear.  Meantime  we  are  trying 
to  be  as  unconsuming  as  candles  under  an  extin- 
guisher, and  't  is  frightful  to  think  how  many  rivals 
we  have  in  distress  and  in  economy.  But  far  better 
that  this  grinding  should  go  on  bad  and  worse  than 


AT   WEST  POINT.  613 

we  be  driven  by  any  impatience  into  a  hasty  peace 
or  any  peace  restoring  the  old  rottenness." 

In  1863  he  was  lecturing  again.  This  year  he 
was  appointed  by  the  President  (probably  at  Charles 
Sumner's  suggestion)  one  of  the  visitors  to  the  Mil- 
itary Academy  at  West  Point.  Mr.  John  Bur- 
roughs, who  saw  him  there  in  June,  writes  to  me : 

"  My  attention  was  attracted  to  this  eager,  alert, 
inquisitive  farmer,  as  I  took  him  to  be.  Evidently, 
I  thought,  this  is  a  new  thing  to  him ;  he  feels  the 
honor  that  has  been  conferred  upon  him,  and  he 
means  to  do  his  duty  and  let  no  fact  or  word  or 
thing  escape  him.  When  the  rest  of  the  Board 
looked  dull  or  fatigued  or  perfunctory,  he  was  all 
eagerness  and  attention.  He  certainly  showed  a 
kind  of  rustic  curiosity  and  simplicity.  When,  on 
going  home  at  night,  I  learned  that  Emerson  was 
on  that  Board  of  Visitors  at  the  Academy,  I  knew 
at  once  that  I  had  seen  him,  and  the  thought  kept 
me  from  sleep.  The  next  day  I  was  early  on 
the  ground  with  a  friend  of  mine  who  had  met 
Emerson,  and  through  him  made  his  acquaintance 
and  had  a  chat  with  him.  In  the  afternoon,  seeing 
us  two  hanging  about,  he  left  his  associates  and 
came  over  and  talked  with  us  and  beamed  upon  us 
in  that  inimitable  wav.  I  shall  never  forget  his 
serene,  unflinching  look.  Just  the  way  his  upper 
lip  shut  into  his  lower,  imbedded  itself  there, 
showed  to  me  the  metal  of  which  he  was  made." 


CHAPTEK  XVI. 

VIEWS     OF    COLLEGE     EDUCATION.  —  AGASSIZ   AND 

THE     SATURDAY    CLUB. RECOGNITION    BY    HIS 

CONTEMPORARIES.  —  EMERSON  OVERSEER  OF 
HARVARD  COLLEGE.  —  UNIVERSITY  LECTURES.  — 
TRIP  TO  CALIFORNIA.  —  THE  BURNING  OF  HIS 
HOUSE. 

1864-1872. 

In  his  review  of  the  institutions  for  public  edu- 
cation, the  common  school  and  the  college,  in  his 
lecture  in  1864,  Emerson  dotted  out,  with  a  re- 
markable prevision,  the  new  departure  upon  which 
his  own  college  soon  afterwards  entered.  The  col- 
lege, he  said,  is  essentially  the  most  radiating  and 
public  of  agencies ;  it  deals  with  a  force  which  it 
cannot  monopolize  or  confine,  cannot  give  to  those 
who  come  to  it  and  refuse  to  those  outside.  "  I 
have  no  doubt  of  the  force,  and,  for  me,  the  only 
question  is  whether  the  force  is  inside.  If  the  col- 
leges were  better,  if  they  really  had  it,  you  would 
need  to  set  the  police  at  the  gates  to  keep  order  in 
the  in-rushing  multitude.  Do  the  boat-builders  in 
Long  Island  Sound  forget  George  Steers  and  his 
yacht  America,  or  the  naval  men  omit  to  visit  a 


VIEWS  OF  COLLEGE  EDUCATION.  615 

new  Monitor  of  Ericsson?  But  see  in  colleges 
how  we  thwart  this  natural  love  of  learning  by 
leaving  the  natural  method  of  teaching  what  each 
wishes  to  learn,  and  insisting  that  you  shall  learn 
what  you  have  no  taste  or  capacity  for.  It  is  right 
that  you  should  begin  at  the  beginning,  to  teach  the 
elements,  but  you  shall  not  drive  to  the  study  of 
music  the  youth  who  has  no  ear,  or  insist  on  mak- 
ing a  painter  of  him  if  he  have  no  perception  of 
form.  The  college,  which  should  be  a  place  of 
delightful  labor,  is  made  odious  and  unhealthy,  and 
the  young  men  are  tempted  to  frivolous  amuse- 
ments to  rally  their  jaded  spirits.  External  order, 
verbal  correctness,  the  keeping  of  hours,  the  ab- 
sence of  any  eccentricity  or  individualism  disturb- 
ing the  routine,  is  all  that  is  asked.  Then,  in  the 
absence  of  its  natural  check,  the  city  invades  the 
college  ;  the  habits  and  spirit  of  wealth  suppress 
enthusiasm.  Money  and  vulgar  respectability  have 
the  ascendant.  The  college  and  the  church,  which 
should  be  counterbalancing  influences  to  the 
spirit  of  trade  and  material  prosperity,  do  now  con- 
form and  take  their  tone  from  it.  I  wish  the  dem- 
ocratic genius  of  the  country  might  breathe  some- 
thing of  new  life  into  these  institutions.  I  would 
have  it  make  the  college  really  literary  and  scien- 
tific; and  not  worldly  and  political ;  drive  out  cox- 
combs as  with  a  broom,  and  leave  only  scholars. 
I  would  have  the  studies  elective,  and  I  would  hand 


616       RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

over  the  police  of  the  college  to  the  ordinary  civil 
government.  The  student  shall,  by  his  merits, 
make  good  his  claim  to  scholarships ;  to  access  to 
still  higher  instruction  in  such  departments  as  he 
prefers.  The  class  shall  have  a  certain  share  in 
the  election  of  the  professor ;  if  only  this,  of  mak- 
ing their  attendance  voluntary.  Then,  the  imagi- 
nation must  be  addressed.  Why  always  coast  on 
the  surface,  and  never  open  the  interior  of  Nature? 
—  not  by  science,  which  is  surface  still,  but  by 
poetry.  Shakspeare  should  be  a  study  in  the  uni- 
versity, as  Boccaccio  was  appointed  in  Florence  to 
lecture  on  Dante.  The  students  should  be  edu- 
cated not  only  in  the  intelligence  of,  but  in  sympa- 
thy with,  the  thought  of  great  poets.  Let  us  have 
these  warblings  as  well  as  logarithms." 

The  mistake  of  confining  higher  education  to  a 
rigid  system  of  studies  prescribed  for  all,  without 
regard  to  individual  aptitudes,  was  illustrated,  as 
was  natural,  from  his  own  experience  with  mathe- 
matics. "  Great,"  he  said,  "  is  drill.  It  is  better 
to  teach  the  child  arithmetic  and  Latin  grammar 
than  rhetoric  or  moral  philosophy,  because  they 
require  exactitude  of  performance,  and  that  power 
of  performance  is  worth  more  than  the  knowledge. 
Then,  too,  it  is  indispensable  that  the  elements  of 
numbers  be  taught,  since  they  are  the  base  oi!  all 
exact  science.  But  there  are  many  students,  and 
good  heads,  too,  of  whom  it  is  infatuation  to  re- 


VIEWS  OF  COLLEGE  EDUCATION.         617 

quire  more  than  a  grounding  in  these.  Yet  they 
find  this  learning,  which  they  do  not  wish  to  ac- 
quire, absorbing  one  third  of  every  day  in  the  two 
first  academic  years,  —  often  two  thirds,  —  a  dead 
weight  on  mind  and  heart,  to  be  utterly  cast  out 
the  moment  the  youth  is  left  to  the  election  of  his 
studies.  The  European  universities  once  gave  a 
like  emphasis  to  logic  and  to  theology.  Until  re- 
cently, natural  science  was  almost  excluded ;  now 
natural  science  threatens  to  take  in  its  turn  the 
same  ascendant.  A  man  of  genius,  with  a  good 
deal  of  general  power,  will  for  a  long  period  give  a 
bias  in  his  own  direction  to  a  university.  That  is 
a  public  mischief,  which  the  guardians  of  a  college 
are  there  to  watch  and  counterpoise.  In  the  elec- 
tion of  a  president,  it  is  not  only  the  students  who 
are  to  be  controlled,  but  the  professors ;  each  of 
whom,  in  proportion  to  his  talent,  is  a  usurper  who 
needs  to  be  resisted." 

Some  of  these  utterances  reached  the  watchful 
ear  of  Agassiz,  whose  persuasive  eloquence,  in  spite 
of  the  distractions  of  the  time,  was  drawing  grant 
after  grant  from  the  legislature  of  Massachusetts 
in  behalf  of  natural  history  and  the  Museum,  as 
well  as  large  sums  from  private  contributors.  He, 
not  unnaturally,  took  these  remarks  to  himself,  and 
wrote  to  Emerson 1  in  a  tone  of  good-humored  re- 

1  See  their  letters  in  the  Life  and  Correspondence  of  Louis  Ag- 
assiz.    Edited  by  E.  C.  Agassiz.     Boston,  1885  :  ii.  619. 


618       RALPH    WALDO  EMERSON. 

monstrance  at  being  thus  wounded,  as  lie  thought, 
in  the  house  of  his  friend. 

Emerson  had  no  difficulty  in  assuring  him  that 
they  were  not  so  meant,  and  that  he  wished  him 
and  the  Museum  Godspeed.  It  was  true  he  had 
no  predilection  for  systematic  science,  but  natural 
history  had  a  more  attractive  sound.  Above  all, 
he  had  no  intention  of  making  invidious  compari- 
sons between  the  different  departments  of  learn- 
ing: he  only  wished  to  protest  against  exclusive- 
ness,  wherever  it  was  found ;  and  of  this  no  one 
could  accuse  Agassiz. 

The  cordial  relation  between  them,  begun,  I  sup- 
pose, some  years  before,  at  the  Saturday  Club,  was 
not  for  a  moment  interrupted,  and  it  was  an  un- 
failing source  of  refreshment  to  Emerson  at  their 
monthly  meetings.  The  abundant  nature  of  the 
other,  his  overflowing  spirits,  his  equal  readiness 
for  any  company  and  any  and  every  subject,  and  a 
simplicity  of  manner  which  was  the  outcome  of 
quick  and  wide  sympathies,  gave  Emerson  a  sense 
of  social  enjoyment  such  as  he  rarely  found. 
Never,  he  said  of  Agassiz,  could  his  manners  be 
separated  from  himself ;  and  never  was  any  sepa- 
ration felt  to  be  desirable. 

They  met,  also,  together  with  Judge  Hoar,  Mr. 
Lowell,  Jeffries  Wyman,  and  other  peers  of  the 
Saturday  table,  in  the  excursions  of  the  Adirondack 
Club  (an  offshoot  of   the  Saturday),  among  the 


AT  THE  SATURDAY  CLUB.  619 

wilds  of  northern  New  York,  in  1858  and  after- 
wards ;  of  which  Emerson  has  given  a  poetical 
sketch.1  Emerson  bought  a  rifle  for  the  occasion, 
and  learned  to  use  it,  but  never  used  it,  I  believe, 
upon  any  living  thing.  He  had  himself  paddled 
out  one  night  to  see  a  deer  by  the  light  of  the  jack- 
lantern,  and  saw  "a  square  mist,"  but  did  not 
shoot.  He  liked  above  all  to  talk  with  the  guides, 
and  to  please  his  imagination  with  their  marvellous 
exploits. 

Emerson  was  one  of  the  original  members  of  the 
Saturday  Club,  —  indeed,  Dr.  Holmes  tells  us,  the 
nucleus  around  which  the  club  formed  itself ;  and 
we  might  expect,  as  Dr.  Holmes  says,  to  find  in 
his  diaries  some  interesting  references  to  it.  I  find 
only  the  following  sentence  :  — 

"  February  28,  1862.  Cramped  for  time  at  the 
club,  by  late  dinner  and  early  hour  of  the  return 
train ;  a  cramp  which  spoils  a  club.  For  you  shall 
not,  if  you  wish  good  fortune,  even  take  the  pains 
to  secure  your  right-and-left-hand  men.  The  least 
design  instantly  makes  an  obligation  to  make  their 
time  agreeable,  —  which  I  can  never  assume." 

He  enjoyed  the  meetings,  and  went  regularly  un- 
til the  time  came  when  loss  of  power  to  recall  the 
right  word  made  talking  painful  to  him.  I  have 
often  heard  him  extol  the  conversational  powers  of 
some  of  his  distinguished  associates,  but  his  own 

1  Collected  Writings,  ix.  159. 


620       RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

attitude  there  was  that  of  a  listener,  eager  to  hear 
what  the  clever  men  about  him  were  saying,  rather 
than  forward  to  take  part  himself.  Dr.  Holmes 
describes  him  as  sitting  "  generally  near  the  Long- 
fellow end  of  the  table,  talking  in  low  tones  and 
carefully  measured  utterances  to  his  neighbor,  or 
listening,  and  recording  any  stray  word  worth  re- 
membering on  his  mental  phonograph."  And  in 
the  delicately  touched  portrait  at  the  Massachusetts 
Historical  Society  he  says :  "  Emerson  was  spar- 
ing of  words,  but  used  them  with  great  precision 
and  nicety.  If  he  had  been  followed  about  by  a 
short-hand-writing  Boswell,  every  sentence  he  ever 
uttered  might  have  been  preserved.  To  hear  him 
talk  was  like  watching  one  crossing  a  brook  on 
stepping-stones.  His  noun  had  to  wait  for  its  verb 
or  its  adjective  until  he  was  ready ;  then  his  speech 
would  come  down  upon  the  word  he  wanted,  and 
not  Worcester  or  Webster  could  better  it  from  all 
the  wealth  of  their  huge  vocabularies.  .  .  .  He  was 
always  courteous  and  bland  to  a  remarkable  de- 
gree ;  his  smile  was  the  well-remembered  line  of 
Terence  written  out  in  living  features.  But  when 
anything  said  specially  interested  him,  he  would 
lean  towards  the  speaker  with  a  look  never  to  be 
forgotten,  his  head  stretched  forward,  his  shoulders 
raised  like  the  wings  of  an  eagle,  and  his  eye 
watching  the  flight  of  the  thought  which  had  at- 
tracted his  attention,  as  if  it  were  his  prey,  to  be 


AT  THE  SATURDAY  CLUB.  621 

seized  in  mid-air  and  carried  up  to  his  eyry."  This 
last  touch  is  important.  Emerson  could  join  rea- 
dily enough  in  the  talk  about  a  piece  of  literary  his- 
tory or  a  commonplace  of  criticism,  but  a  striking 
thought  or  expression  was  apt  to  send  him  home 
to  his  own  meditations,  and  prevent  reply.  He 
seemed  on  such  occasions  to  come,  as  Carlyle  said,1 
with  the  rake  to  gather  in,  and  not  with  the  shovel 
to  scatter  abroad.  This  reticence  was  not,  I  think, 
the  mere  effect  of  a  solitary  habit,  or  a  dislike  to 
discussion,  but  in  part  also  of  that  nicety  in  the  use 
of  language  which  Dr.  Holmes  remarks.  This 
made  him  hesitate,  where  the  matter  interested 
him,  to  commit  himself  to  the  first  words  that  came 
to  mind.  In  one  of  his  early  journals  he  says  :  "  I 
had  observed,  long  since,  that,  to  give  the  thought 
a  just  and  full  expression,  I  must  not  prematurely 
utter  it.  It  is  as  if  you  let  the  spring  snap  too 
soon."  The  consequence  was  that  the  spring,  too 
constantly  bent,  lost  the  power  of  acting  on  a  sud- 
den. Though  he  was  a  public  speaker  all  his  life, 
he  rarely  attempted  the  smallest  speech  impromptu, 
and  never,  I  believe,  with  success.  I  remember 
his  getting  up  at  a  dinner  of  the  Saturday  Club  on 
the  Shakspeare  anniversary  in  1864,  to  which  some 
guests  had  been  invited,  looking  about  him  tran- 
quilly for  a  minute  or  two,  and  then  sitting  down  ; 
serene  and  unabashed,  but  unable  to  say  a  word 

1  Carlyle  s  life   in  London.     By  J.   A.  Fronde.     New  York, 
1884:  i.  355. 


622       RALPH   WALDO   EMERSON. 

upon  a  subject  so  familiar  to  his  thoughts  from 
boyhood.  The  few  instances  that  may  be  cited  of 
his  speaking'  in  public  without  preparation  may 
usually  be  explained,  I  imagine,  as  Mr.  Lowell  ex- 
plains the  ready  flow  of  the  Burns  speech,  by  a 
manuscript  in  the  background.  He  rarely  wrote  a 
letter  of  any  importance  without  a  rough  draft; 
and  even  in  conversation,  though  no  one  could  be 
more  free  from  any  purpose  of  display,  his  pains  in 
the  choice  of  words  helped,  I  think,  to  produce  the 
"  paralysis  "  of  which  he  complains. 

The  most  serious  consequence  (if  I  am  not  fan- 
ciful in  ascribing  it  to  this  cause)  was  that  after- 
wards, in  his  old  age,  as  exertion  grew  more  difficult, 
this  painstaking  habit  left  him  more  and  more  at  a 
loss  for  the  commonest  words  of  every-day  life. 

He  readily  found  compensations  for  his  want  of 
fluency.  The  American  genius,  he  says,  is  too 
demonstrative ;  most  persons  are  over-expressed, 
beaten  out  thin,  all  surface  without  depth  or  sub- 
stance. 

"  The  thoughts  that  wander  through  our  minds 
we  do  not  absorb  and  make  flesh  of,  but  we  report 
them  as  thoughts;  we  retail  them  as  stimulating 
news  to  our  lovers  and  to  all  Athenians.  At  a 
dreadful  loss  we  play  this  game." 

Yet  it  would  be  giving  a  false  impression  of  Em- 
erson to  represent  him  as  taciturn  or  inclined  to 
hold  himself  apart,  or  even  as  afflicted  with  the  shy- 


EMERSON'S  MANNER.  623 

ness  which  may  coexist,  as  in  Hawthorne,  with  en- 
tire openness  towards  intimate  friends.  No  one 
could  be  more  affable  and  encouraging  in  his  ad- 
dress, or  more  ready  to  take  his  part  in  any  com- 
pany ;  and  this  not  of  set  purpose,  but  from  a 
spontaneous  hospitality  of  mind  which  no  one  who 
met  him  could  help  feeling.  No  one  who  knew 
him,  however  slightly,  but  must  have  been  struck 
with  the  ever-ready  welcome  that  shone  in  his  eyes 
upon  a  casual  meeting  in  the  street,  and  with  the 
almost  reverential  way  in  which  he  received  a 
stranger.  It  is  true  he  sometimes  resisted  intro- 
ductions. "  Oh,  Elizabeth  [he  said  to  Miss  Hoar, 
when  some  one  applied  for  an  introduction],  whom 
God  hath  put  asunder  why  should  man  join  to- 
gether ?  "  And  there  was  no  doubt  an  inner  circle 
of  thought  and  feeling  in  him  which  it  was  always 
hard  to  penetrate,  hard  for  him  to  open.  But  the 
man  of  his  aspirations  was  not  the  moralist,  sitting 
aloof  on  the  heights  of  philosophy  and  overlooking 
the  affairs  of  men  from  a  distance,  but  the  man  of 
the  world,  in  the  true  sense  of  the  phrase  ;  the  man 
of  both  worlds,  the  public  soul,  with  all  his  doors 
open,  with  equal  facility  of  reception  and  of  com- 
munication, —  such  as  Plato,  such  as  Montaigne. 

"  With  what  security  and  common  sense  [he 
writes  to  Miss  Hoar]  this  Plato  treads  the  cliffs 
and  pinnacles  of  Parnassus,  as  if  he  walked  in  a 
street,  and  comes  down  again  into  the  street  as  if 


624  RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

he  lived  there !  My  dazzling  friends  the  New  Pla- 
tonists  have  none  of  this  air  of  facts  and  society 
about  them." 

In  himself  he  felt  a  "  want  of  stomach  and  stout- 
ness," a  quasi-physical  sensitiveness  that  made  it 
uncomfortable  for  him  to  be  in  the  street.  "  The 
advantage  of  the  Napoleon  temperament  [he  writes 
in  one  of  his  early  diaries],  impassive,  unimpressi- 
ble  by  others,  is  a  signal  convenience  over  this  other 
tender  one,  which  every  aunt  and  every  gossiping 
girl  can  daunt  and  tether.  This  weakness,  be  sure, 
is  merely  cutaneous,  and  the  sufferer  gets  his  re- 
venge by  the  sharpened  observation  that  belongs  to 
such  sympathetic  fibre." 

On  the  whole,  he  doubtless  exaggerated  his  social 
defects ;  and  I  expect  to  hear  that  I  have  exagge- 
rated them  in  my  account  of  him. 

Another  trait,  touched  upon  by  Mr.  Lowell  in 
his  sketch  of  Emerson  at  the  Saturday  symposium, 
in  his  poem  on  Agassiz,  was  the  dislike  of  being 
made  to  laugh  :  — 

"  Listening  with  eyes  averse  I  see  him  sit 
Pricked  with  the  cider  of  the  judge's  wit, 
( Ripe-hearted  homebrew,  fresh  and  fresh  again, ) 
While  the  wise  nose's  firm-built  aquiline 

Curves  sharper  to  restrain 
The  merriment  whose  most  unruly  moods 
Pass  not  the  dumb  laugh  learned  in  listening  woods 

Of  silence-shedding  pine." 


RECOGNITION  BY  HIS   CONTEMPORARIES.     625 

Several  of  Emerson's  friends  were  good  laughers, 
notably  Carlyle  and  Agassiz,  and  he  never  found 
their  mirth  intemperate  ;  but,  for  himself,  "  the 
pleasant  spasms  we  call  laughter,"  when  he  was 
surprised  into  them,  seemed  almost  painful. 

"  The  hour  will  come,  and  the  world  [Emerson 
writes  to  Miss  Hoar  from  England],  wherein  we 
shall  quite  easily  render  that  account  of  ourselves 
which  now  we  never  render."  But  by  this  time, 
without  effort  and  in  spite  of  some  occasions  for  un- 
favorable impressions,  he  had  rendered  account  of 
himself,  and  found  acceptance  and,  we  may  say, 
reverence  for  what  he  was,  even  from  those  who 
took  but  little  account  of  his  writings  and  sayings, 
or  perhaps  would  have  counted  them  folly  or  worse. 

"  The  main  thing  about  him  [says  Mr.  James  J] 
was  that  he  unconsciously  brought  you  face  to  face 
with  the  infinite  in  humanity ; "  and  this  made 
its  own  way  without  help  or  hindrance.  His  lec- 
tures had  not  attracted  a  great  variety  of  persons  ; 
it  was  always  the  same  set,  and  not  a  large  or  an 
influential  set.  In  certain  quarters  something  of 
the  odium  of  the  Divinity  Hall  address  still  lin- 
gered, and  yet  more  widely  everything  connected 
with  Transcendentalism  presented  itself  in  rather  a 
ludicrous  aspect.  One  can  hardly  say  that  his 
doctrines  had  gained  many  converts  ;  he  had  never 
identified  himself  with  his  precepts,  but  was  always 
1  Literary  Remains,  201. 


626       RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

ready  to  reverse  them,  however  categorical  they 
might  be,  with  equal  emphasis  and  as  coolly  as  if 
he  had  never  heard  of  them.  He  was  not  compil- 
ing a  code  ;  he  was  only  noting  single  aspects  of 
truth  as  they  struck  him,  trusting  that  every  one 
would  do  the  like  for  himself. 

"  I  have  been  writing  and  speaking  [he  writes  in 
his  journal  in  1859]  what  were  once  called  novel- 
ties, for  twenty-five  or  thirty  years,  and  have  not 
now  one  disciple.  Why  ?  Not  that  what  I  said 
was  not  true  ;  not  that  it  has  not  found  intelligent 
receivers  ;  but  because  it  did  not  go  from  any  wish 
in  me  to  bring  men  to  me,  but  to  themselves. 
What  could  I  do  if  they  came  to  me  ?  They  would 
interrupt  and  encumber  me.  This  is  my  boast, 
that  I  have  no  school  and  no  followers.  I  should 
account  it  a  measure  of  the  impurity  of  insight  if 
it  did  not  create  independence." 

"  I  would  have  my  book  read  as  I  have  read  my 
favorite  books,  —  not  with  explosion  and  astonish- 
ment, a  marvel  and  a  rocket,  but  a  friendly  and 
agreeable  influence,  stealing  like  the  scent  of  a 
flower  or  the  sight  of  a  new  landscape  on  a  tra- 
veller. I  neither  wish  to  be  hated  and  defied  by 
such  as  I  startle,  nor  to  be  kissed  and  hugged  by 
the  young  whose  thoughts  I  stimulate." 

He  wished  to  stand  aside  and  leave  what  he  had 
written  or  said  to  rest  on  its  own  merits.  He  writes 
to  a  distant  correspondent  on  occasion  of  some  cri- 
ticism in  the  newspapers  :  — 


RECOGNITION  BY  HIS  CONTEMPORARIES.    627 

"  Sorry  I  am  that  it  is  still  doubtful  whether 
books  or  words  of  mine  are  of  doubtful  health  and 
safety;  but,  so  long  as  it  seems  so,  so  long  you 
must  think  so,  and  beware.  I  too  am  only  a  spec- 
tator, of  your  impressions  as  well  as  of  my  own 
things,  and  cannot  set  aside  that  fact  any  more  than 
this.  So  we  will  not  affirm  or  deny  my  sanity  at 
present,  but  leave  that  hanging  between  heaven 
and  earth  for  probation." 

The  increased  sale  of  his  books  in  this  period 
shows  that  he  was  more  widely  read,  but  the  effect 
he  produced  is  not  entirely  accounted  for  by  his 
writings.  What  gave  Emerson  his  position  among 
those  who  influence  thought  was  not  so  much  what 
he  said,  or  how  he  said  it,  as  what  made  him  say 
it,  —  the  open  vision  of  things  spiritual  across  the 
disfigurements  and  contradictions  of  the  actual: 
this  shone  from  him,  unmistakable  as  the  sunlight, 
and  now,  when  his  time  of  production  was  past, 
more  and  more  widely,  as  the  glow  of  the  winter 
sky  widens  after  the  sun  has  set. 

After  1866  he  wrote  but  little  that  was  new ;  in- 
deed, for  some  time  already  he  had  been  working 
up  metal  brought  to  the  surface  long  before.  He 
still  lectured  as  much  as  ever,  mostly  away  from 
home,  at  the  West,  where  he  often  read  a  lecture 
nearly  every  day  (sometimes  twice  a  day)  for  weeks 
together  in  the  winter ;  travelling  all  the  time. 

In  July,  1865,  he  was  asked  to  speak  at  the 


628       RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

commemoration  by  Harvard  College  of  the  close 
of  the  war  and  the  return  of  her  contingent.  "  To 
him  more  than  to  all  other  causes  together  did  the 
young  martyrs  of  our  civil  war  [says  Mr.  Lowell, 
thinking  of  the  Harvard  boys]  owe  the  sustaining 
strength  of  thoughtful  heroism  that  is  so  touching 
in  every  record  of  their  lives  :  "  it  was  fitting  that 
he  should  be  there  to  welcome  the  survivors.  He 
made  the  short  address  to  them  which  has  been 
printed  in  his  collected  writings.1 

The  close  of  the  war  was  marked  also  by  a  joy- 
ful event  in  Emerson's  family  circle,  —  the  mar- 
riage of  his  younger  daughter  to  Colonel  William 
H.  Forbes.  He  writes  to  his  old  friend,  Mr.  Abel 
Adams :  — 

Concord,  October  1,  1865. 

Edith's  note  will  have  given  you  the  day  and 
the  hour  of  the  wedding,  but  I  add  this  line  to  say 
that  I  rely  on  the  presence  of  you  and  your  family 
as  on  my  own,  .  .  .  and  I  entreat  you  not  to  let 
any  superable  obstacle  stand  in  your  way  hither. 
My  own  family  connection  has  become  so  small 
that  I  necessarily  cling  to  you,  who  have  stood  by 
me  like  a  strong  elder  brother  through  nearly  or 
quite  forty  years.  You  know  all  my  chances  in 
that  time,  and  Edward's  2  career  has  depended  on 

1  Collected  Writings,  xi.  317. 

2  Emerson's  son,  the  cost  of  whose  college  course  Mr.  Adams 
had  paid. 


OVERSEER   OF  HARVARD   COLLEGE.        629 

you.     Tuesday  will  not  be  the  day  I  look  for  unless 
you  are  here.  .  .  . 

Yours  affectionately,  R.  W.  Emerson. 

In  1867  he  was  chosen  orator  on  Phi  Beta  Kappa 
day  at  Cambridge,  as  he  had  been  thirty  years  be- 
fore ;  but  not  now  as  a  promising  young  beginner, 
from  whom  a  fair  poetical  speech  might  be  ex- 
pected, but  as  the  foremost  man  of  letters  of  New 
England.  In  1866  he  received  the  honorary  de- 
gree of  LL.  D.  from  Harvard,  and  was  elected 
overseer  by  the  Alumni. 

He  had  not  grown  more  orthodox,  but  opinion 
had  been  advancing  in  his  direction.  In  the  mat- 
ter of  religion,  although  his  speech  at  the  meeting 
for  organizing  the  Free  Religious  Association  (May 
30,  1867),  the  speech  at  the  Horticultural  Hall  in 
1871,  and  his  Sunday  discourses  to  the  Parker 
Fraternity  in  these  years  would  have  been  regarded 
at  the  time  of  the  Divinity  Hall  address  as  being 
still  more  outspoken  in  dissent,  yet  it  was  noised 
about  that  he  had  begun  to  see  the  error  of  his 
ways,  and  to  return  from  them.  When  these  re- 
ports came  to  Emerson  he  authorized  his  son  to 
contradict  them  ;  he  had  not  retracted,  he  said,  any 
views  expressed  in  his  writings  after  his  withdrawal 
from  the  ministry.  What  was  true,  I  think,  was 
that  when  his  mind  was  quiescent,  and  nothing 
happened  to  stir  up  reflection,  his  feelings  went 


630  RALPH  WALDO  EMERSON. 

back  with  complacency  to  the  sentiments  and  the 
observances  of  his  youth.  He  liked  that  every- 
body should  go  to  church  but  himself,  as  aunt 
Mary  Emerson  liked  that  other  people  should  be 
Calvinists ;  and  a  special  motive  —  the  appeal  of 
some  unpopular  body  like  the  Free  Religious  Asso- 
ciation —  was  needed  to  bring  him  out  on  the  side 
of  innovation.  A  good  instance  of  this  unconscious 
drift  transpired  from  the  Board  of  Harvard  Over- 
seers, on  occasion  of  a  motion  to  dispense  with  the 
compulsory  attendance  at  morning  prayers  in  the 
college  ;  which,  it  was  understood,  would  have  pre- 
vailed but  for  Emerson's  vote.  He  should  be  loath, 
he  is  reported  to  have  said,  that  the  young  men 
should  not  have  the  opportunity  afforded  them, 
each  day,  of  assuming  the  noblest  attitude  man  is 
capable  of,  —  that  of  prayer.  That  he  should  de- 
cide, upon  the  whole,  against  the  change,  would  not 
perhaps  have  been  surprising;  but  it  naturally 
excited  surprise  that  the  objections  that  were  urged 
did  not  present  themselves  with  special  force  to 
his  mind.  The  truth  was,  he  was  simply  dwelling 
in  his  early  associations. 

He  served  two  terms  as  overseer,  from  1867  to 
1879,  though  it  was  with  some  difficulty  that  he 
was  withheld  from  resigning  before  the  close  of  the 
second.  He  felt  himself  to  be  unfit  and  now  grow- 
ing more  unfit  for  the  business.  He  attended  the 
meetings  regularly,  however,  sitting  intent  and  as 


OVERSEER   OF  HARVARD   COLLEGE.        631 

one  astonished  at  the  wisdom  of  those  about  him  ; 
now  and  again  stooping  forward  with  knit  brows 
and  lips  slightly  parted,  as  if  eager  to  seize  upon 
some  specially  important  remark,  but  rarely  taking 
part  in  the  debates.  He  visited  some  of  the  courses 
in  the  college,  and  was  chairman,  from  time  to  time, 
of  committees,  of  whose  reports  I  find  fragmentary 
drafts  among  his  papers,  mostly  of  a  general  char- 
acter ;  insisting  that  the  aim  of  the  college  being  to 
make  scholars,  the  degrees,  honors,  and  stipends 
should  be  awarded  for  scholarship,  and  not  for  de- 
portment ;  and  that  scholarship  is  to  be  created  not 
by  compulsion,  but  by  awakening  a  pure  interest  in 
knowledge.  "  The  wise  instructor  accomplishes 
this  by  opening  to  his  pupils  precisely  the  attrac- 
tions the  study  has  for  himself.  He  is  there  to 
show  them  what  delights  and  instructs  himself  in 
Homer,  or  Horace,  or  Dante,  and  not  to  weigh  the 
young  man's  rendering,  whether  it  entitles  to  four 
or  five  or  six  marks.  The  marking  is  a  system  for 
schools,  not  for  the  college  ;  for  boys,  not  for  men ; 
and  it  is  an  ungracious  work  to  put  on  a  profes- 


sor." 


I  find  also  the  recommendation  of  greater  atten- 
tion to  elocution,  which  was  a  favorite  matter  with 
him  in  the  Concord  schools  ;  and  the  suggestion  in 
a  report  on  the  library  that  a  library  counsellor, 
to  guide  the  gazing  youth  amidst  the  multitude  of 
books  to  the  volume  he  wants,  is  greatly  needed. 


632  RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

It  was  not  Emerson's  way  to  follow  up  his  general 
views  into  their  detailed  application,  nor  to  insist  on 
them  in  debate.  So  he  sat,  as  I  have  said,  mostly 
in  silence,  but  always  interested  in  what  was  going 
on,  and  pleased  at  feeling  himself  within  the  atmos- 
phere of  the  college.  For,  in  spite  of  some  un- 
pleasant recollections,  and  of  the  "  whiggery "  of 
which  he  had  sometimes  accused  it,  Emerson  kept 
always  a  feeling  of  loyalty  towards  his  college, 
came  regularly  to  the  Phi  Beta  Kappa  festivals 
and  often  to  Commencement,  and,  when  the  build- 
ing of  a  Memorial  Hall  was  proposed,  busied  him- 
self in  collecting  contributions  from  his  class  ;  giv- 
ing, in  his  proportion,  more  largely  towards  it,  I 
suppose,  than  any  of  them. 

I  find  in  his  journal  this  record  of  the  proceed- 
ings on  the  day  when  the  corner-stone  was  laid :  — 

"  October  6,  1870.  To-day  at  the  laying  of  the 
corner-stone  of  the  Memorial  Hall,  at  Cambridge. 
All  was  well  and  wisely  done.  The  storm  ceased 
for  us ;  the  company  was  large ;  the  best  men  and 
the  best  women  were  there,  or  all  but  a  few ;  the 
arrangements  simple  and  excellent,  and  every 
speaker  successful.  Henry  Lee,  with  his  uniform 
sense  and  courage,  the  manager.  The  chaplain, 
Reverend  Phillips  Brooks,  offered  a  prayer  in  which 
not  a  word  was  superfluous  and  every  right  thing 
was  said.  Henry  Rogers,  William  Gray,  and  Dr. 
Palfrey  made   each  his  proper   report.     Luther's 


UNIVERSITY  LECTURES.  633 

hymn  in  Dr.  Hedge's  translation  was  sung  by  a 
great  choir,  the  corner-stone  was  laid,  and  then 
Rockwood  Hoar  read  a  discourse  of  perfect  sense, 
taste,  and  feeling,  full  of  virtue  and  of  tenderness. 
After  this,  an  original  song  by  Wendell  Holmes 
was  given  by  the  choir.  Every  part  in  all  these 
performances  was  in  such  true  feeling  that  people 
praised  them  with  broken  voices,  and  we  all  proudly 
wept.  Our  Harvard  soldiers  of  the  war  were  in 
their  uniforms,  and  heard  their  own  praises  and  the 
tender  allusions  to  their  dead  comrades.  General 
Meade  was  present  and  '  adopted  by  the  college,' 
as  Judge  Hoar  said,  and  Governor  Claflin  sat  by 
President  Eliot.  Our  English  guests,  Hughes, 
Rawlins,  Dicey,  and  Bryce,  sat  and  listened." 

He  was  much  gratified  when  he  was  invited,  in 
1870  (in  pursuance  of  a  scheme,  soon  abandoned, 
of  lectures  to  advanced  students  by  persons  not 
members  of  the  Faculties),  to  give  a  course  of  uni- 
versity lectures  in  Cambridge.  Emerson  welcomed 
the  proposal  as  an  opportunity  for  taking  up  and 
completing  his  sketches  of  the  "Natural  History 
of  the  Intellect,"  which  he  appears  to  have  re- 
garded as  the  chief  task  of  his  life.  As  early  as 
1837  he  had  proposed  to  himself  "  to  write  the 
natural  history  of  reason,"  and  he  had  returned  to 
the  project  again  and  again ;  in  the  London  lec- 
tures in  1848,  repeated  in  the  two  succeeding  years 
at  Boston  and  New  York ;  in  1858,  in  a  course  on 


634       RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

the  "  Natural  Method  of  Mental  Philosophy  ;  "  in 
1866,  in  lectures  on  "  Philosophy  for  the  People  :  " 
but  had  never  got  beyond  the  general  announce- 
ment of  his  principle.  Now  he  would  make  a  su- 
preme effort  and  bring  together  what  he  wished  to 
say.  He  worked  hard  over  his  papers  for  some 
months  before  the  course  began,  and  in  the  inter- 
vals between  the  lectures ;  but  the  result,  as  his 
letter  to  Carlyle  1  shows,  was  still  far  from  satis- 
factory to  himself. 

No  one  would  expect  from  Emerson  a  system 
of  philosophy ;  he  had  always  declared  his  small 
esteem  of  metaphysical  systems,  charts  of  the  uni- 
verse or  of  the  mind,  and  he  could  not  have  in- 
tended now  to  attempt  one.  But  he  had  long 
cherished  the  thought  of  a  more  fruitful  method 
for  the  study  of  the  mind,  founded  on  the  paral- 
lelism of  the  mental  laws  with  the  laws  of  external 
nature,  and  proceeding  by  simple  observation  of 
the  metaphysical  facts  and  their  analogies  with  the 
physical,  in  place  of  the  method  of  introspection 
and  analysis :  — 

"  We  have  an  invincible  repugnance  to  introver- 
sion, study  of  the  eyes  instead  of  that  which  the 
eyes  see.  The  attempt  is  unnatural,  and  is  pun- 
ished by  loss  of  faculty.  'T  is  the  wrong  path.  For 
fruit,  for  wisdom,  for  power,  the  intellect  is  to  be 
used,  not  spied.   I  want  not  the  logic,  but  the  power, 

1  June  17,  1870.     Carlyle-Emerson  Correspondence,  ii.  327. 


UNIVERSITY  LECTURES.  635 

if  any,  which  it  brings  into  science  and  literature. 
The  adepts  value  only  the  pure  geometry,  the  aerial 
bridge  asceDding  from  earth  to  heaven,  with  arches 
and  abutments  of  pure  reason.  I  am  fully  con- 
tented if  you  tell  me  where  are  the  two  termini. 
My  metaphysics  is  purely  expectant ;  it  is  not  even 
tentative.  Much  less  am  I  ingenious  in  instituting 
experimenta  cruris  to  extort  the  secret  and  lay 
bare  the  reluctant  lurking  law.  No,  I  confine  my 
ambition  to  true  reporting.  My  contribution  will 
be  simply  historical.  I  write  anecdotes  of  the  in- 
tellect, a  sort  of  Farmers'  Almanac  of  mental 
moods." 

He  tries  to  speak  graciously,  as  always,  of  the 
system-makers,  the  pretenders  to  universal  know- 
ledge, who  draw  their  circle  and  define  every  fact 
by  its  relations  in  a  general  scheme  of  experience, 
but  he  cannot  conceal  his  disgust  at  their  preten- 
sions. "  'T  is  the  gnat  grasping  the  world.  We 
have  not  got  on  far  enough  for  this.  We  have 
just  begun  and  are  always  just  beginning  to  know." 
Yet  the  metaphysicians  on  their  side  might  ask : 
Does  not  knowledge  consist  in  the  perception  of 
universal  relations  ?  Or  what  is  a  fact  but  the  in- 
stance of  a  law  of  nature,  a  way  in  which  every  one 
will  be  affected  under  the  given  circumstances? 
This  is  the  paradox  of  knowledge,  that  this  gnat 
we  call  John  or  Peter  can  grasp  a  law  of  the  uni- 
verse ;  and  it  is  involved  already  in  the  very  be- 


636  RALPH    WALDO  EMERSON. 

ginnings  of  our  experience,  in  every  distinction  of 
facts  from  vain  imaginations  and  dreams.  What 
is  truth  but  system,  order  seen  through  the  chance 
medley  of  events  ?  Emerson  says  the  same  thing 
himself :  — 

"  If  one  can  say  so  without  arrogance,  I  might 
suggest  that  he  who  contents  himself  with  dotting 
only  a  fragmentary  curve,  recording  only  what 
facts  he  has  observed,  without  attempting  to  ar- 
range them  within  one  outline,  follows  a  system 
also,  a  system  as  grand  as  any  other,  though  he 
does  not  interfere  with  its  vast  curves  by  prema- 
turely forcing  them  into  a  circle  or  ellipse,  but 
only  draws  that  arc  which  he  clearly  sees,  and 
waits  for  new  opportunity,  well  assured  that  these 
observed  arcs  consist  with  each  other." 

What  he  resists  is  not  metaphysics,  nor  the  idea 
of  system,  but  dogmatism ;  the  haste  to  realize  the 
idea  in  a  final  statement,  to  call  a  halt  and  exclude 
all  further  implications  in  our  facts  beyond  what 
is  contained  in  our  definitions.  In  beginning  his 
first  lecture,  he  says :  — 

"  My  belief  in  the  use  of  a  course  on  philosophy 
is  that  the  student  shall  learn  to  appreciate  the  mi- 
racle of  the  mind ;  .  .  .  shall  see  in  it  the  source  of 
all  traditions,  and  shall  see  each  of  them  as  better 
or  worse  statement  of  its  revelations ;  shall  come  to 
trust  to  it  entirely,  to  cleave  to  God  against  the 
name  of  God.     And,  if  he  finds  at  first  with  some 


UNIVERSITY  LECTURES.  637 

alarm  how  impossible  it  is  to  accept  many  things 
which  the  hot  or  the  mild  sectarian  will  insist  on 
his  believing,  he  will  be  armed  by  his  insight  and 
brave  to  meet  all  inconvenience  and  all  resistance 
it  may  cost  him." 

In  particular,  perhaps,  the  recollection  how  the 
authorities  of  the  Divinity  School  and  the  Liberal 
Christians,  many  of  them  just  and  acute  men  and 
well-equipped  reasoners,  had  concluded  that  be- 
cause they  were  right  he  must  be  wrong,  and  that 
there  could  be  no  reality  in  his  religious  percep- 
tions, because,  from  the  nature  of  the  case,  no  such 
perceptions  could  be,  made  him  distrust  all  at- 
tempts to  verify  our  beliefs  by  systematic  reason- 
ing. But  this  feeling  carries  him  so  far  that,  as 
the  Germans  say,  he  empties  out  the  child  with 
the  bath ;  he  throws  overboard  not  merely  the 
claim  to  prescribe  the  conclusions  to  which  our  data 
must  lead  us,  but  every  attempt  to  distinguish  the 
grounds  of  belief  from  the  momentary  impres- 
sion :  — 

"  My  measure  for  all  the  subjects  of  science,  as 
of  events,  is  the  impression  on  the  soul.  Every 
thought  ranks  itself,  on  its  first  emergence  from 
the  creative  night  wears  its  rank  stamped  upon  it. 
This  endless  silent  procession  of  the  makers  of  the 
world,  —  wonderful  is  their  way  and  their  se- 
quence !  They  have  a  life  of  their  own  and  their 
own  proper  motion,  independent  of  the  will.    They 


638  RALPH  WALDO  EMERSON. 

are  not  to  be  tampered  with  or  spied  upon,  but 
obeyed.  Do  not  force  your  thoughts  into  an  ar- 
rangement, and  you  shall  find  they  will  take  their 
own  order,  and  that  the  order  is  divine. 

"  The  ethics  of  thought  is  reverence  for  the 
source,  and  the  source  lies  in  that  unknown  coun- 
try which,  in  the  despair  of  language,  we  call  In- 
stinct ;  a  sheathed  omniscience  to  which  implicit 
obedience  is  due.  Instinct  compares  with  the 
understanding  as  the  loadstone  compares  with  a 
guide-post. 

"  'Tis  certain  that  a  man's  whole  possibility  lies 
in  that  habitual  first  look  which  he  casts  on  all  ob- 
jects.    What  impresses  me  ought  to  impress  me." 

On  this  showing  there  would  seem  to  be  small 
place  for  philosophy ;  its  first  word  will  be  its  last, 
for  if  we  have  only  to  obey  our  impressions,  no  fur- 
ther counsels  will  be  needed.  Nor  would  there, 
in  Emerson's  view,  be  any  place  for  philosophy, 
were  our  sensibilities  always  alive  to  the  informa- 
tions of  experience.  Every  impression  is  a  fact  in 
nature,  as  much  as  the  freezing  of  water  or  the  fall 
of  an  apple,  and  carries  the  law  with  it.  In  the 
healthy  or  obedient  soul  the  creative  thought  real- 
izes itself  in  the  image  in  which  it  is  expressed, 
without  any  interval  or  any  need  of  reasons  for 
connecting  them.  The  inspired  man,  the  poet, 
the  seer,  and  not  the  reasoner,  is  the  right  philoso- 
pher :  — 


UNIVERSITY  LECTURES.  639 

"  Philosophy  is  still  rude  and  elementary.  It 
will  one  day  be  taught  by  poets.  The  poet  sees 
wholes  and  avoids  analysis ;  the  metaphysician, 
dealing  as  it  were  with  the  mathematics  of  the 
mind,  puts  himself  out  of  the  way  of  the  inspira- 
tion, loses  that  which  is  the  miracle  and  creates 
the  worship.  The  poet  believes ;  the  philosopher, 
after  some  struggle,  has  only  reasons  for  believ- 
ing." 

But  in  our  colder  moods,  in  default  of  clear  vi- 
sion, we  may  assure  ourselves  of  the  reality  of  our 
thoughts  and  the  justness  of  their  connections  by 
seeing  them  reflected  back  to  us  from  the  face  of 
nature.  Things  tally  with  thoughts  because  they 
are  at  bottom  the  same ;  knowledge  is  the  percep- 
tion of  this  identity.  We  first  are  the  things  we 
know,  and  then  we  come  to  speak  and  to  write 
them,  —  translate  them  into  the  new  sky-language 
we  call  thought.  And  it  is  this  natural  logic,  and 
not  syllogisms,  that  can  help  us  to  understand  and 
to  verify  our  experience. 

In  the  second  lecture,  on  the  "  Transcendency  of 
Physics,"  he  says  :  — 

"  The  world  may  be  reeled  off  from  any  one  of 
its  laws  like  a  ball  of  yarn.  The  chemist  can  ex- 
plain by  his  analogies  the  processes  of  intellect ; 
the  zoologist  from  his  ;  the  geometer,  the  mechani- 
cian, respectively  from  theirs.  And  in  the  impen- 
etrable mystery  which  hides  (and  hides  through 


640       RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

absolute  transparency)  the  mental  nature,  I  await 
the  insight  which  our  advancing  knowledge  of  nat- 
ural laws  shall  furnish." 

And  in  one  of  the  London  lectures  :  — 
"  If  we  go  through  the  British  Museum,  or  the 
Jardin  des  Plantes,  or  any  cabinet  where  is  some 
representation  of  all  the  kingdoms  of  nature,  we 
are  surprised  with  occult  sympathies.  Is  it  not  a 
little  startling  with  what  genius  some  people  take 
to  hunting,  to  fishing,  —  what  knowledge  they  still 
have  of  the  creature  they  hunt  ?  I  see  the  same 
fact  everywhere.  The  chemist  has  a  frightful  in- 
timacy with  the  secret  architecture  of  bodies.  As 
the  fisherman  follows  the  fish  because  he  was  fish, 
so  the  chemist  divines  the  way  of  alkali  because  he 
was  alkali." 

Emerson  was  not  constructing  a  system  of  phi- 
losophy ;  he  was  not  even  formulating  a  method ; 
he  was  only  indicating  after  his  own  fashion  the 
problem  of  philosophy,  and  the  direction  in  which 
a  solution  is  to  be  sought.  The  problem  is  the 
coming  together  of  thought  and  thing  in  our  assent 
to  a  fact.  A  fact  is  a  thought,  an  impression  in 
our  mind ;  yet  it  is  also  a  part  of  nature,  outside 
and  independent  of  us  and  of  our  thinking :  the 
business  of  philosophy  is  to  explain  and  to  justify 
the  connection,  and  thereby  distinguish  knowledge 
from  the  mere  association  of  ideas.  Now  if  we 
were  sure  that  everything  impresses  us  just  as  it 


UNIVERSITY  LECTURES.  641 

ought  to  impress  us,  there  would  be  no  need  to 
look  beyond  the  image  in  the  mind  in  order  to  be 
certain  that  things  are  just  what  they  appear  to  us. 
Unhappily,  as  Emerson  remarks  in  the  essay  "  Ex- 
perience," *  we  have  discovered  that  we  do  not  see 
directly,  but  mediately,  and  that  we  have  no  means 
of  correcting  these  colored  and  distorting  lenses 
which  we  are.  The  real  world,  we  learn,  is  not 
the  world  we  think.  But  if  we  get  rid  of  the  dis- 
crepancy, as  he  seems  to  propose,  by  striking  out 
the  difference  of  thought  and  object,  on  the  ground 
of  their  ultimate  identity,  —  this  is  not  solving  the 
problem,  but  ignoring  it.  The  question  how  we 
can  know  anything  is  answered  to  the  effect  that 
there  is  nothing  to  know ;  that  knowledge  is  sim- 
ply the  mind's  consciousness  of  itself  and  of  the 
unreality  of  everything  outward.  Emerson  had 
said  such  things  in  his  essays,  throwing  them  out 
as  poetical  images  to  illustrate  the  power  of  intel- 
lect to  dissolve  nature  "in  its  resistless  men- 
struum ; "  but  they  could  not  be  stated  as  a  doc- 
trine, since  the  statement  falls  at  once  into  a  tau- 
tology. In  this  view  nothing  can  be  said  of  any 
impression  except  that  it  exists,  or  is  felt ;  and  in 
this  respect  all  impressions  are  the  same.  In  Em- 
erson's psychology,  Instinct,  Perception,  Imagina- 
tion, Reason,  even  Memory,  all  come  back  to  re- 
cipiency and  "  the  dissolving  of  the  fact  in  the  laws 

1  Collected  Writings,  iii.  77,  85. 


642       RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

of  the  mind,"  or  in  the  one  law  of  identity  with  it- 
self. The  one  operation  of  thought  is  to  set  aside 
all  diversity  as  merely  apparent,  —  a  diversity  of 
names  for  one  fact.  The  Natural  History  of  the 
Intellect  will  resolve  itself,  then,  into  a  progressive 
discovery  of  illusions,  a  perpetual  coming  up  with 
our  facts,  and  finding  them  to  be  old  acquaintances 
masquerading  in  novel  disguises. 

The  lectures  appear  to  have  been  well  received 
by  a  little  audience  of  some  thirty  students,  one  of 
whom,  in  an  account  of  the  course  in  the  Atlantic 
Monthly  (June,  1883,  p.  818),  says  they  were 
"  poetry  and  music."  But  Emerson,  on  this  occa- 
sion, was  intending  something  more.  It  could  not 
have  been  his  intention  to  unfold  the  poetical  par- 
adox of  his  "  Xenophanes  " J  in  a  series  of  univer- 
sity lectures,  or  to  inculcate,  as  a  doctrine,  that  the 
mind,  like  nature, 

.     .     .     "  an  infinite  paroquet, 
Repeats  one  note." 

What  he  wished  to  impress  on  the  young  men, 
if  I  understand  him,  was  not  the  identity  but  the 
infinity  of  truth;  the  residuum  of  reality  in  all 
our  facts,  beyond  what  is  formulated  in  our  defini- 
tions. So  that  no  definition  is  to  be  regarded  as 
final,  as  if  it  described  an  ultimate  essence  whereby 
the  thing  is  utterly  discriminated  from  all  other 

1  Collected  Writings,  ix.  121. 


UNIVERSITY  LECTURES.  643 

things,  but  only  as  the  recognition  of  certain  of  its 
relations ;  to  which,  of  course,  no  limit  can  be  set. 
In  this  view  Nature  is  the  counterpart  of  the  mind 
beholding  it,  and  opens  new  meanings  as  fast  as 
the  capacity  is  there  to  receive  them.  This,  at 
any  rate,  was  Emerson's  characteristic  doctrine,  but, 
in  his  exposition,  he  sets  forth  the  ideal  unity,  on 
which  the  perception  of  relation  is  founded,  so 
strongly  and  exclusively  that  no  room  is  left  for  the 
diversity  in  which  it  is  to  be  realized,  or  for  any  re- 
lation save  that  of  identity. 

He  must  have  felt  the  difficulty,  I  think,  from 
the  outset.  Any  way,  upon  his  return  home  after 
the  first  lecture,  he  seemed  disheartened.  "  I  have 
joined  [he  said,  quoting  Scott's  "  Dinas  Emlinn  "] 
the  dim  choir  of  the  bards  who  have  been."  It 
was  but  a  momentary  feeling;  he  soon  recovered 
his  spirits,  supplemented  the  lectures  by  readings 
from  the  Oriental  Mystics  and  the  Platonists,  con- 
tented himself  with  "  anecdotes  of  the  intellect," 
without  much  attempt  to  deduce  any  conclusions, 
and  finished  the  course  (which  he  made  shorter  by 
two  lectures  than  he  had  intended)  in  good  heart, 
trusting  for  better  things  the  next  year.  At  the 
close  of  the  last  lecture,  he  thanked  the  class  for  their 
punctual  and  sympathetic  attention,  and  said  that 
although  the  discourses  had  been  "  quite  too  rapid 
and  imperfect  to  be  just  to  questions  of  such  high 


644       RALPH    WALDO  EMERSON. 

and  enduring  import,"  yet  the  act  of  reading  them 
had  given  much  assistance  to  his  own  views,  and 
would,  he  hoped,  enable  him  to  give  a  greater  com- 
pleteness to  the  leading  statements. 

He  repeated  the  course  (with  slight  changes)  the 
next  year,  but  with  no  greater  feeling  of  success. 
It  was,  he  wrote  Carlyle,1  "  a  doleful  ordeal,"  and 
when  it  was  over  he  was  much  in  need  of  the 
refreshment  that  was  offered  him  by  his  friend  and 
connection,  Mr.  John  Forbes,  in  a  six  weeks'  trip 
to  California,  of  which  an  account  is  preserved  in 
Professor  Thayer's  little  volume.2 

There  was  much  in  the  circumstances  to  make 
travelling,  for  once,  enjoyable  to  Emerson,  —  a 
company  of  near  friends,  entire  absence  of  respon- 
sibility, a  private  Pullman  car,  well  stored  with  all 
that  was  needful ;  and  he  seems  to  have  thoroughly 
enjoyed  it.  He  talked  more  freely  than  was  his 
wont,  was  in  excellent  spirits,  and  impressed  Mr. 
Thayer  with  the  sense  he  seemed  to  have  of  "a 
certain  great  amplitude  of  time  and  leisure."  He 
put  all  cares  behind  him  and  enjoyed  the  pass- 
ing hour,  astonishing  his  young  companions  by 
being  "  so  agreeable  all  the  time  without  getting 
tired." 

1  Carlyle-Emerson  Correspondence,  Supplementary  Letters,  78. 

2  A   Western  Journey  with  Mr.  Emerson.      By  James  Bradley 
Thayer.     Boston,  1884. 


TRIP   TO    CALIFORNIA.  645 

Calistoga,  Cal.,  April  27,  1871. 
Dear  Lidian,  —  We  live  to-day  and  every  day 
in  the  loveliest  climate.  Hither  to-day  from  San 
Francisco,  by  water  and  by  rail,  to  this  village  of 
sulphur  springs,  with  baths  to  swim  in,  and  heal- 
ing waters  to  drink,  for  all  such  as  need  such  medi- 
caments ;  you  may  judge  how  religiously  I  use  such 
privilege,  —  as  that  word  wont  has  two  meanings. 
Last  night  I  read  a  lecture  in  San  Francisco,  and 
day  after  to-morrow  should  read  a  second,  and 
perhaps  still  another  later;  for  even  in  these  vales 
of  Enna  and  Olympian  ranges  every  creature  sticks 
to  his  habit.  Our  company  is,  as  you  know,  New 
England's  best,  the  climate  delightful,  and  we  fare 
sumptuously  every  day.  The  city  opens  to  us  its 
Mercantile  Library  and  its  City  Exchange,  one 
rich  with  books,  the  other  with  newspapers  ;  and 
the  roads  and  the  points  of  attraction  are  Na- 
ture's chief  est  brags.  If  we  were  all  young  —  as 
some  of  us  are  not  —  we  might  each  of  us  claim 
his  quarter-section  of  the  government,  and  plant 
grapes  and  oranges,  and  never  come  back  to  your 
east  winds  and  cold  summers ;  only  remembering 
to  send  home  a  few  tickets  of  the  Pacific  Railroad 
to  one  or  two  or  three  pale  natives  of  the  Massa- 
chusetts Bay,  or  half-tickets  to  as  many  minors. 
...  Of  course,  in  our  climate  and  condition  the 
leanest  of  us  grows  red  and  heavier.  At  the  first 
Dearborn's  balance  that  we  saw,  Mr.  Thayer  and  I 


646       RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

were  weighed  with  the  rest,  and  each  of  us  counted 
the  same  pounds,  140i.  I  have  not  tried  my  luck 
again,  but  shall  dare  to  by  and  by.  ...  I  stay 
mainly  by  San  F.  until  the  whole  party  shall  go 
to  the  Yo  Semite,  which  it  were  a  little  premature 
to  seek  at  once,  and  the  mammoth  groves  are  in  its 
neighborhood.  .  .  .  But  I  have  not  said  what  was 
in  my  mind  when  I  began,  that  we  three  went  to 
San  Rafael  on  Tuesday,  to  Mr.  Barber's,  and  spent 
the  day  and  night  there.  It  is  a  charming  home, 
one  of  the  beauties  of  this  beautiful  land.  All 
shone  with  hospitality  and  health.  They  showed 
us  every  kindness.  The  house  is  new  and  perfectly 
well  built  and  appointed.  His  place  has  seventy- 
one  acres  of  plain  and  wood  and  mountain,  and  he 
is  a  man  of  taste  and  knows  and  uses  its  values. 
Three  or  four  wild  deer  still  feed  on  his  land,  and 
now  and  then  come  near  the  house.  The  trees  of 
his  wood  were  almost  all  new  to  us  —  live  -  oak, 
madrona,  redwood,  and  other  pines  than  ours  ;  and 
our  garden  flowers  wild  in  all  the  fields. 

Truckee,  May  20,  1871. 
254  miles  east  from  San  Francisco. 

We  began  our  homeward  journey  yesterday 
morning  from  San  Francisco,  and  reviewed  our 
landscapes  of  four  weeks  before.  The  forest  has 
lost  much  of  its  pretension  by  our  acquaintance 
with  grander  woods,  but  the  country  is  everywhere 


TRIP   TO   CALIFORNIA.  647 

rich  in  trees  and  endless  flowers,  and  New  England 
starved  in  comparison.  Another  main  advantage 
is  that  every  day  here  is  fair,  if  sometimes  a  wind 
a  little  raw  or  colder  blows  in  the  afternoon. 

The  soil  wants  nothing  but  water,  which  the  land 
calls  aloud  for.  The  immense  herds  of  horses, 
sheep,  and  cattle  are  driven  to  the  mountains  as 
the  earth  dries.  Steps  begin  to  be  taken  to  meet 
this  want  of  the  plains  and  the  cities,  which  the  Sier- 
ras that  keep  their  snow-tops  all  summer  stand  ever 
ready  to  supply.  'Tis  a  delightful  and  a  cheap 
country  to  live  in,  for  a  New  Englander,  though 
costly  enough  to  the  uproarious,  unthrifty  popula- 
tion that  drift  into  it.  One  of  my  acquaintances, 
Mr.  Pierce,  a  large  owner  and  very  intelligent, 
much-travelled  man,  thinks  California  needs  noth- 
ing but  hard  times  and  punishment  to  drive  it  to 
prudence  and  prosperity ;  the  careless  ways  in  which 
money  is  given  and  taken  being  a  ruinous  educa- 
tion to  the  young. 

Its  immense  prospective  advantages,  which  only 
now  begin  to  be  opened  to  men's  eyes  by  the  new 
railroad,  are  its  nearness  to  Asia  and  South  Amer- 
ica ;  and  that  with  a  port  such  as  Constantinople, 
plainly  a  new  centre  like  London,  with  immense 
advantages  over  that,  is  here.  There  is  an  awe 
and  terror  lying  over  this  new  garden,  all  empty  as 
yet  of  any  adequate  people,  yet  with  this  assured 
future  in  American  hands ;  unequalled  in  climate 


648  RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

and  production.  Chicago  and  St.  Louis  are  toys  to 
it  in  its  assured  felicity.  I  should  think  no  young 
man  would  come  back  from  it. 

Lake  Talioe.  We  have  driven  through  twelve 
miles  of  forest  to  this  fine  lake,  twenty  or  more 
miles  in  diameter,  with  sulphur  hot  springs  on  its 
margin  and  mountains  for  its  guardians ;  yet  silver 
trout,  I  suspect,  were  the  magnet  in  the  mind  of 
our  commanders.  ...  It  would  have  an  additional 
charm  for  me  if  it  were  not  a  detour,  instead  of  an 
advance  to  the  blue  northeast,  which  can  only  be 
reached  by  retracing  our  way  to  Truckee.  Friday 
night  I  went  to  Oaklands  (the  Brooklyn  of  San 
Francisco)  to  read  a  lecture,  .  .  .  and  returned  at 
eleven  o'clock  p.  m.  by  rail  and  boat  to  San  Fran- 
cisco. Edith  had  packed  my  trunk  in  the  mean 
time,  and  we  departed  for  these  places  at  eight  in 
the  morning. 

He  came  home  refreshed,  stopping  on  his  way  at 
Niagara  Falls,  and  in  the  autumn  went  again  to 
the  West,  lecturing.  But  the  effort  of  the  Cam- 
bridge course  had  left  a  strain  from  which  he  never 
recovered ;  or  perhaps  it  only  betrayed  the  decline 
which  had  already  begun.  At  all  events,  the  de- 
scent was  steady  from  this  time.  In  1868  he  had 
given  the  course  of  lectures  in  Boston  of  which  Mr. 
Lowell  says  that  Emerson's  older  hearers  could  per- 
ceive in  it  no  f alling-off  in  anything  that  ever  was  es- 


READINGS  IN  BOSTON.  649 

sential  to  the  charm  of  his  peculiar  style  of  thought 
or  phrase.  And  in  1869  he  gave  ten  readings  in 
English  Poetry  and  Prose  at  Chickering's  Hall  in 
Boston ;  the  second  address  to  the  Free  Religious 
Association,  and  several  lectures  :  in  none  of  which, 
so  far  as  I  know,  were  any  signs  of  failing  powers 
observed.  But  the  same  thing  could  not  often  be 
said  after  1870. 

Emerson  never  grew  old ;  at  heart  he  was  to  the 
last  as  young  as  ever,  his  feelings  as  unworn,  his 
faith  as  assured  as  in  the  days  of  his  youth.  Many 
visions  he  had  seen  pass  away,  but  the  import  of 
them  remained,  only  confirmed  and  enlarged  in 
scope.  Nor  were  bodily  infirmities  swift  to  come 
upon  him.  His  hair  remained  thick  and  its  brown 
color  unchanged  up  to  rather  a  late  period,  when 
suddenly  it  began  to  come  off  in  large  patches. 
His  eyesight,  which  sometimes  failed  him  in  his 
youth  and  early  manhood,  was  remarkably  strong 
in  the  latter  part  of  his  life.  He  used  no  glasses 
in  reading  his  lectures  until  he  was  sixty-four,  when 
he  found  the  need  of  them  in  his  Phi  Beta  Kappa 
speech  in  1867,  and  was  thrown  into  some  confu- 
sion, attributed  by  the  audience  to  the  usual  dis- 
array of  his  manuscript. 

Dr.  Hedge,  in  his  recollections  of  Emerson  in 
1828,  notes  the  slowness  of  his  movements;  but  I 
think  most  persons  who  saw  him  first  in  more  ad- 
vanced years  will  have  been  struck  with  the  rapid 


650       RALPH  WALDO  EMERSON. 

step  with  which  he  moved  through  the  Boston 
streets,  his  eye  fixed  on  the  distance.  I  count  my- 
self a  good  walker,  but  I  used  to  find  myself  kept 
at  a  stretch  when  I  walked  with  him  in  the  Con- 
cord woods,  when  he  was  past  seventy.  Miss  Eliza- 
beth Hoar  and  one  or  two  other  persons  who  re- 
membered him  from  his  youth  have  told  me  that  he 
seemed  to  them  more  erect  in  carriage,  better  "  set 
up,"  in  later  years.  A  life  so  much  in  the  open 
air  no  doubt  had  gradually  strengthened  an  origi- 
nally feeble  habit  of  body.  Emerson  was  never 
quite  willing  to  acknowledge  the  fact  of  sickness 
or  debilitv. 

"  You  are  bound  [he  writes  to  one  of  his  chil- 
dren] to  be  healthy  and  happy.  I  expect  so  much 
of  you,  of  course,  and  neither  allow  for  nor  believe 
any  rumors  to  the  contrary.  Please  not  to  give 
the  least  countenance  to  any  hobgoblin  of  the  sick 
sort,  but  live  out-of-doors,  and  in  the  sea-bath  and 
the  sail-boat  and  the  saddle  and  the  wagon,  and, 
best  of  all,  in  your  shoes,  so  soon  as  they  will 
obey  you  for  a  mile.  For  the  great  mother  Nature 
will  not  quite  tell  her  secret  to  the  coach  or  the 
steamboat,  but  says,  One  to  one,  my  dear,  is  my 
rule  also,  and  I  keep  my  enchantments  and  oracles 
for  the  religious  soul  coming  alone,  or  as  good  as 
alone,  in  true-love." 

Yet  there  are  traces  from  time  to  time,  growing 
less  frequent  latterly,  of  precarious  health. 


LOSS   OF  MEMORY.  651 

He  loved  warm  weather :  the  Concord  summer 
was  never  too  hot  for  him ;  he  revelled  in  the 
"  rivers  of  heat ;  "  but  he  seemed  also  impassive  to 
cold,  and  would  go  without  an  overcoat  when  an- 
other man  would  have  felt  the  need  of  one. 
Though  here  allowance  must  be  made  for  his  un- 
willingness to  acknowledge  bodily  inconveniences. 

But,  from  this  time,  the  decay  of  some  of  the 
vital  machinery  began  to  make  itself  felt  in  ways 
that  would  not  be  denied.  He  began  to  find  ex- 
traordinary difficulty  in  recalling  names,  or  the 
right  word  in  conversation.  By  degrees  the  obstruc- 
tion increased,  until  he  was  forced  at  times  to  para- 
phrase his  meaning,  and  to  indicate  common  things 
—  a  fork  or  an  umbrella  —  by  a  pantomimic  repre- 
sentation, or  by  a  figure  of  speech ;  often  uninten- 
tionally, as  one  day,  when  he  had  taken  refuge 
from  the  noontide  glare  under  the  shade  of  a  tree, 
he  said,  in  a  casual  way  to  his  companion,  who  was 
sitting  in  the  sun,  "  Is  n't  there  too  much  heaven 
on  you  there?"  Meeting  him  one  day  in  the 
street  in  Boston,  seemingly  at  a  loss  for  something, 
I  asked  him  where  he  was  going.  "  To  dine  [he 
said]  with  an  old  and  very  dear  friend.  I  know 
where  she  lives,  but  I  hope  she  won't  ask  me  her 
name  ;  "  and  then  went  on  to  describe  her  as  "  the 
mother  of  the  wife  of  the  young  man  —  the  tall 
man  —  who  speaks  so  well ; "  and  so  on  until  I 
guessed  whom  he  meant.     For  himself,  he  took  a 


652       RALPH   WALDO   EMERSON. 

humorous  view  of  his  case.  Once,  when  he  wanted 
an  umbrella,  he  said,  "  I  can't  tell  its  name,  but  I 
can  tell  its  history.  Strangers  take  it  away."  But 
the  disability  led  him  at  last  to  avoid  occasions  of 
conversation  with  persons  with  whom  he  was  not 
intimate,  thinking  it  unfair  to  them.  He  spoke  of 
himself  as  a  man  who  had  lost  his  wits,  and  was 
thereby  absolved  for  anything  he  might  do  or  omit, 
only  he  must  learn  to  confine  himself  to  his  study, 
"  where  I  can  still  read  with  intelligence."  How 
clear  his  intelligence  still  was  in  spite  of  these  su- 
perficial obstructions  is  manifest  in  the  introduc- 
tion which  he  wrote  in  the  summer  of  1870  for 
Professor  Goodwin's  revision  of  the  translation, 
"  by  several  hands,"  of  Plutarch's  Morals.  This 
little  essay,1  at  which  he  worked  diligently  for  a 
month  or  more,  buying  a  Greek  Plutarch  to  com- 
pare with  the  old  version  (always  even  to  its  idiom 
a  prime  favorite  of  his),  was,  I  suppose,  his  last 
effort  at  composition ;  old  affection  for  the  book 
bringing  the  needed  stimulus. 

The  anthology  of  English  poetry,  published  in 
1874  under  the  title  "  Parnassus,"  received  some 
additions  at  this  time  and  afterwards,  and  some 
pieces  were  admitted  which  at  an  earlier  time  he 
would  probably  have  passed  over.  He  had  begun 
as  early  as  1855  to  have  his  favorites  copied  out 
for  printing,  and  the  selection  was  mostly  complete 

1  Collected  Writings,  x.  275. 


THE  BURNING   OF  HIS  HOUSE.  653 

before  1865;  but  in  the  years  after  1870  some 
pieces  were  inserted,  rather  (in  the  opinion  of  those 
who  stood  nearest  to  him)  on  the  strength  of  a  skil- 
ful reading  or  some  other  accidental  circumstance 
than  upon  a  critical  consideration  of  their  merits. 
The  preface  belongs  substantially  to  the  earlier  time. 
In  the  spring  of  1872  he  gave  a  course  of  six 
lectures  in  Boston,  and  in  July  had  just  returned 
from  reading  an  address  at  Amherst  College  when 
a  cruel  calamity  fell  upon  him  in  the  burning  of 
his  house.  About  half  past  five  in  the  morning  of 
July  24  he  was  waked  by  the  crackling  of  fire,  and 
saw  a  light  in  the  closet,  which  was  next  the  chim- 
ney. He  sprang  up,  and,  not  being  able  to  reach 
the  part  that  was  in  flames,  ran  down  partly  dressed 
to  the  front  gate  and  called  out  for  help.  He  was 
heard  at  a  considerable  distance,  and  answered  in- 
stantly. The  neighbors  came  running  in  from  all 
sides,  and,  finding  it  too  late  to  save  the  house,  ap- 
plied themselves  to  removing  the  books  and  manu- 
scripts and  then  the  furniture,  which  was  done  with 
so  much  promptitude  and  skill  and  by  such  a  con- 
course of  persons  eager  to  help  that,  of  the  mova- 
bles, but  little  of  value  was  destroyed  or  even  injured ; 
hardly  anything  except  some  papers  in  the  garret 
where  the  fire  began.  One  of  his  kind  townsmen 
was  in  the  chambers,  and  barely  escaped  when  the 
roof  fell.  By  half  past  eight  the  fire  was  out ;  the 
four  walls  yet  standing,  but  the  roof  gone  and  the 


654       RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

upper  parts  much  injured.  It  had  been  raining 
in  the  night  and  everything  was  soaked ;  a  circum- 
stance which  saved  the  trees  Emerson  had  planted 
close  about  the  house,  but  also  was  the  cause  of 
many  colds  and  rheumatisms.  Emerson  himself 
had  a  feverish  attack,  from  walking  about  in  the 
rain,  partially  clad,  in  his  solicitude  about  the  let- 
ters and  papers  from  the  garret,  which  were  car- 
ried about  far  and  wide  by  the  wind. 

Many  houses  were  at  once  offered  for  their  re- 
ception, and  Mr.  Francis  Cabot  Lowell,  Emerson's 
classmate  and  friend,  soon  arrived  from  Waltham 
with  provision  for  removing  the  family  to  his  own 
house.  They  decided,  however,  to  accept  Miss 
Ripley's  invitation  to  the  Manse.  A  day  or  two 
afterwards,  Mr.  Lowell  came  again,  and  left  with 
Emerson  a  letter  which  was  found  to  contain  a 
check  for  five  thousand  dollars,  as  the  contribution 
of  a  few  friends  for  present  needs.  He  did  it, 
Emerson  said,  "  like  the  great  gentleman  he  is, 
and  let  us  have  his  visit  without  a  word  of  this." 
Another  of  Emerson's  old  friends,  Dr.  Le  Baron 
Russell,  had  long  been  thinking  it  was  time  he 
should  be  relieved  from  his  lecturing  and  induced 
to  take  a  vacation,  and  with  this  additional  reason 
the  suggestion  was  at  once  taken  up  by  those  within 
reach,  and  between  eleven  and  twelve  thousand 
dollars  sent  in,  and  felicitously  conveyed  to  Mr. 
Emerson  by  Judge  Hoar.1 

1  See  Appendix  D. 


SIGNS  OF  DISABILITY.  655 

Emerson  at  first  resisted ;  he  had  been  allowed, 
he  said,  so  far  in  life,  to  stand  on  his  own  feet. 
He  felt  the  great  kindness  of  his  friends,  but  he 
could  not  so  far  yield  to  their  wishes.  But  on  re- 
flection he  saw  that  there  was  no  reason  for  declin- 
ing, and  he  would  not  cast  about  for  any. 

His  books  and  papers,  meanwhile,  had  been  care- 
fully removed  to  the  Court  House  (then  out  of  use), 
and  a  temporary  study  fitted  up  for  him  there. 

It  was  to  be  expected  that  such  a  blow  would 
have  serious  consequences.  Apart  from  the  phy- 
sical exposure,  the  shock  of  finding  himself  thus 
violently  turned  out  of  his  home,  his  library,  and 
all  his  accustomed  surroundings,  the  apprehension 
for  the  moment  that  it  might  be  forever, — this,  for 
a  man  whose  life  was  so  much  in  his  study,  was 
most  severe.  It  was  natural  that  the  loss  of  mem- 
ory and  of  mental  grasp  which  was  afterwards 
noticed  should  be  dated  from  this  time.  But  the 
disability  had  begun  earlier,  and  already  showed 
itself  to  watchful  eyes  in  his  lectures  in  the  spring 
and  at  Amherst  in  July  ;  and  the  proof-sheets  of  a 
new  volume  of  essays  ("  Letters  and  Social  Aims  "), 
which  he  had  undertaken  to  select  and  arrange  for 
a  London  publisher,  showed  that  before  the  fire  he 
had  begun  to  find  insuperable  difficulty  in  a  con- 
tinuous effort  of  attention.  I  have  spoken,  in  a 
prefatory  note  to  that  volume  in  the  collected  edi- 


656  RALPH    WALDO  EMERSON. 

tion,  of  the  circumstances  under  which  it  was  un- 
dertaken and  of  the  small  progress  he  had  made  at 
this  time.  The  thought  of  it  was  a  serious  addition 
to  the  burden  that  was  pressing  upon  him. 

On  the  whole,  he  was  less  disturbed  than  had  been 
expected,  "though  [one  of  his  children  writes]  he 
is  so  faithfully  careful  never  to  mention  himself 
that  it  is  hard  to  know  ;  but  he  looks  happy."  He 
took  cold  at  the  time  of  the  fire  and  had  an  attack 
of  low  fever,  but  soon  recovered,  and  went  to  the 
seashore  for  a  change  of  air  and  scene.  Meantime 
another  visit  to  Europe  was  urged  upon  him  ;  this 
time  to  include  Greece  and  the  Nile,  which  had 
been  a  day-dream  of  his.  At  first  he  thought  it 
impossible,  on  account  of  the  book  which  he  was 
bound  to  get  ready.  But  it  was  obvious  that  the 
book  could  not  be  proceeded  with  at  present,  and 
this  being  represented  to  the  publishers,  they  ac- 
ceded to  a  year's  delay.  He  then  consented  to 
the  foreign  tour,  and  sailed,  October  28,  from 
New  York  for  England,  accompanied  by  his  eldest 
daughter. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

third  visit  to  europe.  —  egypt.  —  paris.  — 
london.  —  oxford.  —  return  home. can- 
didate for  rectorship  of  glasgow.  —  anni- 
versary of  concord  fight.  —  compilation 
of  a  new  volume  of  essays.— the  virginia 
address.  —  visit  to  concord,  n.  h.  —  mr. 
French's  bust.  —  last  readings.  —  declining 
years. illness  and  death. 

1872-1882. 

The  air  of  the  sea,  as  in  his  younger  days, 
proved  a  tonic  to  Emerson.  A  few  days  before 
sailing,  he  had  found  some  difficulty  in  making  a 
little  speech  at  a  dinner  of  welcome  to  Mr.  Froude 
in  New  York ;  but,  on  the  day  he  reached  England, 
being  invited  to  a  meeting  of  the  Archaeological 
Society  at  Chester,  and  his  presence  noticed  with  a 
request  that  he  would  second  a  motion  of  thanks 
to  the  speakers  of  the  evening,  he  did  so  with  such 
readiness  and  force  that  his  son,  who  had  come  to 
meet  him  there,  was  much  relieved  from  anxiety 
concerning  him. 

He  greatly  enjoyed  the  enforced  rest  and  free- 
dom from  care,  and  in  London  gladly  yielded  him- 


658  RALPH  WALDO  EMERSON. 

self  to  the  attentions  of  the  friends  who  welcomed 
him.  He  saw  Carlyle  again.  He  writes  to  his 
wife  :  — 

London,  November  8,  1872. 

.  .  .  Yesterday  I  found  my  way  to  Chelsea,  and 
spent  two  or  three  hours  with  Carlyle  in  his  study. 
He  opened  his  arms  and  embraced  me,  after  seri- 
ously gazing  for  a  time :  "  I  am  glad  to  see  you 
once  more  in  the  flesh,"  —  and  we  sat  down  and 
had  a  steady  outpouring  for  two  hours  and  more,  on 
persons,  events,  and  opinions.  .  .  .  As  I  was  curi- 
ous to  know  his  estimate  of  my  men  and  authors, 
of  course  I  got  them  all  again  in  Scottish  speech 
and  wit,  with  large  deduction  of  size.  He  is  strong 
in  person  and  manners  as  ever,  —  though  so  aged- 
looking,  —  and  his  memory  as  good. 

He  spent  ten  days  in  England,  quite  content 
to  sit  still  and  do  nothing.  "  When  I  cast  about 
for  some  amusement  or  business  [his  daughter 
writes],  he  says,  'Old  age  loves  leisure.  I  like  to 
lie  in  the  morning.  And  one  gets  such  good  sleep 
in  this  country,  —  good  strong  sleep.'  "  Next,  to 
Paris,  where  Emerson  was  rejoiced  to  find  Mr. 
Lowell  and  Mr.  John  Holmes.  Thence  to  Mar- 
seilles, Nice,  Italy,  and  the  Nile  before  the  end  of 
December,  stopping  for  a  while  in  Rome. 

He  admired  the  beautiful  scenery  that  came  in 
his  way,  but  would  go  nowhere  to  see  anything, 


THIRD  VISIT  TO  EUROPE.  659 

and  was  always  happy  in  the  prospect  of  a  halt. 
Persons,  as  always,  were  the  chief  objects  of  inter- 
est to  him :  the  dead,  as  at  the  tombs  of  Santa 
Croce  in  Florence  ;  and  the  living  friends  at  Rome 
and  Naples. 

The  entrance  of  the  Nile  was  not  promising : 
"  Nothing  could  argue  wilder  insanity  than  our 
leaving  a  country  like  America,  and  coming  all  this 
way  to  see  bareness  of  mud,  with  not  even  an  in- 
habitant. Yes !  there  are  some  inhabitants ;  they 
have  come  to  drown  themselves." 

At  Cairo  he  was  affectionately  received  by  Mr. 
George  Bancroft,  —  "a  chivalrous  angel  to  Ellen 
and  me,"  —  who  took  him  to  breakfast  with  the 
Khedive  and  showed  him  the  sights.  Early  in 
January  they  joined  a  party  in  taking  a  boat  up 
the  river,  and  went  as  far  as  Philse  "  and  the  tem- 
ple-tomb of  him  who  sleeps  there."  But  he  did 
not  find  the  Nile  of  his  imagination.  He  was  often 
gay  when  riding  about  on  shore  on  his  donkey ; 
rejoiced  at  seeing  the  lotus,  and  the  date-palm,  and 
"  a  huge  banian  tree  "  in  the  hotel  yard  at  Cairo  ; 
admired  the  groups  of  country  people,  "  looking 
like  the  ancient  philosophers  going  to  the  School  of 
Athens  ;  "  praised  the  mandarin  oranges  :  "  They 
even  go  ahead  of  pears,  I  'm  afraid.  They  charm 
by  their  tractability,  their  lovely  anticipation  of 
your  wishes.  One  may  call  them  Christianity  in 
apples  ;  an  Arabian  revenge  for  the  fall  of  man." 


660  RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

Yet,  his  daughter  writes,  "  he  makes  homesick 
speeches,  and,  if  he  should  follow  his  inclination, 
would  doubtless  take  a  bee-line  for  home.  He  says 
he  shall  cheerfully  spend  a  fortnight  in  Paris  with 
Mr.  Lowell,  and  in  England  desires  to  find  Tenny- 
son, Ruskin,  and  Browning.  He  never  speaks  of 
the  beauty  of  the  views  here,  only  of  the  trees ;  but 
he  prospers  in  health." 

Here  is  one  of  the  few  entries  in  his  diary :  — 

"  All  this  journey  is  a  perpetual  humiliation,  sa- 
tirizing and  whipping  our  ignorance.  The  people 
despise  us  because  we  are  helpless  babies,  who 
cannot  speak  or  understand  a  word  they  say ;  the 
sphinxes  scorn  dunces  ;  the  obelisks,  the  temple- 
walls,  defy  us  with  their  histories  which  we  cannot 
spell.  The  people,  whether  in  the  boat  or  out  of 
it,  are  a  perpetual  study  for  the  excellence  and 
grace  of  their  forms  and  motions." 

He  was  improving  in  bodily  health,  his  hair 
growing  thick  again  in  places  and  quite  brown,  but 
he  was  disinclined  to  mental  exertion ;  "  absolutely 
cannot  write." 

Away  from  his  library  his  resource  for  mental 
stimulus  was  enlivening  conversation,  and  for  this 
there  were  few  opportunities  on  the  Nile.  One  or 
two  lively  young  Englishmen  whom  he  met  were 
a  godsend  to  him,  and  at  Cairo,  upon  his  return, 
Professor  Richard  Owen  and  General  Stone.  He 
writes  to  his  son-in-law  from  Alexandria :  — 


EGYPT.  661 

Alexandria,  February  19,  1873. 

Dear  Will,  —  I  ought  to  have  long  since  ac- 
knowledged your  letters,  one  and  two,  so  kindly 
ventured  to  an  old  scribe  who  for  the  first  time  in 
his  life  recoils  from  all  writing.  Ellen  sits  daily 
by  me,  vainly  trying  to  electrify  my  torpid  con- 
science and  mend  my  pen  ;  but  the  air  of  Egypt 
is  full  of  lotus,  and  I  resent  any  breaking  of  the 
dream.  But  to-day  we  are  actually  on  board  of 
the  Rubattino  Line  steamer  for  Messina  and  Na- 
ples, and  though  to  this  moment  of  writing  she  re- 
fuses to  lift  her  anchor,  —  the  sea  being  too  rough 
outside  for  the  pilot  to  return  in  his  boat,  —  I  can 
believe  that  the  dream  is  passing,  and  I  shall  re- 
turn to  honester  habits.  Egypt  has  been  good  and 
gentle  to  us,  if  a  little  soporific.  Nothing  in  our 
life,  habit,  company,  atmosphere,  that  did  not  suf- 
fer change.  .  .  . 

But  I  am  not  so  blind  or  dependent  but  that  I 
could  wake  to  the  wonders  of  this  strange  old  land, 
alone,  or  with  such  friends  as  we  brought  with  us 
or  found  here.  These  colossal  temples  scattered 
over  hundreds  of  miles  say,  like  the  Greek  and  like 
the  Gothic  piles,  O  ye  men  of  the  nineteenth  cen- 
tury, here  is  something  you  cannot  do,  and  must 
respect.  And  't  is  all  the  more  wonderful  because 
no  creature  is  left  in  the  land  who  gives  any  hint 
of  the  men  who  made  them.  One  of  the  wonders 
is  the  profusion  of  these  giant  buildings  and  sculp- 


662       RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

tures ;  sphinxes  and  statues  by  fifties  and  hun- 
dreds at  Thebes.  The  country,  too,  so  small  and 
limitary,  no  breadth,  nothing  but  the  two  banks  of 
the  long  Nile.  Forgive  me  for  teasing  you  with 
this  old  tale.  But  I  believe  I  have  written  nothing 
about  it,  and  'tis  all  we  have  had  to  think  of. 
Continue  to  be  a  good  angel  to  me.  With  dear 
love  to  Edith  and  the  children, 

Yours,         R.  W.  Emerson. 

In  Rome,  his  friends  thought  him  greatly  im- 
proved in  appearance,  and  Hermann  Grimm,  in 
Florence,  said  he  looked  as  if  he  were  made  of 
steel.  He  began  at  this  time  to  work  with  some 
heart  upon  the  selection  and  revision  of  his  poems 
for  a  new  edition. 

He  had  his  fortnight  with  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Lowell 
at  Paris  in  March,  "to  our  great  satisfaction. 
There  also  I  received  one  evening  a  long  and  happy 
visit  from  Mr.  James  Cotter  Morison.  At  the 
house  of  M.  Laurel  I  was  introduced  to  Ernest 
Renan,  to  Henri  Taine,  to  Elie  de  Beaumont,  to 
M.  Tourgennef,  and  to  some  other  noted  gentle- 
men. M.  Taine  sent  me  the  next  day  his  '  Lite- 
rature Anglaise.' " 

In  England,  upon  his  return,  he  declined  all 
public  speaking,  except  once  at  the  Workingmen's 
College,  at  the  request  of  his  friend  Mr.  Thomas 
Hughes.     Two  of   the  workingmen  sent   him  two 


LONDON.  —  OXFORD.  663 

sovereigns  towards  the  rebuilding  of  his  house.  He 
declined  all  lecturing  and  formal  speaking,  but  he 
accepted  many  of  the  daily  invitations  to  break- 
fasts, lunches,  and  dinners,  and  was  glad  to  go. 
He  breakfasted  twice  with  Mr.  Gladstone,  and  he 
saw  many  people  whom  he  had  wished  to  see, 
among  them  Mr.  Browning.  He  saw  Carlyle 
again,  but,  from  various  mischances,  they  met  but 
seldom.  After  about  three  weeks'  stay  in  London 
he  went  northward  on  his  way  to  Liverpool. 

"At  Oxford  I  was  the  guest  of  Professor  Max 
Muller,  and  was  introduced  to  Jowett,  and  to  Rus- 
kin,  and  to  Mr.  Dodson,  author  of  "  Alice  in  Won- 
derland," and  to  many  of  the  university  dignita- 
ries. Prince  Leopold  was  a  student,  and  came 
home  from  Max  Muller's  lecture  to  lunch  with  us, 
and  then  invited  Ellen  and  me  to  go  to  his  house, 
and  there  showed  us  his  pictures  and  his  album, 
and  there  we  drank  tea.  The  next  day  I  heard 
Ruskin  lecture,  and  then  we  went  home  with  Rus- 
kin  to  his  chambers  ;  where  he  showed  us  his  pic- 
tures, and  told  us  his  doleful  opinions  of  modern 
society.  In  the  evening  we  dined  with  Vice-Chan- 
cellor Liddell  and  a  large  company." 

Mr.  Ruskin's  lecture  he  thought  the  model,  both 
in  manner  and  in  matter,  of  what  a  lecture  should 
be.  His  gloomy  view  of  modern  civilization  Emer- 
son could  not  away  with.  It  was  as  bad,  he  said, 
as  Carlyle's,  and  worse ;  for  Carlyle  always  ended 


664  RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

with  a  laugh  which  cleared  the  air  again,  but  with 
Ruskin  it  was  steady  gloom. 

He  had  a  happy  visit  to  Oxford,  except  that  he 
did  not  find  Dr.  Acland,  nor  Dr.  Pusey,  who  had 
lately  sent  him  a  book  with  a  poetical  inscription 
which  pleased  him.  From  Oxford  they  went  to 
Mr.  Flower  at  Stratford-on-Avon  for  three  days, 
and  thence  to  Durham,  which  Dean  Lake  made 
very  interesting  and  delightful  to  him  ;  thence  to 
Edinburgh,  where  he  dined  with  Professor  Eraser 
and  with  Dr.  William  Smith,  and  saw  Dr.  Hutch- 
ison Stirling  and  other  friends  ;  from  Edinburgh 
(where  there  was  a  gathering  of  persons  to  see  him 
off,  one  of  whom  asked  to  kiss  his  hand)  by  way  of 
the  Lakes  to  Mr.  Alexander  Ireland,  who  hospita- 
bly received  him  for  the  two  days  before  he  sailed, 
and  brought  together  to  meet  him  many  of  his 
friends  and  hearers  of  1847-48. 

He  reached  home  in  May,  and  was  received  at 
the  station  in  Concord  by  a  general  gathering  of 
his  townspeople,  who  had  arranged  that  the  ap- 
proach of  the  steamer  should  be  notified  by  a  peal 
of  the  church-bells,  which  tolled  out  the  hour  when 
he  woirid  come.  The  whole  town  assembled,  down 
to  the  babies  in  their  wagons,  and  as  the  train 
emerged  from  the  Walden  woods  the  engine  sent 
forth  a  note  of  triumph,  which  was  echoed  by  the 
cheers  of  the  assemblage.     Emerson  appeared,  sur- 


RETURN  HOME.  665 

prised  and  touched,  on  the  platform,  and  was  es- 
corted with  music  between  two  rows  of  smiling 
school-children  to  his  house,  where  a  triumphal 
arch  of  leaves  and  flowers  had  been  erected.  Em- 
erson went  out  to  the  gate  and  spoke  his  thanks  to 
the  crowd,  and  then  returned  to  make  a  delighted 
progress  through  the  house,  which  had  been  re- 
stored, with  some  improvements,  under  the  careful 
supervision  of  Mr.  Keyes  and  Mr.  "W.  K.  Emer- 
son, the  architect,  —  the  study  unchanged,  with  its 
books  and  manuscripts  and  his  pictures  and  keep- 
sakes in  their  wonted  array. 

He  appeared  greatly  refreshed  and  restored  in 
spirits  by  his  vacation.  "  He  is  very  well  [Mrs. 
Emerson  writes],  and  if  there  is  a  lighter-hearted 
man  in  the  world  I  don't  know  where  he  lives." 
On  the  1st  of  October  he  read  an  address  at  the 
opening  of  the  public  library  given  to  the  town  by 
Mr.  William  Munroe  ;  and  though  his  notes,  after 
the  beginning,  were  fragmentary,  flying  leaves 
from  former  discourses,  he  connected  them  neatly 
together  into  a  whole  in  the  delivery.  On  the  16th 
of  December,  the  anniversary  of  the  emptying  of 
the  tea  into  Boston  Harbor,  he  read  at  the  celebra- 
tion in  Faneuil  Hall  his  poem  "  Boston,"  x  written 
many  years  before  in  the  anti-slavery  excitement, 
but  now  remodelled,  with  the  omission  of  some  of 
the  stanzas,  and  the  addition  of  those  relating  to 
the  seizure  of  the  tea. 

1  Collected  Writings,  ix.  182. 


666       RALPH  WALDO  EMERSON. 

During  the  next  year  (1874),  "  Parnassus  "  was 
finished,  and  was  published  in  December. 

In  the  early  part  of  this  year,  much  to  his  sur- 
prise, he  was  asked  by  the  Independent  Club  of 
Glasgow  University  to  be  one  of  the  candidates 
for  the  Lord  Rectorship,  and  letters  came  to  him 
from  the  young  men  in  Glasgow  and  from  gradu- 
ates in  New  York,  urging  him  to  accept  the  nomi- 
nation, which  he  did,  receiving  five  hundred  votes 
against  seven  hundred  for  the  successful  candidate, 
Mr.  Benjamin  Disraeli. 

In  February,  1875,  he  was  asked  to  lecture  in 
Philadelphia,  and  also  received  an  affectionate  in- 
vitation from  his  old  friend  Dr.  Furness  ;  to  which 
he  replied  in  the  following  letter  :  — 

Concobd,  February  10,  1875. 

My  deak  Friend,  —  Oldest  friend  of  all,  old  as 
Mrs.  Whitwell's  school,  and  remembered  still  with 
that  red-and-white  handkerchief  which  charmed  me 
with  its  cats  and  dogs  of  prehistoric  art ;  and  later, 
with  your  own  native  genius  with  pencil  and  pen, 
up  and  upwards  from  Latin  school  and  Mr.  Webb's 
noonday's  writing,  to  Harvard,  —  you  my  only 
Maecenas,  and  I  your  adoring  critic ;  and  so  on  and 
onward,  but  always  the  same,  a  small  mutual-ad- 
miration society  of  two,  which  we  seem  to  have 
founded  in  Summer  Street,  and  never  quite  for- 
gotten, despite  the  three  hundred  miles  —  tyran- 


ANNIVERSARY  OF  CONCORD  FIGHT.      667 

nical  miles  —  between  Philadelphia  and  Concord. 
Well,  what  shall  I  say  in  defence  of  my  stolid 
silence  at  which  you  hint  ?  Why,  only  this  :  that 
while  you  have,  I  believe,  some  months  in  advance 
of  me  in  age,  the  gods  have  given  you  some  draught 
of  their  perennial  cup,  and  withheld  the  same  from 
me.  I  have  for  the  last  two  years,  I  believe,  writ- 
ten nothing  in  my  once-diurnal  manuscripts,  and 
never  a  letter  that  I  could  omit  (inclusive  too  of 
some  I  ought  not  to  omit),  and  this  applies  to  none 
more  than  yours.  Now  comes  your  new  letter,  with 
all  your  affectionate  memories  and  preference  fresh 
as  roses.  ...  I  must  obey  it.  My  daughter  Ellen, 
who  goes  always  with  my  antiquity,  insists  that  we 
shall.  ...  So  you  and  Mrs.  Furness  receive  our 
affectionate  thanks  for  the  welcome  you  have  sent 
us.  My  love  to  Sam  Bradford,  if  you  meet  him. 
Your  affectionate  R.  W.  Emerson. 

My  wife  —  too  much  an  invalid  —  sends  you  her 
kindest  regards. 

He  went  in  March,  accordingly,  and  "  the  three 
of  us,"  including  Mr.  Samuel  Bradford,  spent  day 
after  day  together,  to  Emerson's  great  enjoyment, 
celebrating  their  reunion  by  going  to  be  photo- 
graphed in  a  group. 

On  the  19th  of  April,  the  centennial  anniversary 
of  Concord  Fight  was  commemorated  at  the  bridge 
by  an  oration  from  Mr.  George  William  Curtis 


668  RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

and  a  poem  from  Mr.  Lowell,  and  there  was  a 
great  concourse  of  persons  from  far  and  near.  Mr. 
Daniel  French's  spirited  statue  of  the  Minute-Man, 
which  had  been  put  in  position  on  the  spot  where 
the  militia  stood  to  defend  the  North  Bridge,  was 
unveiled.  Ebenezer  Hubbard,  a  Concord  farmer 
who  inherited  land  in  the  village  on  which  the 
British  troops  had  committed  depredation,  and  who 
never  neglected  to  hoist  the  stars  and  stripes  there 
on  the  19th  of  April  and  the  4th  of  July,  had  been 
deeply  grieved  that  the  monument  erected  by  the 
town  in  1836  should  mark  the  position  occupied 
by  the  enemy  instead  of  that  of  the  defenders  in 
the  skirmish,  and  he  bequeathed  a  sum  of  money  to 
the  town  on  the  condition  that  a  monument  should 
be  placed  on  the  very  spot  where  the  minute-men 
and  militia  had  stood,  and  another  sum  to  build  a 
foot-bridge  across  the  river  where  the  old  bridge 
was  in  1775.  Mr.  Stedman  Buttrick,  a  descendant 
of  Major  Buttrick,  who  gave  the  command  to  re- 
turn the  fire,  provided  the  site ;  the  sculptor  was 
a  Concord  youth  ;  and  Emerson  made  the  address. 
It  was  a  raw  day,  with  a  bitter  wind,  and  the  wait- 
ing crowd  suffered  from  the  cold  as  the  visitors  in 
1775  had  suffered  from  the  heat.  Emerson  ad- 
verted to  the  contrast  in  his  little  speech,  which 
was  the  last  piece  written  out  with  his  own  hand. 

Soon  after  this,  the  dead  weight  of  the  book  he 


COMPILATION  OF  A  VOLUME   OF  ESSAYS.  669 

had  undertaken  for  the  London  publisher,  Mr. 
Hotten,  which  had  been  staved  off,  Emerson  fondly 
supposed,  by  Mr.  Hotten's  death,  fell  back  upon 
him.  He  learned  that  Messrs.  Chatto  &  Windus 
had  taken  Mr.  Hotten's  place,  and  that  they  were 
inquiring  when  the  volume  would  be  ready.  The 
thought  of  it  worried  him ;  he  felt  that  he  could 
not  go  on  to  make  the  selections  and  see  the  book 
through  the  press  without  assistance.  He  needed 
the  help  of  some  one  who  was  familiar  with  his 
published  writings  and  could  devote  the  time  that 
was  necessary,  and  he  at  length  allowed  his  daugh- 
ter to  invite  me  to  undertake  it.  I  went  to  Con- 
cord accordingly  in  September,  and  thereafter  from 
time  to  time  until  the  book  ("  Letters  and  Social 
Aims  ")  was  finished  and  came  out  in  December. 
I  have  given  in  a  note  to  that  volume,  in  the  River- 
side edition,  an  account  of  the  way  in  which  it  was 
compiled.  Only  one  or  two  of  the  pieces  had  been 
fixed  upon ;  the  rest  were  added  with  Mr.  Emer- 
son's approval,  but  without  much  active  coopera- 
tion on  his  part,  except  where  it  was  necessary  to 
supply  a  word  or  part  of  a  sentence. 

After  this,  I  used  to  go  up  at  intervals  for  five 
or  six  years,  —  so  long  as  he  continued  to  read  lec- 
tures,—  for  the  purpose  of  getting  ready  new 
selections  from  his  manuscripts,  excerpting  and 
compounding  them  as  he  had  been  in  the  habit  of 
doing  for  himself.     There  was  no  danger  of  dis- 


670  RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

turbing  the  original  order,  for  this  was  already 
gone  beyond  recovery.  In  using  separate  lectures 
together  at  different  times,  as  he  was  wont  to  do, 
he  had  mixed  them  up  so  thoroughly,  with  various 
pagings  and  headings,  or  without  any,  and  with  no 
obvious  means  of  connection,  that  my  efforts  ever 
since  to  get  them  back  into  their  first  shape  have 
met  with  but  partial  success.  The  difficulty  is  in- 
creased by  his  persistent  objection  to  full  reports 
of  his  lectures,  and  even,  it  was  understood,  to  the 
taking  of  private  notes. 

He  still  liked  to  read  a  paper  occasionally,  when 
he  was  asked  to  do  so,  and  would  often  read  with 
much  of  his  old  skill  and  power  when  he  retained 
but  a  slight  recollection  of  what  he  had  written, 
and  would  comment  on  it  as  if  it  were  another  per- 
son's. "  A  queer  occasion  it  will  be  [he  said,  when 
he  was  to  read  a  lecture  at  the  Concord  Lyceum 
in  1878],  —  a  lecturer  who  has  no  idea  what  he  is 
lecturing  about,  and  an  audience  who  don't  know 
what  he  can  mean." 

It  was  thus  that  the  essays  published  for  the 
first  time  in  the  last  two  volumes  of  the  Riverside 
edition  received  their  final  arrangement.  Every- 
thing in  them,  except  a  few  passages  taken  directly 
from  his  journals,  was  in  some  earlier  lecture ;  but 
the  title  of  the  essay  does  not  always  indicate  the 
lecture  to  which  the  sentences  originally  belonged. 

He  was  always  pleased  at  my  coming  upon  this 


COMPILATION  OF  A  VOLUME   OF  ESSAYS.  671 

errand,  and  would  often  intimate  the  feeling  of  an 
immense  and  unspeakable  service  I  was  doing  him, 
and  his  uneasiness  at  trespassing  so  much  upon  my 
time,  without  its  ever  occurring  to  him  that  I,  and 
not  he,  was  the  party  obliged.  When  I  was  at  his 
house  thus  employed,  he  would  come  in  from  his 
study  in  the  early  afternoon  and  take  me  off  for  a 
walk,  saying  that  I  had  worked  long  enough ;  and 
would  go  on  a  stroll  in  the  Walden  woods,  or  over 
Sleepy  Hollow  and  Peter's  field,  or  sometimes  on  a 
drive  to  the  other  side  of  the  river.  And  in  the 
evening  he  would  come  again  about  ten  o'clock, 
and  take  me  to  his  study  for  a  cigar  before  bed- 
time. 

To  me  there  was  nothing  sad  in  his  condition  ;  it 
was  obvious  enough  that  he  was  but  the  shadow  of 
himself,  but  the  substance  was  there,  only  a  little 
removed.  The  old  alertness  and  incisiveness  were 
gone,  but  there  was  no  confusion  of  ideas,  and  the 
objects  of  interest  were  what  they  always  had  been. 
He  was  often  at  a  loss  for  a  word,  but  no  conscious- 
ness of  this  or  of  any  other  disability  seemed  to 
trouble  him.  Nor  was  there  any  appearance  of 
effort  to  keep  up  the  conversation.  He  liked  per- 
haps to  listen  rather  than  to  talk ;  he  "  listened  and 
smiled  "  as  a  man  might  who  was  recovering  from 
illness,  and  felt  himself  removed  for  a  time  from 
his  ordinary  activities,  but  he  often  talked  freely. 
I  never  could  get  him  to  talk  about  himself,  his 


672       RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

early  days,  or  even  much  of  Boston  as  he  first 
remembered  it;  he  did  not  seem  averse,  but  he 
glided  away  to  other  topics.  His  usual  topics  were 
the  splendors  of  the  age  and  the  miracles  it  has 
wrought  in  the  relation  of  nations  to  each  other, 
—  the  steamboat,  railroad,  electric  telegraph,  the 
application  of  the  spectroscope  to  astronomy,  the 
photograph;  the  remarkable  and  admirable  per- 
sons he  had  known,  —  Dr.  Channing,  Mr.  Everett, 
and  living  friends  ;  then  European  politics,  —  Mr. 
Gladstone,  and  how  superior  in  hind  he  was  to  the 
common  run  of  statesmen;  the  college,  and  what 
a  godsend  President  Eliot  was,  what  an  all-accom- 
plished man ;  then  the  manifold  virtues  of  his 
Concord  townsmen  of  all  degrees.  In  general,  his 
memory  of  persons  was  good,  even  though  they 
might  be  recent  acquaintances.  Sometimes  there 
was  a  strange  lapse,  as  once  when  I  asked  him 
about  John  Sterling,  with  whom  he  had  been 
in  correspondence  up  to  the  time  of  Sterling's 
death.  He  could  not  remember  to  have  heard  the 
name. 

He  did  not  often  touch  upon  literary  matters, 
unless  to  inquire  about  some  new  book.  His  read- 
ing seemed  to  lie  mostly  in  the  books  of  all  sorts 
which  had  been  sent  to  him  and  lay  at  his  hand 
upon  the  table.  I  found  him  reading  Dr.  Stir- 
ling's "  Secret  of  Hegel,"  and  he  spoke  in  praise 
of  Professor  Caird's  book  on  Kant,  but  it  was  the 


THE  VIRGINIA  ADDRESS.  673 

tone  of  the  writing  rather  than  the  subject  that 
attracted  him.  He  liked  to  feel  himself  in  the 
atmosphere  of  letters,  and  continued  to  feel  and 
enjoy  literary  ability  in  a  passive  way  after  his 
mind  had  ceased  to  occupy  itself  much  with  the 
substance  of  what  he  read.  But  what  was  chiefly 
remarkable  in  his  conversation,  and  always  new  and 
striking,  although  it  belonged  to  the  stuff  of  which 
his  whole  life  was  made,  was  its  uniform  and  un- 
forced cheerfulness.  He  did  not  need  to  turn  away 
from  gloomy  things,  from  uncomfortable  presages 
in  society  about  him,  or  from  the  ever-narrowing 
line  that  bound  in  his  own  activities  on  earth ;  for 
he  saw  beyond  them,  and  as  clearly  now  as  when, 
forty  years  before,  he  had  sounded  the  notes  that 
told  that  the  lofty  soul  of  Puritanism  was  not 
dead  in  the  decay  of  its  body. 

To  go  back  a  little.  In  the  spring  of  1876,  be- 
ing invited  by  the  Washington  and  Jefferson  lit- 
erary societies  of  the  University  of  Virginia  to 
deliver  the  address  at  their  joint  celebration  on 
the  28th  of  June,  he  readily  acceded,  thinking  it 
of  happy  omen  that  they  should  send  to  Massachu- 
setts for  their  orator.  In  his  reply  he  said  he  had 
given  up  speaking,  but  could  not  refuse  an  invita- 
tion from  Virginia.  He  went,  accordingly,  with 
his  daughter  Ellen.  After  a  fatiguing  journey,  in 
which  they  suffered  much  from  the  heat  and  dust, 


674       RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

they  were  kindly  received  and  lodged  in  the  house 
of  one  of  the  professors.  It  speedily  appeared, 
however  (what  perhaps  a  less  confiding  disposition 
might  have  allowed  him  to  foresee),  that  no  mir- 
acle had  been  wrought  in  the  temper  of  the  com- 
munity, and  that  the  predominant  feeling  was  still 
one  of  bitter  indignation  at  Northern  aggression. 
The  visitors  were  treated  with  every  attention  in 
the  society  of  the  place,  there  was  no  intentional 
discourtesy,  but  the  Southern  self-respect  appeared 
to  demand  that  they  should  be  constantly  reminded 
that  they  were  in  an  oppressed  and  abused  country. 
And  the  next  day,  at  Emerson's  address,  the  audi- 
ence in  general  —  mostly  young  women  with  their 
admirers,  but  also  children,  as  well  as  older  per- 
sons —  seemed  to  regard  the  occasion  chiefly  as  one 
for  social  entertainment,  and  there  was  so  much 
noise  that  he  could  not  make  himself  heard.  Some 
of  the  students  (probably  his  inviters)  came  to  the 
front  and  listened  with  attention,  but  most  of  them, 
finding  that  they  could  not  hear,  gave  up  the  at- 
tempt, and  turned  to  whispering  and  even  talking 
and  laughing  aloud ;  until  Emerson,  after  contend- 
ing with  the  din  for  half  an  hour,  sought  out  a 
suitable  passage  and  swiftly  came  to  a  close. 

It  was  not  in  flesh  and  blood  not  to  feel  indig- 
nant, but  whatever  Emerson  felt  he  kept  to  him- 
self.    No  one  heard  of  it,  and  when  I  afterwards 


THE   VIRGINIA  ADDRESS.  675 

asked  him  about  his  reception  all  he  said  was, 
"  They  are  very  brave  people  down  there,  and  say 
just  what  they  think."  What  was  more  remark- 
able, perhaps,  than  this  free-and-easy  treatment  of 
the  Boston  idealist  was  his  meeting  there  several 
persons  who  had  read  his  books  and  expressed  their 
pleasure  at  seeing  him.  And  the  next  day,  in  the 
train  going  North,  he  was  an  object  of  attention  to 
many  of  his  fellow-travellers,  some  of  whom  asked 
to  be  introduced  to  him  or  introduced  themselves, 
saying  they  were  from  Arkansas,  Louisiana,  Ala- 
bama, going  to  the  Philadelphia  Exhibition. 

All  over  the  country,  indeed,  there  were  by  this 
time  here  and  there  readers  for  whom  he  had  a 
special  charm,  and  letters  came  to  him  with  trib- 
utes of  thankfulness  from  distant  States.  In  his 
own  neighborhood  he  received  silent  greetings 
wherever  he  went.  Here  is  an  incident  that  mi^ht 
be  matched  any  day  in  these  years  :  — 

A  writer  (Mrs.  Helen  Hunt  Jackson  ?)  in  the 
Atlantic  Monthly,  September,  1882,  p.  424,  says  : 
"  Many  years  ago,  I  was  one  day  journeying  from 
Brattle  boro  to  Boston,  alone.  As  the  train  went 
on  from  station  to  station,  it  gradually  filled,  until 
there  was  no  seat  left  unoccupied  in  the  car  except- 
ing the  one  by  my  side.  At  Concord  the  door  of 
the  car  opened,  and  Mr.  Emerson  entered.  He 
advanced  a  few  steps  into  the  car,  looked  down  the 
aisle,  turned,  and  was  about  to  go  out,  believing 


676       RALPH    WALDO   EMERSON. 

the  car  to  be  entirely  full.  With  one  of  those 
sudden  impulses  which  are  acted  upon  almost  be- 
fore they  are  consciously  realized,  I  sprang  up, 
and  said,  '  Oh,  Mr.  Emerson,  here  is  a  seat ! '  As 
he  came  towards  me,  with  his  serene  smile  slowly 
spreading  over  his  face,  my  courage  faltered.  I 
saw  that  he  expected  to  meet  in  me  an  acquaint- 
ance ;  and,  as  he  looked  inquiringly  and  hesitat- 
ingly in  my  face,  I  made  haste  to  say,  '  You  do 
not  know  me,  Mr.  Emerson.  I  never  had  the 
pleasure  of  seeing  you  before.  But  I  know  your 
face,  and  I  could  not  resist  the  temptation  of  the 
opportunity  to  speak  with  you.  You  know  that  so 
many  people  who  are  strangers  to  you  know  you 
very  well.'  '  Perhaps  there  should  not  be  the  word 
stranger  in  any  language,'  he  answered  slowly,  in 
a  tone  and  with  a  kindly  look  which  at  once  set 
my  timidity  at  ease.  I  do  not  know  any  good 
reason  for  it.'  " 

Everywhere  in  his  own  part  of  the  country  he 
was  silently  watched  over  by  an  unknown  body- 
guard, some  one  of  whom  could  usually  be  reck- 
oned on  to  provide  a  seat,  a  carriage,  or  to  render 
any  needed  service. 

In  the  autumn  of  this  year,  at  the  commemora- 
tion by  the  Latin  School  Association  in  Boston 
(November  8,  1876)  of  the  centennial  anniver- 
sary 2   of  the   reopening  of   the  school  after  the 

1  Reported  in  the  Boston  Evening  Transcript,  November  9. 


VISIT  TO  NEW  YORK  STATE.  677 

evacuation  of  the  town  by  the  British,  he  read  the 
notes  from  which  I  have  quoted  in  the  account  of 
his  school-boy  days.     "  I  dare  not  attempt  to  say 
anything  to  you   [he  said  in  beginning],  because 
in  my  old  age  I  am  forgetting  the  word  I  should 
speak.     I  cannot  remember  anybody's  name  ;  not 
even  my  recollections  of  the  Latin  School.     I  have 
therefore  guarded  against  absolute  silence  by  bring- 
ing you  a  few  reminiscences  which  I  have  written." 
In  1878,  being  asked  to  give  a  summing-up  of 
the  position  of  the  country  after  the  war,  and  its 
spiritual  needs  and  prospects  for  the  new  genera- 
tion, he  read  at  the  Old  South  Church  in  Boston 
(March  8)  the  "  Fortune  of  the  Republic,"  a  paper 
of  the  war-time,  with  additions  from  his  journals. 
In  September  he  accompanied  his  daughter  to  the 
Unitarian  Convention  at  Saratoga,  visited  Niagara 
Falls,  and  afterwards  went  off  alone  upon  a  fruit- 
less search  of  several  days,  beyond  the  reach  of  the 
railroads,  in  the  western  part  of  the  State  of  New 
York,  for  a  young  mechanic  who,  some  years  before, 
had  written  him  a  letter  of  thankfulness,  but  also 
sharp  questioning  of  his  complacent  optimism.     He 
did  not  relinquish  his  efforts  until  he  had  found  an 
acquaintance  of  the  young  man,  and  learned  that 
he  had  left  the  State.     Emerson  did  not  love  dis- 
cussion, but  he  liked  to  see  the  other  side,  when  it 
was  presented  by  one  who  showed  that  he  had  the 
right  to  speak ;  and  a  fresh  view  of  his  facts,  as  they 


678       RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

were  seen  by  a  man  of  the  world  or  by  a  struggling 
young  artisan,  bad  a  stronger  attraction  for  him 
than  any  agreement  with  himself. 

In  May,  1879,  at  the  request  of  the  students  of 
the  Cambridge  Divinity  School,  he  read  there  the 
lecture  which  has  been  published  under  the  title  of 
"  The  Preacher,"  1  a  fitting  second  part,  it  seemed 
to  some  who  heard  it,  to  the  address  he  had  de- 
livered in  that  place  forty  years  before.  But  his 
friends  saw  that  it  was  time  his  reading  in  public 
should  come  to  a  close. 

It  was  in  the  spring  of  this  year  that  the  bust  of 
Emerson,  by  Mr.  French,  the  sculptor  of  the  Min- 
ute-Man,  was  made  ;  the  best  likeness  of  him,  I 
think,  by  any  artist  (except  the  sun),  though  un- 
happily so  late  in  his  life.  Mr.  French  writes  to 
me  :  "I  think  it  is  very  seldom  that  a  face  com- 
bines such  vigor  and  strength  in  the  general  form 
and  plan  with  such  exceeding  delicacy  and  sensi- 
tiveness in  the  details.  Henry  James  somewhere 
speaks  of  '  the  over-modelled  American  face.'  No 
face  was  ever  more  modelled  than  was  Mr.  Emer- 
son's ;  there  was  nothing  slurred,  nothing  acciden- 
tal ;  but  it  was  like  the  perfection  of  detail  in  great 
sculpture ;  it  did  not  interfere  with  the  grand 
scheme.  Neither  did  it  interfere  with  an  almost 
child-like  mobility  that  admitted  of  an  infinite 
variety  of  expression,  and  made  possible  that  won- 

1  Collected  Writings,  x.  207. 


MR.  FRENCH'S  BUST.  679 

derf ul  '  lighting-up '  of  the  face,  so  often  spoken 
of  by  those  who  knew  him.  It  was  the  attempt  to 
catch  that  glorifying  expression  that  made  me  de- 
spair of  my  bust.  At  the  time  I  made  it,  as  you 
know,  Mr.  Emerson  had  failed  somewhat,  and  it 
was  only  now  and  then  that  I  could  see,  even  for 
an  instant,  the  expression  I  sought.  As  is  not  un- 
common, there  was  more  movement  in  one  side  of 
Mr.  Emerson's  face  than  in  the  other  (the  left 
side),  arid  there  was  a  great  difference  in  the  for- 
mation of  the  two  sides ;  more,  probably,  at  the 
time  I  made  the  bust  than  earlier.  When  the 
bust  was  approaching  completion  he  looked  at  it 
after  one  of  the  sittings,  and  said,  '  The  trouble  is, 
the  more  it  resembles  me,  the  worse  it  looks.' : 

In  September,  he  was  invited  by  the  Unitarian 
Church  of  Concord,  New  Hampshire,  to  attend  the 
celebration  of  their  fiftieth  anniversary  ;  he  having 
been  one  of  the  first  preachers.  The  day  appointed 
was  the  30th  ;  he  arrived  on  the  afternoon  of  the 
29th.  It  was  here  that  he  was  married  to  Ellen 
Tucker,  and  he  went  at  once  to  see  the  house  in 
which  she  and  her  mother  had  lived  at  the  time,  but 
was  unable  to  identify  it.  The  next  morning  he 
remembered  that  the  evening  before  was  the  fiftieth 
anniversary  of  his  wedding,  and  that  he  had  unwit- 
tingly returned  to  the  place  just  half  a  century 
afterwards  at  the  same  hour.  He  then  learned 
from    Colonel    Kent,    the   step-brother   of    Ellen 


680  RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

Tucker,  that  the  house  had  been  moved,  and  under 
his  guidance  went  and  saw  the  still  familiar-look- 
ing rooms.  He  was  asked  to  take  part  in  the  com- 
memorative services  of  the  church,  and  read  the 
hymn  with  much  feeling,  and  without  being  dis- 
turbed by  the  difficulty  he  found  in  making  out  all 
the  words. 

His  last  public  readings,  if  they  may  be  called 
public,  were  those  of  the  paper  on  Carlyle,  before 
the  Massachusetts  Historical  Society,  February  10, 
1881,  and  the  lecture  on  "  Aristocracy "  at  the 
Concord  School  of  Philosophy  in  July  of  that  year. 
Constant  assistance  was  now  needed  to  make  sure 
of  his  recognizing  all  the  words  and  preserving  the 
order  of  his  pages.  There  was  no  very  marked 
change  in  his  appearance  ;  the  gracious  presence 
was  still  there,  though  it  did  not  retain  a  very  firm 
hold  on  the  things  of  the  earth. 

These  last  years  of  Emerson's  life  were  tranquil 
and  happy.  His  pecuniary  circumstances  were 
easy  ;  all  solicitudes  of  that  kind  had  been  removed 
from  him  by  the  skilful  management  of  his  son-in- 
law  ;  and  there  were  no  others.  The  port  was  near, 
but  to  all  appearance  the  last  waves  retained  their 
charm.  When  I  saw  him  in  Concord  in  1881,  I 
noticed  that  he  was  disinclined  to  a  long  walk, 
and  thought  the  half-mile  or  so  to  the  post-office  a 
sufficient  stint  for  the  afternoon.     But  at  Naushon, 


DECLINING   YEARS.  681 

at  his  daughter's  house,  in  the  summer,  he  enjoyed 
the  walk  of  a  mile  or  two  to  the  bathing-place  and 
back  again  after  a  plunge  in  the  sea,  and  did  not 
object  to  extending  it  into  the  beautiful  woods  be- 
yond. His  chief  enjoyment,  however,  was  in  sitting 
on  the  piazza,  watching  his  grandchildren  at  their 
sports,  and  pleased  in  the  thought  how  "  children 
nowadays  are  encouraged  to  do  things,  and  are 
taught  to  do  them." 

Calmly  as  he  looked  forward  to  the  end,  the  pros- 
pect of  prolonged  illness  would  have  been  dreadful 
to  him.  This  he  was  spared.  Early  in  the  spring 
of  1882,  a  cold,  rapidly  settling  into  pneumonia, 
carried  him  off  a  few  weeks  before  his  seventy-ninth 
birthday.  On  Sunday,  April  16,  he  went  to  church, 
both  morning  and  evening,  as  had  latterly  been  his 
wont,  and  took  a  walk  in  the  afternoon.  The  next 
day  he  was  hoarse,  and  the  hoarseness  and  a  feel- 
ing of  heaviness  increased  during  the  week,  with- 
out causing  serious  alarm  to  his  son,  Dr.  Emerson, 
until  Saturday,  when  the  fatal  symptoms  appeared. 
It  was  not  a  severe  attack,  part  only  of  one  lung 
was  affected  ;  but  the  power  of  resistance  was  gone, 
and  he  died  on  Thursday,  April  27th  ;  without  any 
suffering  until  the  very  last.  During  the  first  days 
of  his  illness,  he  made  light  of  it,  declared  that  he 
had  no  cold,  came  downstairs  and  went  to  walk, 
only  taking  more  and  longer  walks  than  usual,  be- 


682       RALPH    WALDO  EMERSON. 

cause,  he  said,  he  did  not  feel  well  in  his  chair. 
But,  on  the  fourth  day,  as  he  was  coming  down  to 
breakfast,  he  stopped,  with  an  exclamation  of  pain 
or  distress,  and  said,  "  I  hoped  it  would  not  come 
in  this  way  :  I  would  rather  —  fall  down  cellar." 
Still  he  persevered  two  days  longer  in  dressing  and 
coming  down  to  his  study,  and  listened  with  full 
enjoyment  to  the  accounts  of  an  address  which  his 
son  had  been  delivering  before  the  district  medical 
society.  In  these  last  days  in  his  study,  his 
thoughts  often  lost  their  connection,  and  he  puzzled 
over  familiar  objects.  But  when  his  eyes  fell  on 
a  portrait  of  Carry le  that  was  hanging  on  the  wall, 
he  said,  with  a  smile  of  affection,  "  That  is  that 
man,  my  man."  On  Saturday,  the  last  day  he  spent 
there,  he  insisted  at  bedtime  on  taking  apart  the 
brands  in  the  fireplace  and  making  the  accustomed 
arrangements  for  the  night,  and  declined  assistance 


*& 


to  go  upstairs. 

For  the  day  or  two  before  his  death  he  was 
troubled  by  the  thought  that  he  was  away  from 
home,  detained  by  illness  at  some  friend's  house, 
and  that  he  ought  to  make  the  effort  to  get  away 
and  relieve  him  of  the  inconvenience.  But  to  the 
last  there  was  no  delirium  ;  in  general  he  recog- 
nized every  one  and  understood  what  was  said  to 
him,  though  he  was  sometimes  unable  to  make  in- 
telligible reply.  He  took  affectionate  leave  of  his 
family  and  the  friends  who  came  to  see  him  for  the 


ILLNESS  AND  DEATH.  683 

last  time,  and  desired  to  see  all  who  came.  To  his 
wife  he  spoke  tenderly  of  their  life  together  and 
her  loving  care  of  him  ;  they  must  now  part,  to 
meet  again  and  part  no  more.  Then  he  smiled  and 
said,  "  Oh,  that  beautiful  boy !  " 

A  friend  who  watched  by  him  one  of  the  last 
nights  says :  — 

"  He  kept  (when  awake)  repeating  in  his  sono- 
rous voice,  not  yet  weakened,  fragments  of  sen- 
tences, almost  as  if  reciting.  It  seemed  strange 
and  solemn  in  the  night,  alone  with  him,  to  hear 
these  efforts  to  deliver  something  evidently  with  a 
thread  of  fine  recollection  in  it ;  his  voice  as  deep 
and  musical  almost  as  ever." 

I  was  permitted  to  see  him  on  the  day  of  his 
death.  He  knew  me  at  once,  greeted  me  with  the 
familiar  smile,  and  tried  to  rise  and  to  say  some- 
thing, but  I  could  not  catch  the  words. 

He  was  buried  on  Sunday,  April  30,  in  Sleepy 
Hollow,  a  beautiful  grove  on  the  edge  of  the  vil- 
lage, consecrated  as  a  burial-place  in  1855,  Emer- 
son delivering  the  address.1  Here,  at  the  foot  of  a 
tall  pine-tree  upon  the  top  of  the  ridge  in  the  high- 
est part  of  the  grounds,  his  body  was  laid,  not  far 
from  the  graves  of  Hawthorne  and  of  Thoreau, 
and  surrounded  by  those  of  his  kindred. 

Ten  years  before,  in  the  illness  and  depression 

1  Used  afterwards  in  the  essay  on  Immortality.    Collected  Writ- 
ings, viii.  307. 


684       RALPH   WALDO   EMERSON. 

which  followed  upon  the  burning  of  his  house,  Em- 
erson wrote  in  his  journal :  — 

"  If  I  should  live  another  year,  I  think  I  shall 
cite  still  the  last  stanza  of  niy  own  poem,  '  The 
World-Soul.'  " 

This  is  the  stanza ;  and  it  expresses,  I  think,  the 
feeling  with  which  the  crowd  of  friends  followed 
him  to  his  rest :  — 

'"  Spring  still  makes  spring  in  the  mind 
When  sixty  years  are  told  ; 
Love  wakes  anew  this  throbbing  heart, 
And  we  are  never  old. 
Over  the  winter  glaciers 
I  see  the  summer  glow, 
And  through  the  wild-piled  snow-drift 
The  warm  rosebuds  below." 


APPENDIX. 


Reverend  Mr.  Emerson's  Letter  to  the  Second 
Church  in  Boston. 

to  the  second  church  and  society. 

Boston,  December  22,  1832. 

Christian  Friends,  —  Since  the  formal  resignation 
of  my  official  relation  to  you,  in  my  communication  to 
the  proprietors  in  September,  I  had  waited  anxiously  for 
an  opportunity  of  addressing  you  once  more  from  the  pul- 
pit, though  it  were  only  to  say,  Let  us  part  in  peace  and 
in  the  love  of  God.  The  state  of  my  health  has  pre- 
vented and  continues  to  prevent  me  from  so  doing.  I 
am  now  advised  to  seek  the  benefit  of  a  sea  voyage.  I 
cannot  go  away  without  a  brief  parting  word  to  friends 
who  have  shown  me  so  much  kindness,  and  to  whom  I 
have  felt  myself  so  dearly  bound. 

Our  connection  has  been  very  short ;  I  had  only  be- 
gun my  work.  It  is  now  brought  to  a  sudden  close ; 
and  I  look  back,  I  own,  with  a  painful  sense  of  weak- 
ness, to  the  little  service  I  have  been  able  to  render,  af- 
ter so  much  expectation  on  my  part ;  to  the  checkered 
space  of  time,  which  domestic  affliction  and  personal  in- 
firmities have  made  yet  shorter  and  more  unprofitable. 


686       RALPH    WALDO  EMERSON. 

As  long  as  he  remains  in  the  same  place,  every  man 
flatters  himself,  however  keen  may  he  his  sense  of  his 
failures  and  unworthiness,  that  he  shall  yet  accomplish 
much  ;  that  the  future  shall  make  amends  for  the  past ; 
that  his  very  errors  shall  prove  his  instructors,  —  and 
what  limit  is  there  to  hope  ?  But  a  separation  from  our 
place,  the  close  of  a  particular  career  of  duty,  shuts  the 
hook,  bereaves  us  of  this  hope,  and  leaves  us  only  to 
lament  how  little  has  been  done. 

Yet,  my  friends,  our  faith  in  the  great  truths  of  the 
New  Testament  makes  the  change  of  places  and  circum- 
stances of  less  account  to  us,  by  fixing  our  attention  upon 
that  which  is  unalterable.  I  find  great  consolation  hi 
the  thought  that  the  resignation  of  my  present  relations 
makes  so  little  change  to  myself.  I  am  no  longer  your 
minister,  but  am  not  the  less  engaged,  I  hope,  to  the 
love  and  service  of  the  same  eternal  cause,  the  advance- 
ment, namely,  of  the  kingdom  of  God  in  the  hearts  of 
men.  The  tie  that  binds  each  of  us  to  that  cause  is  not 
created  by  our  connection,  and  cannot  be  hurt  by  our 
separation.  To  me,  as  one  disciple,  is  the  ministry  of 
truth,  as  far  as  I  can  discern  and  declare  it,  committed ; 
and  I  desire  to  live  nowhere  and  no  longer  than  that 
grace  of  God  is  imparted  to  me,  —  the  liberty  to  seek 
and  the  liberty  to  utter  it. 

And,  more  than  this,  I  rejoice  to  believe  that  my  ceas- 
ing to  exercise  the  pastoral  office  among  you  does  not 
make  any  real  change  in  our  spiritual  relation  to  each 
other.  Whatever  is  most  desirable  and  excellent  therein 
remains  to  us.  For,  truly  speaking,  whoever  provokes 
me  to  a  good  act  or  thought  has  given  me  a  pledge  of 


APPENDIX  A.  687 

his  fidelity  to  virtue ;  he  has  come  under  bonds  to  ad- 
here to  that  cause  to  which  we  are  jointly  attached. 
And  so  I  say  to  all  you  who  have  been  my  counsellors 
and  co-operators  in  our  Christian  walk,  that  I  am  wont 
to  see  in  your  faces  the  seals  and  certificates  of  our  mu- 
tual obligations.  If  we  have  conspired  from  week  to 
week  in  the  sympathy  and  expression  of  devout  senti- 
ments ;  if  we  have  received  together  the  unspeakable 
gift  of  God's  truth;  if  we  have  studied  together  the 
sense  of  any  divine  word,  or  striven  together  in  any 
charity,  or  conferred  together  for  the  relief  or  instruc- 
tion of  any  brother ;  if  together  we  have  laid  down  the 
dead  in  a  pious  hope,  or  held  up  the  babe  into  the  bap- 
tism of  Christianity  ;  above  all,  if  we  have  shared  in  any 
habitual  acknowledgment  of  that  benignant  God,  whose 
omnipresence  raises  and  glorifies  the  meanest  offices  and 
the  lowest  ability,  and  opens  heaven  in  every  heart  that 
worships  Him,  —  then  indeed  are  we  united ;  we  are 
mutually  debtors  to  each  other  of  faith  and  hope,  en- 
gaged to  persist  and  confirm  each  other's  hearts  in  obe- 
dience to  the  gospel.  We  shall  not  feel  that  the  nomi- 
nal changes  and  little  separations  of  this  world  can  re- 
lease us  from  the  strong  cordage  of  this  spiritual  bond. 
And  I  entreat  you  to  consider  how  truly  blessed  will 
have  been  our  connection,  if,  in  this  manner,  the  memory 
of  it  shall  serve  to  bind  each  one  of  us  more  strictly  to 
the  practice  of  our  several  duties. 

It  remains  to  thank  you  for  the  goodness  you  have 
uniformly  extended  towards  me,  for  your  forgiveness  of 
many  defects,  and  your  patient  and  even  partial  accep- 
tance of  every  endeavor  to  serve  you;  for  the  liberal 


688  RALPH    WALDO  EMERSON. 

provision  you  have  ever  made  for  my  maintenance  ;  and 
for  a  thousand  acts  of  kindness  which  have  comforted 
and  assisted  me. 

To  the  proprietors  I  owe  a  particular  acknowledg- 
ment, for  their  recent  generous  vote  for  the  continuance 
of  my  salary,  and  hereby  ask  their  leave  to  relinquish 
this  emolument  at  the  end  of  the  present  month. 

And  now,  brethren  and  friends,  having  returned  into 
your  hands  the  trust  you  have  honored  me  with,  —  the 
charge  of  public  and  private  instruction  in  this  religious 
society,  —  I  pray  God  that  whatever  seed  of  truth  and 
virtue  we  have  sown  and  watered  together  may  bear 
fruit  unto  eternal  life.  I  commend  you  to  the  Divine 
Providence.  May  He  grant  you,  in  your  ancient  sanc- 
tuary, the  service  of  able  and  faithful  teachers.  May 
He  multiply  to  your  families  and  to  your  persons  every 
genuine  blessing ;  and  whatever  discipline  may  be  ap- 
pointed to  you  in  this  world,  may  the  blessed  hope  of 
the  resurrection,  which  He  has  planted  in  the  constitu- 
tion of  the  human  soul,  and  confirmed  and  manifested 
by  Jesus  Christ,  be  made  good  to  you  beyond  the  grave. 
In  this  faith  and  hope  I  bid  you  farewell. 
Your  affectionate  servant, 

Ralph  Waldo  Emerson.   ' 


APPENDIX  B.  689 


B. 

Correspondence  with  Reverend  Henry  Ware,  Jr., 
concerning  the  dlvinity  hall  address. 

I.    Ware  to  Emerson. 

Cambbidge,  July  16,  1838. 

My  dear  Sir,  —  I  do  not  know  how  it  escaped  me 
to  thank  you  for  the  volumes  of  Carlyle ;  to  make  up 
for  which  neglect,  I  do  it  now.  I  am  glad  to  have  so 
strong  a  motive  as  this  gives  me  for  reading  him  care- 
fully and  thoroughly.  I  believe  that  I  am  not  so  far 
prejudiced  by  the  affectations  and  peculiarities  of  his 
later  manner  as  to  be  unwilling  to  perceive  and  en- 
joy what  he  has  of  manly  and  good  ;  and  I  would  will- 
ingly work  myself,  if  possible,  beyond  the  annoyance  of 
that  poor  outside.  Indeed,  I  have  always  seen  enough 
of  his  real  merits  to  wish  I  could  see  more,  and  I  hear- 
tily thank  you  for  giving  me  the  opportunity. 

It  has  occurred  to  me  that,  since  I  said  to  you  last 
night  I  should  probably  assent  to  your  unqualified  state- 
ments if  I  could  take  your  qualifications  with  them,  I 
am  bound  in  fairness  to  add  that  this  applies  only  to  a 
portion,  and  not  to  all.  With  regard  to  some,  I  must 
confess  that  they  appear  to  me  more  than  doubtful,  and 
that  their  prevalence  would  tend  to  overthrow  the  au- 
thority and  influence  of  Christianity.  On  this  account 
I  look  with  anxiety  and  no  little  sorrow  to  the  course 
which  your  mind  has  been  taking.  You  will  excuse  my 
saying  this,  which  I  probably  never  should  have  troubled 


690       RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

you  with,  if,  as  I  said,  a  proper  frankness  did  not  seem 
at  this  moment  to  require  it.  That  I  appreciate  and  re- 
joice in  the  lofty  ideas  and  beautiful  images  of  spiritual 
life  which  you  throw  out,  and  which  stir  so  many  souls, 
is  what  gives  me  a  great  deal  more  pleasure  to  say.  I 
do  not  believe  that  any  one  has  had  more  enjoyment 
from  them.  If  I  could  have  helped  it,  I  would  not  have 
let  you  know  how  much  I  feel  the  abatement,  from  the 
cause  I  have  referred  to. 

II.    Emerson  to  Ware. 

Concord,  July  28,  1838. 

What  you  say  about  the  discourse  at  Divinity  College 
is  just  what  I  might  expect  from  your  truth  and  charity, 
combined  with  your  known  opinions.  "  I  am  not  a  stock 
or  a  stone,"  as  one  said  in  the  old  time,  and  could  not  but 
feel  pain  in  saying  some  tilings  in  that  place  and  pres- 
ence which  I  supposed  might  meet  dissent,  and  the  dis- 
sent, I  may  say,  of  dear  friends  and  benefactors  of  mine. 
Yet,  as  my  conviction  is  perfect  in  the  substantial  truth 
of  the  doctrine  of  the  discourse,  and  is  not  very  new, 
you  will  see  at  once  that  it  must  appear  to  me  very  im- 
portant that  it  be  spoken  ;  and  I  thought  I  would  not 
pay  the  nobleness  of  my  friends  so  mean  a  compliment 
as  to  suppress  my  opposition  to  their  supposed  views  out 
of  fear  of  offence.  I  would  rather  say  to  them  :  These 
things  look  thus  to  me  ;  to  you  otherwise.  Let  us  say 
out  our  uttermost  word,  and  be  the  all-pervading  truth, 
as  it  surely  will,  judge  between  us.  Either  of  us  would, 
I  doubt  not,  be  equally  glad  to  be  apprised  of  his  error. 
Meantime  I  shall  be  admonished,  by  this  expression  of 


APPENDIX  B.  691 

your  thought,  to  revise  with  greater  care  the  address, 
before  it  is  printed  (for  the  use  of  the  class),  and  I 
heartily  thank  you  for  this  renewed  expression  of  your 
tried  toleration  and  love. 

Respectfully  and  affectionately  yours, 

R.  W.  E. 

III.    Ware  to  Emerson. 

Cambridge,  October  3,  1838. 

My  dear  Sir,  —  By  the  present  mail  you  will  pro- 
bably receive  a  copy  of  a  Sermon  which  I  have  just 
printed,  and  which  I  am  unwilling  should  fall  into  your 
hands  without  a  word  from  myself  accompanying  it. 
It  has  been  regarded  as  controverting  some  positions 
taken  by  you  at  various  times,  and  was  indeed  written 
partly  with  a  view  to  them.  But  I  am  anxious  to  have 
it  understood  that,  as  I  am  not  perfectly  aware  of  the 
precise  nature  of  your  opinions  on  the  subject  of  the 
discourse,  nor  upon  exactly  what  speculations  they  are 
grounded,  I  do  not  therefore  pretend  especially  to  enter 
the  lists  with  them,  but  rather  to  give  my  own  views  of 
an  important  subject,  and  of  the  evils  which  seem  to  be 
attendant  on  a  rejection  of  the  established  opinions.  I 
hope  I  have  not  argued  unfairly ;  and  if  I  assail  posi- 
tions, or  reply  to  arguments,  which  are  none  of  yours,  I 
am  solicitous  that  nobody  should  persuade  you  that  I 
suppose  them  to  be  yours ;  since  I  do  not  know  by  what 
arguments  the  doctrine  that  "  the  soul  knows  no  persons  " 
is  justified  to  your  mind. 

To  say  this  is  the  chief  purpose  of  my  writing ;  and  I 
wish  to  add  that  it  is  a  long  time  since  I  have  been  ear- 


692  RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

nestly  persuaded  that  men  are  suffering  from  want  of  suf- 
ficiently realizing  the  fact  of  the  Divine  Person.  I  used 
to  perceive  it,  as  I  thought,  when  I  was  a  minister  in  Bos- 
ton, in  talking  with  my  people,  and  to  refer  to  this  cause 
much  of  the  lifelessness  of  the  religious  character.  I 
have  seen  evils  from  the  same  cause  among  young  men 
since  I  have  been  where  I  am  ;  and  have  been  prompted 
to  think  much  of  the  question  how  they  should  be  re- 
moved. When,  therefore,  I  was  called  to  discourse  at 
length  on  the  Divine  Being,  in  a  series  of  college  ser- 
mons, it  naturally  occurred  to  me  to  give  prominence  to 
this  point,  the  rather  as  it  was  one  of  those  to  which 
attention  had  been  recently  drawn,  and  about  which  a 
strong  interest  was  felt. 

I  confess  that  I  esteem  it  particularly  unhappy  to  be 
thus  brought  into  a  sort  of  public  opposition  to  you,  for  I 
have  a  thousand  feelings  which  draw  me  toward  you,  but 
my  situation  and  the  circumstances  of  the  times  render  it 
unavoidable,  and  both  you  and  I  understand  that  we  are 
to  act  on  the  maxim,  "  Amicus  Plato,  amicus  Socrates, 
sed  magis  arnica  Veritas."  (I  believe  I  quote  right.) 
We  would  gladly  agree  with  all  our  friends ;  but  that 
being  impossible,  and  it  being  impossible  also  to  choose 
which  of  them  we  will  differ  from,  we  must  submit  to 
the  common  lot  of  thinkers,  and  make  up  in  love  of 
heart  what  we  want  in  unity  of  judgment.  But  I  am 
growing  prosy  ;  so  I  break  off. 

Yours  very  truly,  H.  Ware,  Jr. 


APPENDIX  B.  693 


IV.    Emerson  to  Ware. 

Concord,  October  8,  1838. 

My  dear  Sir,  —  I  ought  sooner  to  have  acknowl- 
edged your  kind  letter  of  last  week,  and  the  Sermon  it 
accompanied.  The  letter  was  right  manly  and  noble. 
The  Sermon,  too,  I  have  read  with  attention.  If  it 
assails  any  doctrines  of  mine,  perhaps  I  am  not  so  quick 
to  see  it  as  writers  generally,  —  certainly  I  did  not  feel 
any  disposition  to  depart  from  my  habitual  contentment 
that  you  should  say  your  thought,  whilst  I  say  mine. 

I  believe  I  must  tell  you  what  I  think  of  my  new 
position.  It  strikes  me  very  oddly  that  good  and  wise 
men  at  Cambridge  and  Boston  should  think  of  raising 
me  into  an  object  of  criticism.  I  have  always  been, 
from  my  very  incapacity  of  methodical  writing,  "  a  char- 
tered libertine,"  free  to  worship  and  free  to  rail ;  lucky 
when  I  could  make  myself  understood,  but  never  es- 
teemed near  enough  to  the  institutions  and  mind  of 
society  to  deserve  the  notice  of  the  masters  of  literature 
and  religion.  I  have  appreciated  fully  the  advantage 
of  my  position ;  for  I  well  know  that  there  is  no  scholar 
less  willing  or  less  able  to  be  a  polemic.  I  could  not 
give  account  of  myself,  if  challenged.  I  could  not  pos- 
sibly give  you  one  of  the  "  arguments  "  you  cruelly  hint 
at,  on  which  any  doctrine  of  mine  stands.  For  I  do  not 
know  what  arguments  mean  in  reference  to  any  expres- 
sion of  a  thought.  I  delight  in  telling  what  I  think,  but 
if  you  ask  how  I  dare  say  so,  or  why  it  is  so,  I  am  the 
most  helpless  of  mortal  men.     I  do  not  even  see  that 


694  RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

either  of  these  questions  admits  of  an  answer.  So  that, 
in  the  present  droll  posture  of  my  affairs,  when  I  see 
myself  suddenly  raised  into  the  importance  of  a  heretic, 
I  am  very  uneasy  when  I  advert  to  the  supposed  duties 
of  such  a  personage,  who  is  expected  to  make  good  his 
thesis  against  all  comers. 

I  certainly  shall  do  no  such  thing.  I  shall  read  what 
you  and  other  good  men  write,  as  I  have  always  done,  — 
glad  when  you  speak  my  thought,  and  skipping  the  page 
that  has  nothing  for  me.  I  shall  go  on,  just  as  before, 
seeing  whatever  I  can,  and  telling  what  I  see ;  and,  I 
suppose,  with  the  same  fortune  that  has  hitherto  at- 
tended me,  —  the  joy  of  finding  that  my  abler  and  better 
brothers,  who  work  with  the  sympathy  of  society,  loving 
and  beloved,  do  now  and  then  unexpectedly  confirm  my 
perceptions,  and  find  my  nonsense  is  only  their  own 
thought  in  motley.     And  so  I  am 

Your  affectionate  servant,         R.  W.  Emerson. 


APPENDIX  C.  695 

C. 

List  of  Mr.  Emerson's  Contributions  to  the  Dial. 

Those  marked  with  an  asterisk  (*)  seem  to  be  his, 
though  I  have  no  very  clear  evidence.  Those  marked 
with  a  dagger  (f )  appear  to  me  doubtful.  A  few  more 
pieces  are  attributed  to  him  by  Mr.  Cooke  {Journal  of 
Speculative  Philosophy,  July,  1885,  page  261),  upon 
grounds  which  do  not  seem  to  me  sufficient. 

Vol.  I.  Page  1,  The  Editors  to  the  Reader ;  84,  To 
***  [To  Eva,  Collected  Writings  ix.  87];  122,  The 
Problem;  139,  Thoughts  on  Modern  Literature;  158, 
Silence  [Eros,  ix.  300]  ;  220,  New  Poetry ;  242,  Wood- 
Notes  ;  264,  Dana's  Two  Years  before  the  Mast  * ; 
265,  Fourier's  Social  Destiny  of  Man  f  ;  339,  The  Snow- 
Storm;  347,  Suum  Cuique;  348,  The  Sphinx;  367, 
Thoughts  on  Art ;  401,  Michelangelo  f  ;  402,  Robbins's 
Worship  of  the  Soul  f  ;  523,  Man  the  Reformer. 

Vol.  II.  Page  130,  Jones  Very's  Essays  and  Poems  ; 
205,  Painting  and  Sculpture ;  Fate  ;  207,  Wood-Notes, 
II. ;  262,  W.  S.  Landor  ;  373,  The  Park  ;  Forbearance  ; 
Grace ;  374,  The  Senses  and  the  Soul ;  382,  Transcen- 
dentalism *  ;  408,  the  Ideal  Man  f  • 

Vol.  III.  Page  1,  Lecture  on  the  Times ;  72,  Tact ; 
73,  Holidays  ;  The  Amulet ;  77,  Prayers  ;  82,  Veeshnoo 
Sarma ;  86,  Fourierism  and  the  Socialists  ;  100,  Char- 
don  Street  and  Bible  Conversions ;  123,  Agriculture  of 
Massachusetts  ;  127,  Borrow's  Zincali  * ;  128,  Lock- 
hart's  Spanish  Ballads  *  ;    129,  Colton's   Tecumseh  *  ; 


696       RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

132,  Exploring  Expedition  * ;  133,  Association  of  Ge- 
ologists *  ;  Harvard  University  * ;  135,  Wordsworth's 
New  Poems ;  Tennyson  and  H.  Taylor  *  ;  136,  Schel- 
ling  in  Berlin  *  ;  181,  The  Conservative ;  227,  English 
Reformers  ;  265,  Saadi ;  276,  Brownson's  Letter  to  Dr. 
Channing  *  ;  297,  The  Transcendentalist ;  327,  To  Eva 
[Ellen]  at  the  South ;  387,  Death  of  Dr.  Channing  * ; 
414,  Confessions  of  St.  Augustine  * ;  511,  Europe  and 
European  Books ;  534,  Borrow's  Bible  in  Spain  * ; 
Browning's  Paracelsus  f. 

Vol.  IV.  Page  93,  Gifts  ;  96,  Past  and  Present ; 
104,  To  Rhea  ;  134,  Pierpont's  Anti-Slavery  Poems  *  ; 
Garrison's  Poems  *  ;  Coffin's  America  *  ;  Channing's 
Poems  *  ;  136,  To  Correspondents  *  ;  247,  The  Comic ; 
257,  Ode  to  Beauty  ;  262,  A  Letter  ;  270,  Longf  eUow's 
Spanish  Student  f  ;  271,  Percival's  Poems  f  ;  357,  Tanta- 
lus (reprinted  in  Nature,  iii.  176-186)  ;  401,  Eros ;  405, 
The  Times  [Blight,  ix.  122]  ;  484,  The  Young  Amer- 
ican ;  515,  The  Tragic ;  528,  The  Visit. 


APPENDIX  D.  697 


D. 


Letter  to  Martin  Van  Buren,  President  of  the 
United  States. 

Concord,  Mass.,  April  23,  1838. 

Sir,  —  The  seat  you  fill  places  you  in  a  relation  of 
credit  and  nearness  to  every  citizen.  By  right  and  nat- 
ural position,  every  citizen  is  your  friend.  Before  any 
acts  contrary  to  his  own  judgment  or  interest  have  re- 
pelled the  affections  of  any  man,  each  may  look  with 
trust  and  living  anticipation  to  your  government.  Each 
has  the  highest  right  to  call  your  attention  to  such  sub- 
jects as  are  of  a  public  nature  and  properly  belong  to 
the  chief  magistrate ;  and  the  good  magistrate  will  feel 
a  joy  in  meeting  such  confidence.  In  this  belief  and  at 
the  instance  of  a  few  of  my  friends  and  neighbors,  I 
crave  of  your  patience  a  short  hearing  for  their  senti- 
ments and  my  own :  and  the  circumstance  that  my  name 
will  be  utterly  unknown  to  you  will  only  give  the  fairer 
chance  to  your  equitable  construction  of  what  I  have  to 
say. 

Sir,  my  communication  respects  the  sinister  rumors 
that  fill  this  part  of  the  country  concerning  the  Cherokee 
people.  The  interest  always  felt  in  the  aboriginal  popu- 
lation —  an  interest  naturally  growing  as  that  decays  — 
has  been  heightened  in  regard  to  this  tribe.  Even  in  our 
distant  State  some  good  rumor  of  their  worth  and  civility 
has  arrived.  We  have  learned  with  joy  their  improve- 
ment in  the  social  arts.    We  have  read  their  newspapers. 


698       RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

We  have  seen  some  of  them  in  our  schools  and  colleges. 
In  common  with  the  great  body  of  the  American  peo- 
ple, we  have  witnessed  with  sympathy  the  painful  labors 
of  these  red  men  to  redeem  their  own  race  from  the 
doom  of  eternal  inferiority,  and  to  borrow  and  domesti- 
cate in  the  tribe  the  arts  and  customs  of  the  Caucasian 
race.  And  notwithstanding  the  unaccountable  apathy 
with  which  of  late  years  the  Indians  have  been  some- 
times abandoned  to  their  enemies,  it  is  not  to  be  doubted 
that  it  is  the  good  pleasure  and  the  understanding  of  all 
humane  persons  in  the  republic,  of  the  men  and  the  ma- 
trons sitting  in  the  thriving  independent  families  all  over 
the  land,  that  they  shall  be  duly  cared  for ;  that  they 
shall  taste  justice  and  love  from  all  to  whom  we  have 
delegated  the  office  of  dealing  with  them. 

The  newspapers  now  inform  us  that,  in  December, 
1835,  a  treaty  contracting  for  the  exchange  of  all  the 
Cherokee  territory  was  pretended  to  be  made  by  an 
agent  on  the  part  of  the  United  States  with  some  per- 
sons appearing  on  the  part  of  the  Cherokees ;  that  the 
fact  afterwards  transpired  that  these  deputies  did  by  no 
means  represent  the  will  of  the  nation ;  and  that,  out 
of  eighteen  thousand  souls  composing  the  nation,  fifteen 
thousand  six  hundred  and  sixty  -  eight  have  protested 
against  the  so-called  treaty.  It  now  appears  that  the 
government  of  the  United  States  choose  to  hold  the 
Cherokees  to  this  sham  treaty,  and  are  proceeding  to 
execute  the  same.  Almost  the  entire  Cherokee  nation 
stand  up  and  say,  "  This  is  not  our  act.  Behold  us. 
Here  are  we.  Do  not  mistake  that  handful  of  deserters 
for  us  ;  "  and  the  American  President  and  the  Cabinet, 


APPENDIX  D.  699 

the  Senate  and  the  House  of  Representatives,  neither 
hear  these  men  nor  see  them,  and  are  contracting  to  put 
this  active  nation  into  carts  and  boats,  and  to  dratr  them 
over  mountains  and  rivers  to  a  wilderness  at  a  vast  dis- 
tance beyond  the  Mississippi.  And  a  paper  purporting 
to  be  an  army-order  fixes  a  month  from  this  day  as  the 
hour  for  this  doleful  removal. 

In  the  name  of  God,  sir,  we  ask  you  if  this  be  so. 
Do  the  newspapers  rightly  inform  us  ?  Men  and  women 
with  pale  and  perplexed  faces  meet  one  another  in  the 
streets  and  churches  here,  and  ask  if  this  be  so.  We 
have  inquired  if  this  be  a  gross  misrepresentation  from 
the  party  opposed  to  the  government  and  anxious  to 
blacken  it  with  the  people.  We  have  looked  in  the 
newspapers  of  different  parties,  and  find  a  horrid  con- 
firmation of  the  tale.  We  are  slow  to  believe  it.  We 
hoped  the  Indians  were  misinformed,  and  that  their  re- 
monstrance was  premature,  and  will  turn  out  to  be  a 
needless  act  of  terror. 

The  piety,  the  principle  that  is  left  in  the  United 
States,  —  if  only  in  its  coarsest  form,  a  regard  to  the 
speech  of  men,  —  forbid  us  to  entertain  it  as  a  fact.  Such 
a  dereliction  of  all  faith  and  virtue,  such  a  denial  of  jus- 
tice, and  such  deafness  to  screams  for  mercy  were  never 
heard  of  in  times  of  peace  and  in  the  dealing  of  a  nation 
with  its  own  allies  and  wards,  since  the  earth  was  made. 
Sir,  does  this  government  think  that  the  people  of  the 
United  States  are  become  savage  and  mad  ?  From  their 
mind  are  the  sentiments  of  love  and  a  good  nature 
wiped  clean  out  ?  The  soul  of  man,  the  justice,  the 
mercy  that  is  the  heart's  heart  in  all  men,  from  Maine 
to  Georgia,  does  abhor  this  business. 


700       RALPH   WALDO   EMERSON. 

In  speaking  thus  the  sentiments  of  my  neighbors  and 
my  own,  perhaps  I  overstep  the  bounds  of  decorum.  But 
would  it  not  be  a  higher  indecorum  coldly  to  argue  a 
matter  like  this  ?  We  only  state  the  fact  that  a  crime 
is  projected  that  confounds  our  understandings  by  its 
magnitude,  —  a  crime  that  really  deprives  us  as  well  as 
the  Cherokees  of  a  country  ;  for  how  could  we  call  the 
conspiracy  that  should  crush  these  poor  Indians  our 
government,  or  the  land  that  was  cursed  by  their  parting 
and  dying  imprecations  our  country,  any  more  ?  You, 
sir,  will  bring  down  that  renowned  chair  in  which  you 
sit  into  infamy  if  your  seal  is  set  to  this  instrument  of 
perfidy  ;  and  the  name  of  this  nation,  hitherto  the  sweet 
omen  of  religion  and  liberty,  will  stink  to  the  world. 

You  will  not  do  us  the  injustice  of  connecting  this  re- 
monstrance with  any  sectional  and  party  feeling.  It  is 
in  our  hearts  the  simplest  commandment  of  brotherly 
love.  "We  will  not  have  this  great  and  solemn  claim 
upon  national  and  human  justice  huddled  aside  under 
the  flimsy  plea  of  its  being  a  party-act.  Sir,  to  us  the 
questions  upon  which  the  government  and  the  people 
have  been  agitated  during  the  past  year,  touching  the 
prostration  of  the  currency  and  of  trade,  seem  but  motes 
in  comparison.  These  hard  times,  it  is  true,  have 
brought  the  discussion  home  to  every  farm-house  and 
poor  man's  house  in  this  town ;  but  it  is  the  chirping  of 
grasshoppers  beside  the  immortal  question  whether  jus- 
tice shall  be  done  by  the  race  of  civilized  to  the  race  of 
savage  man,  —  whether  all  the  attributes  of  reason,  of 
civility,  of  justice,  and  even  of  mercy,  shall  be  put  off 
by  the  American  people,  and  so  vast  an  outrage  upon 


APPENDIX  D.  701 

the  Cherokee  nation  and  upon  human  nature  shall  be 
consummated. 

One  circumstance  lessens  the  reluctance  with  which 
I  intrude  at  this  time  on  your  attention  my  conviction 
that  the  government  ought  to  be  admonished  of  a  new 
historical  fact,  which  the  discussion  of  this  question  has 
disclosed,  namely,  that  there  exists  in  a  great  part  of  the 
Northern  people  a  gloomy  diffidence  in  the  moral  char- 
acter of  the  government. 

On  the  broaching  of  this  question,  a  general  expres- 
sion of  despondency,  of  disbelief  that  any  good  will 
accrue  from  a  remonstrance  on  an  act  of  fraud  and 
robbery,  appeared  in  those  men  to  whom  we  naturally 
turn  for  aid  and  counsel.  Will  the  American  govern- 
ment steal  ?  Will  it  lie  ?  Will  it  kill  ?  —  we  ask  tri- 
umphantly. Our  counsellors  and  old  statesmen  here  say 
that  ten  years  ago  they  would  have  staked  their  fife  on 
the  affirmation  that  the  proposed  Indian  measures  could 
not  be  executed  ;  that  the  unanimous  country  would  put 
them  down.  And  now  the  steps  of  this  crime  follow 
each  other  so  fast,  at  such  fatally  quick  time,  that  the 
millions  of  virtuous  citizens,  whose  agents  the  govern- 
ment are,  have  no  place  to  interpose,  and  must  shut  their 
eyes  until  the  last  howl  and  wailing  of  these  tormented 
villages  and  tribes  shall  afflict  the  ear  of  the  world. 

I  will  not  hide  from  you,  as  an  indication  of  the 
alarming  distrust,  that  a  letter  addressed  as  mine  is,  and 
suggesting  to  the  mind  of  the  executive  the  plain  obliga- 
tions of  man,  has  a  burlesque  character  in  the  apprehen- 
sions of  some  of  my  friends.  I,  sir,  will  not  beforehand 
treat  you  with  the  contumely  of  this  distrust.     I  will  at 


702       RALPH    WALDO   EMERSON. 

least  state  to  you  this  fact,  and  show  you  how  plain  and 
humane  people,  whose  love  would  he  honor,  regard  the 
policy  of  the  government,  and  what  injurious  inferences 
they  draw  as  to  the  minds  of  the  governors.  A  man 
with  your  experience  in  affairs  must  have  seen  cause  to 
appreciate  the  futility  of  opposition  to  the  moral  senti- 
ment. However  feeble  the  sufferer  and  however  great 
the  oppressor,  it  is  in  the  nature  of  things  that  the  blow 
should  recoil  upon  the  aggressor.  For  God  is  in  the 
sentiment,  and  it  cannot  be  withstood.  The  potentate 
and  the  people  perish  before  it ;  but  with  it,  and  as  its 
executor,  they  are  omnipotent. 

I  write  thus,  sir,  to  inform  you  of  the  state  of  mind 
these  Indian  tidings  have  awakened  here,  and  to  pray 
with  one  voice  more  that  you,  whose  hands  are  strong 
with  the  delegated  power  of  fifteen  millions  of  men,  will 
avert  with  that  might  the  terrific  injury  which  threatens 
the  Cherokee  tribe. 

With  great  respect,  sir,  I  am  your  fellow  citizen, 

Ralph  Waldo  Emerson. 


APPENDIX  E.  703 


E. 

To  the  Subscribers  to  the  Fund  for  the  Rebuilding 
of  Mr.  Emerson's  House  after  the  Fire  of  July 
24,  1872  :  — 

The  death  of  Mr.  Emerson  has  removed  any  objection 
which  may  have  before  existed  to  the  printing  of  the 
following  correspondence.  I  have  now  caused  this  to  be 
done,  that  each  subscriber  may  have  the  satisfaction  of 
possessing  a  copy  of  the  touching  and  affectionate  let- 
ters in  which  he  expressed  his  delight  in  this,  to  him, 
most  unexpected  demonstration  of  personal  regard  and 
attachment,  in  the  offer  to  restore  for  him  his  ruined 
home. 

No  enterprise  of  the  kind  was  ever  more  fortunate  and 
successful  in  its  purpose  and  in  its  results.  The  prompt 
and  cordial  response  to  the  proposed  subscription  was 
most  gratifying.  No  contribution  was  solicited  from 
any  one.  The  simple  suggestion  to  a  few  friends  of  Mr. 
Emerson  that  an  opportunity  was  now  offered  to  be  of 
service  to  him  was  all  that  was  needed.  From  the  first 
day  on  which  it  was  made,  the  day  after  the  fire,  let- 
ters began  to  come  in,  with  checks  for  large  and  small 
amounts,  so  that  in  less  than  three  weeks  I  was  enabled 
to  send  to  Judge  Hoar  the  sum  named  in  his  letter  as 
received  by  him  on  the  13th  of  August,  and  presented 
by  him  to  Mr.  Emerson  the  next  morning,  at  the  Old 
Manse,  with  fitting  words. 

Other  subscriptions  were  afterwards  received,  increas- 
ing the  amount  on  my  book  to  eleven  thousand  six  hun- 


704       RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

dred  and  twenty  dollars.  A  part  of  this  was  handed 
directly  to  the  builder  at  Concord.  The  balance  was 
sent  to  Mr.  Emerson  October  7,  and  acknowledged  by 
him  in  his  letter  of  October  8,  1872. 

All  the  friends  of  Mr.  Emerson  who  knew  of  the 
plan  which  was  proposed  to  rebuild  his  house  seemed  to 
feel  that  it  was  a  privilege  to  be  allowed  to  express  in 
this  way  the  love  and  veneration  with  which  he  was 
regarded,  and  the  deep  debt  of  gratitude  which  they 
owed  to  him,  and  there  is  no  doubt  that  a  much  larger 
amount  would  have  been  readily  and  gladly  offered  if  it 
had  been  required  for  the  object  in  view. 

Those  who  have  had  the  happiness  to  join  in  this 
friendly  "  conspiracy  "  may  well  take  pleasure  in  the 
thought  that  what  they  have  done  has  had  the  effect  to 
lighten  the  load  of  care  and  anxiety  which  the  calamity 
of  the  fire  brought  with  it  to  Mr.  Emerson,  and  thus 
perhaps  to  prolong  for  some  precious  years  the  serene 
and  noble  life  that  was  so  dear  to  all  of  us. 

My  thanks  are  due  to  the  friends  who  have  made  me 

the  bearer  of  this  message  of  good-will. 

Le  Baron  Russell. 
Boston,  May  8,  1882. 

Boston,  August  13,  1872. 

Dear  Mr.  Emerson,  —  It  seems  to  have  been  the 
spontaneous  desire  of  your  friends,  on  hearing  of  the 
burning  of  your  house,  to  be  allowed  the  pleasure  of  re- 
building it. 

A  few  of  them  have  united  for  this  object,  and  now 
request  your  acceptance  of  the  amount  which  I  have 
to-day  deposited  to  your  order  at  the   Concord  Bank, 


APPENDIX  E.  705 

through  the  kindness  of  our  friend,  Judge  Hoar.  They 
trust  that  you  will  receive  it  as  an  expression  of  sincere 
regard  and  affection  from  friends,  who  will,  one  and  all, 
esteem  it  a  great  privilege  to  be  permitted  to  assist  in 
the  restoration  of  your  home. 

And  if,  in  their  eagerness  to  participate  in  so  gratefid 
a  work,  they  may  have  exceeded  the  estimate  of  your 
architect  as  to  what  is  required  for  that  purpose,  they 
beg  that  you  will  devote  the  remainder  to  such  other 
objects  as  may  be  most  convenient  to  you. 

Very  sincerely  yours,  Le  Baron  Russell. 

Concord,  August  14,  1872. 
Dr.  Le  B.  Russell  :  — 

Dear  Sir,  —  I  received  your  letters,  with  the  check 
for  ten  thousand  dollars  enclosed,  from  Mr.  Barrett  last 
evening.  This  morning  I  deposited  it  to  Mr.  Emerson's 
credit  in  the  Concord  National  Bank,  and  took  a  bank 
book  for  him,  with  his  little  balance  entered  at  the 
top,  and  this  following,  and  carried  it  to  him  with  your 
letter.  I  told  him,  by  way  of  prelude,  that  some  of 
his  friends  had  made  him  treasurer  of  an  association 
who  wished  him  to  go  to  England  and  examine  Warwick 
Castle  and  other  noted  houses  that  had  been  recently 
injured  by  fire,  in  order  to  get  the  best  ideas  possible  for 
restoration,  and  then  apply  them  to  a  house  which  the 
association  was  formed  to  restore  in  this  neighborhood. 

When  he  understood  the  thing  and  had  read  your  let- 
ter, he  seemed  very  deeply  moved.  He  said  that  he  had 
been  allowed  so  far  in  life  to  stand  on  his  own  feet,  and 
that  he  hardly  knew  what  to  say,  —  that  the  kindness  of 


706       RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

his  friends  was  very  great.  I  said  what  I  thought  was  best 
in  reply,  and  told  him  that  this  was  the  spontaneous  act 
of  friends,  who  wished  the  privilege  of  expressing  in 
this  way  their  respect  and  affection,  and  was  done  only 
by  those  who  thought  it  a  privilege  to  do  so.  I  men- 
tioned Hillard,  as  you  desired,  and  also  Mrs.  Tappan, 
who,  it  seems,  had  written  to  him  and  offered  any  as- 
sistance he  might  need,  to  the  extent  of  five  thousand 
dollars,  personally. 

I  think  it  is  all  right,  but  he  said  he  must  see  the  list 
of  contributors,  and  woidd  then  say  what  he  had  to  say 
about  it.  He  told  me  that  Mr.  F.  C  Lowell,  who  was 
his  classmate  and  old  friend,  Mr.  Bangs,  Mrs.  Gurney, 
and  a  few  other  friends  had  already  sent  him  five  thou- 
sand dollars,  which  he  seemed  to  think  was  as  much  as 
he  could  bear.  This  makes  the  whole  a  very  gratifying 
result,  and  perhaps  explains  the  absence  of  some  names 
on  your  book. 

I  am  glad  that  Mr.  Emerson,  who  is  feeble  and  ill, 
can  learn  what  a  debt  of  obligation  his  friends  feel  to 
him,  and  thank  you  heartily  for  what  you  have  done 
about  it.  Very  truly  yours,  E.  R.  Hoar. 

Concord,  August  16,  1872. 

My  dear  Le  Baron,  —  I  have  wondered  and  melted 
over  your  letter  and  its  accompaniments  till  it  is  high 
time  that  I  should  reply  to  it  if  I  can.  My  misfortunes,  as 
I  have  lived  along  so  far  in  this  world,  have  been  so  few 
that  I  have  never  needed  to  ask  direct  aid  of  the  host  of 
good  men  and  women  who  have  cheered  my  life,  though 
many  a  gift  has  come  to  me.     And  this  late  calamity, 


APPENDIX  E.  707 

however  rude  and  devastating,  soon  began  to  look  more 
wonderful  in  its  salvages  than  in  its  ruins,  so  that  I  can 
hardly  feel  any  right  to  this  munificent  endowment  with 
which  you,  and  my  other  friends  through  you,  have  as- 
tonished me.  But  I  cannot  read  your  letter  or  think  of 
its  message  without  delight,  that  my  companions  and 
friends  bear  me  so  noble  a  good-will,  nor  without  some 
new  aspirations  in  the  old  heart  toward  a  better  deserv- 
ing. Judge  Hoar  has,  up  to  this  time,  withheld  from  me 
the  names  of  my  benefactors,  but  you  may  be  sure  that 
I  shall  not  rest  till  I  have  learned  them,  every  one,  to 
repeat  to  myself  at  night  and  at  morning. 

Your  affectionate  friend  and  debtor, 

R.  W.  Emerson. 
Dr.  Le  Baron  Russell. 

Concord,  October  8,  1872. 

My  dear  Doctor  Le  Baron,  —  I  received  last 
night  your  two  notes,  and  the  check,  enclosed  in  one  of 
them,  for  one  thousand  and  twenty  dollars. 

Are  my  friends  bent  on  killing  me  with  kindness? 
No,  you  will  say,  but  to  make  me  live  longer.  I  thought 
myself  sufficiently  loaded  with  benefits  already,  and  you 
add  more  and  more.  It  appears  that  you  all  will  re- 
build my  house  and  rejuvenate  me  by  sending  me  in  my 
old  days  abroad  on  a  young  man's  excursion. 

I  am  a  lover  of  men,  but  this  recent  wonderful  ex- 
perience of  their  tenderness  surprises  and  occupies  my 
thoughts  day  by  day.  Now  that  I  have  all,  or  almost 
all,  the  names  of  the  men  and  women  who  have  con- 
spired in  this  kindness  to  me  (some  of  whom  I  have 


708  RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

never  personally  known),  I  please  myself  with  the 
thought  of  meeting  each  and  asking,  Why  have  we  not 
met  before  ?  "Why  have  you  not  told  me  that  we 
thought  alike?  Life  is  not  so  long,  nor  sympathy  of 
thought  so  common,  that  we  can  spare  the  society  of 
those  with  whom  we  best  agree.  Well,  't  is  probably 
my  own  fault  by  sticking  ever  to  my  solitude.  Perhaps 
it  is  not  too  late  to  learn  of  these  friends  a  better  lesson. 

Thank  them  for  me  whenever  you  meet  them,  and 
say  to  them  that  I  am  not  wood  or  stone,  if  I  have  not 
yet  trusted  myself  so  far  as  to  go  to  each  one  of  them 
directly. 

My  wife  insists  that  I  shall  also  send  her  acknowledg- 
ments to  them  and  you.    Yours  and  theirs  affectionately, 

R.  W.  Emerson. 

Dr.  Le  Baron  Russell. 

[I  add  Mr.  Emerson's  note  of  reply  to  Judge  Hoar.] 

August  20,  1872. 
My  dear  Judge,  —  I  have  carried  for  days  a  note 
in  my  pocket  written  in  Concord  to  you,  but  not  finished, 
being  myself  an  imbecile  most  of  the  time,  and  distracted 
with  the  multiplicity  of  nothings  I  am  pretending  to  do. 
The  note  was  not  finished,  and  has  hid  itself,  but  its 
main  end  was  answered  by  your  note  containing  the  list, 
so  precious  and  so  surprising,  of  my  benefactors.  It 
cannot  be  read  with  dry  eyes  or  pronounced  with  articu- 
late voice.  Names  of  dear  and  noble  friends ;  names 
also  of  high  respect  with  me,  but  on  which  I  had  no 
known  claims ;  names,  too,  that  carried  me  back  many 
years,  as  they  were  of  friends  of  friends  of  mine  more 


APPENDIX  E.  709 

than  of  me,  and  thus  I  seemed  to  be  drawing  on  the 
virtues  of  the  departed.  Indeed,  I  ought  to  be  in  high 
health  to  meet  such  a  call  on  heart  and  mind,  and  not 
the  thoughtless  invalid  I  happen  to  be  at  present.  So 
you  must  try  to  believe  that  I  am  not  insensible  to  this 
extraordinary  deed  of  you  and  the  other  angels  in  behalf 
of  Yours  affectionately,  R.  W.  Emerson. 


710  RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 


F. 

Chronological  List  of  Lectures  and  Addresses. 

In  the  following  list  I  have  endeavored  to  set  down 
all  Mr.  Emerson's  public  discourses  (except  unpublished 
sermons)  in  the  order  in  which  they  were  first  delivered, 
omitting  repetitions  and  rearrangements.  If  published 
in  his  Collected  "Writings,  I  have  indicated  at  the  end  of 
each  note  the  volume  and  page  where  they  may  be 
found.  Of  the  unpublished  papers  I  have  generally 
given  short  abstracts,  as  far  as  possible  in  his  own  words, 
with  references  to  passages  which  have  been  printed. 
In  courses  of  lectures  the  date  is  that  of  the  first  lec- 
ture.    They  were  usually  continued  weekly. 

1830. 

Feb.  17.  Right  Hand  of  Fellowship  to  Reverend  H. 
B.  Goodwin,  Concord,  Mass.  (separately  printed  1830). 

1832. 

Sept.  9.     Sermon  on  the  Lord's  Supper    (xi.  7). 

Nov.  4.  Introductory  Lecture  before  the  Boston  So- 
ciety of  Natural  History.  (At  the  Masonic  Temple, 
Boston.)  Fitness  of  the  study  for  man.  The  earth  a 
museum,  and  the  five  senses  a  philosophical  apparatus  of 
such  perfection  that  the  pleasure  they  give  is  trifling  in 
comparison  with  the  natural  information  they  may  af- 
ford. The  Jardin  des  Plantes,  at  Paris :  the  feeling  it 
gives  of  occult  relation  between  animals  and  man.     Spe- 


APPENDIX  F.  711 

cific  advantages  of  the  pursuit:  1.  To  health.  2.  In 
the  discovery  of  economic  uses.  3.  The  generous  en- 
thusiasm it  generates.  4.  Improvement  of  mind  and 
character  through  habits  of  exact  thought.  5.  The  high- 
est office,  to  explain  man  to  himself,  —  or,  that  corre- 
spondence of  the  outward  with  the  inward  world,  by 
which  it  is  fitted  to  represent  what  we  think. 

December.  "  On  the  Relation  of  Man  to  the  Globe." 
The  preparation  made  for  man  in  the  slow  and  secular 
changes  and  melioration  of  the  surface  of  the  planet: 
his  house  built,  the  grounds  laid  out,  the  cellar  stocked. 
A  most  nicely  adjusted  proportion  established  betwixt 
his  powers  and  the  forces  with  which  he  has  to  deal. 
His  necessities  invite  him  out  to  activity,  to  exploration 
and  commerce.  The  nimble  sailor  can  change  the  form 
of  his  ship  from  a  butterfly,  all  wings,  to  a  log,  impassive 
to  the  storm.  Man  keeps  the  world  in  repair ;  makes 
climate  and  air  to  suit  him.  Then,  not  only  a  relation 
of  use,  but  a  relation  of  beauty,  subsists  between  himself 
and  nature,  which  leads  him  to  science.  Other  creatures 
reside  in  particular  places,  but  the  residence  of  man  is 

the  world. 

1834. 

Jan.  17.  "  "Water."  (At  the  Boston  Athenaeum  be- 
fore the  Mechanic's  Institute.)  The  universal  presence 
of  water,  and  its  seen  and  unseen  services  to  man : 
plucks  down  Alps  and  Andes,  and  makes  habitable  land 
for  him ;  the  circulating  medium  that  unites  all  parts  of 
the  earth,  equalizes  temperature,  supports  vegetable 
and  animal  life.  Its  external  circulation  through  nature 
makes  the  subject  of  meteorology.  Laws  of  freezing ; 
hydrostatic  pressure  ;  capillary  attraction  ;  steam. 


712       RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

.  "  Italy :  "    two    lectures.     Description    of    the 


country  and  its  wonders,  natural  and  artificial.  Uses  of 
travel :  confirmation  in  unexpected  quarters  of  our  sim- 
plest sentiments  at  home.  "  I  was  simply  a  spectator 
and  had  no  ulterior  objects.  I  collected  nothing  that 
could  be  touched  or  smelled  or  tasted,  —  neither  cameo 
nor  painting  nor  medallion ;  but  we  go  there  to  see  the 
utmost  that  social  man  can  effect,  and  I  valued  much, 
as  I  went  on,  the  growing  picture  which  the  ages  had 
painted  and  which  I  reverently  surveyed." 

May  7.  "  Naturalist."  (At  the  fourth  annual  meet- 
ing of  the  Boston  Natural  History  Society.)  The  place 
of  natural  history  in  a  scheme  of  general  education. 
We  cannot  all  be  naturalists,  but  we  may  gain  from  it  ac- 
curacy of  perception,  —  to  be  citizens  of  our  own  time, 
which  is  the  era  of  science.  The  preeminent  claim  of 
natural  science  is  that  it  seeks  directly  that  which  all 
sciences,  arts,  and  trades  seek  indirectly,  —  knowledge  of 
the  universe  we  live  in.  It  shows  man  in  the  centre, 
with  a  ray  of  relation  passing  from  him  to  every  created 
thing.  But  to  gain  this  advantage  we  must  not  lose  our- 
selves in  nomenclature.  The  student  must  be  a  poet  in 
his  severest  analysis ;  rather,  he  must  make  the  natural- 
ist subordinate  to  the  mau. 

1835. 

Jan.  29.  Six  lectures  on  Biography.  (Before  the 
Society  for  Diffusion  of  Useful  Knowledge,  at  Masonic 
Temple,  Boston.)  I.  "  Tests  of  great  men."  The  first 
question  concerning  a  man :  Has  he  any  aim  which  with 
all  his  soul  he  pursues  ?     2.  Does  he  work  for  show  ? 


APPENDIX  F.  713 

Luther,  Washington,  Lafayette,  believed  in  their  ends  ; 
Napoleon  was  no  more  a  believer  than  the  grocer  who 
displays  his  shop-window  invitingly.  3.  The  health  of 
the  mind  is  to  work  in  good-humor.  4.  Ability  to  set 
in  motion  the  minds  of  others.  5.  Belief  in  superhu- 
man influence.  Attila,  esteeming  himself  the  Scourge  of 
God,  opened  into  himself  supernal  powers.  6.  Unsel- 
fish aims.  7.  Breadth  of  vision  ;  to  be  absolved  from 
prejudice  and  to  treat  trifles  as  trifles.  II.  "  Michelan- 
gelo "  (published  in  North  American  Revieiv,  Jan., 
1837).  III.  "Martin  Luther."  Great  results,  with  tal- 
ents and  means  that  are  common  to  all  men.  His  ab- 
stract speculations  are  worthless  ;  he  had  no  appreciation 
of  scientific  truth ;  his  theology  is  Jewish ;  if  he  can 
attain  the  Christianity  of  the  first  ages  he  is  content ; 
the  ethical  law  he  states  as  a  Scripture  doctrine,  not  as 
a  philosophical  truth.  But  he  believed  deepest  what  all 
believed,  and,  at  the  same  time,  his  unsophisticated  hu- 
manity saved  him  from  fanaticism.  He  is  great  because 
his  head  and  his  heart  were  sound,  and  in  an  extraordi- 
nary crisis  he  obeyed  his  genius.  IV.  "  Milton  "  (pub- 
lished in  North  American  Review,  July,  1838).  V. 
"  George  Fox.  "  Religious  enthusiasm  opens  his  mind 
like  liberal  discipline  ;  and  he  was  by  nature  a  realist, 
even  putting  a  thing  for  a  name.  The  inward  light  can- 
not be  confined  or  transmitted  ;  so  the  stricken  soul 
wanders  away  from  churches,  and  finds  himself  at  first 
alone,  and  afterwards  to  be  in  a  degree  of  union  with  the 
good  of  each  name.  He  and  his  disciples  did  magnify 
some  trifles  ;  their  deviations  from  usage,  being  sharply 
resented,  made  them  exaggerate  their  importance.    The 


714       RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

persecution  of  the  Quakers  entitles  our  town  to  the  name 
of  "  that  hloocly  town  of  Boston."  The  severities  they 
suffered  only  gave  them  an  invincible  appetite  to  come 
hither,  and  when  the  master  of  the  ship  refused  them 
they  sailed  for  Virginia,  for  Barbadoes,  or  some  port 
whence  through  forests,  bogs,  and  Indian  camps  they 
might  arrive  at  the  prison,  the  whipping-post,  and  the 
gallows.  VI.  "Edmund  Burke."  M.  Aurelius  and 
Bacon  are  examples  of  philosophers  in  action,  but  M.  A. 
is  only  a  moralist,  and  Bacon  left  his  philosophy  when 
he  came  to  affairs.  Burke's  intellect  was  more  compre- 
hensive ;  he  was  a  man  of  science,  and  he  uses  science  to 
harmonize  particular  aims  with  the  whole  constitution 
of  society.  He  did  not  take  his  theory  as  a  basis,  but 
started  from  facts,  and  sought  to  reduce  them  to  the  best 
order  which  they  themselves  admitted.  His  taste,  his 
social  disposition,  and  his  affectionate  temper  prevented 
his  love  of  liberty  from  making  him  a  radical  reformer. 
His  eloquence  was  not  of  the  kind  of  which  we  have 
seen  eminent  examples,  in  which  the  heart,  not  the  mind, 
is  addressed,  and  from  which  the  hearer  comes  home  in- 
toxicated and  venting  himself  in  superlatives,  but  cannot 
recall  a  reason,  a  statement,  scarce  a  sentiment,  for  the 
curiosity  of  inquirers ;  nor  was  it  that  of  the  man  who 
takes  the  "  practical  view,"  awakens  no  emotion,  but 
only  extorts  votes.  His  was  the  manly  view,  such  as 
the  reason  of  nations  might  consider. 

Augfust.  Address  before  the  American  Institute  of 
Education,  "  On  the  Best  Mode  of  Inspiring  a  Correct 
Taste  in  English  Literature."  Society  divides  itself  into 
two  classes  in  reference  to  any  influences  of  learning : 


APPENDIX  F.  715 

(1)  natural  scholars  ;  (2)  persons  of  leisure  who  read. 
By  being  born  to  the  inheritance  of  the  English  speech 
we  receive  from  Nature  the  key  to  the  noblest  treasures 
of  the  world.  Idle  complaint  of  the  number  of  good 
books.  Books  are  like  the  stars  in  the  sky ;  there  are 
scarce  a  dozen  of  the  first  magnitude.  If  we  should  lose 
all  but  Shakspeare,  Milton,  and  Bacon,  the  concentrated 
attention  given  to  these  authors  might  atone  for  the  loss. 
Yet  if  you  should  read  the  same  number  of  lines  that 
you  read  in  a  day  on  the  newspapers  in  Hooker  or 
Hume,  Clarendon,  Harrington,  Burke,  a  short  time 
would  suffice  to  the  examination  of  all  the  great  British 
authors.  And  the  study  of  a  subject  is  better  than  wide 
reading.  Chaucer,  Spenser,  Shakspeare,  Bacon,  Milton, 
and  Taylor  are  a  class  by  themselves  ;  for  the  second 
class  of  the  same  age,  Ben  Jonson,  Herbert,  Herrick, 
Marvell,  Cowley,  Cudworth,  Dryden  ;  and,  for  the  third, 
Pope,  Addison,  Swift,  Hume,  Butler,  Johnson,  Gibbon, 
Smith.  There  is  no  need  that  all  should  be  scholars, 
any  more  than  that  all  should  hold  the  helm,  or  weave, 
or  sing ;  yet  I  think  every  man  capable  of  some  inter- 
est in  literature,  and  that  it  is  the  most  wholesome  and 
most  honorable  of  recreations.  But  reading  must  not 
be  passive  ;  the  pupil  must  conspire  with  the  teacher. 
Of  inventions  and  contrivances  to  aid  us,  I  have  no  hope 
from  them.  The  only  mechanical  means  of  importance 
is  cheap  editions,  in  good  type,  of  the  best  authors.  Let 
them  go  out  as  magnets  to  find  the  atoms  of  steel  that 
are  in  the  mountains  and  prairies.  (Further  passages  in 
Collected  Writings,  vii.  186;  ii.  146.) 

Sept.  12.  "  Historical  Discourse  at  Concord,  on  the 


716       RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

Second  Centennial  Anniversary  of  the  Incorporation  of 
the  Town."    (xi.  33.) 

Nov.  5.  Ten  lectures  on  "  English  Literature."  (Be- 
fore the  Society  for  the  Diffusion  of  Useful  Knowledge, 
at  the  Masonic  Temple  in  Boston.)  I.  "  Introduction." 
The  word  literature  has  in  many  ears  a  hollow  sound. 
It  is  thought  to  be  the  harmless  entertainment  of  a  few 
fanciful  persons,  but  it  has  its  deep  foundations  in  the 
nature  and  condition  of  man.  The  ideas  in  a  man's 
mind  make  him  what  he  is.  His  whole  action  and  en- 
deavor in  the  world  is  to  utter  and  give  an  external 
shape  to  his  thoughts,  to  create  outside  of  him  a  state  of 
things  conformed  to  them.  Of  the  various  ways  of  utter- 
ance, the  most  perfect  is  language.  It  is  the  nature  of 
universal  man  to  think,  but  human  history  and  our  own 
lives  are  too  close  to  us :  the  poet,  the  philosopher,  takes 
us  aside  and  shows  the  passage  of  events  as  a  spectacle, 
aids  us  to  discern  their  spiritual  meaning,  breaks  the 
chains  of  custom,  and  lets  us  see  everything  as  it  abso- 
lutely exists.  The  utterance  of  his  thoughts  to  men 
proves  the  poet's  faith  that  all  men  can  receive  them, 
and  that  all  men  are  poets,  though  in  a  less  degree. 
Man  stands  on  the  point  betwixt  spirit  and  matter,  and 
the  native  of  both  elements ;  the  true  thinker  sees  that 
one  represents  the  other,  that  the  world  is  the  mirror  of 
the  soul,  and  that  it  is  his  office  to  show  this  beautiful  re- 
lation. And  this  is  literature.  ("  Nature,"  i.  31,  32, 
34,  39,  55.)  II.  "  Permanent  Traits  of  English  Na- 
tional Genius."  Great  activity  of  mind  united  with  a 
strong  will  and  a  vigorous  constitution  of  body  charac- 
terize the  rugged  stock  from  which  the  splendid  flowers 


APPENDIX  F.  717 

of  English  wit  and  humanity  should  bloom.  The  fea- 
tures that  reappear  in  this  race  from  age  to  age,  in 
whatever  country  they  are  planted,  are  a  certain  gravity, 
humor,  love  of  home,  love  of  utility,  accuracy  of  per- 
ception, and  a  fondness  for  truth  ;  a  love  of  fair-play,  a 
respect  for  birth,  a  respect  for  women.  The  English 
muse  loves  the  field  and  the  farmyard,  the  highway  and 
the  hearthstone.  And  the  love  of  gentle  behavior,  which 
is  at  the  bottom  of  the  respect  for  birth  and  rank,  is  a 
stable  idea  in  the  English  and  American  mind,  now 
coming  to  be  placed  on  its  true  foundation.  Welsh  and 
Saxon  poetry.  III.  "The  Age  of  Fable."  By  the 
channel  of  the  Norman  language,  England  became  ac- 
quainted with  the  metrical  romances  of  the  Southern 
and  Western  nations  in  the  age  when  war  had  reduced 
the  mind  of  Europe  to  a  state  of  childishness.  Nature 
and  common  sense,  geography,  chronology,  and  chem- 
istry were  set  at  defiance,  and  wonder  piled  on  wonder 
for  the  delight  of  credulous  nations.  Contrast  of  the 
beautiful  creations  of  the  Greek  muse,  in  which  every 
fable  conveys  a  wise  and  consistent  sense,  the  stories  of 
Prometheus  and  of  Orpheus  with  the  stories  of  Merlin 
and  Arthur.  Yet,  with  the  progress  of  refinement,  the 
Romance  poet  or  novelist,  seeking  to  make  his  picture 
agreeable,  insensibly  introduces  a  fine  moral ;  uttering, 
as  Plato  said,  great  and  wise  things  which  he  does  not 
himself  understand.  Writing  only  to  stimulate  and 
please  men,  he  was  led  to  avail  himself  of  all  that  fa- 
miliar imagery  which  speaks  to  the  common  mind. 
Poetry  began  to  be  the  vehicle  of  strong  sense,  of  satire, 
and  of  images  drawn  from  the  face  of  nature  and  com- 


718       RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

mon  life.  The  popular  origin  of  English  poetry  favored 
the  unfolding  of  its  peculiar  genius,  which  may  be  al- 
ready recognized  in  the  earliest  poems  whose  diction  is 
completely  intelligible  to  us ;  the  smell  of  the  breath  of 
cattle,  and  the  household  charm  of  low  and  ordinary 
objects,  in  Robert  of  Gloucester  and  the  Vision  of  Piers 
Plowman.  ("History,"  ii.  36-38.)  IV.  "Chaucer." 
The  reader  of  Chaucer  is  struck  everywhere  with  fa- 
miliar images  and  thoughts,  for  he  is  in  the  armory  of 
English  literature.  Chaucer  is  a  man  of  strong  and 
kindly  genius,  possessing  all  his  faculties  in  that  balance 
and  symmetry  which  constitute  an  individual  a  sort  of 
universal  man,  and  fit  him  to  take  up  into  himself  all 
the  wit  and  character  of  his  age.  But  he  felt  and  main- 
tained the  dignity  of  the  laurel,  and  restored  it  in  Eng- 
land to  its  honor.  The  ancients  quote  the  poets  as  we 
quote  Scripture.  But  the  English  poets  were  forced  to 
quit  the  raised  platform  from  which  elder  bards  had 
talked  down  to  the  people;  they  had  to  recur  to  the 
primitive  and  permanent  sources  of  excitement  and  de- 
light, and  thus  laid  the  foundations  of  a  new  literature. 
As  good  sense  and  increased  knowledge  resumed  their 
rights,  the  poet  began  to  reclaim  for  himself  the  ancient 
reverence ;  as  Dante,  Shakspeare,  Spenser,  and  Milton 
have  preeminently  done.  But  with  the  French  school 
came  into  English  ground  a  frivolous  style,  which  Scott, 
Byron,  and  Moore  have  done  nothing  to  dispel.  No  one 
can  read  Chaucer  without  being  struck  with  his  sense  of 
the  dignity  of  his  art.  Equally  conspicuous  is  his  humor, 
his  love  of  gentle  behavior,  and  his  exquisite  apprecia- 
tion   of   the    female    character.     V.  and    VI.    "  Shaks- 


APPENDIX  F.  719 

peare."  Shakspeare  stands  alone  among  poets  ;  to  ana- 
lyze him  is  to  analyze  the  powers  of  the  human  mind. 
He  possesses  above  all  men  the  essential  gift  of  imagina- 
tion, the  power  of  subordinating  nature  for  the  purposes 
of  expression ;  and  never  so  purely  as  in  his  sonnets,  a 
little  volume  whose  wonderful  merit  has  been  thrown 
into  the  shade  by  the  splendor  of  his  plays.  They  are 
written  with  so  much  closeness  of  thought  and  such  even 
drowsy  sweetness  of  rhytbm  that  they  are  not  to  be  dis- 
patched in  a  hasty  paragraph,  but  deserve  to  be  studied 
in  the  critical  manner  in  which  the  Italians  explain  the 
verses  of  Dante  and  Petrarch.  But,  however  gorgeous 
is  this  power  of  creation,  it  leaves  us  without  measure 
or  standard  for  comparing  thought  with  thought.  Each 
passing  emotion  fills  the  whole  sky  of  the  poet's  mind, 
and,  untempered  by  other  elements,  would  be  a  disease. 
The  healthful  mind  keeps  itself  studiously  open  to  all  in- 
fluences ;  if  its  bold  speculation  carries  one  thought  to 
extravagance,  presently  in  its  return  it  carries  another 
as  far.  Shakspeare  added  to  a  towering  imagination 
this  self-recovering,  self-collecting  force.  His  reflective 
powers  are  very  active.  Questions  are  ever  starting  up 
in  his  mind,  as  in  that  of  the  most  resolute  sceptic,  con- 
cerning life  and  death  and  man  and  nature.  But  he  is 
not  merely  a  poet  and  a  philosopher ;  he  possesses  in  at 
least  as  remarkable  a  degree  the  clear  perception  of  the 
relations  of  the  actual  world.  He  delights  in  the  earth 
and  earthly  things.  This  drew  Shakspeare  to  the  drama. 
The  action  of  ordinary  life  in  every  sort  yielded  him  the 
element  he  longed  for.  The  secret  of  his  transcendent 
superiority  lies  in  the  joint  activity  and  constant  pres- 


720  RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

ence  of  all  these  faculties.  He  reaches  through  the  three 
kingdoms  of  man's  life,  the  moral,  the  intellectual,  and 
the  physical  being.  ("Nature,"  i.  32,  33,  38,  57.) 
VII.  "  Lord  Bacon."  Bacon  conceived  more  highly 
than  perhaps  did  any  other  man  of  the  office  of  the 
literary  man  ;  to  show,  as  a  thought  in  the  mind,  every- 
thing that  takes  place  as  event.  Nothing  so  great,  noth- 
ing too  small,  but  he  would  know  its  law.  He  seems  to 
have  taken  to  heart  the  taunts  against  speculative  men, 
as  unfit  for  business  ;  he  would  have  the  scholar  out- 
shoot  the  drudge  with  his  own  bow,  and  even  prove  his 
practical  talent  by  his  ability  for  mischief  also.  He 
surveys  every  region  of  human  wit,  and  predicts  depart- 
ments of  literature  which  did  not  then  exist.  He  is  to 
be  compared  with  Shakspeare  for  universality  ;  but  his 
work  is  fragmentary,  wants  unity.  It  lies  along  the 
ground  like  the  materials  of  an  unfinished  city.  Each 
of  Shakspeare's  dramas  hath  an  immortal  integrity.  To 
make  Bacon's  works  complete  he  must  five  to  the  end  of 
the  world.  This  want  of  integrity  is  shown  in  the  im- 
portance given  to  puerile  speculations,  and  in  the  out- 
breaks of  a  mean  spirit ;  like  the  hiss  of  a  snake  amid 
the  discourse  of  angels.  VIII.  "  Ben  Jonson,  Herrick, 
Herbert,  Wotton."  Ben  Jonson  is  the  president  of  that 
brilliant  circle  of  literary  men  which  illuminated  Eng- 
land in  Elizabeth's  and  James's  reign.  It  is  the  gen- 
eral vigor  of  his  mind,  and  not  the  dramatic  merit  of  his 
pieces,  that  has  preserved  the  credit  of  his  name.  His 
diction  is  pure,  the  sentences  perfect  and  strong,  but  the 
plays  are  dull.  Yet  it  is  no  vulgar  dulness,  but  the  dul- 
ness  of  learning  and  sense,  and  presupposes  great  intel- 


APPENDIX  F.  721 

lectual  activity  in  the  audience  ;  an  Elizabethan  age. 
And,  heavy  and  prosaic  as  his  drama  is,  he  has  written 
some  of  the  most  delicate  verses  in  the  language.  Her- 
rick's  merit  lies  in  his  power  of  glorifying  common  and 
base  objects  in  his  perfect  verse.  He  pushes  this  privi- 
lege of  the  poet  very  far,  in  the  wantonness  of  his  power. 
He  delights  to  show  the  Muse  not  nice  or  squeamish, 
but  treacling  with  firm  and  elastic  step  in  sordid  places, 
taking  no  more  pollution  than  the  sunbeam,  which  shines 
alike  on  the  carrion  and  the  violet.  George  Herbert  is 
apt  to  repel  the  reader,  on  his  first  acquaintance,  by  the 
quaint  epigrammatic  style,  then  in  vogue  in  England. 
But  the  reader  is  struck  with  the  inimitable  felicity  of 
the  diction.  The  thought  has  so  much  heat  as  to  fuse  the 
words,  so  that  language  is  wholly  flexible  in  his  hands, 
and  his  rhyme  never  stops  the  progress  of  the  sense. 
He  most  excels  in  exciting  that  feeling  which  we  call  the 
moral  sublime.  His  poems  are  the  breathings  of  a 
devout  soul  reading  the  riddle  of  the  world  with  a  poet's 
eye,  but  with  a  saint's  affections.  Sir  Henry  "Wotton 
deserves  attention  here  more  for  his  fortune  than  his 
merit.  It  would  be  hard  to  find  another  man  who  stood 
in  personal  relations  with  so  great  a  number  of  extraor- 
dinary men.  He  has  left  a  few  essays  and  some  of  his 
correspondence  with  his  gifted  contemporaries  ;  but  he  is 
better  known  by  a  few  wise  maxims  and  witty  sayings. 

The  most  copious  department  of  English  literature  in 
the  age  of  Elizabeth  and  James  is  the  drama.  I  can- 
not help  thinking  that  there  is  a  good  deal  of  tradition 
and  custom  in  the  praise  that  is  bestowed  upon  it.  If 
these  plays  really  exhibit  the  tone  of  fashionable  society, 


722  RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

we  may  thank  God  that  he  has  permitted  the  English 
race  in  both  hemispheres  to  make  a  prodigious  advance- 
ment in  purity  of  conversation  and  honesty  of  life.  IX. 
"  Ethical  Writers."  There  is  a  class  of  writers  who 
escape  oblivion,  not  through  their  learning  or  their  skill, 
or  from  satisfying  some  demand  of  the  day,  but  in  the 
very  direction  of  their  thought ;  because  they  address 
feelings  which  are  alike  in  all  men  and  all  times.  The 
moral  muse  is  eternal,  and  speaks  a  universal  language. 
Bacon,  Spenser,  Sidney,  Hooker,  John  Smith,  Henry 
More,  Leighton,  Harrington,  Milton,  Donne,  Sir  Thomas 
Brown,  John  Bunyan,  Clarendon,  Addison,  Johnson, 
Burke,  are  men  from  whose  writings  a  selection  might 
be  made  of  immortal  sentences  that  should  vie  with  that 
which  any  language  has  to  offer,  and  inspire  men  with 
the  feeling  of  perpetual  youth.  X.  "  Byron,  Scott, 
Stewart,  Mackintosh,  Coleridge  :  Modern  Aspects  of  Let- 
ters." Byron  has  a  marvellous  power  of  language,  but, 
from  pride  and  selfishness,  which  made  him  an  incurious 
observer,  it  lacked  food.  Our  interest  dies  from  famine 
of  meaning.  Cursing  will  soon  be  sufficient,  in  the  most 
skilful  variety  of  diction.  Of  Scott  it  would  be  un- 
grateful to  speak  but  with  cheerful  respect,  and  we  owe 
to  him  some  passages  of  genuine  pathos.  But,  in  gen- 
eral, what  he  contributes  is  not  brought  from  the  deep 
places  of  the  mind,  and  of  course  cannot  reach  thither. 
The  conventions  of  society  are  sufficient  for  him.  His 
taste  and  humor  happened  to  be  taken  with  the  ringing 
of  old  ballads,  with  old  armor  and  the  turrets  of  ancient 
castles  frowning  among  Scottish  hills,  and  he  said,  I  will 
make  these  tricks  of  my  fancy  so  great  and  gay  that 


APPENDIX  F.  723 

they  shall  take  attention  like  truths  and  things.      By 
force  of  talent  he    accomplished  his  purpose,   hut  the 
design  was  not  natural  and  true,  and  loses  its  interest  as 
swarms  of  new  writers  appear.     Dugald  Stewart  is  an 
excellent  scholar  and  a  lively  and  elegant  essayist  rather 
than  an    original   thinker.     Those  who    remember  the 
brilliant  promise  of  the  Introduction  to  his  philosophy, 
what  visions  floated  before  the  imagination  of  the  stu- 
dent and   how  heavily  they   are  disappointed,   will  be 
reminded  of  a  description  of  the  entrance  of  Moscow, 
which   at  a   distance    showed  a  splendid    collection  of 
domes  and  minarets,  but,  when  the  gates  were  passed, 
nothing   appeared  but  narrow  streets    and   plain   tene- 
ments.    Sir  James  Mackintosh  is  not  a  writer  of  that 
elevation  and  power  of  thought  to  justify  a  belief  that 
his  works  shall  never  be  superseded,  but  his  "  History  of 
Ethical  Philosophy  "  is  valuable  for  its   discrimination, 
for  its  suggestions,  and  for  several  definitions  of  much 
worth.     His  "  English  History  "  is  chiefly  valuable  as  it 
shows  how  history  ought  to  be  written,  —  not  as  a  narra- 
tive of  the  court,  but  a  treatment  of  all  the  topics  that 
interest  humanity.     Coleridge's  true  merit  is  not  that  of 
a  philosopher  or  of  a  poet,  but  a  critic.      He  possessed 
extreme  subtlety  of  discrimination,  surpassing  all  men 
in  the  fineness  of  his  distinctions,  and  he  has  taken  the 
widest   survey   of    the   moral,    intellectual,    and    social 
world.     His  "  Biographia  Literaria  "  is  the  best  book  of 
criticism  in  the  English  language  ;   nay,  I  do  not  know 
any  to  which  a  modern  scholar  can  be  so  much  indebted. 
His  works  are  of  very  unequal  interest;  in  his  own  judg- 
ment half  the  "  Biographia  "  and  part  of  the  third  vol- 


724       RALPH    WALDO  EMERSON. 

ume  of  the  "  Friend,"  with  a  few  of  his  poems,  were  all 
that  he  would  preserve,  and  if  you  add  the  inestimable 
little  book  called  "  Church  and  State,"  I  suppose  all 
good  judges  would  concur. 

There  remain  at  least  two  English  authors  now  alive 
[Wordsworth  and  Carlyle  ]  —  and  may  they  live  long ! 
—  who  deserve  particular  attention  as  men  of  genius 
who  obey  their  genius.  In  general  it  must  be  felt  that 
a  torpidity  has  crept  over  the  greater  faculties,  a  dispo- 
sition to  put  forms  for  things,  the  plausible  for  the  good, 
the  appearance  for  the  reality.  A  degree  of  humiliation 
must  be  felt  by  the  American  scholar  when  he  reviews 
the  great  names  of  those  who  in  England,  from  Chaucer 
down,  have  enlarged  the  limits  of  wisdom,  and  then 
reckons  how  little  this  country,  which  has  enjoyed  the 
culture  of  science  in  the  freedom  of  the  wild,  has 
added  to  the  stock.     ("  Nature,"  i.  25,  26.) 

1836. 

Dec.  8.  "The  Philosophy  of  History."  (Twelve 
lectures  at  the  Masonic  Temple,  Boston.)  I.  "  Intro- 
ductory." History  dull  because  badly  written.  True 
history  will  be  commensurate  with  man's  nature  :  it  will 
traverse  the  whole  scale  of  his  faculties,  and  describe 
the  contrast  between  his  wishes  and  his  position,  which 
constitutes  Tragedy  ;  his  sympathy  with  the  low  and  his 
desire  to  hide  it,  which  makes  Comedy.  It  will  present 
other  of  his  social  relations  besides  his  conspiracies  to 
stab  and  steal ;  it  will  show  him  in  his  house,  the  head 
of  a  little  state,  served  by  all  and  serving  all.  II. 
"  Humanity  of  Science."     The  first  process  of  the  mind 


APPENDIX  F.  725 

is  classification.  A  tyrannical  instinct  impels  it  to  re- 
duce all  facts  to  a  few  laws,  to  one  law.  Newton  sees 
an  apple  fall,  and  cries,  "  The  motion  of  the  moon  is  but 
a  larger  apple-fall."  Goethe  reduces  the  plant  to  a  leaf, 
the  animal  to  a  vertebra.  Chladni  demonstrates  the  re- 
lation between  harmonic  sound  and  proportioned  forms. 
Lamarck  finds  a  monad  of  organic  life  common  to  every 
animal,  and  becoming  a  worm,  a  mastiff,  or  a  man, 
according  to  circumstances.  He  says  to  the  caterpillar, 
How  dost  thou,  brother  ?  Please  God,  you  shall  yet  be 
a  philosopher.  And  the  instinct  finds  no  obstacle  in  the 
objects.  The  blocks  fit.  All  agents,  the  most  diverse, 
are  pervaded  by  radical  analogies  ;  and  in  deviations 
and  degradations  we  learn  that  the  law  is  not  only  firm 
and  eternal,  but  also  alive ;  that  the  creature  can  turn 
itself,  not,  indeed,  into  something  else,  but,  within  its 
own  limits,  into  deformity.  Step  by  step  we  are  ap- 
prised of  another  fact,  namely,  the  humanity  of  that 
spirit  in  which  Nature  works  ;  that  all  proceeds  from  a 
mind  congenial  with  ours.  III.  and  IV.  "Art"  and 
"  Literature."  Art  is  man's  attempt  to  rival  in  new  crea- 
tions that  which  charms  him  in  external  nature.  In  its 
most  comprehensive  sense,  literature  is  one  of  its  forms, 
but  in  the  popular  sense  they  are  coordinate  and  present 
a  contrast  of  effects.  Art  delights  in  carrying  thought 
into  action ;  literature  is  the  conversion  of  action  into 
thought.  The  architect  executes  his  dream  in  stone; 
the  poet  enchants  you  by  idealizing  your  life  and  for- 
tunes. In  both  the  highest  charm  comes  from  that 
which  is  inevitable  in  the  work ;  a  divine  necessity  over- 
powering individual  effort,  and  expressing  the  thought 


726       RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

of  mankind  in  the  time  and  place.  Homer,  Shakspeare, 
Phidias,  write  or  carve  as  a  man  ploughs  or  fights.  The 
poet  or  the  orator  speaks  that  which  his  countrymen 
recognize  as  their  own  thoughts,  but  which  they  were 
not  ready  to  say.  He  occupies  the  whole  space  between 
pure  mind  and  the  understandings  of  men.  A  defect  on 
either  side  vitiates  his  success.  ("  Art,"  ii.  327-329, 
334, 337, 339 ;  "  Intellect,"  ii.  304, 305.)  V.  "  Politics." 
Another  expression  of  the  identical  mind  of  man  is  the 
state,  the  common  conscience  enveloping  the  whole  pop- 
ulation like  an  invisible  net,  and  bringing  the  force  of  the 
whole  against  any  offender.  Government  is  possible  be- 
cause all  men  have  but  one  mind,  and,  in  consequence, 
but  one  interest.  This  demands  Democracy  as  the  form 
of  government ;  but  it  encounters  an  obstacle  in  the  ine- 
quality of  property.  From  the  confusion  of  personal 
rights  and  the  rights  of  property  have  arisen,  on  the 
one  hand,  the  sophism  of  slavery  and  of  despotic  gov- 
ernment, and,  on  the  other,  agrarianism.  Sooner  or 
later  these  forces  come  into  equilibrium.  The  code 
at  any  time  is  only  the  high-water  mark,  showing  how 
high  the  tide  rose  the  last  time.  But,  with  the  cultiva- 
tion of  the  individuals,  forms  of  government  become  of 
less  importance ;  every  addition  of  good  sense  brings 
power  on  the  side  of  justice.  ("  Politics,"  hi.  193,  196.) 
VI.  "  Religion."  The  sense  of  duty  first  acquaints 
us  with  the  great  fact  of  the  unity  of  the  mind  in  all 
individual  men.  I  seek  my  own  satisfaction  at  my 
neighbor's  cost,  and  I  find  that  he  has  an  advocate  in 
my  own  breast,  interfering  with  my  private  action  and 
persuading  me  to  act,  not  for  his  advantage  or  that  of 


APPENDIX  F.  727 

of  all  others,  for  it  has  no  reference  to  persons,  but  in 
obedience  to  the  dictate  of  the  general  mind.  Virtue 
is  this  obedience,  and  religion  is  the  accompanying 
emotion,  the  thrill  at  the  presence  of  the  universal 
soul.  Right  action  has  a  uniform  sign  in  profitable- 
ness. All  right  actions  are  useful  and  all  wrong  ac- 
tions injurious.  But  usefulness  is  only  the  sign,  never 
the  motive.  If  the  lofty  friends  of  virtue  had  listened 
to  prudent  counsellors,  and  not  held  themselves  stiffly  to 
their  own  sense,  taking  counsel  of  their  bosom  alone, 
the  race  of  mankind  would  have  been  impoverished. 
Jesus  Christ  was  a  minister  of  the  pure  reason.  The 
beatitudes  of  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount  are  nonsense  to 
the  understanding ;  the  reason  affirms  their  immutable 
truth.  This  is  the  true  Revelation,  of  which  every  na- 
tion has  some  more  or  less  perfect  transcript.  The 
effort  to  embody  it  in  an  outward  form  makes  the 
church.  But  all  attempts  to  confine  and  transmit  the 
religious  feeling  by  means  of  formulas  and  rites  have 
proved  abortive.  The  truest  state  of  thought  rested  in 
becomes  false.  Perpetually  must  we  east  ourselves,  or 
we  fall  into  error,  starting  from  the  plainest  truths  and 
keeping  the  straightest  road  of  logic.  Every  church,  the 
purest,  speedily  becomes  old  and  dead.  The  ages  of 
belief  are  succeeded  by  an  age  of  unbelief  and  a  con- 
version of  the  best  talents  to  the  active  pursuits  of  life. 
A  deep  sleep  creeps  over  the  great  functions  of  man ;  a 
timidity  concerning  rites  and  words,  diffidence  of  man's 
spiritual  nature,  whether  it  can  take  care  of  itself,  takes 
the  place  of  worship.  But  unbelief  never  lasts  long ; 
the  light  rekindles  in  some  obscure  heart,  who  denounces 


728  RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

the  deadness  of  the  church,  and  cries  aloud  for  new  and 
appropriate  forms.  Only  a  new  church  is  alive  ;  hut  all, 
while  they  were  new,  have  taught  the  same  things. 
("  Character,"  x.  95, 96.  «  Over-Soul,"  ii.  255,  258, 263, 
264,  271.  "  Spiritual  Laws,"  ii.  150,  151.  "  Preacher," 
x.  210,  212.)  VII.  "  Society."  The  man  of  genius  is 
he  who  has  received  a  larger  portion  of  the  common 
nature.  He  apprises  us  not  so  much  of  his  wealth  as  of 
the  common  wealth.  Are  his  thoughts  profound?  So 
much  the  less  are  they  his,  so  much  the  more  the  prop- 
erty of  all.  The  attraction  of  society,  of  conversation, 
friendship,  love,  is  the  delight  of  receiving  from  another 
one's  own  thoughts  and  feelings,  seeing  them  out  of  us 
and  judging  of  them  as  something  foreign  to  us.  (1.) 
The  first  society  of  nature  is  that  of  marriage,  which  has 
its  own  end  in  an  integrity  of  human  nature  hy  the  union 
of  its  two  great  parts,  intellect  and  affection.  This  is 
the  rock-foundation  of  the  nuptial  bower,  which  begins 
to  appear  when  the  air-castle  that  was  built  upon  it  has 
faded.  (2.)  Friendship.  A  man  should  live  among 
those  with  whom  he  can  act  naturally,  who  permit  and 
provoke  the  expression  of  all  his  thoughts  and  emotions. 
Yet  the  course  of  events  does  steadily  thwart  any  at- 
tempt at  very  dainty  and  select  fellowship,  and  he  who 
would  five  as  a  man  in  the  world  must  not  wait  too 
proudly  for  the  presence  of  the  gifted  and  the  good. 
The  unlike-minded  can  teach  him  much.  (3.)  The 
state.  Seldom  a  perfect  society  except  at  its  beginning 
or  in  its  crises  of  peril.  A  great  danger  or  a  strong  de- 
sire, a  war  of  defence  or  an  enterprise  of  enthusiasm, 
will  at  any  time  knit  a  whole  population  into  one  man. 


APPENDIX  F.  729 

(4.)  Philanthropic  association,  which  aims  to  increase 
the  efficiency  of  individuals  by  organization.  But  the 
gain  of  power  is  much  less  than  it  seems,  since  each 
brings  only  a  mechanical  aid  ;  does  not  apply  to  the  enter- 
prise the  infinite  force  of  one  man ;  and  in  some  propor- 
tion to  the  material  growth  is  the  spiritual  decay.  (5.) 
Sect  or  party,  an  institution  which  seems  at  first  sight 
one  of  selfishness  and  voluntary  blindness.  But  the 
necessity  for  it  is  presently  seen.  There  would  be  no 
sect  if  there  had  been  no  sect ;  but  each  is  needed  to 
correct  the  partiality  of  some  other.  The  Orthodox  Chris- 
tian builds  his  system  on  the  fear  of  sin,  the  Liberal 
builds  his  on  the  love  of  goodness.  Each,  separate 
from  the  other,  is  but  a  half  truth.  (6.)  The  disso- 
lution of  society  is  seen  in  the  mob,  the  action  of  num- 
bers without  individual  motives.  (7.)  A  contrast  is 
seen  in  the  effect  of  eloquence,  the  power  which  one 
man  in  an  age  possesses  of  uniting  men  by  addressing 
the  common  soul  of  them  all :  if,  ignorantly  or  wilfully, 
he  seeks  to  uphold  a  falsehood,  his  inspiration  and  ere- 
long his  weight  with  men  is  lost ;  instead  of  leading  the 
whole  man  he  leads  only  the  appetites  and  passions.  A 
farther  advance  in  civilization  would  drop  our  cumbrous 
modes,  and  leave  the  social  element  to  be  its  own  law  and 
to  obliterate  all  formal  bonds.  ("History,"  ii.  9.  "Friend- 
ship," ii.  184,  187.  "Compensation,"  ii.  115.)  VIII. 
"  Trades  and  Professions."  A  man's  trade  and  tools  are 
a  sort  of  Esop's  fable,  in  which  under  many  forms  the 
same  lesson  is  read.  Labor  is  the  act  of  the  individual 
going  out  to  take  possession  of  the  world.  In  the  grat- 
ification of  his  petty  wants  he  is  taught,  he  is  armed,  he 


730       RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

is  exalted.  The  farmer  stands  on  his  acres  a  robust 
student  of  nature,  surrounded  by  his  conquests  from  the 
forest,  the  mountain,  and  the  meadow ;  prophet  of  the 
seasons,  and  making,  by  his  skill,  rain,  wind,  and  sun 
serve  him  like  hired  men.  The  merchant  is  the  media- 
tor or  broker  of  all  the  farmers  of  the  earth  to  exchange 
their  products ;  in  his  head  a  map  of  all  seaports,  a 
centre  of  information  concerning  the  world  under  the 
aspect  of  production.  Look  into  one  of  these  solitary 
fliers  that  go  tilting  over  the  January  ocean,  and  see  the 
inmate  and  how  he  studies  his  lesson.  He  is  the  pensioner 
of  the  wind  ;  his  prosperity  comes  and  goes  with  the  fickle 
air.  He  is  the  man  of  his  hands,  all  eye,  all  finger, 
muscle,  skill,  and  endurance.  He  is  a  great  saver  of 
orts  and  ends,  and  a  great  quiddle.  No  man  well  knows 
how  many  fingers  he  has,  nor  what  are  the  faculties  of  a 
knife  or  a  needle,  or  the  capabilities  of  a  pine  board, 
until  he  has  seen  the  expedients  and  ambidexter  inge- 
nuity of  Jack  Tar.  Less  obviously  but  not  less  strictly 
bound  with  nature  is  the  manufacturer,  the  artificer  in 
any  kind  —  nay,  every  man  and  woman  doing  right.  Not 
only  the  factory  bell  or  the  city  clock,  but  the  revolving 
sun  saith  to  whomsoever  he  shines  upon,  What  doest 
thou  ?  And  every  employment  is  the  inlet  of  power. 
All  modes  of  act  and  thought  are  good  and  tolerable ; 
only  not  to  be  dumb  and  useless,  like  the  larva  of  the 
ant-hill,  to  be  lifted  out  when  it  is  day,  to  be  lifted  in 
when  it  is  night,  and  to  be  fed.  IX.  "Manners." 
The  unconscious  account  that  character  gives  of  itself. 
The  circumstances  of  the  poor  and  of  the  middle  classes 
in  civilized  countries,  being  unfavorable  to  independence 


APPENDIX  F.  731 

of  character,  are  unfavorable  to  manners.  The  habit  of 
power  and  authority,  the  manners  of  a  strong  will,  are 
always  imposing.  The  idea  to  which  they  approximate 
is  that  of  the  hero,  or,  in  modern  times,  the  gentleman  or 
man  of  honor;  the  self-reliant  man,  exempt  from  fear 
and  shame,  with  a  power  of  beneficence,  a  power  to 
execute  the  conceptions  of  the  soul ;  the  mean  between 
the  life  of  the  savage  and  the  life  of  the  saint.  ("  His- 
tory," ii.  28.  "  Spiritual  Laws,"  ii.  148.)  X.  "  Ethics," 
or  the  nature  of  things,  the  virtue  of  the  soul  of  the 
world  impregnating  every  atom.  Rise  to  a  certain 
height,  and  you  behold  and  predict  what  is  true  for  men 
in  all  times.  The  mind  wants  nothing  but  to  be  roused 
from  sleep,  to  be  allowed  to  perceive  reality,  the  mind 
common  to  the  universe  disclosed  to  the  individual 
through  his  own  nature.  XL  "  The  Present  Age." 
The  age  of  trade :  opens  all  doors ;  makes  peace  and 
keeps  peace ;  destroys  patriotism  and  substitutes  cosmo- 
politanism. No  man  is  in  a  passion,  and  no  man  acts 
with  self-forgetting  greatness.  You  nowhere  find  a 
churl,  and  nowhere  the  unkempt  Isaiah,  the  tart  tongue 
of  Milton,  the  plain  integrity  of  Luther,  the  sloven 
strength  of  Montaigne.  Diffusion  instead  of  concen- 
tration. We  have  freedom  from  much  nonsense  and 
superstition,  but  we  pay  a  great  price  for  it.  The  old 
faith  is  gone,  the  new  loiters.  The  world  looks  bare 
and  cold.  We  have  lost  reverence,  yet  are  timid  and 
flattering.  See  the  despondency  of  those  who  are  putting 
on  the  manly  robe  ;  when  they  are  to  direct  themselves, 
all  hope,  wisdom,  and  power  sink  flat  down.  Tendency 
to  reflection,  introversion,  morbid  views.     It  is  the  age 


732       RALPH  WALDO  EMERSON. 

of  second-thought.  But  there  is  always  a  presumption 
against  the  truth  of  a  gloomy  view.  This  nakedness 
and  want  of  object  are  only  the  hesitation,  while  the 
man  sees  the  hollowness  of  the  old,  and  does  not  yet 
know  the  resources  of  the  soul.  In  another  age  its  good 
fruits  will  appear.  XII.  "  Individualism."  The  habit 
of  reflection  which  characterizes  the  age,  when  carried 
to  its  height,  emancipates  the  spirit  from  fear.  The 
ruin  which  the  Copernican  astronomy  brought  to  our 
carnal  notions  of  man's  importance  is  made  good  by  the 
perception  which  places  reason  at  the  centre.  The  indi- 
vidual learns  that  his  place  is  as  good  as  any  place ;  his  for- 
tunes as  good  as  any.  When  he  looks  at  the  rainbow 
he  is  the  centre  of  its  arch ;  everything  out  of  him  corre- 
sponds to  his  states  of  mind,  and  becomes  intelligible  as 
he  arrives  at  the  thought  to  which  it  belongs.  He  stands 
on  the  top  of  the  world,  and  with  him,  if  he  will,  is  the 
Divinity.      («  Self-Reliance,"  ii.  82,  84.     "  History,"  ii. 

13,  30,  32.) 

1837. 

June  10.  "  Address  on  Education,"  at  Green  Street 
School,  Providence,  R.  I.  The  disease  of  which  the 
world  lies  sick  is  the  inaction  of  the  higher  faculties  of 
man.  Men  are  subject  to  things.  A  man  is  an  appen- 
dage to  a  fortune,  to  an  institution.  The  object  of  edu- 
cation is  to  emancipate  us  from  this  subjection,  to  inspire 
the  youthful  man  with  an  interest  and  a  trust  in  himself, 
and  thus  to  conspire  with  the  Divine  Providence.  If  it 
fall  short  of  this,  it  only  arms  the  senses  to  pursue  their 
low  ends  ;  it  makes  only  more  skilful  servants  of  Mam- 
mon.    ( "  Education,"  x.  128,  129,  130-132,  134.) 


APPENDIX  F.  733 

"  The  American  Scholar."  Phi  Beta  Kappa  oration 
at  Cambridge,  August  31.      (i.  81.) 

November.  "  Slavery :  an  address  delivered  in  the 
Second  Church  in  Concord,  Tuesday,  November,  1837, 
at  the  request  of  several  gentlemen." 

Dec.  6.     Ten  lectures  on  "  Human  Culture,"  at  the 
Masonic  Temple,  Boston.    I.  "  Introduction."    The  aim 
of  former  periods  was  a  shining  social  prosperity  :  they 
compromised  the  individuals  to  the  nation.     The  mod- 
ern mind  teaches  (in  extremes)  that  the  nation  exists 
for  the  individual.     The  church  of  Calvin  and  of  the 
Friends  have  ever  preached  this  doctrine  ;  our  democ- 
racy is  a  stammering  effort  to  declare  it.     The  individ- 
ual has  ceased  to  be  regarded  as  a  part,  and  has  come  to 
be  regarded  as  a  whole.     He  is  the  world.     The  new 
view  has  for  its  basis  the  ideal,  the  comparison  of  every 
action  and  object  with  the  perfect.     The  office  of  cul- 
ture is  to  domesticate  man  in  his  true  place  in  nature,  to 
demonstrate  that  no  part  of  a  man  was  made  in  vain, 
and  to  give  everything  a  just  measure  of  importance. 
II.  "  Doctrine  of  the  Hands."    In  the  mechanical  works 
which  occupy  the  majority  of  men,  any  falseness  imme- 
diately appears.     Wheat  will   not  grow  nor  iron  bend 
unless   the    lesson  they   teach  is   learned   and    obeyed, 
though  we  should  talk  a  year.    This  prospective  working 
of  nature  makes  the  din  and  smoke  of  the  city,  the  in- 
cessant drudgery,  agreeable  to  the  imagination.     Nature 
is  immensely  rich,  and  man  is  welcome  to  her  store  ; 
but  she  speaks  no  word,  will  not  beckon  or  laugh  ;  if  he 
blunders  and  starves  she  says  nothing.     She  forces  each 
to  his  proper  work,  and  makes  him  happy  in  it.     I  con- 


734       RALPH  WALDO  EMERSON. 

fess  I  hear  with  more  satisfaction  the  honest  avowal  of 
here  and  there  a  man  to  his  shuddering  neighbors,  that 
he  is  quite  content  with  this  world  and  does  not  wish 
any  other,  than  the  hope  or  the  suggestion  that  heaven 
will  emancipate  us  from  labor.  The  true  rule  for  the 
choice  of  pursuit  is  that  you  may  do  nothing  to  get 
money  that  is  not  worth  your  doing  on  its  own  account. 
III.  "  The  Head."  The  animal  has  only  a  joint  pos- 
session of  his  nature ;  nothing  in  severalty.  He  does 
after  his  kind.  The  intellect  emancipates  the  individ- 
ual, for  infinite  good  and  also  for  infinite  ill.  Man  drinks 
of  that  nature  whose  property  it  is  to  be  Cause.  With 
the  first  surge  of  that  ocean  he  affirms,  /  am.  Only 
Cause  can  say  I.  But  as  soon  as  he  has  uttered  this 
word  he  transfers  this  me  from  that  which  it  really  is  to 
the  frontier  region  of  effects,  to  his  body  and  its  appur- 
tenances, to  place  and  time.  Yet  is  he  continually 
wooed  to  abstract  himself  from  effects  and  dwell  with 
causes  ;  to  ascend  into  the  region  of  law.  Few  men  en- 
ter it,  but  all  men  belong  there.  A  man's  progress  is 
measured  by  what  he  includes  in  his  me:  if  only  the 
dining  part,  he  has  not  got  far.  The  main  thing  we 
can  do  for  the  culture  of  the  intellect  is  to  stand  out 
of  the  way  ;  to  trust  to  its  divine  power.  Two  expedi- 
ents may  be  of  service  :  (1.)  Sit  alone  :  in  your  arrange- 
ments for  residence  see  you  have  a  chamber  to  yourself, 
though  you  sell  your  coat  and  wear  a  blanket.  (2.) 
Keep  a  journal :  pay  so  much  honor  to  the  visits  of  truth 
to  your  mind  as  to  record  them.  IV.  "  Eye  and  Ear." 
They  furnish  the  external  elements  of  beauty.  All 
body  is  the  effect  of  spirit,  and  all  beauty  the  effect  of 


APPENDIX  F.  735 

truth.  The  work  of  art  represents  all  nature  within 
its  little  circuit.  The  perception  of  beauty  belongs  to 
the  nature  of  every  man,  yet,  from  defective  organiza- 
tion, it  is  very  unequal  in  different  persons.  Nothing 
marks  the  distance  of  actual  from  ideal  man  more  than 
the  want  of  it.  To  a  true  life  beauty  would  be  an  hourly 
neighbor.  A  man  should  be  all  eye,  all  ear,  to  the  in- 
timations of  the  soul  reflected  to  him  from  the  forms 
of  things  ;  he  should  purge  his  organs  by  purity  and 
self-denial.  Then  shall  the  name  of  the  world  be  beauty, 
at  last  as  it  was  at  first.  (Mostly  in  "  Poet,"  iii.  9, 
19.  «  History,"  ii.  17.  "  Art,"  ii.  334.  "  Beauty,"  vi. 
281,  etc.)  V.  "  The  Heart."  In  strictness  the  soul 
has  nothing  to  do  with  persons :  they  are  embodied 
thoughts  and  affections  on  which,  as  upon  diagrams,  the 
student  reads  his  own  nature  and  law.  Meantime  let 
not  this  absolute  condition  be  any  moment  confounded 
with  the  relative  and  actual.  This  solitude  of  essence  is 
not  to  be  mistaken  for  a  view  of  our  position  in  nature. 
Our  position  in  nature  is  the  reverse  of  this.  Let  none 
wrong  the  truth  by  too  stiffly  standing  on  the  cold  and 
proud  doctrine  of  self-sufficiency.  We  are  partial  and 
social  creatures.  Our  being  is  shared  by  thousands  who 
live  in  us  and  we  in  them.  This  impulse  of  affection  is 
not  to  be  analyzed,  but  obeyed.  Welcome  each  to  his 
part,  and  let  relations  to  them  form  as  they  will.  If  we 
believed  in  the  existence  of  strict  individuals,  in  an  in- 
finity of  hostility  in  the  enemy,  we  should  never  dare  to 
fight.  The  rule  of  conduct  in  respect  to  this  part  of  our 
nature  seems  to  be  implicit  obedience.  The  heart  in  a 
cultivated  nature  knows  its  own,  knows  that  such  and 


736  RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

such  persons  are  constitutionally  its  friends,  because  they 
are  lovers  of  the  same  tilings.  ("  Love,"  ii.  177. 
"  Friendship,"  ii.  183,  185,  187,  197,  199, 202,  203 ;  vi. 
258.)  VI.  "Being  and  Seeming."  We  yield  to  the 
promptings  of  natural  affection,  the  divine  leading  which 
relieves  us  of  individual  responsibility ;  but  the  excess  of 
social  tendency,  of  otherism  in  us,  leads  to  affectation. 
On  the  entrance  of  the  second  person  hypocrisy  begins  : 
the  man  breaks  his  being  into  shows.  Yet  it  is  shallow 
to  think  the  world  full  of  vice  because  the  conventions 
of  society,  measured  by  an  ideal  standard,  are  little 
worth.  Adam  and  John,  Edith  and  Mary,  are  generous 
and  tender-hearted  and  of  scrupulous  conduct,  while  yet 
they  are  immersed  in  these  poor  forms.  They  may  at- 
tain much  growth  before  they  shall  become  impatient  of 
all  but  what  is  real.  ("  Spiritual  Laws,"  ii.  148,  149. 
"Experience,"  iii.  51.)  VTI.  "Prudence."  Needful 
that  the  soul  come  out  to  the  external  world  and  take 
hands  and  feet.  The  man  of  genius  may  scorn  worldly 
matters  in  his  devotion  to  his  thought,  but  the  scorned 
world  will  have  its  revenge.  Health :  use  the  great 
medicines  of  sleep,  fasting,  exercise,  and  diversion. 
Sleep,  though  only  for  five  minutes,  is  the  indispensable 
cordial,  —  this  abdication  of  will  and  accepting  super- 
natural aid,  introduction  of  the  supernatural  into  the  fa- 
miliar day.  Diversion :  Sir  H.  Wotton  says  that  souls 
grow  wiser  by  lounging.  As  dangerous  a  specific  as 
wine  for  the  whole,  but  better  than  wine  for  the  sick. 
Good  manners  have  high  value  for  their  convenience  : 
the  cool  equilibrium,  the  mild,  exact  decorum  of  the 
English,  saves  from   many  annoyances.     ("  Prudence," 


APPENDIX  F.  737 

ii.  210-225.  "  Manners,"  iii.  124.)  Vni.  "  Heroism." 
(The  manuscript  wanting.  Probably  printed,  ii.  231.) 
IX.  "  Holiness."  Heroism  is  the  exaltation  of  the  indi- 
vidual, he  regarding  external  evils  and  dangers  as  the 
measure  of  his  greatness.  It  is  the  life  of  souls  of  great 
activity,  who  have  never  discriminated  between  their  in- 
dividual and  their  universal  nature  ;  really  resting  on 
the  last,  esteem  it  their  private  property.  The  saint,  on 
the  other  hand,  discriminates  too  sharply  :  cuts  it  off  and 
puts  it  far  from  him  ;  calls  it  God  and  worships  it,  and 
calls  the  other  himself  and  flouts  it.  We  miss  in  the 
devotee  the  heroic,  sprightly,  intrepid  motions  of  the 
soul,  and  feel  no  beauty  in  his  life.  Two  extremes,  su- 
perstition and  atheism,  between  which  our  being  oscil- 
lates :  the  right  religion  must  be  found  somewhere  be- 
tween. ("Preacher,"  x.  213.  "Over-Soul,"  ii.  252, 
276-278.)     X.  "  General  Views."     (MS.  wanting.) 

1838. 

March  12.  "  War."  Seventh  lecture  in  a  course  be- 
fore the  Am.  Peace  Soc.  at  the  Odeon,  Boston,  (xi. 
177.) 

July  15.  "  Address  delivered  before  the  Senior  Class 
in  Divinity  College,  Cambridge."     (i.  117.) 

July  24.  "  Literary  Ethics  :  an  oration  delivered  be- 
fore the  literary  societies  of  Dartmouth  College."  (i. 
149.) 

Dec.  5.  Ten  lectures  on  "  Human  Life,"  at  Masonic 
Temple,  Boston,  beginning  Dec.  5  and  continued  weekly. 
I.  "  The  Doctrine  of  the  Soul."  Man  is  related  by  his 
form  to  the  world  about  him  ;   by  his  soul  to  the  uni- 


738       RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

verse,  —  passing  through  what  a  scale,  from  reptile 
sympathies  to  enthusiasm  and  ecstasy.  Modern  history 
has  an  ethical  character.  Even  in  its  outbursts  of  fero- 
cious passion  it  is  the  assertion  of  justice  and  freedom. 
The  universal  relation  manifests  itself  in  the  tendency  to 
inquire  into  the  ulterior  connection  of  all  parts.  Geology 
opens  the  crust  of  the  earth  that,  like  a  material  con- 
science, it  may  tell  its  own  tale.  In  politics  the  demo- 
cratic spirit :  men  are  possessed  with  the  belief  that 
man  has  not  had  justice  done  him  by  himself.  Much  of 
the  stir  and  activity  exhibits  but  a  half-consciousness  of 
the  new  thought,  but  in  literature  a  higher  melody  has 
made  itself  heard.  The  fame  of  Mr.  Wordsworth  is 
one  of  the  most  instructive  facts,  when  it  is  considered 
how  hostile  his  genius  seemed  to  the  reigning  taste,  and 
with  what  feeble  poetic  talents  it  has  been  established. 
("  Intellect,"  ii.  306.  "  Over-Soul,"  ii.  251,  254,  255, 260, 
263,  267,  268,  270.  "  History,"  ii.  12.)  II.  "  Home." 
The  instinct  of  the  mind,  its  sense  of  stability,  demands 
some  outward  type,  a  home,  and  as  fast  as  one  and 
another  are  seen  to  be  impermanent  transfers  its  re- 
gard. To  the  infant,  the  mother,  the  bed,  the  house, 
and  furniture  supply  the  object.  Presently  these  pass 
away ;  the  boy  finds  that  he  and  they  can  part  and  he 
remain  whole.  The  old  ties  fade  and  are  succeeded 
by  new,  which  prove  equally  fleeting.  He  is  not  yet  a 
man  if  he  have  not  learned  the  household  laws,  the  pre- 
cepts of  economy,  and  how  to  reconcile  them  with  the 
promptings  of  love,  of  humanity.  A  wise  man  can  bet- 
ter afford  to  spare  all  the  marts  and  temples  and  galler- 
ies and  state-houses  and  libraries  than  this  key  that  de- 


APPENDIX  F.  739 

ciphers,  them  all.     But  the  progress  of  culture  is  to  a 
deeper  home  in  law,  the  perceived  order  .and  perfection 
beneath  the  surface  of  accident  and  change.     Whilst  he 
is  an  individual  he  has  in  him  no  assurance  of  perma- 
nence.    What  security  in  the  affections  of  a  few  mortals 
groping  like  him  for  an   immovable  foundation  ?     But 
by  happy  inspiration  or  slow  experience  he  learns  that 
wherever  he  goes  he  is  attended  by  that  which  he  seeks. 
He  no  longer  dies  daily  in  the  perishing  of  local  and 
temporary  relations,  but  finds  in  the  Divine  soul  the  rest 
which  in  so  many  types  he  had  sought,  and  learns  to 
look  on  them  as  the  movables  and  furniture  of  the  City 
of  God.      («  Education,"  x.  127,  128.     Passage  in  «  Do- 
mestic   Life.")      III.    "  School."     Man's   teachers   are 
Instinct,  Condition,  Persons,  Books,  Facts.     Instinct,  in 
the  high  sense,  is  so  much  our  teacher  as  almost  to  ex- 
clude all  other  teaching,  but  its  means  and  weapons  are 
the  secondary  instincts,  the  wants  and  faculties  that  be- 
long to  our  organization.     Magnitude  and  duration  make 
a  guide  for  beginners,  as  the  Linnasan  botany  leads  the 
way  to  the  natural  classification.     Next  the  incarnation 
of  the  spirit  in  persons.     Every  man  carries  in  him  a 
piece  of  me,  which  I  cannot  forego.     And  we  learn  as 
much  from  the  sick  as  from  the  well.     To  be  sure,  he  's 
a  poor  creature,  as  bad  as  you  or  I.     What  of  that  ? 
What  have  you  to  do  with  his  nonsense  ?     He  is  not  to 
have  any  ray  of  light,  any  pulse  of  goodness,  that  I  do 
not  make  my  own.     Yet  if  a  man  suffer  himself  to  de- 
pend on  persons,  he  will  become  deaf  and  blind.     Per- 
sons are  for  sympathy,  not  for  guidance.     Books :  they 
are  not  only  the  history,  they  are  the  uttermost  achieve- 


740  RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

merits  of  the  human  intellect.  My  great  brothers  have 
seen  that  which  I  have  not  seen.  Whilst  we  read,  the 
drawbridge  is  down ;  nothing  hinders  that  we  should  pass 
with  the  author.  And  somewhere,  somehow,  the  passage 
must  be  made ;  books  must  make  us  creative,  else  they 
are  hurtful.  Another  tuition  which  follows  us  from  the 
dawn  of  consciousness  is  that  of  facts.  Nature,  one  in 
law,  falls  upon  us  in  subdivision,  in  showers  of  facts, 
blinding  and  overwhelming  us  unless  we  can  dissolve 
them  by  spiritual  perception.  ("  The  Times,"  i.  250. 
"History,"  ii.  35.  "Spiritual  Laws,"  ii.  127,  136. 
"  Over-Soul,"  ii.  256,  259.  «  Education,"  x.  127,  130, 
132.  «Self-Reliance,"ii.64,65.)  IV.  "Love."  (Printed 
almost  entire,  ii.  159.)  V.  "  Genius."  The  enchant- 
ment of  the  intellect,  as  love  is  the  enchantment  of 
the  affections.  The  man  of  genius  is  the  typical  man, 
the  measure  of  all  the  possibilities  of  the  soul.  See  the 
effect  of  eloquence  ;  go  into  Faneuil  Hall,  and  see  how 
the  pinched,  wedged,  elbowed,  sweltering  assembly,  when 
the  chosen  man  rises,  hangs  suspended  on  his  lips.  Each, 
while  he  hears,  thinks  he  too  can  speak ;  life  is  commu- 
nicated to  our  torpid  powers,  and  an  infinite  hope.  Such 
is  this  essence  as  it  is  a  sentiment.  Within  we  feel 
its  inspirations ;  out  there  in  history  we  see  its  fatal 
strength.  It  is  in  the  world,  and  by  it  the  world  was 
made.  ("  History,"  ii.  19.  "  Self-Reliance,"  ii.  47. 
"Intellect,"  ii.  314.  "Poet,"  hi.  27.)  VI.  "The 
Protest."  The  man  of  genius  is  the  representative  man, 
because  he  is  the  entirely  sane  man,  through  whom  the 
great  intellect  speaks  unobstructed.  The  tragedy  of  life 
is  the  presence  of  the  same  energy,  but  obstructed  by 


APPENDIX  F.  741 

unfavorable  circumstances.  The  painful  dissonance  of 
the  actual.  Each  new-comer  finds  himself  an  unlooked- 
for  guest ;  there  is  no  place  for  him  congenial  to  his  as- 
pirations. Few  men  feel  that  they  are  doing  what  is 
commensurate  with  their  powers.  But  the  obstruction 
comes  in  truth  from  himself,  because  he  shares  the  in- 
ertia of  which  he  complains.  If  his  warlike  attitude  is 
made  good  by  new  impulse  from  within,  his  path  is 
made  clear  to  him.  The  opposition  has  only  the  strength 
that  we  give  to  it.  Formidable  in  appearance,  it  is  trac- 
table to  valor  and  self-trust.  VII.  "Tragedy." 
(Printed  in  the  Dial,  iv.  515.)  VIII.  '-Comedy." 
(Collected  Writings,  viii.  149.)  IX.  "  Duty."  "When 
we  look  at  life,  and  see  the  snatches  of  thought,  the 
gleams  of  goodness,  amid  the  wide  and  wild  madness, 
does  it  not  seem  to  be  a  god  dreaming  ?  The  actual 
life  and  the  intellectual  intervals  seem  to  lie  in  parallel 
lines,  and  never  meet.  Virtue  is  the  spontaneity  of  the 
will  bursting  up  into  the  world  as  a  sunbeam  out  of  the 
aboriginal  cause.  The  measure  of  its  force  is  in  the 
temptations  of  sense,  and  character  is  the  cumulative 
force  of  the  will  acquired  by  the  uniform  resistance  of 
temptation.  ("  Self-Eeliance,"  ii.  67,  78,  87.  "  Com- 
pensation," ii.  96,  97,  102,  108,  117.  "Spiritual 
Laws,"  ii.  132.)     X.    «  Demonology."     (x.  7  ;  ii.  141.) 

1839. 

Dec.  4.  Ten  lectures  on  the  "  Present  Age,"  at  the 
Masonic  Temple  in  Boston.  I.  "  Introduction."  II. 
and  III.  "  Literature."  There  is  no  luck  in  literature  ; 
it  proceeds  by  fate ;  yet  it  is  in  some  sort  a  creature  of 


742       RALPH    WALDO  EMERSON. 

time ;  the  occasion  is  administered  by  the  low  antago- 
nisms of  circumstances  which  break  the  perfect  circula- 
tion of  thought  and  allow  the  spark  to  pass.  The  char- 
acteristics of  the  age  :  (1.)  That  it  has  all  books.  (2.) 
The  multitude  and  variety  of  the  writers  :  soldiers,  sailors, 
nobles,  women,  write  books.  There  is  determined  real- 
ism ;  all  facts  are  gathered  and  sifted  by  being  subjected 
to  the  criticism  of  common  sense.  Another  trait  is  the 
feeling  of  the  Infinite.  The  child  in  the  nursery  doubts 
and  philosophizes.  He  who  has  most  united  in  himself 
the  tendencies  of  the  times  is  Goethe.  He  can  use  aD 
the  material.  Yet  the  subjectiveness,  the  egotism,  that  is 
the  vice  of  the  time,  infested  him  also.  I  am  provoked 
with  his  Olympian  self-complacency  and  his  total  want  of 
frankness.  He  works  to  astonish,  (ii.  39,  40,  61.  x. 
307,308.  Much  in  the  Dial.)  IV.  "Politics."  The 
State  and  the  Church  guard  their  purlieus  with  a  jealous 
decorum.  I  sometimes  wonder  where  their  books  find 
readers  among  mere  mortals,  who  must  sometimes  laugh 
and  are  liable  to  the  infirmity  of  sleep.  Yet  politics 
rest  on  real  foundations,  and  cannot  be  treated  with 
levity.  But  the  foundation  is  not  numbers  or  force,  but 
character.  Men  do  not  see  that  all  force  comes  from 
this,  and  that  the  disuse  of  force  is  the  education  of 
men  to  do  without  it.  Character  is  the  true  theocracy. 
It  will  one  day  suffice  for  the  government  of  the  world. 
Absolutely  speaking,  I  can  only  work  for  myself.  The 
fight  of  Leonidas,  the  hemlock  of  Socrates,  the  cross 
of  Christ,  is  not  a  personal  sacrifice  for  others,  but 
fulfils  a  high  necessity  of  his  proper  character:  the 
benefit  to  others  is  merely  contingent,     (ii.  61 ;  iii.  94, 


APPENDIX  F.  743 

191,  192,  206,  254.)     V.  "  Private  Life."     A  fact  full 
of   meaning,  the   infinite  self-trust   of   men.     No    man 
likes  anybody's  intemperance  or  scepticism  but  his  own. 
Yet  nothing  but  God   is  self-dependent.     Man  is  pow- 
erful only  by  the  multitude  of  his  affinities.     Our  being 
is  a  reproduction  of  all  the  past ;  a  congress  of  nations. 
Men  doubt  a  Divine  Power  because  to  our  best  medi- 
tation the  Divine  Nature  refuses  to  impersonate   itself. 
They  think  God  is  not ;  when  behold  all  around  them 
the  great  Cause  is  alive,  is  fife  itself,  and  matter  seems 
but  the  soft  wax  in  his  hand.     We  are  the  planters  of 
various  grains  in  the  acre  of  time ;  it  is   so  pretty  to 
scatter  this  poisoned  dust,  and  we  don't  believe  we  shall 
hear  of  it  again.     But  when  it  has  rooted  and  grown 
and  ripened,  we  eat  sickness  and  infamy  and  curses,  like 
bread.     With  a  fidelity  not  less   admirable,   Time   re- 
ceives into  its  faithful  bosom  the  brave  and  just  deed, 
the  humble  prayer,  and  it  turns  out  that  the  universe 
was  all   ear,  that  the  solitude  saw,  and  choirs   of  wit- 
nesses shall  testify  the    eternal  approbation.     A  man's 
conviction  of   the  perfectness  of    Divine   justice  is  the 
best  measure  of  his  culture.     VI.     "  Reforms."     Every 
reform  shows  me  that  there  is  somewhat  I  can  spare ; 
and  thus  how  rich  I  am !     Let  us  catch  a  golden  boon 
of  purity  and  temperance  and  mercy  from  these  faithful 
men  of  one  idea.     Other  creatures  eat  without  shame, 
but  our  eating  and  drinking  are  not  agreeable  to  the 
imagination.       All   the    objects    of    nature    accuse    our 
manner  of  life ;  we  are  touched  with  inferiority  in  the 
presence  of  the  pine  and  the  hemlock.     Meantime,  the 
reforms  of  diet  are  made  odious  to  us  by  the  foolish 


744  RALPH  WALDO  EMERSON. 

detachment  of  temperance  from  the  rest  of  life.  It 
should  be  the  sign  of  virtue  and  health,  but,  sought  of 
itself,  it  is  phlegm  or  conceit.  Our  institution  for  prop- 
erty also  involves  many  abuses.  A  man  cannot  get 
his  own  bread,  much  less  scatter  bread  to  others,  without 
stooping  himself  to  the  petty  system  of  monopoly,  force, 
and  distrust.  You  will  not  take  my  word  that  I  have 
labored  honestly  and  added  to  the  amount  of  value  in 
the  world,  but  demand  a  certificate  in  the  shape  of  a 
piece  of  silver.  Then,  the  certificates  of  labor  pass 
without  labor,  to  the  undeserving.  If  it  represented 
character,  money  would  be  given  and  taken  without 
shame ;  but  now,  in  acknowledgment  of  the  highest 
services,  of  a  priest  or  a  friend,  it  seems  unfit.  Non- 
resistance  :  doctrine  of  manual  labor,  etc.  With  regard 
to  all  these  criticisms  of  our  social  ways  the  individual 
must  resist  the  degradation  of  a  man  to  a  measure. 
But,  when  his  time  comes,  let  him  cheerfully  insist  on 
playing  his  game  out,  without  being  scared  by  the  re- 
sistance he  may  find.  People  hold  to  you  so  long  as 
you  treat  the  ideal  life  as  a  petty  dream ;  but  if  you 
propose  a  mode  of  domestic  life  in  which  trifles  shall 
descend  to  their  place  and  character  shall  rule,  this  is  an 
incredible  proposition.  And  yet  nature  is  in  earnest. 
Prayer  and  aspiration  predict  their  answer  in  facts. 
Let  us  not  heed  the  awkwardness  and  half-apprehension 
of  its  first  attempts.  "What  is  separate  in  them  do 
thou  blend  ;  what  is  finite,  exalt  to  an  infinite  aim. 
VII.  "  Keligdon."  The  annals  of  the  world  are  found 
first  in  the  mind.  An  impulse  of  sentiment  in  the 
heart  of  some  Oriental  shepherd  explodes  all  considera- 


APPENDIX  F.  745 

tions  of  prudence,  all  ties  of  custom,  and  installs  him 
as  the  interpreter  of  nature  to  half  mankind.  There 
seems  no  proportion  between  cause  and  effect.  But  who 
can  tell  from  what  profound  crater  that  spark  shot  up  ? 
The  most  wonderful  fact  in  history  is  Christianity.  A 
knot  of  young,  ardent  men,  probably  of  ingenuous  and 
bashful  complexion,  their  simple  devotion  has  resounded 
farther  than  they  dreamed.  At  the  present  day  the 
sacred  tradition  is  fast  losing  its  force.  It  is  felt  by  all 
the  young  that  the  entire  catechism  and  creed  on  which 
they  were  bred  may  be  forgotten  with  impunity.  It 
stands  now  on  the  poor  footing  of  respect.  Religion 
lurks  in  the  philanthropic  assemblies  and  private  efforts 
for  reform.  The  mind  of  tbe  age  begins  to  see  the 
infinity  shed  abroad  in  the  present  moment,  and  cannot 
quit  this  to  go  star-gazing  after  parish  circumstances 
or  Jewish  prodigies.  Open  my  eyes  by  new  virtue,  and 
I  shall  see  miracles  enough  in  the  current  moment.  Re- 
ligion does  not  seem  to  tend  now  to  a  cultus,  but  to  a 
heroic  life.  He  who  would  undertake  it  is  to  front  a 
corrupt  society  and  speak  rude  truth ;  and  he  must  be 
ready  to  meet  collision  and  suffering.  VIII.  "  Pros- 
pects. Duties."  There  is  something  low  and  imper- 
tinent in  the  tone  of  sorrow  and  anxiety  that  charac- 
terizes much  of  the  speculation  of  the  present  time. 
We  are  saturated  with  good ;  our  blunders  lead  to  suc- 
cess, and  "  the  more  falls  we  get,  move  faster  on."  Our 
attitude  should  be  reception  and  transmission  of  the 
same.  The  men  who  evince  the  force  of  the  moral 
sentiment  are  not  normal,  canonical  people,  but  enor- 
mous,  indefinite,  hastening  out  of  all  limitation.     The 


746  RALPH    WALDO  EMERSON. 

age  is  rich  and  indefinable,  far-retreating  as  the  depths 
of  the  horizon.  Let  us  not  be  too  early  old.  Our  igno- 
rance is  as  handsome  as  knowledge,  whilst  we  are  ad- 
vancing. If  we  are  not  plumed  like  birds  of  paradise, 
but  like  sparrows  and  plebeian  birds,  let  that  fact  be 
humbly  and  happily  borne  with.  Perhaps  all  that  is 
not  performance  is  preparation.  The  times,  the  men,  — 
what  are  we  all  but  the  instant  manifestation  of  the  Di- 
vine energy  ?  The  church,  which  should  represent  this 
idea,  is  poor.  What  I  hear  there  I  never  meet  else- 
where. It  speaks  in  a  dialect.  It  refers  to  a  narrow 
circle  of  experiences  and  of  persons.  IX.  "  Educa- 
tion." What  is  called  education  fails  because  of  its 
low  aim.  It  would  make  amends  for  the  Fall  of  Man 
by  teaching  him  feats  and  games.  It  aims  not  to  re- 
trieve, but  to  conceal.  Yet  to  be  taught  is  the  main 
design  hung  out  in  the  sky  and  earth.  He  that  has  no 
ambition  to  be  taught,  let  him  creep  into  his  grave  :  the 
play  is  not  worth  the  candle.  The  sun  grudges  his 
light,  the  air  his  breath,  to  him  who  stands  with  his 
hands  folded  in  the  great  school  of  God.  A  man  is  not 
a  man  who  does  not  yet  draw  on  the  universal  and  eter- 
nal soul.  (x.  133, 135-137, 141, 142, 149, 151-155 ;  iii. 
254,  255 ;  ii.  50, 129, 131.)  X.  "  Tendencies."  Society 
is  divided  between  two  opinions  :  the  assiduous  endeavor 
to  govern,  to  manage,  to  repair,  to  supply  buckles  and 
supports  by  which  the  world  may  be  made  to  last  our 
day,  and  the  resistance  of  the  young,  who  throw  away 
first  one,  then  another  habitude,  until  the  world  fears 
the  loss  of  all  regulated  energy  in  the  dreams  of  ide- 
alism.    All   progress  tends  to  a  quiet   yet  sublime  re- 


APPENDIX  F.  747 

ligion,  the  hem  of  whose  vesture  we  dare  not  touch, 
whilst  from  afar  we  predict  its  coming ;  whose  temple 
shall  be  the  household  hearth,  and  under  whose  light 
each  man  shall  do  that  work  in  which  his  genius  de- 
lights,—  shall  have  property  in  entire  nature  through 
renouncement  of  all  selfish  and  sensual  aim.  (ii.  40, 
52,  55-59,  128,  135,  258  ;  x.  88.) 

1840. 

Jan.  15.  "  Address  to  the  People  of  East  Lexington 
on  the  Dedication  of  their  Church."  The  building  of  a 
church  may  be  as  profane  a  business  as  the  building  of 
a  hotel.  It  may  proceed  from  a  love  of  liturgies,  the 
pleasure  of  partaking  in  a  quiet  social  ceremony,  a 
tasteful  and  intellectual  entertainment;  but  there  yet 
remains  a  whole  paradise  beyond,  unattained,  —  the  en- 
thusiasm, the  great  ardor  that  catches  men  up  from  time 
to  time  for  a  moment  into  its  height.  They  may  well 
build  churches  to  refresh  their  own  memory  and  affec- 
tion, to  certify  to  their  sons  that  such  a  thing  can  be. 
Know,  then,  that  your  church  is  not  builded  when  the 
last  clapboard  is  laid,  but  then  first  when  the  conscious- 
ness of  union  with  the  Supreme  Soul  dawns  on  the  lowly 
heart  of  the  worshipper. 

1841. 

Jan.  25.  "  Man  the  Reformer,"  before  the  Mercan- 
tile Library  Association,     (i.  215.) 

Aug.  11.  "The  Method  of  Nature."  Address  at 
Waterville  College,  Me.     (i.  181.) 

Dec.  2.     Eight  lectures  on  "  The  Times,"  at  Masonic 


748       RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

Temple,  in  Boston.  The  MSS.  mostly  wanting.  Largely- 
printed  in  the  Dial  and  in  Collected  Writings.  I.  "  In- 
troduction." (i.  245.)  II.  "  The  Conservative."  (i.  277.) 
III.  "  The  Poet."  (Seems  not  to  have  heen  the  "  Poet  " 
of  second  "  Essays,"  hut  mostly  "  Poetry  and  Imag- 
ination." viii.  7.)  IV.  « The  Transcendentalism"  (i. 
309.)  V.  "  Manners."  (iii.  117.)  VI.  " Character." 
(In  part,  iii.  87.)     VII.    "  Relation  to  Nature."     VIII. 

"  Prospects." 

1843. 

February.  Five  lectures  on  "  New  England,"  in  the 
city  of  New  York,  beginning  Feb.  7.  (Reported  in  New 
York  Weekly  Tribune,  Feb.  11.)  L  "Genius  of  the 
Anglo-Saxon  Race."  II.  "Trade."  III.  " Manners  and 
Customs  of  New  England."  IV.  "  Recent  Literature 
and  Spiritual  Influences."  V.  "  Results."  (The  MSS. 
only  partially  preserved.)  The  English  race  from  the 
oldest  accounts  were  marked  by  a  love  of  liberty,  yield- 
ing to  settled  authority  more  than  direct  command,  and 
by  a  respect  for  women.  When  the  Puritans  came  to 
America,  the  distinguishing  traits  were,  conscience  and 
common  sense ;  or,  in  view  of  their  objects,  religion 
and  trade.  (1.)  The  depth  of  the  religious  sentiment 
as  it  may  still  be  remembered  was  itself  an  education : 
it  raised  every  trivial  incident  to  a  colossal  dignity. 
Another  result  was  the  culture  of  the  intellect.  The 
universality  of  elementary  education  in  New  England 
is  her  praise  and  her  power  in  the  world.  To  the 
school  succeeds  the  lyceum,  a  college  for  the  young 
farmers  throughout  the  country  towns.  New  England 
furnishes  preachers  and  school  -  masters  for  the  whole 


APPENDIX  F.  749 

country,  and,  besides  these,  book-peddlers,  who  thus  at 
small  cost  see  the  world  and  supply  the  defects  of  their 
training.  (2.)  The  other  element  conspicuous  in  the 
Anglo-Saxon  mind  is  the  determination  of  blood  to  the 
hand.  The  favorite  employment  is  trade,  and  agricul- 
ture as  the  basis  of  trade.  Farming  in  New  England 
a  cold,  surly  business.  Hard  work  ill-rewarded  makes 
the  farmer  a  narrow  and  selfish  drudge.  The  best  part 
of  the  class  drained  off  to  the  city.  Behold  the  result  in 
the  cities  that  line  the  Atlantic  coast,  and  the  intellectual 
circulation  they  nourish.  Trade  flagellates  that  melan- 
choly temperament  into  health  and  contentment.  The 
good  merchant  is  a  very  considerable  person.  He  puts 
more  than  labor,  he  puts  character  and  ambition  into  his 
business.  This  runs  to  excess  and  overpowers  sentiment. 
That  repose  which  is  the  ornament  and  ripeness  of  man 
is  not  in  America.  In  our  culture  we  are  too  easily 
pleased.  A  hint  like  phrenology  is  exalted  into  a  science, 
to  outwit  the  laws  of  nature  and  pierce  to  the  courts  of 
power  and  light  by  this  dull  trick.  In  the  scholars  an 
impatience  to  rush  into  the  lists  without  enduring  the 
training.  Our  books  are  turning  into  newspapers  ;  our 
reformers  are  wearisome  talkers  ;  we  put  all  on  the  first 
die  we  cast.  Our  genius  is  tame  :  our  poems  are  chaste, 
faultless,  but  uncharacterized.  So  of  art  and  eloquence. 
We  are  receptive,  not  creative.  We  go  to  school  to 
Europe.  The  influence  of  Wordsworth,  Coleridge,  and 
Carlyle  found  readier  reception  here  than  at  home.  It 
is  remarkable  that  we  have  our  intellectual  culture  from 
one  country  and  our  duties  from  another.  A  wide  gulf 
yawns   for  the  young  American  between   his  education 


750       RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

and  his  work.  We  are  sent  to  a  feudal  school  to  learn 
democracy".  But  there  is  an  ethical  element  in  the 
mind  of  our  people  that  will  never  let  them  long  rest 
without  finding  exercise  for  the  deeper  thoughts.  It 
very  soon  found  both  Wordsworth  and  Carlyle  insuffi- 
cient. The  criticism  which  began  to  be  felt  upon  our 
church  generally  was  that  it  was  poor,  that  it  did  not 
represent  the  deepest  idea  in  man.  Meantime,  this  un- 
belief proceeds  out  of  a  deeper  belief.  We  are  in  transi- 
tion from  that  Jewish  idea  before  which  the  ages  were 
driven  like  sifted  snows,  which  all  the  literatures  of 
Europe  have  tingled  with,  to  a  more  human  and  univer- 
sal thought. 

1843. 

July  4.  "  Address  to  the  Temperance  Society  at  Har- 
vard, Mass."  A  fitting  celebration  of  the  national  anni- 
versary. The  drum  is  good  only  for  boys  and  holidays  ; 
the  militia  is  very  innocent,  and  getting  a  little  ridicu- 
lous. War  is  over,  but  the  elements  of  war  remain  ; 
the  antagonism  has  shifted  to  higher  ground.  A  man's 
foes  are  of  his  own  household,  within  his  own  skin,  a 
war  between  the  body  and  the  soul.  The  topic  not  to 
be  disconnected  from  the  whole  subject  of  that  beautiful 
self-command  by  which  alone  a  man's  fife  is  worth  keep- 
ing and  transmitting.  Whatever  we  may  think  of  par- 
ticular rules  we  must  rejoice  in  the  general  design  that 
every  man  be  master  of  his  organs.  Cannot  this  blood, 
which  in  all  men  rolls  with  such  a  burden  of  disease, 
roll  pure  ?  To  be  temperate  is  to  be  men  ;  and  for 
what  shall  we  sell  that  birthright  ?  It  seems  to  me 
that  the  conscience  in  the  coming  age  is  to  extend  its 


APPENDIX  F.  751 

jurisdiction  over  the  intellectual  as  over  the  moral  sensi- 
bility, that  men  shall  feel  the  crime  of  being  stupid  as 
they  now  feel  the  crime  of  being  fraudulent.  Yet  it  is 
not  in  bands  nor  by  pledges  to  each  other  that  the  vic- 
tory will  be  achieved,  but  in  the  isolated  will  and  devo- 
tion of  each ;  in  the  resolution  to  give  himself  no  holi- 
days, no  indulgences,  no  hesitations  in  his  clear  election 
of  the  right  and  rejection  of  the  wrong. 

1844. 

Feb.  7.  "  The  Young  American :  "  a  lecture  read 
before  the  Mercantile  Library  Association,  at  Amory 
Hall,  in  Boston,     (i.  341.) 

March  10.    "  Address  at  Second  Church." 

Aug.  1.  "  Address  on  Emancipation  in  the  British 
West  Indies."     (xi.  129.) 

Notes  for  speech  on  the  expulsion  of  Mr.  Samuel 
Hoar.  (I  know  not  if  delivered,  nor  the  precise  date  of 
writing.)  Inevitable  effect  of  the  education  of  any  peo- 
ple to  disunite  and  detach  the  individuals  from  that 
mere  animal  association  which  is  strongest  in  the  most 
barbarous  societies.  There  is  but  one  man  in  South 
Carolina  as  far  as  I  can  see  ;  the  rest  are  repeaters  of 
his  mind  :  here  there  are  so  many  that  it  is  impossible  to 
combine  them  by  any  calculation.  I  hope  when  the 
transgressor  comes  here,  clothed  with  the  earnings  of  the 
slave,  he  shall  find  a  new  accuser  and  judge  in  every 
man,  and  will  feel  that  he  is  not  helped  by  dealing  with 
the  last  man  to  deal  with  him  who  comes  next.  I  am 
far  from  wishing  that  we  should  retaliate.  We  cannot. 
We  cannot  bring  down  the  New  England  culture  and 


752  RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

intellect  to  the  South  Carolina  standard.  Let  the  Caro- 
linian who  comes  hither  receive  the  grave  rebuke  of 
your  sanity,  your  freedom.  Let  him  see  that  Massa- 
chusetts is  not  a  bloody  prison,  but  open  as  the  air,  with 
no  guards,  no  secrets,  no  fears.  We  can  do  nothing, 
only  let  us  not  do  wrong.  Let  us  call  things  by  right 
names.  Let  us  not  pretend  a  union  where  there  is 
none.  Let  us  not  treat  with  false  politeness  men  who 
have  avowed  themselves  man-stealers.  Let  us  now  put 
all  persons  on  their  guard.  Then  if  a  nation  exclude 
every  gentleman,  every  free  man  from  its  territory, 
whose  loss  is  it  ?     Who  is  the  worse  ? 

1845. 

July  22.  "  Discourse  at  Middlebury  College,"  Vt. 
(Mostly  in  x.  249,  and  iv.  249.) 

Aug.  1.  Remarks  at  a  meeting  in  Waltham  on  the 
anniversary  of  the  W.  I.  Emancipation.  (Reported  in 
New  York  Tribune,  Aug.  7.) 

Sept.  22.  "  Politics."  (Apparently  remarks  at  a 
meeting  in  Concord,  concerning  the  annexation  of 
Texas.) 

Dec.  11.  Seven  lectures  on  "Representative  Men." 
Before  the  Boston  Lyceum,  at  the  Odeon.     (iv.) 

1847. 

Feb.  10.  "Eloquence."  Before  the  Mercantile  Li- 
brary Association,  Tremont  Temple,  Boston.  Reported 
in  Boston  Journal,  Feb.  12.     (vii.  61.) 


APPENDIX  F.  753 

May  8.  Discourse  at  Nantucket.  (See  Memoir,  p. 
498.) 

November.  "  Books  or  a  Course  of  Reading;  "  "  Su- 
perlative."   At  Manchester,  England. 

1848. 

Feb.  — .  "  Natural  Aristocracy."  At  Edinburgh  (x. 
33.) 

June  7.  "  Mind  and  Manners  of  the  XIX.  Century." 
(So  reported  in  Douglas  Jerrold's  newspaper.  The  title 
on  the  covers  of  the  first  three  lectures  is  "  The  Natural 
History  of  the  Intellect.")  At  the  Portman  Square 
Literary  and  Scientific  Institution,  London.  I.  "  Powers 
and  Laws  of  Thought."  II.  "  Relation  of  Intellect  to 
Natural  Science."  III.  "  Tendencies  and  Duties  of 
Men  of  Thought."  (These  three  were  new  :  their  gen- 
eral import  has  been  given  in  the  Memoir ;  they  were 
repeated  in  the  course  in  1849  and  1850  in  Boston  and 
New  York,  and  were  substantially  the  same  with  some 
of  the  lectures  on  the  "  Natural  Method  of  Mental  Phi- 
losophy," in  1858,  and  "  Philosophy  for  the  People,"  in 
1866.)  rV.  "  Politics  and  Socialism "  (apparently 
the  fourth  lecture  of  the  course  on  the  "  Present  Age," 
1839-40).  V.  "Poetry  and  Eloquence"  (a  Boston 
lecture  of  1847).  VI.  "Natural  Aristocracy"  (the  Edin- 
burgh lecture). 

June  — .  (At  Exeter  Hall.)  "  Napoleon,"  "  Shaks- 
peare,"  "  Domestic  Life."  (Tbe  first  two  form  "  Rep- 
resentative Men,"  1845;  the  third  perhaps  "Home," 
1838.) 

Dec.  27.   "  England."    (Before  the  Mercantile  Library 


754       RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON, 

Association  at  the  Tremont  Temple,  Boston.    Mostly  in 

"  English  Traits.") 

1851. 

Marcli  21.  Six  lectures  on  the  "  Conduct  of  Life," 
at  Pittsburgh,  Pa.  (Repeated  in  Boston  and  elsewhere, 
and  printed  in  vol.  vi.  of  Collected  Writings.) 

May  3.  "  Address  to  the  Citizens  of  Concord,"  Sun- 
day evening.     (On  the  Fugitive  Slave  Law.) 

1852. 
May  11.     Address  to  Kossuth,    (xi.  357.) 

1853. 

Jan.  10.  "  Anglo-Saxon,"  at  Springfield,  HI.  (Sub- 
stantially in  "  English  Traits.") 

Feb.  27  ?  "  Anglo  -  American,"  at  Philadelphia. 
"  American "  (in  Europe)  means  speedy,  everything 
new  and  slight.  An  irresistibility  like  Nature's,  and, 
like  Nature,  without  conscience.  The  American's  motto 
is,  "  The  country,  right  or  wrong."  He  builds  shingle 
palaces,  shingle  cities,  picnic  universities,  extemporizes 
a  state.  An  admirable  fruit,  but  you  shall  not  find  one 
good,  sound,  well-developed  apple  on  the  tree.  Na- 
ture was  in  a  hurry  with  the  race,  and  never  finished 
one.  His  leather  is  not  tanned  ;  his  white-lead,  whiting  ; 
his  sulphuric  acid,  half  strength  ;  his  stone,  well-sanded 
pumpkin  pine.  The  engine  is  built  in  the  boat,  —  which 
does  not  commend  it  to  the  Englishman.  The  knees,  in- 
stead of  grand  old  oak,  are  sawed  out  of  refuse  sapling. 
At  the  Mississippi  your  Western  romance  fades  into  a 
reality  of  some  grimness.    The  men  "  follow  the  river  ;  " 


APPENDIX  F.  755 

the  people  as  well  as  the  country  are  the  work  of  the 
river,  and  are  tinged  with  its  mud.  The  American  is  a 
wilderness  of  capabilities,  of  a  many-turning  Ulyssean 
culture.  More  chambers  opened  in  his  mind  than  in  the 
Englishman's.  It  is  the  country  of  opportunity,  invit- 
ing out  all  faculties.  Every  one  tasked  beyond  his 
strength,  and  grows  early  old.  Careless  in  his  voting, 
because  he  never  feels  seriously  threatened.  Yet  it  is  to 
be  remembered  that  the  flowering  time  is  the  end :  we 
ought  to  be  thankful  that  no  hero  or  poet  hastens  to  be 
born.     (Much  in  "  Fortune  of  the  Republic,"  xi.  393.) 

1854. 

Jan.  3.  A  course  of  six  lectures  in  Philadelphia,  of 
which  the  following  were  new  :  — 

I.  "  Norseman,  and  English  Influence  in  Modern 
Civilization."  In  all  that  is  done  or  begun  towards 
right  thinking  and  practice,  we  Americans  are  met  by  a 
civilization  already  settled  and  overpowering,  the  influ- 
ence of  England.  The  culture  of  the  day,  the  thoughts 
of  men,  their  aims,  are  English  thoughts  and  aims.  The 
practical  common  sense  of  modern  society  is  the  natural 
genius  of  the  British  mind.  The  American  is  only  its 
continuation  into  new  conditions.  (The  MSS.  frag- 
mentary; probably  in  great  part  in  "  English  Traits.") 
III.  "  Poetry  and  English  Poetry."  (Substantially  in 
"  Poetry  and  Imagination,"  viii.  7.)  V.  "  France,  or 
Urbanity."  France  is  aggressively  cosmopolitan  ;  has 
built  Paris  for  the  world  ;  the  traveller  eats  lotus  and 
forgets  his  home.  From  every  corner  of  the  earth,  men 
who  have  made  their  fortunes  come  to  spend  their  old 


756       RALPH   WALDO   EMERSON. 

age  in  Paris.  The  endless  facilities,  the  boundless  good- 
humor  and  politeness  of  the  people,  full  of  entertain- 
ment, lively  as  lizards,  make  it  easy  to  live  with  them. 
It  was  said  of  Balzac  that  he  did  not  need  the  freedom 
of  cities  to  be  given  to  him,  but  was  cheered  and  wel- 
comed by  bands  of  admirers  wherever  he  presented  him- 
self. In  their  proverb,  Le  bon  Dieu  est  Franqais,  — 
God  belongs  to  their  tribe.  In  what  I  have  to  say  of 
France  I  shall  not  begin  by  canting.  I  am  born,  I  sup- 
pose, to  my  full  share  of  Saxon  nationality,  and  I  confess 
I  have  observed  that  all  people  of  Teutonic  stock  be- 
lieve there  are  certain  limits  to  the  Frenchman,  not  so 
quickly  found  in  the  neighboring  race.  They  have  good 
heads,  system,  clearness,  and  correct  taste.  Heine  said 
the  test  of  any  philosophy  was  to  translate  it  into  French. 
They  are  excellent  in  exact  science.  Everything  is 
geometrical.  The  French  muse  is  Arithmetic.  In  lit- 
erature, lucid  and  agreeable.  If  life  were  long  enough, 
we  could  spend  agreeable  years  in  libraries  of  French 
Memoires.  But  they  have  few  examples  of  a  profounder 
class,  no  single  example  of  imagination,  and  never  a 
poet ;  no  jet  of  fire.  The  office  of  France  is  to  popu- 
larize ideas.  Their  purpose  is  to  be  amused,  and  they 
turn  everything  to  amusement :  "  wise  in  pleasures,  fool- 
ish in  affairs."  Everything  bubbles  up  at  the  surface  of 
that  enormous  whirlpool,  and  gives  place  as  fast  to  a 
newer  spectacle.  They  attitudinize ;  they  dramatize 
their  own  deaths.  They  write  and  they  act,  for  effect. 
They  have  no  homes,  but  live  in  public.  I  suppose 
there  was  never  anything  more  excellent  in  its  way  than 
the  play  of  talent,  wit,  science,  and  epicureanism  in  the 


APPENDIX  F.  757 

French  salons  at  the  best  period.  A  nation  of  talkers. 
Late  and  early  it  will  be  found  that  they  have  reasoned 
best  and  best  discussed  what  other  nations  have  best 
done.  Then  I  think  that  the  sense  which  they  give  to  the 
word  amour  is  the  serious  bar  to  their  civilization.  The 
French  ideas  are  subversive  of  what  Saxon  men  under- 
stand by  society.  Yet  perhaps  these  things  which  dis- 
parage the  French  are  the  salient  points  which  must 
strike  the  spectator,  but  not  really  the  essential  traits. 
Here  was  born  Fenelon  the  saint ;  Montesquieu,  who 
"  found  the  lost  titles  of  the  human  race ;  "  Pascal ; 
Mme.  Guion  ;  Mme.  de  Stael.  And,  to  all  good  readers 
in  French  books,  there  is  conclusive  proof  of  modera- 
tion, culture,  practical  judgment,  love  of  the  best,  or 
wisdom. 

March  7.  "  The  Seventh  of  March."  Lecture  read 
in  the  Tabernacle,  New  York  city.     (xi.  203.) 

Aug.  15.  "Address  to  the  Adelphi  Union  of  Wil- 
liamstown  College."  The  scholars  an  organic  caste  or 
class  in  the  State.  Men  toil  and  sweat,  earn  money, 
save,  consent  to  servile  compliance,  all  to  raise  them- 
selves out  of  the  necessity  of  being  menial  and  over- 
borne. For  this  they  educate  their  children,  to  expi- 
ate their  own  shortcomings.  Art,  libraries,  colleges, 
churches,  attest  the  respect  to  what  is  ulterior,  —  to  the- 
ism, to  thought,  which  superexist  by  the  same  elemen- 
tal necessity  as  flame  above  fire.  Our  Anglo-Saxon  so- 
ciety is  a  great  industrial  corporation.  It  sees  very  well 
the  rules  indispensable  to  success.  You  must  make 
trade  eveiything.  Trade  is  not  to  know  friends,  or  wife, 
or  child,  or  country.     But  this  walking  ledger  knows 


758       RALPH    WALDO  EMERSON. 

that  though  he,  poor  fellow,  has  put  off  his  royal  robes, 
somewhere  the  noble  humanity  survives,  and  this  con- 
soles him  for  the  brevity  and  meanness  of  his  street-life. 
He  has  not  been  able  to  bide  from  himself  that  this  de- 
votion to  means  is  an  absurdity  ;  is,  for  a  livelihood,  to 
defeat  the  ends  of  living.  And  it  is  out  of  the  wish  to 
preserve  sanity,  to  establish  the  minor  propositions  with- 
out tin-owing  overboard  the  major  proposition,  how  not 
to  lose  the  troop  in  the  care  for  the  baggage,  that  he  has 
said,  Let  there  be  schools,  a  clergy,  art,  music,  poetry, 
the  college.  But  if  the  youth,  looking  over  the  college- 
wall  at  the  houses  and  the  lives  of  the  founders,  make 
the  mistake  of  imitating  them,  they  may  well  say,  "  We 
paid  you  that  you  might  not  be  a  merchant.  We  bought 
and  sold  that  you  might  not  buy  and  sell,  but  reveal  the 
reason  of  trade.  We  did  not  want  apes  of  us,  but  guides 
and  commanders."  This  atheism  of  the  priest,  this  prose 
in  the  poet,  this  cowardice  and  succumbing  before  ma- 
terial greatness,  is  a  treason  one  knows  not  how  to  ex- 
cuse. Let  the  scholar  stand  by  his  order.  I  wish  the 
college  not  to  make  you  rich  or  great,  but  to  show  you 
that  the  material  pomps  and  possessions,  that  all  the 
feats  of  our  civility,  were  the  thoughts  of  good  heads. 
The  shopkeeper's  yardstick  is  measured  from  a  degree 
of  the  meridian.  All  powers  by  which  a  man  lays  his 
hand  on  those  advantages  are  intellectual ;  it  is  thoughts 
that  make  men  great  and  strong  ;  the  material  results  are 
bubbles,  filled  only  and  colored  by  this  divine  air.  But 
this  great  ocean  which  in  itself  is  always  equal  and  full, 
in  regard  to  men,  ebbs  and  flows.  Now,  for  us,  it  is  in 
ebb.     It  is  the  vulgarity  of  this  country  —  it  came  to  us, 


APPENDIX  F.  759 

with  commerce,  out  of  England  —  to  believe  that  naked 
wealth,  unrelieved  by  any  use  or  design,  is  merit.  Who 
is  accountable  for  this  materialism  ?  Who  but  the  schol- 
ars ?  When  the  poets  do  not  believe  in  their  own  po- 
etry, how  should  the  bats  and  the  swine  ?  The  world  is 
always  as  bad  as  it  dares  to  be,  and  if  the  majority  are 
evil  it  is  because  the  minority  are  not  good.  If  the 
heathen  rage,  it  is  because  the  Christians  doubt.  People 
wish  to  be  amused,  and  they  summon  a  lecturer  or  a 
poet  to  read  to  them  for  an  hour ;  and  so  they  do  with 
a  priest.  They  want  leaders  :  intellect  is  the  thread  on 
which  all  their  worldly  prosperity  is  strung.  Yet  I 
speak  badly  for  the  scholar  if  I  seem  to  limit  myself  to 
secular  and  outward  benefit.  All  that  is  urged  by  the 
saint  for  the  superiority  of  faith  over  works  is  as  truly 
urged  for  the  highest  state  of  intellectual  perception  over 
any  performance.  I  too  am  an  American  and  value 
practical  ability.  I  delight  in  people  who  can  do  things, 
I  prize  talent,  —  perhaps  no  man  more.  But  I  think  of 
the  wind,  and  not  of  the  weathercocks. 

1855. 

Jan.  25.  Lecture  on  Slavery,  in  the  course,  by  vari- 
ous persons,  at  the  Tremont  Temple,  Boston.  (Reported 
in  Boston  Traveller,  Jan.  26.) 

March.  "  Beauty  and  Manners,"  at  Concord  (Mass.) 
Lyceum.  Life  should  not  be  prosaic.  Life  tends  ever 
to  be  picturesque,  and  the  reason  why  life  is  prosaic  is 
that  it  is  false,  and  violates  the  laws  of  the  mind.  The 
life  of  man  is  environed  by  beauty.  Strange  that  the 
door  to  it  should  be  through  the  prudent,  the  punctual, 


760       RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

the  frugal,  the  careful ;  and  that  the  adorers  of  beauty, 
musicians,  painters,  Byrons,  Shelleys,  Keatses,  should 
turn  themselves  out  of  doors,  out  of  sympathies,  and  out 
of  themselves ! 

Sept.  20.  "  Address  at  the  Woman's  Rights  Conven- 
tion," Boston,     (xi.  335.) 

Sept.  29.  "  Address  to  the  Inhabitants  of  Concord  at 
the  Consecration  of  Sleepy  Hollow."  We  see  the  futil- 
ity of  the  old  arts  of  preserving  the  body ;  we  see  the 
defects  of  the  old  theology  ;  we  learn  that  the  race  never 
dies,  the  individual  is  never  spared.  We  give  our  earth 
to  earth.  We  will  not  jealously  guard  a  few  atoms, 
selfishly  and  impossibly  sequestering  them  from  the  vast 
circulations  of  nature ;  but  at  the  same  time  we  fully 
admit  the  divine  hope  and  love  winch  belong  to  our  na- 
ture, and  wish  to  make  one  spot  tender  to  our  children 
who  shall  come  hither  in  the  next  century  to  read  the 
dates  of  these  lives.  Our  people,  accepting  the  lesson  of 
science,  yet  touched  by  the  tenderness  which  Christianity 
breathes,  have  found  a  mean  hi  the  consecration  of  gar- 
dens, of  pleasant  woods  and  waters,  in  the  midst  of  which 
to  lay  the  corpse.  Shadows  haunt  these  groves.  All 
that  ever  lived  about  them  clings  to  them.  You  can  al- 
most see  the  Indian  with  bow  and  arrow  lurking  yet, 
exploring  the  traces  of  the  old  trail.  Our  use  will  not 
displace  the  old  tenants.  To  this  modest  spot  of  God's 
earth  shall  repair  every  sweet  and  friendly  influence ; 
the  beautiful  night  and  the  beautiful  day  will  come  in 
turn  to  sit  upon  the  grass.  The  well-beloved  birds  will 
not  sing  one  song  the  less ;  they  will  find  out  the  hospi- 
tality of  this  asylum.      Sleepy  Hollow,  —  in  this  quiet 


APPENDIX  F.  761 

valley,  as  in  the  palm  of  Nature's  hand,  we  shall  sleep 
well,  when  we  have  finished  our  day.  And  when  these 
acorns  that  are  falling  at  our  feet  are  oaks  overshadow- 
ing our  children  in  a  remote  century,  this  mute  green 
bank  will  be  full  of  history  :  the  good,  the  wise,  and 
great  will  have  left  their  names  and  virtues  on  the  trees, 
will  have  made  the  air  tunable  and  articulate.  I  have 
heard  that  death  takes  us  away  from  ill  things,  not  from 
good.  The  being  that  can  share  thoughts  and  feelings 
so  sublime  is  no  mushroom.  Our  dissatisfaction  with 
any  other  solution  is  the  blazing  evidence  of  immortality. 
(Used  in  the  essay  on  "  Immortality,"  viii.  305.) 

1856. 
May  26.     "The  Assault  upon  Mr.   Sumner."     (xi. 
231.) 

Sept.  10.  Speech  at  the  Kansas  Relief  Meeting  in 
Cambridge,     (xi.  239.) 

1857. 

Jan.  — .  "  "Works  and  Days,"  at  Cincinnati,  (vii. 
149.) 

April  — .     "  Memory,"  at  Concord  Lyceum. 

July  4.  "  Ode,"  in  the  Town  Hall,  Concord,  (ix. 
173.) 

December.  "Country  Life,"  at  Concord  Lyceum. 
When  I  go  into  a  good  garden,  I  think,  if  it  were  mine, 
I  should  never  go  out  of  it.  It  requires  some  geometry 
in  the  head  to  lay  it  out  rightly,  and  there  are  many 
who  can  enjoy,  to  one  that  can  create  it.  But  the  place 
where  a  thoughtful  man  in  the  country  feels  the  joy  of 
eminent  domain    is   his  wood-lot.      If    he  suffer  from 


762       RALPH    WALDO  EMERSON. 

accident  or  low  spirits,  his  spirits  rise  when  he  enters  it. 
I  could  not  find  it  in  my  heart  to  chide  the  citizen  who 
should  ruin  himself  to  buy  a  patch  of  heavy  oak-timber. 
I  approve  the  taste  which  makes  the  avenue  to  the 
house  —  were  the  house  never  so  small  —  through  a 
wood ;  as  it  disposes  the  mind  of  the  inhabitant  and  of 
his  guest  to  the  deference  due  to  each.  I  admire  in 
trees  the  creation  of  property  so  clean  of  tears,  of 
crime,  even  of  care.  They  grow  at  nobody's  cost  and 
for  everybody's  comfort.  When  Nero  advertised  for  a 
new  luxury,  a  walk  in  the  woods  should  have  been 
offered.  'T  is  the  consolation  of  mortal  men.  I  think 
no  pursuit  has  more  breath  of  immortality  in  it.  'T  is 
one  of  the  secrets  for  dodging  old  age ;  for  Nature 
makes  a  like  impression  on  age  as  on  youth.  It  is  the 
best  of  humanity,  I  think,  that  goes  out  to  walk.  In 
happy  hours  all  affairs  may  be  wisely  postponed  for  this. 
Dr.  Johnson  said,  "  Few  men  know  how  to  take  a 
walk,"  and  it  is  pretty  certain  that  Dr.  Johnson  was  not 
one  of  those  few.  'T  is  a  fine  art ;  there  are  degrees  of 
proficiency,  and  we  distinguish  the  professors  from  the 
apprentices.  The  qualifications  are  endurance,  plain 
clothes,  old  shoes,  an  eye  for  nature,  good-humor,  vast 
curiosity,  good  speech,  good  silence,  and  nothing  too 
much.  Good  observers  have  the  manners  of  trees  and 
animals,  and  if  they  add  words,  't  is  only  when  words 
are  better  than  silence.  But  a  vain  talker  profanes  the 
river  and  the  forest,  and  is  nothing  like  so  good  com- 
pany as  a  dog.  We  have  the  finest  climate  in  the  world 
for  this  purpose.  If  we  have  coarse  days  and  dogdays 
and  white  days,  we  have  also  yellow  days  and  crystal 


APPENDIX  F.  763 

days,  —  days  neither  hot  nor  cold,  but  the  perfection  of 
temperature.  The  world  has  nothing  to  offer  more  rich 
than  the  days  that  October  always  brings  us,  when,  after 
the  first  frosts,  a  steady  shower  of  gold  falls  in  the 
strong  south  wind  from  the  maples  and  hickories.  All  the 
trees  are  wind-harps,  filling  the  air  with  music,  and  all 
men  are  poets.  And  in  summer  we  have  scores  of  days 
when  the  heat  is  so  rich,  yet  so  tempered,  that  it  is  de- 
licious to  live.  For  walking  you  must  have  a  broken 
country,  neither  flat  like  the  prairie  nor  precipitous  like 
New  Hampshire.  The  more  reason  we  have  to  be  con- 
tent with  the  felicity  of  our  slopes  in  Massachusetts, 
rocky,  broken,  and  surprising,  but  without  this  Alpine 
inconveniency. 

1858. 

March  3.  Six  lectures  on  the  "  Natural  Method  of 
Mental  Philosophy,"  at  Freeman  Place  Chapel,  Boston. 
I.  "  Country  Life."  (Abstract  included  in  that  of  the 
Concord  lecture,  1857.)  II.  "Works  and  Days." 
(Probably  the  Cincinnati  lecture,  January,  1857.)  III. 
"  Powers  of  the  Mind."  Metaphysics  owes  little  to 
metaphysicians,  but  much  to  the  incidental  remarks  of 
deep  men  everywhere  :  Montaigne,  Pascal,  Montesquieu, 
even  Moliere ;  not  D'Alembert,  Condillac,  or  Jouffroy. 
Taking  to  pieces  is  the  trade  of  those  who  cannot  con- 
struct. For  it  is  incidental  experiences  that  belong  to 
us ;  not  serial  or  systematic.  We  are  confined  in  this 
vertebrate  body,  convenient  but  ridiculously  provincial. 
There  is  affectation  in  assuming  to  give  our  chart  or 
orrery  of  the  universe ;  Nature  flouts  those  who  do  so, 


764  RALPH    WALDO  EMERSON. 

trips  up  their  heels,  and  throws  them  on  their  hack. 
But  so  long  as  each  sticks  to  his  private  experience,  each 
may  be  interesting  and  irrefutable.  Every  man  knows  all 
that  Plato  or  Kant  can  teach  him.  He  was  already 
that  which  they  say,  and  more  profoundly  than  they 
can  say  it.  We  are  conscious  of  an  Intellect  that  arches 
over  us  like  a  sky,  and  externizes  itself  in  our  percep- 
tions. IV.  "  Natural  Method  of  Mental  Philosophy." 
The  game  of  intellect  is  the  perception  that  whatever 
befalls  us  is  a  universal  proposition ;  and  contrariwise, 
that  every  general  statement  is  poetical  again  by  being 
particularized  or  impersonated.  The  mental  faculties 
are  the  transcendency  of  the  physical,  and  thereby  we 
acquire  a  key  to  the  sublimities  which  skulk  and  hide  in 
the  caverns  of  human  consciousness.  Being  fashioned 
out  of  one  and  the  same  lump,  all  things  have  the  same 
taste  and  quality.  It  makes  little  difference  what  I 
learn,  I  have  the  key  to  all  existences.  The  laws  of 
each  department  of  nature  are  duly  found  repeated 
on  a  higher  plane  in  the  mind,  —  gravity,  polarity,  the 
phenomena  of  chemistry,  of  vegetable  and  animal  life. 
The  progress  of  science  is  the  carrying  out  in  the  mind 
of  the  perpetual  metamorphosis  in  nature.  Transition, 
becoming  somewhat  else,  is  the  whole  game  of  nature, 
and  death  is  the  penalty  of  standing  still.  'T  is  not  less 
so  in  thought.  Inspiration  to  carry  on  and  complete 
the  metamorphosis  which,  in  the  imperfect  kinds,  is 
arrested  for  ages.  Every  generalization  shows  the  way 
to  a  larger.  The  number  of  saltations  the  nimble 
thought  can  make  measures  the  difference  between  the 
highest  and  lowest  of    mankind.     The  commonest  re- 


APPENDIX  F.  765 

mark,  if  the  man  could  extend  it  a  little,  would  make 
him  a  genius.  V.  "  Memory."  The  cement,  the  ma- 
trix in  which  the  other  faculties  lie  embedded ;  the 
thread  that  holds  experience  together.  The  difference 
in  men  is  in  the  swiftness  with  which  memory  flies  after 
and  re-collects  the  flying  leaves  ;  or  in  power  to  grasp 
so  firmly  at  first  that  the  fact  does  not  escape.  Memory 
is  as  the  affection :  we  remember  the  things  which  we 
love  and  those  which  we  hate.  It  depends  on  the  car- 
dinal fact  of  identity,  and  on  a  right  adjustment  to  the 
poles  of  nature.  The  reason  of  short  memory  is  shal- 
low thought.  A  deeper  thought  would  hold  in  solution 
more  facts.  We  lose  something  for  everything  we  gain. 
Yet  defect  of  memory  is  not  always  want  of  genius, 
but  sometimes  excellence  of  genius ;  presence  of  mind, 
that  does  not  need  to  rely  on  its  stores.  Newton  could 
remember  the  reasons  involved  in  his  discoveries,  but 
not  the  discoveries.  VI.  "  Self -Possession."  An  in- 
dividual soul  is  a  momentary  eddy,  in  which  certain  sci- 
ences and  powers  are  taken  up  and  work  and  minister  in 
petty  circles.  Excellence  is  an  inflamed  personality. 
Every  man  is  right,  or,  to  make  him  right,  only  needs  a 
larger  dose.  He  is  excellent  in  his  own  way  by  virtue 
of  not  apprehending  the  gift  of  another.  Men  row 
with  one  hand  and  back  water  with  the  other ;  not  giv- 
ing to  any  manner  of  life  the  strength  of  their  constitu- 
tion. In  excess,  if  not  subordinated  to  the  supreme 
reason,  it  makes  monotones,  men  of  one  idea,  who  must 
be  humored.  The  opposite  temperament  is  the  disper- 
sive, people  who  are  impatient  of  continued  attention, 
and  must  relieve  themselves  by  new  objects ;  heaps  of 


766       RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

beginnings,  always  beginners.  The  first  rule  is  to  obey 
your  genius  ;  the  second,  choose  what  is  positive,  what 
is  advancing,  affirmative.  But  the  affirmative  of  affirma- 
tives is  love.  Good-will  makes  insight.  All  that  we 
aim  at  is  reception ;  self-possession  and  self-surrender. 
Yet  so  inextricably  is  the  thread  of  free-will  interwoven 
into  this  necessity  that  the  will  to  receive  avails  much. 
Will  is  always  miraculous ;  when  it  appears,  metaphysics 
is  at  fault,  it  being  the  presence  of  God  to  men.  We 
are  embosomed  in  the  spiritual  world,  yet  none  ever  saw 
angel  or  spirit.  Whence  does  all  our  knowledge  come  ? 
Where  is  the  source  of  power?  The  soul  of  God  is 
poured  into  the  world  through  the  thoughts  of  men. 
Thought  resists  the  brute  whirl  of  fate  by  higher  laws, 
and  gives  to  nature  a  master. 

Sept.  29.  "  The  Man  with  the  Hoe,"  at  the  exhibition 
of  the  Middlesex  Agricultural  Society.  ("Farming," 
vii.  131.) 

Dec.  14.     "  Success,"  at  Hartford,  Conn.      (vii.  265.) 

1859. 

Jan.  25.  Speech  at  the  celebration  of  the  Burns 
Centenary,     (xi.  363.) 

March  23.  Six  lectures  at  the  Freeman  Place  Chapel, 
Boston.  I.  "  The  Law  of  Success."  (Probably  a 
repetition  of  lecture  at  Hartford,  Dec.  14,  1858.)  II. 
"Originality."  (viii.  167.)  III.  "Clubs."  (vii.  211.) 
IV.  "  Art  and  Criticism."  The  advance  of  the  Third 
Estate,  the  transformation  of  laborer  into  reader  and 
writer,  has  compelled  the  learned  to  import  the  petu- 
lance of  the  street  into  correct  discourse.     The  language 


APPENDIX  F.  767 

of  the  street  is  always  strong.  I  envy  the  hoys  the 
force  of  the  double  negative,  and  I  confess  to  some  titil- 
lation  of  my  ears  from  a  rattling  oath.  What  traveller 
has  not  listened  to  the  vigor  of  the  French  postilion's 
sacre,  the  sia  ammazato  of  the  Italian,  the  deep  stomach 
of  the  English  drayman's  execration  ?  Montaigne  must 
have  the  credit  of  giving  to  literature  that  which  we 
listen  for  in  bar-rooms ;  words  and  phrases  that  no 
scholar  coined,  that  have  neatness  and  necessity  through, 
use  in  the  vocabulary  of  work  and  appetite.  Herrick  is 
a  remarkable  example  of  the  low  style.  Like  Montaigne, 
he  took  his  level,  where  he  did  not  write  up  to  his  sub- 
ject, but  wrote  down,  with  the  easiness  of  strength,  and 
from  whence  he  can  soar  to  a  fine  lyric  delicacy.  Luther 
said,  "  I  preach  coarsely ;  that  giveth  content  to  all." 
Shakspeare  might  be  studied  for  his  dexterity  in  the  use 
of  these  weapons.  His  fun  is  as  wise  as  his  earnest ; 
its  foundations  are  below  the  frost.  Dante  is  the  master 
that  shall  teach  both  the  noble  low  style,  the  power  of 
working  up  all  his  experience  into  heaven  and  hell,  and 
also  the  sculpture  of  compression,  the  science  of  omit- 
ting, which  exalts  every  syllable  he  writes.  A  good 
writer  must  convey  the  feeling  of  a  flamboyant  richness, 
and  at  the  same  time  of  chemic  selection ;  in  his  densest 
period  no  cramp,  but  room  to  turn  a  chariot  and  horses 
between  his  valid  words.  I  sometimes  wish  that  the 
Board  of  Education  might  carry  out  the  project  of  a 
college  for  graduates,  to  which  editors  and  members  of 
Congress  and  writers  of  books  might  repair  and  learn 
to  sink  what  we  could  best  spare  of  our  words,  and 
to  gazette  those  Americanisms  which   offend  us  in  all 


768       RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

journals :  the  use  of  balance  for  remainder  ;  some  as  an 
adverb  ;  graphic,  considerable,  and  the  like,  and  the 
showy  words  that  catch  young  writers.  The  best  ser- 
vice Carlyle  has  rendered  is  to  rhetoric.  In  his  books 
the  vicious  conventions  are  dropped ;  he  has  gone  nigher 
to  the  wind  than  any  other  craft.  As  soon  as  you  read 
aloud  you  will  find  what  sentences  drag.  Blot  them 
out  and  read  again,  and  you  will  find  what  words 
drag.  If  you  use  a  word  for  a  fraction  of  its  mean- 
ing, it  must  drag.  'T  is  like  a  pebble  inserted  in  a 
mosaic.  Blot  out  the  superlatives,  the  negatives,  the 
dismals,  the  adjectives,  and  very.  And,  finally,  see  that 
you  have  not  omitted  the  word  which  the  piece  was  writ- 
ten to  state.  Have  a  good  style,  of  course,  but  occupy 
the  reader's  attention  incessantly  with  new  matter,  so 
that  he  shall  not  have  an  instant's  leisure  to  think  of  the 
style.  Classic  and  romantic.  Classic  art  is  the  art  of 
necessity ;  organic.  The  romantic  bears  the  stamp  of 
caprice.  When  I  read  Plutarch  or  look  at  a  Greek  vase, 
I  incline  to  the  common  opinion  of  scholars  that  the 
Greeks  had  clearer  wits  than  any  other  people.  But 
there  is  anything  but  time  in  my  idea  of  the  antique. 
A  clear  and  natural  expression  is  what  we  mean  when 
we  love  and  praise  the  antique.  Dumas  or  Eugene 
Sue,  when  he  begins  a  story,  does  not  know  how  it 
is  to  end.  But  Scott,  in  "  Bride  of  Lammermoor," 
knew,  and  Shakspeare  in  "  Macbeth  "  had  no  choice. 
V.  "  Manners."  Not  to  be  directly  cultivated,  but 
recognized  as  the  dial-hand  that  divulges  our  real  rank. 
We  must  look  at  the  mark,  not  at  the  arrow.  Common 
sense  is  so  far  true  that  it  demands  in  manners  what 


APPENDIX  F.  769 

belongs  to  a  high  state  of  nature.  Manners  are  named 
well  the  minor  morals,  and  they  call  out  the  energy  of 
love  and  dislike  which  the  major  morals  do.  (Largely  in 
"  Behavior,"  vi.  171.)  VI.  "Morals."  ("Character" 
and  "  Sovereignty  of  Ethics,"  x.  91  and  175.) 

May  22.  "  The  Superlative  or  Mental  Temperance," 
at  Music  Hall,  Boston,     (x.  157.) 

Oct.  2.     "  Beauty  in  Art,"  at  Music  Hall. 

Nov.  8.     "  Courage."     (vii.  237.) 

Nov.  13.    "  Domestic  Life,"  at  Music  Hall.    (vii.  99.) 

Nov.  18.  Remarks  at  a  meeting  for  the  relief  of  the 
family  of  John  Brown,  at  Tremont  Temple,  Boston, 
(xi.  249.) 

Dec.  25.     "  Conversation,"  Music  Hall,  Boston. 

1860. 

Jan.  6.  "  John  Brown."  Speech  at  Salem,  (xi.  257.) 
March  — .  "Poetry  and  Criticism,  at  Montreal." 
Modern  criticism  is  coming  to  look  on  literature  and 
arts  as  history;  that  is,  as  growths.  Those  who  were 
in  the  fray  could  not  guess  the  result ;  those  who  come 
after  see  it  as  an  incident  in  the  history  of  the  race. 
The  Christian  religion  looked  to  us  as  a  finality,  as  uni- 
versal truth,  and  we  looked  down  on  the  rest  of  mankind 
as  heathens.  Now,  spiritism  shows  us  that  we  were  scep- 
tics, who  can  believe  only  by  a  grip  or  a  whisper.  The 
amount  of  revelation  from  these  new  doctrines  has  not 
been  large,  but  as  criticism  they  have  been  useful. 

March  18.  "  Moral  Sense,"  at  the  Music  Hall,  Bos- 
ton. Everything  in  nature  is  so,  nicely  graduated  and 
linked  together  that  the  eye  is  led  round  the  circle  with 


770       RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

out  finding  a  beginning  or  end,  or  ever  coming  to  the 
chasm  where  the  Cause  acted.  The  understanding 
would  run  forever  in  the  round  of  second  causes,  did 
not  somewhat  higher  startle  us  now  and  then  with  im- 
patient questions  :  Why  do  we  exist  ?  and  what  are  we  ? 
There  is  somewhat  droll  in  seeing  such  a  creature  as  is 
a  man  going  in  and  out  for  seventy  years  amid  the 
shows  of  nature  and  humanity,  making  up  his  mouth 
every  day  to  express  surprise  at  every  impertinent  trifle, 
and  never  suspecting  all  the  time  that  it  is  even  singular 
that  he  should  exist.  I  take  it  to  be  a  main  end  of  edu- 
cation to  touch  the  springs  of  wonder  in  us.  Look  at 
the  house  of  nature,  in  which  man  is  so  magnificently 
bestowed  !  But  the  inventory  of  his  wealth  reminds  us 
of  the  unworthiness  of  the  owner.  These  splendors  and 
pomps  and  the  control  of  all  that  exists,  all  this  he  has 
inherited.  But  does  he  dwell  in  this  palace  of  power? 
No,  he  skulks  like  a  gypsy  or  a  robber  in  the  gates  and 
archways  of  his  house.  What  a  country  muster,  what 
a  Vanity  Fair,  is  the  fife  of  man ;  full  of  noise  and 
squibs  and  whiskey !  Yet  see  where  the  final  emphasis, 
the  consent  of  mankind,  lies.  Go  into  the  theatre  and 
see  what  the  audience  applauds  when  it  loves  itself  for 
applauding.  Go  into  the  mass  meeting  and  see  the  re- 
ception which  a  noble  sentiment  awakens.  Don't  be 
deceived  by  the  mean  and  devilish  complaisances.  We 
are  the  dwarfs  of  ourselves,  but  the  good  spirit  is  never 
totally  withdrawn  from  us,  cheaply  as  we  hold  our- 
selves. 

June  17.     "  Theodore  Parker."     Address  at  the  Me- 
morial Meeting  at  the  Music  Hall,  Boston,     (xi.  265.) 


APPENDIX  F.  771 

Nov.  3.  "Reform,"  before  Mr.  Parker's  congrega- 
tion at  the  Music  Hall,  Boston.  It  is  not  an  old  im- 
pulse by  which  we  move,  like  a  stone  thrown  into  the 
air,  but  an  incessant  impulse,  like  that  of  gravitation. 
We  are  not  potted  and  buried  in  our  bodies,  but  every 
body  newly  created  from  day  to  day  and  every  moment. 
Reformers  are  our  benefactors  and  practical  poets,  hin- 
dering us  of  absurdity  and  self-stultification.  Yet  the 
emphasis  that  is  laid  on  the  popular  reforms  shows  how 
drowsy  and  atheistic  men  are.  It  is  of  small  impor- 
tance your  activity  in  them,  more  or  less.  What  is  im- 
perative is  that  you  be  on  the  right  side ;  on  the  side  of 
man  and  the  Divine  justice.  The  forward  class,  the  in- 
novators, interest  us  because  they  stand  for  thoughts. 
The  part  of  man  is  to  advance,  to  stand  always  for  the 
Better,  and  not  for  his  grandmother's  spoons  and  his 
shop-till.  The  rowdy  eyes  that  glare  on  you  from  the 
mob  say  plainly  that  they  feel  that  you  are  doing  them 
to  death ;  your  six  per  cent,  is  as  deadly  a  weapon  as 
gun  or  tomahawk:  there  is  a  wrong  somewhere,  though 
they  know  not  where. 

Nov.  20.  "  Classes  of  Men,"  at  Music  Hall,  on  Sun- 
day. Man  is  a  classifier.  Love  of  method  appears  in 
the  child  ;  every  man  has  his  theory,  his  objects  of  in- 
terest which  appear  to  him  the  only  interesting,  and  his 
classification  classifies  him.  Some  people  are  born 
public  souls,  with  all  their  doors  open ;  others  are  so 
much  annoyed  by  publicity  that  they  had  rather  go  to 
prison.  The  contrary  temperament,  stung  to  contradict 
and  assault  and  batter ;  stiff-necked,  with  the  nose  of 
the  rhinoceros,  as  if  remainders  of  the  snapping-turtle 


772       RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

that  bites  fiercely  before  yet  tbe  eyes  are  open.  National 
men,  who  carry  the  idea  or  genius  of  their  races,  and 
so  naturally  lead  them.  Men  of  the  world,  properly 
so  called.  Archimedes,  Columbus,  Copernicus,  Hum- 
boldt, astronomic  or  mundane  brains,  adapted  to  the 
world  which  they  study.  The  two  abiding  and  su- 
preme classes,  the  executive  and  the  intellectual  men : 
the  head  which  is  good  for  combining  means  to  ends ; 
and  the  demonstrative,  who  can  illuminate  the  thing  to 
the  eyes  of  the  million.  The  class  who  begin  by  expect- 
ing everything,  and  the  other  class,  who  expect  nothing, 
and  thankfully  receive  every  good  fortune  as  pure  gain. 
The  only  men  of  any  account  in  nature  are  the  three 
or  five  whom  we  have  beheld  who  have  a  will.  The 
strength  of  a  man  is  to  be  born  with  a  strong  polarity, 
which,  in  excess,  makes  the  monotones.  But  to  have  no 
polarity,  no  serious  interest,  inspires  the  deepest  pity. 
I  do  not  see  any  benefit  derived  to  the  universe  from 

this  negative  class. 

1861. 

Jan.  6.  "  Cause  and  Effect,"  at  Music  Hall,  before 
Theodore  Parker's  congregation.  I  think  the  South 
quite  right  in  the  danger  they  ascribe  to  free  speaking. 
And  if  a  gag-law  could  reach  to  whispers  and  winks  and 
discontented  looks,  why  you  might  plant  a  very  pretty  des- 
potism, and  convert  your  boisterous  cities  into  deaf-and- 
dumb  asylums.  But  no  machine  has  yet  been  devised 
to  shut  out  gravitation,  or  space,  or  time,  or  thought. 
War  universal  in  nature,  from  the  highest  to  the  lowest 
race.  What  does  it  signify?  It  covers  a  great  and 
beneficent  principle,  —  self-help,  struggle  to  be,  to  resist 


APPENDIX  F.  773 

oppression,  to  attain  the  security  of  a  permanent  self- 
defended  being.  War  is  a  beastly  game,  but,  when  our 
duty  calls  us,  it  is  no  impediment.  Life  a  perpetual  in- 
structor in  cause  and  effect.  Every  good  man  does  in 
all  his  nature  point  at  the  existence  and  well-being  of 
the  state.  Throughout  his  being  he  is  loyal.  See  how 
fast  Trade  changes  its  politics.  Yesterday  it  was  all  for 
concession :  it  said,  Oh  yes,  slavery,  if  you  like  it ;  so 
long  as  you  will  buy  goods  of  me,  and  pay  your  debts, 
slavery  shall  be  good  and  beneficent.  Yes,  but  Reality 
does  not  say  the  same  thing  ;  Reality  finds  it  a  pestilent 
mischief ;  and  at  last  Trade  says,  It  must  stop ;  we 
shall  never  have  sound  business  until  we  settle  it  finally. 
In  short,  to-day  Trade  goes  for  free  speech,  and  is  an 
abolitionist.      (Much  in  x.  207.) 

Jan.  24.  Attempted  speech  at  the  annual  meeting  of 
the  Mass.  Anti-Slavery  Society,  Tremont  Temple,  Bos- 
ton.    (See  report  in  Liberator,  Feb.  1.) 

Feb.  3.  "  Natural  Religion :  "  Sunday  discourse  to 
Mr.  Parker's  congregation  at  the  Music  Hall.  There 
is  nothing  arbitrary  in  creeds ;  the  most  barbarous  we 
can  translate  into  our  own.  They  all  taught  the  same 
lesson :  realism,  to  judge  not  after  appearances,  and  self- 
command,  the  gaining  of  power  by  serving  that  life  for 
which  each  was  created.  All  indicate  the  presence  of 
sensible  and  worthy  men  who  had  a  law  and  were  a  law 
to  themselves.  "We  should  not  contradict  or  censure 
these  well-meant,  best-meant  approximations,  but  point 
out  the  identity  of  their  summits.  The  distinctions  of 
sects  are  fast  fading  away.  The  old  flags  still  wave  on 
our  towers,  but  't  is  a  little  ostentatiously,  with  a  pride  in 


774       RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

being  the  last  to  leave  them.  We  measure  religions  by 
their  civilizing  power.  That  which  is  contrary  to  equity 
is  doomed.  We  are  not  afraid  that  justice  will  not  be 
done,  but  that  we  shall  not  live  to  see  it.  So  with  the 
institution  of  slavery ;  it  must  come  to  an  end,  for  all 
things  oppose  it.  We  should  be  so  pre-occupied  with  this 
perpetual  revelation  from  within  that  we  cannot  listen 
to  any  creed,  but  only  nod  assent  when  they  utter  some- 
what that  agrees  with  our  own. 

April  9.  Six  lectures  on  "  Life  and  Literature,"  at 
the  Meionaon,  Boston.  I.  "  Genius  and  Temperament." 
Satisfaction  at  meeting  again  his  accustomed  audience, 
who  do  not  demand  a  formal  method,  but  detect  fast 
enough  what  is  important,  without  need  to  have  it  set  in 
perspective.  Our  topic  is  not  excluded  by  the  critical 
times  which  shake  and  threaten  our  character-destroying 
civilization.  Genius  is  a  consoler  of  our  mortal  condi- 
tion, because  not  the  skill  of  a  man,  but  more  than  man, 
worketh.  Genius  is  the  inside  of  things.  Science  keeps 
us  on  the  surface  :  talent  is  a  knack  to  be  applied  ac- 
cording to  the  demand  ;  but  genius  is  sensibility  to  the 
laws  of  the  universe.  II.  "  Art."  The  activity  of  nations 
is  periodic,  ebbs  and  flows.  Man  is  happy  and  creative  ; 
then  he  loses  his  temper,  his  arts  disappear  in  the  one 
art  of  war.  The  cumulative  onward  movement  of  civil- 
ization, the  potency  of  experience,  disappears,  and  the 
uncouth,  forked,  nasty  savage  stands  on  the  charred  des- 
ert, to  begin  anew  his  first  fight  with  wolf  and  snake, 
and  build  his  dismal  shanty  on  the  sand.  Perhaps  our 
America  offers  that  calamitous  spectacle  to  the  universe 
at  this  moment.     The  first  aspect  of  the  crisis  is  like 


APPENDIX  F.  775 

that  of  the  fool's  paradise  which  Paris  wore  in  1789  ; 
the  insane  vanity  of  little  men,  who,  finding  themselves 
of  no  consequence,  can  make  themselves  of  consequence 
by  mischief.  But  the  facility  with  which  a  great  politi- 
cal fabric  can  be  broken  is  instructive,  and  perhaps  in- 
dicates that  these  frivolous  persons  are  wiser  than  they 
know,  and  that  the  hour  is  struck,  so  long  predicted  by 
philosophy,  when  the  civil  machinery  that  has  been  the 
religion  of  the  world  decomposes  before  the  now  adult 
individualism.  Yet  the  height  of  man  is  to  create.  He 
is  the  artist.  Justice  can  be  administered  on  a  heath, 
and  God  can  be  worshipped  in  a  barn,  —  yet  it  is  fit 
that  there  should  be  halls  and  temples,  and  not  merely 
booths  and  warehouses  ;  that  man  should  animate  all 
his  surroundings,  and  impress  upon  them  his  character 
and  culture.  In  America  the  effect  of  beauty  has  been 
superficial.  Our  art  is  nothing  more  than  the  national 
taste  for  whittling ;  the  choice  of  subject  is  fantastic. 
Art  does  not  lie  in  making  the  subject  prominent,  but  in 
choosing  one  that  is  prominent.  The  genius  of  man  is  a 
continuation  of  the  power  that  made  liim.  The  hints  of 
Nature  tell  on  us,  and  when  we  see  an  intention  of  hers 
we  set  at  work  to  carry  it  out ;  we  feel  the  eloquence  of 
form  and  the  sting  of  color.  But  original  and  indepen- 
dent representation  requires  an  artist  charged  in  his  sin- 
gle head  with  a  nation's  force.  This  determination  does 
not  exist  in  our  nation,  or  but  with  feeble  force  :  it 
reaches  to  taste,  not  to  creation.  III.  "  Civilization  at 
a  Pinch."  IV.  "  Some  Good  Books."  It  is  absurd  to 
rail  at  books :  it  is  as  certain  there  will  always  be  books 
as  that  there  will  be  clothes.     'Tis   a  delicate  matter, 


776       RALPH    WALDO  EMERSON. 

this  offering  to  stand  deputy  for  the  human  race,  and 
writing  all  one's  secret  history  colossally  out  as  philos- 
ophy or  universal  experience.  We  must  not  inquire  too 
curiously  into  the  absolute  value  of  literature,  yet  hooks 
are  to  us  angels  of  entertainment,  sympathy,  and  provo- 
cation. These  silent  wise,  these  tractable  prophets  and 
singers,  who  now  and  then  cast  then*  moonlight  illumi- 
nation over  solitude,  weariness,  and  fallen  fortunes.  The 
power  of  a  book.  Every  letter  of  our  venerable  Bible 
has  been  a  seed  of  revolution.  What  vitality  has  the 
Platonic  philosophy  !  I  remember  I  expected  a  revival 
in  the  churches  to  be  caused  by  the  reading  of  Iambli- 
chus.  And  Plutarch  :  if  the  world's  library  were  burn- 
ing, I  should  fly  to  save  that,  with  our  Bible  and  Shaks- 
peare  and  Plato.  Our  debt  to  Thomas  Taylor,  the  trans- 
lator of  the  Platonists.  A  Greek  born  out  of  time,  and 
dropped  on  the  ridicule  of  a  blind  and  frivolous  age. 
V.  "  Poetry  and  Criticism  in  England  and  America." 
Something,  in  every  action,  of  doubt  and  fear.  In  the 
picture  or  story  this  element  is  taken  out ;  you  have  the 
purity  or  soul  of  the  thing  without  any  disturbance  of 
affection.  Poetry  is  the  only  verity  ;  the  speech  of  man 
after  the  real,  not  after  the  apparent.  Chaucer,  Milton, 
Shakspeare,  have  seen  mountains ;  the  young  writers 
seem  to  have  seen  pictures  of  mountains.  How  sufficing 
is  mere  melody  !  What  a  youth  we  find  in  Collins'  "  Ode 
to  Evening,"  and  in  some  lines  of  Gray's  to  Eton  Col- 
lege !  It  is  a  pretty  good  test  of  poetry,  the  facility  of 
reading  it  aloud.  We  have  enjoyed  the  full  flowering 
of  the  genius  of  Tennyson.  His  dirge  on  Wellington 
combines  his  name  inextricably  not  only  to  his  hero,  but 


APPENDIX  F.  777 

to  the  annals  of  England.  "  In  Memoriam  "  is  the  com- 
monplace of  condolence  among  good  Unitarians  in  the 
first  week  of  mourning :  all  the  merit  is  on  the  surface. 
Recall  the  verses  with  which  we  prompt  and  prick  our- 
selves in  dangerous  moments,  and  you  will  see  how  few 
such  he  supplies.  Like  Burke  or  Mirabeau  he  says  bet- 
ter than  all  what  all  think.  Music  is  proper  to  poetry, 
but  within  the  high  organic  music  are  inferior  harmo- 
nies and  melodies,  which  it  avails  itself  of  at  pleasure. 
Scott  is  the  best  example  of  the  mastery  of  metrical 
commonplaces.  But  "  Dinas  Emlinn  "  and  "  Helvel- 
lyn  "  show  how  near  a  poet  he  was.  Byron  had  decla- 
mation, he  had  delicious  music,  but  he  knew  not  the 
mania  which  gives  creative  power.  —  Criticism  has  its 
right  place  as  well  as  poetry.  The  virtue  of  criticism 
is  to  correct  mere  talent  by  good  sense.  An  ingenious 
man  is  the  victim  of  his  rhetoric,  when  really  there  is  no 
such  matter  as  he  is  depicting.  When  Anaximander 
sang,  the  boys  derided  him,  whereupon  he  said,  "We 
must  learn  to  sing  better  for  the  boys."  And  I  think 
the  journals,  whose  shallow  criticism  we  affect  to  scorn, 
are  right.  They  miss  the  firm  tone  which  commands 
every  good  reader.  The  virtue  of  books  is  to  be  readable, 
and  if  the  book  is  dull  't  is  likely  the  writer  is  in  fault. 
VI.  "  Boston."  The  old  physiologists  watched  the  ef- 
fect of  climate.  They  believed  the  air  was  a  good  re- 
publican ;  that  the  air  of  mountains  and  the  seashore 
predispose  to  rebellion.  What  Vasari  said  three  hun- 
dred years  ago  of  Florence  might  be  said  of  Boston, 
"  that  the  desire  for  glory  and  honor  is  powerfully  gen- 
erated by  the  air  of  that  place,  in  the  man  of  every  pro- 


778       RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

fession ;  whereby  all  who  possess  talent  are  impelled  to 
struggle,  that  they  may  not  remain  in  the  same  grade  with 
those  whom  they  perceive  to  be  only  men  like  them- 
selves, but  all  labor  by  every  means  to  be  foremost." 
We  find  no  less  stimulus  in  our  native  air.  This  town 
has  a  history.  It  is  not  an  accident,  a  railroad  station, 
cross-roads,  tavern,  or  army-barracks,  grown  up  by  time 
and  luck  to  a  place  of  wealth,  but  a  seat  of  men  of 
principle,  obeying  a  sentiment.  I  do  not  speak  with  any 
fondness,  but  the  language  of  coldest  history,  when  I  say 
that  Boston  commands  attention  as  the  town  which  was 
appointed  in  the  destiny  of  nations  to  lead  the  civiliza- 
tion of  North  America.  The  leaders  were  well-edu- 
cated, polite  persons,  of  good  estate  and  still  more  ele- 
vated by  devout  lives.  They  were  precisely  the  idealists 
of  England,  the  most  religious  in  a  religious  era.  And 
they  brought  their  government  with  them.  They  could 
say  to  themselves,  "  "Well,  at  least  this  yoke  of  man,  of 
bishops  and  courtiers,  is  off  my  neck.  We  are  a  little 
too  close  to  the  wolf  and  famine  than  that  anybody 
should  give  himself  airs  here  in  the  swamp."  The  reli- 
gious sentiment  gave  the  iron  purpose  and  arm.  When 
one  thinks  of  the  Zoars,  New  Harmonies  and  Brook 
Farms,  Oakdales  and  phalansteries,  which  end  in  a  pro- 
tracted picnic,  we  see  with  increased  respect  the  solid, 
well-calculated  scheme  of  these  emigrants,  sitting  down 
hard  and  fast,  and  building  their  empire  by  due  degrees. 
Moral  values  became  money  values  when  men  saw  that 
these  people  would  stand  by  each  other  at  all  hazards. 
A  house  in  Boston  was  worth  as  much  again  as  a  house 
just  as  good  in  a  town  of  timorous  people,  or  in  a  torpid 


APPENDIX  F.  779 

place,  where  nothing  is  doing.  In  Boston  they  were 
sure  to  see  something  going  forward  ;  for  here  was  the 
moving  principle  itself  always  agitating  the  mass.  From 
Roger  Williams  and  Ann  Hutchinson  down  to  Abner 
Kneeland  and  William  Garrison  there  never  was  want- 
ing some  thorn  of  innovation  and  heresy.  There  is  no 
strong  performance  without  a  little  fanaticism  in  the 
performer.  It  is  the  men  who  are  never  contented  who 
carry  their  point.  The  American  idea,  emancipation, 
has  its  sinister  side,  which  appears  in  our  bad  politics  ; 
but,  if  followed,  it  leads  to  heavenly  places.  These  peo- 
ple did  not  gather  where  they  had  not  sown.  They  did 
not  try  to  unlock  the  treasure  of  the  world  except  by 
honest  keys  of  labor  and  skill.  They  accepted  the  di- 
vine ordination  that  man  is  for  use,  and  that  it  is  ruin 
to  live  for  pleasure  and  for  show.  And  when  some  flip- 
pant senator  wished  to  taunt  them  by  calling  them  "  the 
mud-sills  of  society,"  he  paid  them  ignorantly  a  true 
praise.  Nature  is  a  frugal  mother,  and  never  gives 
without  measure.  When  she  has  work  to  do  she  quali- 
fies men  for  that.  In  America  she  did  not  want  epic 
poems  and  di'amas  yet,  but,  first,  planters  of  towns  and 
farmers  to  till  and  harvest  corn  for  the  world.  Yet  the 
literary  ability  our  fathers  brought  with  them  was  never 
lost.  Benjamin  Franklin  knew  how  to  write,  and  Jon- 
athan Edwards  to  think.  There  was  a  long  period, 
from  1790  to  1820,  when,  with  rare  exceptions,  no  fin- 
ished writer  appeared.  But  from  the  day  when  Buck- 
minster  read  a  discourse  before  the  Phi  Beta  Kappa  So- 
ciety at  Cambridge  an  impulse  was  given  to  polite  liter- 
ature which  seems  to  date  the  renaissance  in  Boston. 


780       RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

It  is  almost  a  proverb  that  a  great  man  has  not  a  great 
son.  But,  in  Boston,  nature  is  more  indulgent  and  has 
given  good  sons  to  good  sires.  I  confess  I  do  not  find 
in  our  educated  people  a  fair  share  of  originality,  any 
broad  generalization,  any  equal  power  of  imagination. 
And  I  know  that  the  history  of  this  town  contains  many 
black  lines  of  cruel  injustice.  No  doubt  all  manner  of 
vices  can  be  found  in  this  as  in  every  city;  infinite 
meanness,  scarlet  crime.  But  there  is  yet  in  every  city 
a  certain  permanent  tone,  a  tendency  to  audacity  or 
slowness,  labor  or  luxury,  giving  or  parsimony ;  and  I 
hold  that  a  community,  as  a  man,  is  entitled  to  be  judged 
by  his  best.  Here  stands  to-day  as  of  yore  our  little 
city  of  the  rocks,  and  here  let  it  stand  forever  on  the 
man-bearing  granite  of  the  North.  Let  her  stand  fast 
by  herself.  She  has  grown  great,  but  she  can  only  pros- 
per by  adding  to  her  faith.  Let  every  child  that  is 
born  of  her  and  every  child  of  her  adoption  see  to  it  to 
keep  the  name  of  Boston  as  clean  as  the  sun  !  And  in 
distant  ages  her  motto  shall  be  the  prayer  of  millions  on 
all  the  hills  that  gird  the  town :  Sicut  patribus  sit  Deus 
nobis  I 

July  10.  "  Address  at  Tufts  College  "  (Somerville, 
Mass.).  The  brute  noise  of  cannon  has  a  most  poetic 
echo  in  these  days,  as  instrument  of  the  primal  senti- 
ments of  humanity.  But  here  in  the  college  we  are  in 
the  presence  of  the  principle  itself.  It  is  the  ark  in 
which  the  law  is  deposited.  If  there  be  national  failure, 
it  is  because  the  college  was  not  in  its  duty.  Then 
power  oozes  out  of  it ;  it  is  a  hospital  for  decayed  tutors, 
a  musty  shop  of  old  books.     Sanity  consists  in  not  being 


APPENDIX  F.  781 

subdued  by  your  means.  If  the  intellectual  interest  be, 
as  I  hold,  no  hypocrisy,  but  the  only  reality,  it  behooves 
us  to  enthrone  it  and  give  it  possession  of  us  and  ours. 
You,  gentlemen,  are  selected  out  of  the  great  multitude 
of  your  mates,  and  set  apart,  through  some  strong  per- 
suasion of  your  own  or  of  your  friends  that  you  are 
capable  of  the  high  privilege  of  thought.  And  need 
enough  there  is  of  such.  All  superiority  is  this  or  re- 
lated to  this ;  for  I  conceive  morals  and  mind  to  be  in 
eternal  bond.  Men  are  as  they  think,  as  they  believe. 
A  certain  quantity  of  power  belongs  to  a  certain  quantity 
of  truth.  The  exertions  of  this  force  are  the  eminent 
experiences  ;  out  of  a  long  life  all  that  is  worth  remem- 
bering. And  yet,  with  this  divine  oracle,  the  world  is  not 
saved.  Nay,  in  the  class  called  intellectual,  in  the  in- 
stitutions of  education,  there  is  a  want  of  faith  in  their 
own  cause.  We  have  many  revivals  of  religion.  I  wish 
to  see  a  revival  of  the  human  mind  ;  to  see  men's  sense 
of  duty  extend  to  the  cherishing  and  use  of  their  intel- 
lectual powers.  I  wish  the  revival  of  thought  in  the 
literary  class.  For  greatness,  we  have  ambition ;  for 
poetry,  ingenuity ;  for  art,  sensuality  ;  and  the  young, 
coming  up  with  innocent  hope  and  looking  around  them 
at  education,  at  the  professions  and  employments,  at  re- 
ligious and  literary  teachers  and  teaching,  are  confused, 
and  become  sceptical  and  forlorn.  Talents  and  facilities 
are  excellent  as  long  as  subordinated,  all  wasted  and 
mischievous  when  they  assume  to  lead  and  not  obey. 
Now  the  idea  of  a  college  is  an  assembly  of  men  obedient 
each  to  this  pure  light,  and  drawing  from  it  illumina- 
tion.    A  college   should  have  no  mean   ambition,  but 


782       RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

should  aim  at  a  reverent  discipline  and  invitation  of  the 
soul.  Here  if  nowhere  else  genius  should  find  its  home ; 
imagination  should  he  greeted  ;  the  noblest  tasks  pro- 
posed, and  the  most  cordial  and  honoring  rewards.  En- 
thusiasm for  liberty  and  wisdom  should  breed  enthu- 
siasm, and  form  heroes  for  the  state. 

Sept.  27.  Address  at  Yarmouth,  Mass.,  on  Educa- 
tion. The  world  is  a  system  of  mutual  instruction. 
Every  man  is,  for  his  hour  or  minute,  my  tutor.  Can 
I  teach  him  something  ?  As  surely  can  he  me.  Deal 
kindly  and  truly  with  every  man,  and  you  convert  him 
into  an  invaluable  teacher  of  his  science  ;  and  every  man 
has  a  science.  To  set  up  my  stove  I  want  a  piece  of 
iron  thirty  inches  square,  and  that  want  entitles  me  to 
call  on  all  the  professors  of  tin  and  iron  in  the  village, 
and  to  see  all  the  beautiful  contrivances  for  working  with 
them  ;  I  only  paying  for  the  iron  and  labor.  If  I  want 
the  underpinning  or  the  frame  of  a  barn,  I  call  on  the 
professors  of  stone  or  of  wood ;  and  for  labor  on  my 
garden,  I  pass  by  the  college  chairs,  and  go  to  the  work- 
ing botanists  and  the  sweating  geometers.  The  whole 
art  of  education  consists  in  habitual  respect  to  wholes, 
by  an  eye  capable  of  all  the  particulars.  "When  I  saw 
Mr.  Rarey's  treatment  of  the  horse,  I  could  not  help 
suspecting  that  he  must  know  what  sarcastic  lessons  he 
was  reading  to  schools  and  universities.  He  has  turned 
a  new  leaf  in  civilization.  What  an  extension  and  no- 
bility in  his  maxim  that  "  he  who  would  deal  with  a 
horse  must  know  neither  fear  nor  anger."  And  the 
horses  see  that  he  is  a  solid  good  fellow,  up  to  all  their 
ways,  and  a  little  better  than  they  are  in  their  own  way. 


APPENDIX  F.  783 

The  school-master  must  stand  in  as  real  a  relation  to  his 
subjects.  The  boy  must  feel  that  he  is  not  an  old.  pedant, 
but  has  been  a  boy  once.  (Mostly  in  "  Education,"  x. 
123.) 

Nov.  12.     "American  Nationality."    In   the  Frater- 
nity course,  at  the  Music  Hall,  Boston.     (Reported  in 
Boston  Evening  Transcript,  Nov.  13.)     It  is  a  mortifi- 
cation that  because  a  nation  had  no  enemy  it  should 
become  its  own,  and  because  it  has  an  immense   future 
should  commit  suicide.     But  this  mania  has  been  met 
by  a  resistance  proportioned  to  the  danger.     We  have 
often  fancied  that  our  country  was  too  large  to  permit 
any  strong  nationality.    But  we  reckoned  without  the  in- 
stincts.   The  waters  held  in  solution  substances  the  most 
remote,  but  when  the  flagstaff  of  Sumter  was  shot  down 
and  fell  into  the  sea,  fibres  shot  to  it  from  every  part. 
All  the  evils  that  have  yet  ensued  are  inconsiderable, 
compared  with  the  relief  it  has  operated  to  public  and 
private  health.     Do  you  suppose  that  we  shall  crawl  into 
that  collar  again  ?     I  hope  the  war  is  to  heal  a  deeper 
wound  than  any  it  makes  ;  that  it  is  to  heal  that  scep- 
ticism, that  frivolous  mind,  which  is  the  spoiled  child  of 
a  great  material  prosperity.     The  war  for  the  Union  is 
broader  than  any  state  policy  or  sectional  interest ;  but, 
at  last,  the  Union  is  not  broad  enough,  because  of  slavery ; 
and  we  must  come  to  emancipation,  with  compensation 
to  loyal  States.     This  is  a  principle.     Everything  else  is 
an  intrigue.     Who  would  build  a  house  on  a  solfatara, 
or  a  quicksand  ?     The  wise  builder  lets  down  his  stone 
foundations  to  rest  on  the  strata  of  the  planet.     The  re- 
sult at  which  the  government  aims,  and  rightly,  is  repos- 


784  RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

session  of  all  its  territory.  But,  in  the  present  aspect  of 
the  war,  separation  is  a  contingency  to  be  contemplated ; 
and  I  say,  in  view  of  that,  it  is  vastly  better  than  what 
we  called  the  integrity  of  the  republic,  with  slavery.  Now 
that  we  have  learned  that  two  railroads  are  as  good  as  a 
river,  we  begin  to  think  we  could  spare  the  Mississippi, 
until  it  has  better  people  on  its  banks.  The  war  searches 
character,  acquits  those  whom  I  acquit,  whom  life  ac- 
quits ;  those  whose  reality  and  spontaneous  honesty  and 
singleness  appears.  Force  it  requires.  'T  is  not  so 
much  that  you  are  moral  as  that  you  are  genuine,  sin- 
cere, frank,  and  bold.  I  do  not  approve  those  who  give 
their  money  or  their  voices  for  liberty  from  long  habit, 
but  the  rough  democrat,  who  hates  abolition  but  detests 
these  Southern  traitors.  There  is  a  word  which  I  like 
to  hear,  "  the  logic  of  events."  We  are  in  better  keep- 
ing than  of  our  vacillating  authorities,  military  or  civil. 
We  are  like  Captain  Parry's  party  of  sledges  on  the 
drifting  ice,  who  travelled  for  weeks  north,  and  then 
found  themselves  further  south  tban  when  they  started ; 
the  ice  had  moved. 

.  "Truth."  (Before  Mr.  Parker's  congrega- 
tion at  Music  Hall  ?)  In  the  noise  of  war  we  come  up 
to  the  house  of  social  worship  to  school  our  affections, 
drenched  in  personal  and  patriotic  hopes  and  fears,  by 
lifting  them  out  of  the  blinding  tumult  into  a  region  where 
the  air  is  pure  and  serene  ;  the  region  of  eternal  laws, 
which  hold  on  their  beneficent  way  through  all  temporary 
and  partial  suffering,  and  so  assure,  not  only  the  gen- 
eral good  but  the  welfare  of  all  the  suffering  individuals. 
For  evil  times  have  their  root  in  falsehood.     At  a  mo- 


APPENDIX  F.  785 

ment  in  our  history  the  mind's  eye  opens,  and  we  become 
aware  of  spiritual  facts,  of  rights,  duties,  thoughts,  —  a 
thousand  faces  of  one  essence,  Truth.  Having  seen  them, 
we  are  no  longer  brute  lumps  whirled  by  Fate,  but  come 
into  the  council-chamber  and  government  of  nature.  It 
is  rare  to  find  a  truth-speaker,  in  the  common  sense. 
Few  people  have  accurate  perceptions,  or  see  the  im- 
portance of  exactness.  A  house-parrot,  though  not 
reckoned  by  political  economists  a  producer,  has  many 
uses.  She  is  a  socialist,  and  knits  a  neighborhood  to- 
gether with  her  democratic  discourse.  And  she  is  a 
delicate  test  of  truth.  Hear  what  stories  respectable 
witnesses  will  tell  of  Poll !  This  want  of  veracity  does 
not  remain  in  speech ;  it  proceeds  instantly  to  manners 
and  behavior.  How  any  want  of  frankness  on  one  part 
destroys  all  sweetness  of  discourse  !  But  veracity  is  an 
external  virtue,  compared  with  that  inner  and  higher 
truth  we  call  honesty  ;  which  is  to  act  entirely,  not  par- 
tially. You  may  attract  by  your  talents  and  character 
and  the  need  others  have  of  you ;  but  the  attempt  to  at- 
tract directly  is  the  beginning  of  falsehood.  You  were 
sent  into  the  world  to  decorate  and  honor  that  poverty, 
that  singularity,  that  destitution,  by  your  tranquil  accept- 
ance of  it.  If  a  man  is  capable  of  such  steadfastness, 
though  he  see  no  fruit  to  his  labor,  the  seed  will  not  die ; 
his  son  or  his  son's  son  may  yet  thank  his  sublime  faith, 
and  find,  in  the  third  generation,  the  slow,  sure  matu- 
ration. Let  us  sit  here  contented  with  our  poverty 
and  deaf-and-dumb  estate  from  youth  to  age,  rather 
than  adorn  ourselves  with  any  red  rag  of  false  church 
or  false  association.    It  is  our  homage  to  truth,  which 


786  RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

is  honored  by  our  abstaining,  not  by  our  superservice- 
ableness. 

Dec.  29.  "  Immortality."  In  the  Parker  Fraternity 
course,  at  the  Music  Hall.     (viii.  305.) 

1862. 

Jan.  31.  "American  Civilization."  At  the  Smith- 
sonian Institution,  Washington.  (vii.  21,  and  xi. 
275.) 

March  16.  "  Essential  Principles  of  Religion."  On 
Sunday,  before  Mr.  Parker's  congregation  at  the  Music 
Hall.  (Mostly  in  "  Character  "  and  "  Sovereignty  of 
Ethics,"  x.  91  and  175.)  The  great  physicists  have 
signified  their  belief  that  our  analysis  will  reach  at  last 
a  sublime  simplicity,  and  find  two  elements,  or  one  ele- 
ment with  two  polarities,  at  the  base  of  things ;  and  in 
morals  we  are  struck  with  the  steady  return  of  a  few 
principles :  we  are  always  finding  new  applications  of 
the  maxims  and  proverbs  of  the  nursery. 

April  13.  "  Moral  Forces."  At  the  Music  Hall,  be- 
fore the  Twenty-Eighth  Congregational  Society,  on  a 
Fast  Day  appointed  by  the  President  of  the  United 
States.  In  recommending  to  the  country  to  take  thank- 
ful remembrance  of  the  better  aspect  of  our  affairs,  the 
President  echoes  the  general  sentiment  that  we  should 
carry  our  relief  thankfully  to  the  Heart  of  hearts,  to 
Him  whom  none  can  name,  who  hideth  himself,  and  is 
only  known  to  us  by  immense  and  eternal  benefit.  Let 
us  use  these  words,  thanks  and  praise,  cautiously,  ten- 
derly, discriminating  in  our  mind  as  reason  of  gratitude 
that  which  all  men  that  breathe  might  join  to  be  glad 


APPENDIX  F.  787 

for.  Let  us  rejoice  in  every  success  and  in  every  over- 
throw, which  a  wise  and  good  soul,  whether  among  our 
enemies  or  in  other  nations,  would  see  to  be  for  the  right, 
for  ideas,  for  the  good  of  humanity.  We  are  rightly 
glad  only  in  as  far  as  we  believe  that  the  victories  of 
our  cause  are  real  grounds  of  joy  for  all  mankind.  Yet, 
leaving  this  thin  and  difficult  air  of  pure  reason,  and  ac- 
cepting our  common  and  popular  sympathies  as  right 
and  safe,  there  is  certainly  much  which  the  patriot  and 
the  philanthropist  will  regard  with  satisfaction.  Things 
point  the  right  way.  A  position  is  taken  by  the  Amer- 
ican Executive,  —  that  is  much  ;  and  it  has  been  sup- 
ported by  the  legislature.  What  an  amount  of  power 
released  from  doing  harm  and  now  ready  to  do  good ! 
The  world  is  nothing  but  a  bundle  of  forces,  and  all  the 
rest  is  a  clod  which  it  uses.  In  all  works  of  man  there 
is  a  constant  resistance  to  be  overcome,  and  constant 
loss  by  friction.  But  the  tree  rises  into  the  air  without 
any  violence,  by  its  own  unfolding,  which  is  as  easy  as 
shining  is  to  the  sun,  or  warming  to  fire.  It  is  the  same 
with  the  moral  forces.  People,  in  proportion  to  their  in- 
telligence and  virtue,  are  friends  to  a  good  measure  ; 
whilst  any  wrong  measure  will  find  a  hitch  somewhere. 
Inspiration  and  sympathy,  —  these  are  the  cords  that 
draw  power  to  the  front,  and  not  the  harness  of  the 
cannon.  The  power  of  victory  is  in  the  imagination. 
The  moral  powers  are  thirsts  for  action.  We  are  list- 
less and  apologizing  and  imitating ;  we  are  straws  and 
nobodies,  and  then  the  mighty  thought  comes  sailing  on 
a  silent  wind  and  fills  us  with  its  virtue. 

June  29.     "  Thoreau,"  at  the  Music  Hall,  on  Sunday. 


788       RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

(MSS.  fragmentary ;  probably  used  in  the  Biographical 
Sketch  prefixed  to  Thoreau's  "  Excursions,"  1863.) 

Oct.  12.  "The  Emancipation  Proclamation."  (xi. 
291.) 

Nov.  18.  "  Perpetual  Forces."  Fraternity  lecture 
at  Tremont  Temple,     (x.  69.) 

Dec.  14.  "  Health."  Health  is  the  obedience  of  all 
the  members  to  the  genius  or  character.  As  soon  as 
any  part  makes  itself  felt,  there  is  disease.  Perfectness 
of  influx  and  efflux.  There  is  a  certain  medicinal  value 
to  every  intellectual  action.  Thoughts  refresh  and  dig- 
nify us.  The  most  powerful  means  are  the  cheapest : 
pure  water,  fresh  air,  the  stroke  of  the  hand,  a  kind  eye, 
a  gentle  voice,  a  serene  face. 

1863. 

Jan.  1.  "  Boston  Hymn,"  at  the  Music  Hall.  (ix. 
174.) 

July  22.  '"Discourse  before  the  Literary  Societies  of 
Dartmouth  College."  Repeated  Aug.  11,  at  "Waterville 
College,     (x.  229.) 

Dec.  1.     "The  Fortune  of   the    Republic."     In  the 

Parker  Fraternity  course,  Boston,     (xi.  393,  with  some 

additions.) 

1864. 

Aug.  9.  "  Discourse  before  the  Literary  Societies  of 
Middlebury  College,  Vt." 

Nov.  27.  Course  of  six  weekly  lectures  before  the 
Parker  Fraternity  at  the  Melodeon,  in  Boston.  I. 
"Education."  II.  "Social  Aims."  (viii.  77.)  III. 
"Resources."      (viii.  131.)     IV.  « Table-Talk."     The 


APPENDIX  F.  789 

books  that  record  conversation  are  incomparably  better 
than  the  formal  biographies,  —  indeed,  the  real  source  of 
these.  The  pain  of  loneliness  is  to  be  heeded,  just  as 
the  toothache  is.  It  was  not  given  for  torment,  but  for 
useful  warning.  It  says  to  us,  Seek  society ;  keep  your 
friendships  in  repair ;  answer  your  letters ;  meet  good- 
will half-way.  Strict  discourse  with  a  friend  is  the  mag- 
azine out  of  which  all  good  writing  is  drawn.  Fine 
conversation  is  a  game  of  expansions ;  like  boys  trying 
who  will  take  the  longest  leap.  Many  parties  in  dis- 
course give  you  liberty,  hint,  and  scope  ;  but  a  master 
more  purely.  Americans  have  not  cultivated  conversa- 
tion as  an  art,  as  other  nations  have  done.  Indeed,  there 
are  some  drawbacks  in  our  institutions.  A  town  in  Eu- 
rope is  a  place  where  you  can  go  into  a  cafe  at  a  cer- 
tain hour  of  every  day,  buy  a  cup  of  coffee,  and  at  that 
price  have  the  company  of  wits,  artists,  and  philosophers. 
Our  clubbing  is  more  costly  and  cumbersome.  The  cap- 
ital advantage  of  our  republic  is  that  by  the  organic 
hospitality  of  its  institutions  it  is  drawing  the  health  and 
strength  of  all  nations  into  its  territory,  and  promises 
by  perpetual  intermixture  to  yield  the  most  vigorous 
qualities  and  accomplishments  of  all.  What  is  Europe 
but  a  larger  chance  of  meeting  a  cultivated  man  ? 
(Mostly  in  "Social  Aims"  and  in  "Clubs.")  V. 
"  Books."  We  expect  a  great  man  to  be  a  good  reader. 
In  proportion  to  the  spontaneous  power  should  be  the 
assimilating  power.  'T  is  easy  to  disparage  literature, 
to  call  it  eavesdropping,  a  naming  of  things  that  does 
not  add  anything ;  to  say  that  books  draw  the  mind 
from  things  to  words  ;  but  I  find  an  asylum  and  a  com- 


790       RALPH   WALDO   EMERSON. 

forter  in  the  library.    There  is  no  hour  and  no  vexation, 
in  ordinary  health,  in  which,  on  a  little  reflection,  I  can- 
not think  of  the  book  that  will  operate  an  instant  diver- 
sion and  relief.     How  we  turn  them  to  account !     It  is 
not  the  grammar  and  dictionary,  it  is  French  novels 
that  teach  us  French,  and  German  novels  that  teach  us 
German.     The  passions  rush  through  all  resistance  of 
grammar  and  vocabulary.     Provide  always  a  good  book 
for  a  journey,  as  Horace,  or  Pascal,  —  some  book  which 
lifts  quite  out  of  prosaic  surroundings.     The  important 
difference  is  whether  they  are  written  from  life  or  from 
a  literary  point  of  view.     I  read  lately  with  delight  a 
casual  notice  of  Wordsworth,  in  a  London  journal,  in 
which  with  perfect  aplomb  his  highest  merits  were  af- 
firmed, and  his  unquestionable  superiority  to  all  English 
poets  since  Milton.     I  thought  how  long  I  travelled  and 
talked  in  England,  and  found   no  person,  or  only  one 
(Clough),   in    sympathy  with   him   and    admiring   him 
aright,  in  face  of  Tennyson's  culminating  talent  and  ge- 
nius in  melodious  verse.    This  rugged  countryman  walks 
and  sits  alone  for  years,  assured  of  his  sanity  and  his  in- 
spiration, sneered  at  and  disparaged,  yet  no  more  doubt- 
ing the  fine  oracles  that  visited  him  than  if  Apollo  had 
visibly  descended  to  him  on  Helvellyn.     Now,  so  few 
years  after,  it  is  lawful  in  that  obese  England  to  affirm, 
unresisted,  the  superiority  of  his  genius.     Only  the  great 
generalizations  survive.     The  sharp  words  of  the  Decla- 
ration of  Independence,  lampooned  then  and  since  as 
"  glittering  generalities,"  have  turned  out  blazing  ubi- 
quities, that  will  burn  forever  and  ever.     Our  American 
culture  is  a  hasty  fruit ;  our  scholars  are  hurried  from 


APPENDIX  F.  791 

the  pupil's  desk  to  the  master's  chair,  and  do  not  get 
ripened ;  they  are  like  my  Catawbas,  that  need  a  fort- 
night more  of  sun.  But  it  admits  what  expansion  !  For 
good  reading,  there  must  be  some  yielding  to  the  book. 
Some  minds  are  incapable  of  any  surrender.  They 
"  carve  at  the  meal  in  gloves  of  steel,  and  drink  the  red 
wine  through  the  helmet  barred."  Of  course  their  din- 
ing is  unsatisfactory.     VI.   "  Character."      (x.  91.) 

1865. 

April  19.  "  Abraham  Lincoln."  Remarks  at  the 
funeral  services  in  Concord,      (xi.  305.) 

July  21.  "  Harvard  Commemoration  Speech."  (xi. 
317.) 

July  31.  "  Address  before  the  Adelphi  Union,  Wil- 
liams College,  Williamstown :  compiled  from  my  lec- 
tures on  Art  and  Criticism  ;  Books  •  Some  Good  Books ; 

Success." 

1866. 

April  14.  Six  lectures  on  the  "  Philosophy  of  the 
People,"  at  Chickering's  Hall,  Boston.  I.  "  Seven  Me- 
tres of  Intellect."  (1.)  Perception  of  identity.  (2.) 
Power  of  generalizing.  (3.)  Advancing  steps,  or  the 
number  of  shocks  the  battery  can  communicate.  (4.) 
Pace.  (5.)  Organic  unfolding,  classic  and  romantic. 
(6.)  Nearness.  (7.)  Imaginative  power.  The  highest 
measure  is  such  insight  and  faculty  as  can  convert  the 
daily  and  hourly  circumstance  into  universal  symbols. 
Nature  is  always  working,  in  wholes  and  in  details,  af- 
ter the  laws  of  the  human  mind.  Science  adopts  the 
method  of  the  universe,  as  fast  as  it  appears,  as  its  own. 


792       RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

The  reality  of  things  is  thought.  The  first  measure  of 
a  mind  is  its  centrality.  We  require  a  certain  absolute- 
ness in  the  orator,  the  leader,  the  statesman ;  and  if 
they  have  it  not,  they  simulate  it.  Right  perception  sees 
nothing  alone,  but  sees  each  particular  object  in  the  All. 
The  English  think  that  if  you  add  a  hundred  facts, 
you  will  have  made  a  right  step  towards  a  theory  ;  if  a 
thousand,  so  much  the  nearer.  But  a  good  mind  infers 
from  two  or  three  facts,  or  from  one,  as  readily  as  from 
a  legion.  Kepler  and  Newton  are  born  with  a  taste  for 
the  manners  of  Nature,  and  catch  the  whole  tune  from 
a  few  bars,  usually  from  one ;  for  they  know  that  the 
single  fact  indicates  the  universal  law.  Power  of  gen- 
eralizing differences  in  men  ;  and  the  number  of  succes- 
sive saltations  this  nimble  thought  can  make.  Habit- 
ual speed  of  combination.  Time  is  an  inverse  measure 
of  the  amount  of  spirit.  II.  "  Instinct,  Perception, 
Talent."  None  of  the  metaphysicians  have  prospered 
in  describing  the  power  which  constitutes  sanity,  the  cor- 
rector of  private  excesses  and  mistakes.  This  is  in- 
stinct ;  and  inspiration  is  only  this  power  excited  and 
breaking  its  silence.  Instinct  is  a  shapeless  giant  in  the 
cave,  without  hands  or  articulating  lips,  not  educated 
or  educable ;  Behemoth,  disdaining  speech,  disdaining 
particulars,  never  condescending  to  explanation,  but 
pointing  in  the  direction  you  should  go ;  makes  no  pro- 
gress, but  was  wise  in  youth  as  in  age.  Perception  is 
generalization  ;  and  every  perception  is  a  power.  Dif- 
fers from  instinct  by  adding  the  will.  Insight  assimi- 
lates the  thing  seen,  sees  nothing  alone,  but  sees  each 
particular  in  just  connection,  sees  all  in  God.     In  all 


APPENDIX  F.  793 

good  souls  an  inborn  necessity  of  presupposing  for  each 
particular  fact  a  prior  Being  which  compels  it  to  a 
harmony  with  all  other  natures.  Talent  is  habitual 
facility  of  execution.  It  formulates  thought,  and  sets  it 
to  work  for  something  practical,  which  will  pay.  You 
must  formulate  your  thought,  or  it  is  all  sky  and  no 
stars.  All  men  know  the  truth,  but  it  is  rare  to  find  one 
that  knows  how  to  speak  it.  The  same  thing  happens 
in  power  to  do  the  right.  Without  talent  his  rectitude 
is  ridiculous,  his  organs  do  not  play  him  true.  The  va- 
rious talents  are  organic,  each  related  to  that  part  of 
nature  it  is  to  explore  and  utilize.  III.  "  Genius,  Im- 
agination, Taste."  Talent  grows  out  of  the  severalty  of 
the  man,  but  genius  out  of  his  universality.  It  is  the 
levity  of  this  country  to  forgive  everything  to  talents. 
We  have  a  juvenile  love  of  smartness.  But  it  is  higher 
to  prize  the  power,  above  the  idea  individualized  or  do- 
mesticated. Power,  new  power,  is  the  good  which  the 
soul  seeks.  It  cares  not  if  it  do  not  yet  appear  in  a 
talent ;  likes  it  better  if  it  have  no  talent.  Genius  is  a 
sensibility  to  all  the  impressions  of  the  outer  world.  It 
is  the  organic  motion  of  the  soul.  It  does  not  rest  in 
contemplation,  but  passes  over  into  act.  Thus  it  is  al- 
ways new  and  creative.  Imagination  uses  an  organic 
classification,  joins  what  God  has  joined.  It  is  vision, 
and  knows  the  symbol  and  explores  it  for  the  sense. 
IV.  "  Laws  of  mind."  (1.)  Individualism.  An  indi- 
vidual mind  is  a  momentary  eddy,  a  fixation  of  certain 
sciences  and  powers.  The  universe  is  traversed  with 
paths  or  bridges :  to  every  soul  is  its  path,  invisible  to 
all  but  itself.     Every  man  is  a  new  method,  and  distrib- 


794       RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

utes  things  anew.  Every  persecution  shows  how  dear 
and  sacred  their  thoughts  are  to  men.  The  leaders  were 
perhaps  rogues,  but  they  could  not  have  done  their  work 
but  for  the  sincere  indignation  of  good  people  behind 
them.  (2.)  Identity.  What  we  see  once  we  see  again. 
What  is  here,  that  is  there,  and  it  makes  little  difference 
what  we  learn.  In  the  mind,  all  the  laws  of  each  de- 
partment of  nature  are  repeated,  and  each  faculty. 
Memory,  imagination,  reason,  are  only  modes  of  the 
same  power ;  as  lampblack  and  diamond  are  different 
arrangements  of  the  same  chemical  matter.  (3.)  Subjec- 
tiveness.  The  sun  borrows  his  beams  from  you.  Joy 
and  sorrow  are  radiations  from  us.  The  material  world 
in  strict  science  is  illusory.  Perception  makes.  All 
our  desires  are  procreant.  Wbat  we  are,  that  we  see, 
love,  and  hate.  A  man  externizes  himself  in  his  friends, 
his  enemies,  and  his  gods.  Good-will  makes  insight. 
All  is  beautiful  that  beauty  sees.  (4.)  Transition,  flux : 
the  blunder  of  the  savants  is  to  fancy  science  to  be  a 
finality.  But  the  mind  cares  for  a  fact,  not  as  a  final- 
ity, but  only  as  a  convertibility  into  every  other  fact  and 
system,  and  so  indicative  of  the  First  Cause.  Wisdom 
consists  in  keeping  the  soul  liquid  ;  in  resisting  the  ten- 
dency to  rapid  petrifaction.  (5.)  Detachment.  A  man 
is  intellectual  in  proportion  as  he  can  detach  his  thought 
from  himself,  and  has  no  engagement  in  it  which  can 
hinder  him  from  looking  at  it  as  somewhat  foreign,  see- 
ing it  not  under  a  personal  but  a  universal  light.  What 
is  vulgar  but  the  laying  the  emphasis  on  persons  and 
facts,  instead  of  on  the  quality  of  the  fact  ?  Yet  this 
privilege  is  guarded  with  costly  penalty.     This  detach- 


APPENDIX  F.  795 

ment  paralyzes  the  will.     There  is  this  vice  about  men 
of  thought,  that  you  cannot   quite   trust   them.     They 
have  a  hankering  to  play  providence,  and  excuse  them- 
selves from  the  rules  which  they  apply  to  the  human  race. 
This  interval  even  comes  between  the  thinker  and  his 
conversation,  which  he  cannot  inform  with  his  genius. 
V.  "  Conduct  of  the  Intellect."     The  condition  of  san- 
ity is  to  respect  the  order  in  the  intellectual  world  ;  to 
keep  down  talent   in  its    place ;    to    enthrone  instinct. 
The  primary  rule  for  the  conduct  of  intellect  is  to  have 
control  of  the  thoughts  without  losing  their  natural  atti- 
tudes and  action.     They  are  the  oracles  ;  we  are  not  to 
poke  and  force,  but  to  follow  them.     Yet  the  spirits  of 
the  prophets  are  subject  to  the  prophets.     A  master  can 
formulate  his  thought.     There  are  men  of  great  appre- 
hension, who  can   easily  entertain   ideas,  but   are   not 
exact,  severe  with  themselves.     One  wishes  to  lock  them 
up  and  compel  them  to  perfect  their  work.     Will  is  the 
measure  of  power.     He  alone  is  strong  and  happy  who 
has  a  will.     Genius  certifies  its  possession  of  a  thought  by 
translating  it  into  a  fact  which  perfectly  represents  it. 
But  the  consolation  of  being  the  victim  of  noble  agents 
is  at  times  all  that  appears.     The  ground  position  is 
that  the  intellect  grows  by  moral  obedience.     VI.   "  Re- 
lation of  the  Intellect  to  Morals."     The  spiritual  power 
of  man  is  twofold ;  intellect  and  will,  mind  and  heart. 
Each  is  easily  exalted  in  our  thought  until  it  seems  to 
fill  the  universe  and  become  the  synonym  of  God.     Each 
has  its  vices,  obvious  enough  when  the  opposite  element 
is  deficient.     Intellect  is  sceptical,  and  runs  down  into 
talent.       On    the  other  side,   the    affections    are    blind 


796  RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

guides.  But  all  great  minds  and  all  great  hearts  have 
mutually  allowed  the  absolute  necessity  of  the  twain. 
Action  and  idea  are  man  and  woman,  both  indispensa- 
ble :  why  should  they  rail  at  and  exclude  each  other  ? 

Dec.  11.     "  Man  of  the  World,"  before  the  Parker 
Fraternity.     The  earth  shows  age,  and  the  benefits  of 
age.     It  is  a  very  refined  air  that  we  breathe  ;  a  re- 
fined world.     It  attests  the  presence  of  man  and  how 
long  he  has  been  here.     He  is  a  born  collector,  not  of 
coins  or  pictures,  but  of  arts,  manners,  thoughts,  achieve- 
ments.    My  man  of  the  world  is  no  monotone  or  man 
of  one  idea,  but  has  the  whole  scale  of  speech  to  use  as 
occasion  requires ;  the  scholastic  with  clerks,  the  polite 
in  the  parlor,  and  the  speech  of  the  street.     He  has  a 
certain  toleration,  a  letting-be  and  letting-do  ;  a  consid- 
eration for  the  faults  of  others,  but  a  severity  to  his  own. 
But,  with  all  his  secular  merits,  he  belongs  to  the  other 
world,  too.     He  knows  the  joys  of  the  imagination ;  he 
prefers  a  middle  condition  ;  he  is  capable  of  humility,  he 
is  capable  of  sacrifices.     He  is  the  man  of  the  world 
who  can  lift  the  sense  of  other  men,  since  he  knows  the 
real  value  of  money,  culture,  languages,  art,  science,  and 
religion.     The  one  evil  of  the  world  is  blockheads,  and 
its  salvation  is  the  sensible  men,  of  catholicity  and  of  in- 
dividual bias. 

1867. 

March  4.     "  Eloquence,"  at  Chicago,     (viii.  107.) 
April  14.     Remarks    at   the    funeral    of  George    L. 

Stearns,   at  Medford,  Mass.      (Reported   in    Common- 

wealth,  April  27.) 


APPENDIX  F.  797 

April  19.  Address  at  the  dedication  of  the  Soldiers' 
Monument,  Concord,  Mass.     (xi.  99.) 

May  12.  "  Rule  of  Life."  At  Horticultural  Hall, 
before  the  Radical  Association.  (Mostly  in  "  Sover- 
eignty of  Ethics,"  x.  175,  and  "Preacher,"  x.  207.) 

May  30.  "  Remarks  at  the  Organization  of  the  Free 
Religious  Association."  At  Horticultural  Hall,  Boston, 
(xi.  379.) 

Aug.  21.  Speech  at  the  dinner,  in  Boston,  to  the 
Chinese  Embassy.  (Reported  in  Boston  Daily  Adver- 
tiser, Aug.  27.) 

Sept.  16.  "  The  Preacher."  At  a  meeting  at  Rev- 
erend J.  T.  Sargent's,     (x.  207.) 

1868. 
Oct  12.  Six  lectures  at  the  Meionaon,  Boston.  IV. 
"  Leasts  and  Mosts."  (The  lecture  for  which  "  Civ- 
ilization at  a  Pinch"  was  substituted,  April,  1861.) 
Aristotle  said  the  nature  of  everything  is  best  seen 
in  its  smallest  portions.  Size  is  of  no  account;  the 
snow-flake  is  a  small  glacier,  the  glacier  a  large  snow- 
flake.  See  everywhere  the  simplicity  of  the  means 
by  which  great  things  are  done.  Earth-worms  pre- 
serve the  ground  in  a  state  fit  for  vegetation.  Coral- 
lines build  continents.  And  in  daily  life  it  is  certain 
that  what  is  memorable  to  us  is  short  passages  of  happy 
experience.  The  essence  of  our  lives  is  contained  some- 
times in  a  few  days  or  hours.  So  in  literature ;  a  few 
anecdotes,  a  few  poems,  perhaps  a  few  lines  of  a  poem, 
refuse  to  be  forgotten ;  the  rest  lies  undisturbed  in  the 
library.  'T  is  a  narrow  line  that  divides  an  awkward 
act  from  the  finish  of  gracefulness.     England,  France, 


798  RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

America,  are  proud  nations,  as  Romans  and  Greeks  were 
before  them.  Volvox  globator,  the  initial  microscopic 
mite  from  which  man  draws  his  pedigree,  has  got  on  so 
far.  He  has  rolled  and  rotated  to  some  purpose.  Power 
resides  in  small  things,  and  wisdom  is  always  marked  by 
simplicity,  temperance,  and  humility.  Worship,  indeed, 
is  the  perception  of  the  Power  which  constructs  the 
greatness  of  the  centuries  out  of  the  paltriness  of  the 
hours.  V.  "  Hospitality,  Homes."  In  Scott's  poem, 
the  stranger,  arriving  at  the  mountaineer's  camp  and 
asked  what  he  requires,  replies :  "  Rest,  and  a  guide, 
and  food,  and  fire."  That  seems  little,  but  each  of  these 
four  wants  admits  of  large  interpretation.  "  Rest " 
means  peace  of  mind ;  "  guide,"  a  guardian  angel ; 
"  food "  means  bread  of  life  ;  and  "  fire,"  love.  The 
household  are  put  to  their  extremity  of  means  even  to 
attempt  such  heavenly  hospitality.  I  do  not  know  that 
any  city  is  big  enough  to  meet  these  demands.  And  as 
God  made  the  country  and  man  made  the  town,  I  think 
we  must  supplement  the  weakness  of  the  entertainer  by 
leading  the  traveller  thither  where  Nature  bears  the  ex- 
pense. A  thoughtful  man,  if  he  has  liberty  to  choose, 
will  easily  prefer  the  country  for  his  home,  because  here 
no  man  is  poor ;  nature  takes  charge  of  furnishing  the 
beauty  and  magnificence,  gratis.  Hospitality  is  in  de- 
grees. Give  the  elements,  be  sure,  and  as  good  as  you 
can  ;  but  there  are  higher  hospitalities,  —  of  thoroughly 
simple  and  good  manners ;  hospitality  to  the  thought  of 
the  guest.  See  what  he  can  do,  and  aid  him  to  do  that. 
Let  him  feel  that  his  aspirations  are  felt  and  honored  by 
you.     In  every  family  there  is  some  one  inmate  or  vis- 


APPENDIX  F.  799 

itor  who  has  taught  the  young  people  how  to  distinguish 
truth  from  falsehood,  and  not  to  regard  follies  as  merits  ; 
perhaps  some  grave  senior,  or  some  maiden  aunt,  lover  of 
solitude,  has  deserted  her  remote  village  and  its  church, 
to  refresh  herself  awhile  with  young  faces,  and  defend 
them  from  parental  routine.  She  knows  well  the  way 
to  the  heart  of  children  by  speaking  to  their  imagina- 
tion, by  rejoicing  in  theirs  ;  by  feeding  them  with  high 
anecdotes,  unforgettable,  lifting  them  from  book  to  book, 
inspiring  curiosity  and  even  ambition  prematurely  in 
young  bosoms ;  teasing,  flattering,  chiding,  spoiling 
them  for  the  simple  delight  of  her  sympathy  and  pride. 
Perhaps  they  will  not  find  in  all  the  colleges  so  real  a 
benefactor.     VI.     "  Greatness."     (viii.  283,  in  part.) 

1869. 

Jan.  2.  "  Readings  of  English  Poetry  and  Prose." 
At  Chickering's  Hall,  Boston,  on  ten  Saturday  after- 
noons. I.  "  Chivalry."  Extracts  from  Robert  Glouces- 
ter's Chronicle,  etc.  II.  "  Chaucer."  III.  (Wanting.) 
IV.  "  Shakspeare."  V.  "  Ben  Jonson  and  Lord  Ba- 
con." VI.  "  Herrick,  Donne,  Herbert,  Vaughan, 
Marvell."  VII.  "  Milton."  VIII.  (Wanting.)  IX. 
"  Johnson,  Gibbon,  Burke,  Cowper,  Wordsworth."  X. 
(Wanting.) 

March  1.  "Mary  Moody  Emerson."  Before  the 
Woman's  Club,  in  Boston,     (x.  371.) 

April  4.  "  Natural  Religion."  At  Horticultural  Hall, 
Boston.     (Mostly  in  "  Sovereignty  of  Ethics,"  x.  175.) 

May  17.  A  reading  on  "  Religion,"  at  Rev.  J.  T. 
Sargent's. 


800       RALPH    WALDO  EMERSON. 

May  28.  Speech  at  the  second  annual  meeting  of  the 
Free  Religious  Association ;  Tremont  Temple,  Boston, 
(xi.  385.) 

Sept.  14.  Speech  at  the  evening  reception  on  the 
centennial  anniversary  of  Alexander  von  Humboldt's 
birth.  (In  the  publication  of  the  proceedings  by  the  Bos- 
ton Society  of  Natural  History,  1870,  p.  71.) 

1870. 

April  26.  Sixteen  university  lectures  at  Harvard 
College,  on  "  The  Natural  History  of  the  Intellect."  1. 
Introduction  ;  Praise  of  Knowledge.  2.  Transcendency 
of  Physics.  3,  4.  Perception.  5,  6.  Memory.  7.  Im- 
agination. 8.  Inspiration.  9.  Genius.  10.  Common 
Sense.  11.  Identity.  12,  13.  Metres  of  Mind.  14. 
Platonists.  15.  Conduct  of  Intellect.  16.  Relation  of 
Intellect  to  Morals.  (Repeated  in  1871,  in  a  slightly 
different  order,  omitting  11,  14,  and  adding  Wit  and 
Humor,  Demonology,  and  another  lecture  on  the  Con- 
duct of  Intellect.  In  substance,  these  lectures  are  mostly 
the  same  with  the  first  three  in  the  course  on  "  Mind  and 
Manners  in  the  XIX.  Century  "  (1848),  and  with  some  of 
those  on  the  "  Natural  Method  of  Mental  Philosophy " 
(1858),  and  "  Philosophy  for  the  People  "  (1866.)  Most 
of  what  was  new  is  given  in  "  Poetry  and  Imagination," 
Collected  Writings,  viii.  7.) 

Dec.  22.  Speech  before  the  New  England  Society, 
at  Delmonico's,  New  York.  (Printed  in  the  Proceed" 
ings  of  the  Society.) 

Dec.  23.  "  Discourse  on  the  Anniversary  of  the  Land- 
ing of   the   Pilgrims   at   Plymouth."     Before  the  New 


APPENDIX  F.  801 

England  Society,  at  Steinway  Hall,  New  York.  (Re- 
ported in  New  York  Tribune,  Dec.  24,  and  Boston 
Daily  Advertiser,  Dec.  26.) 

1871. 

Feb.  3.  Speech  at  the  meeting  for  organizing  the 
Museum  of  Fine  Arts  in  Boston.  (Reported  in  Boston 
Daily  Advertiser,  Feb.  4.) 

Aug.  15.  "Walter  Scott."  At  Massachusetts  His- 
torical  Society,  on  the  centennial  anniversary  of  Scott's 
birth,    (xi.  370.) 

1872. 

Jan.  4.  "  Inspiration  :  "  one  of  a  course  of  four  lec- 
tures at  Peabody  Institute,  Baltimore,     (viii.  255.) 

Jan.  7.  "  Books  and  Reading."  At  Howard  Univer- 
sity, Washington.  (Reported  in  Boston  Evening  Tran- 
scvipt,  Jan.  22.) 

April  15.  Six  readings  at  Mechanics  Hall,  Boston. 
I.  "  Books.  Read  Thoreau's  '  Inspiration,'  H.  Hunt's 
'  Thought.'  II.  Poetry  and  Imagination  [as  printed 
in  viii.  7],  as  far  as  through  Creation,  and  read  Words- 
worth's '  Schill,'  Byron's  '  Soul,'  lines  from  '  Island,'  and 
'  Licoo,'  '  Ballad  of  Thomas  the  Rhymer,'  Lewis'  '  Lines 
to  Pope,'  Scott's  '  Look  not  thou  on  Beauty,'  B.  Jonson, 
'  Ode  to  Himself.'  III.  Poetry  and  Imagination,  con- 
cluded, and  read  Taliessin,  '  Dinas  Emlinn  '  Saadi,  from 
'  Westostliche  Divan,'  Arab  ballad  from  W.  O.  D. 
IV.  Criticism:  Klephtic  ballads,  '  Lochinvar,'  Timrod's 
poem,  '  Boy  of  Egremont.'  V.  Culture.  Goethe,  Pascal, 
Pope,  Bolingbroke,  Lionardo  da  Vinci,  Varnhagen  v. 
Ense.     VI.     Morals,  Religion." 


802  RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 

Aug.  2.  Speech  at  the  dinner  in  Boston  to  the  Japa- 
nese envoys.     (Reported  in  Commonwealth,  Aug.  10.) 

Oct.  15.  Speech  at  dinner  for  Mr.  J.  A.  Froude,  at 
New  York.     (Reported  in  New  York  Tribune,  Oct.  16.) 

1873. 

Oct.  1.  Address  at  the  opening  of  the  Monroe  Pub- 
lic Library,  Concord,  Mass. 

Dec.  16.  Read  in  Faneuil  Hall  the  poem  "  Boston." 
(ix.  182.) 

1875. 

April  19.  Address  at  the  unveiling  of  the  statue  of 
the  Minute-Man  at  Concord  Bridge.  (Reported  in  Com- 
monivealth,  April  24.) 

1876. 

June  28.  Oration  to  the  Senior  Class  of  the  Univer- 
sity of  Virginia,    (x.  247.) 

Nov.  8.  Speech  at  the  meeting  of  the  Latin  School 
Association  in  Boston,  on  the  centennial  anniversary  of 
the  reopening  of  the  school  after  the  evacuation  of  the 
town  by  the  British  troops.  (Reported  in  Boston  Even- 
ing Transcript,  Nov.  9.) 

1877. 

April  20.  "  Boston."  At  Old  South  Church,  Bos- 
ton. (From  the  course  on  "  Life  and  Literature,"  in 
1861,  with  some  additions.) 

1878. 
March  30.     "  The  Fortune  of  the  Republic."    At  Old 
South  Church,  Boston.     (A  lecture  of  1863,  with  addi- 
tions.    Published,  xi.  393.) 


APPENDIX  F.  803 

1879. 

May  5.  "  The  Preacher."  At  Divinity  School  Chapel, 
Cambridge.  (The  lecture  of  Sept.  16,  1867.  Pub- 
lished, x.  207.) 

1881. 

Feb.  10.  "Carlyle."  At  Massachusetts  Historical 
Society.     (Published,  x.  453.) 


INDEX. 


Adams,  Abel,  Emerson's  friend,  175, 
350,  628. 

Adams,  John  Quincy,  on  Emerson, 
410. 

Addresses  and  lectures,  list  of,  Appen- 
dix F. 

Adirondack  Club,  618. 

Agassiz,  Louis,  617. 

Alcott,  A.  Bronson,  at  Concord,  279  ; 
Emerson's  account  of  him,  281 ;  his 
remark  about  Emerson,  357. 

"  American  Nationality,"  lecture,  783. 

"  American  Scholar,"  Phi  Beta  Kappa 
address,  321. 

"  Anglo-American,"  lecture,  754. 

Anthology,  The  Monthly,  23. 

Anti-slavery,  425. 

Athenaeum,  the  Boston,  25. 

Austin,  Benjamin,  epigram  on  the 
First  Church,  7. 

Bacon,  Lord,  718. 

Bancroft,  George,  preaching,  81,  93 ; 
at  Emerson's  lecture  on  the  "  Pres- 
ent Age,"  400 ;  his  reception  of  Emer- 
son in  England,  503 ;  in  Egypt,  659. 

Bartol,  Kev.  C.  A.,  315. 

Berkeley,  Emerson  a  Berkeleyan,  478. 

"Biography,"  lectures,  712. 

Bliss,"  Rev.  Daniel,  12. 

Books,  Emerson  not  a  student  of,  288 ; 
lecture  on,  776,  789. 

Boston,  city  politics  in  Emerson's 
youth,  87  ;  lecture,  777. 

Bradford,  George  P.,  323. 

Bradford,  Samuel,  64. 

Bromfield,  Henry,  13. 

Brook  Farm,  434. 

Brown,  John,  596. 

Brown,  Dr.  Samuel,  524. 

Buckminster,  Joseph  Stevens,  funeral 
sermon  on  William  Emerson,  20. 

Bulkeley,  Peter,  8. 

Burke,  Edmund,  lecture  on,  231. 

Burns,  Robert,  Emerson's  speech  at 
the  Burns  Centenary,  766. 

Burroughs,  John,  Emerson  as  visitor 
at  West  Point,  013. 

Byron,  Lady,  549. 


California,  trip  to,  644. 

Calvinism,  202. 

Cambridge  (Mass.),  Emerson's  school 
there,  115. 

Canterbury  (Roxbury,  Mass.),  resi- 
dence there,  83. 

Carlyle,  Thomas,  his  influence  on  Em- 
erson, 193,  241  ;  their  first  meeting, 
195 ;  "  Sartor  Resartus,"  240 ;  corre- 
spondence, 241  ;  their  meeting  in 
1847,  501,  530, 562 ;  in  1872,  658. 

"  Cause  and  Effect,"  lecture,  772. 

Charming,  Edward  Tyrrel,  Emerson's 
instructor,  55. 

Charming,  Dr.  William  Ellery,  102, 
105. 

Channing,  William  Ellery  (the  poet), 
372. 

Channing,  William  Henry,  572,  576. 

Charleston,  S.  C,  Emerson  at,  119. 

Chaucer,  716. 

Cherokees,  letter  on  the  Cherokee  out- 
rage, 433. 

Children,  Emerson's  treatment  of, 
484. 

Christ  and  Christianity,  303,  343. 

Christian  Examiner,  The,  "Nature," 
261 ;  the  Divinity  Hall  address,  337. 

Church,  Anglican  and  Roman  forms, 
318,  471. 

Church,  the  First,  2. 

Church,  the  Second,  Emerson  at,  146 ; 
letter  to,  685. 

Clarke,  James  Freeman,  Transcen- 
dentalism, 249  ;  prints  poems  of 
Emerson's,  480. 

"Classes of  Men,"  lecture,  771. 

Clough,  Arthur  Hugh,  533,  546. 

Clubs,  371. 

Coleridge,  Samuel  Taylor,  58, 160, 723. 

Concord  (Mass.),  Emerson  at  school 
there,  49 ;  residence,  228 ;  historical 
address,  235;  his  account  of,  284; 
School  of  Philosophy,  409 ;  depar- 
ture of  soldiers  to  the  war,  601. 

Concord  (N.  H.),  Emerson  preaches 
there,  142 ;  engaged  to  Miss  Tucker, 
143 ;  marriage,  146 ;  revisits  in  1879, 
679. 


806 


INDEX. 


"  Conduct  of  Life,"  lectures,  754. 
Congdon,  C.  T.,  description  of  Emer- 
son in  the  pulpit,  154. 
Conversation,  Emerson's,  622. 
Cooke,  Rev.  Geo.  W.,  408. 
Country  life,  761. 
"  Courage,"  lecture,  769. 

Dana,  R.  H.,  Jr.,  Emerson's  scholar, 
115. 

Dawes,  Rufus,  Emerson  as  a  boy,  6. 

De  Quincey,  Thomas,  Emerson's  ac- 
count of  him,  520. 

Dial,  The,  projected,  246 ;  Emerson 
takes  charge,  407 ;  list  of  his  con- 
tributions, 695. 

Divinity  School  (Cambridge),  Emer- 
son there,  131 ;  address,  330. 

Domestic  service,  his  feeling  about, 
446. 

Drama,  the,  66. 

Dwight,  J.  S.,  Emerson's  successor  at 
East  Lexington,  324. 

East     Lexington     (Mass.),    Emerson 
preaches  there,   237 ;    gives  up  his 
charge,  324  ;  address,  747. 
Edinburgh,  visit  (1833),  194 ;  in  1873, 

664. 
Education,    emulation    in,    416 ;   lec- 
tures, 730,  732,  782. 

Egypt,  visit  to,  659. 

Emancipation,  address  on  W.  I.  Eman- 
cipation, 430 ;  proclamation,  605. 

Emerson,  Charles  Chauncy,  brother 
of  R.  W.,  27;  his  death,  268;  his 
character,  271. 

Emerson,  Edward  Bliss,  brother  of 
R.  W.,  27,  112 ;  his  derangement, 
140 ;  death,  219. 

Emerson,  Mrs.  Ellen  Louisa  (Tucker), 
first  wife  of  R.  W.,  142. 

Emerson,  George  Barrell,  description 
of  the  Emerson  household,  38. 

Emerson,  John,  of  Topsfield,  9. 

Emerson,  John  Clarke,  R.  W.'s  broth- 
er, 26. 

Emerson,  Joseph,  of  Mendon,  8. 

Emerson,  Joseph,  of  Maiden,  9. 

Emerson,  Joseph,  of  Pepperell,  11. 

Emerson,  Mary  Caroline,  R.  W.'s  sis- 
ter, 27. 

Emerson,  Mary  Moody,  aunt  of  R.  W., 
30. 

Emerson,  Mrs.  Lidian,  Emerson's 
wife,  229. 

Emerson,  Phebe  Ripley,  R.  W.'s  sis- 
ter, 26. 

Emerson,  Ralph  Waldo,  birth,  3,  27  ; 
early  seriousness,  6  ;  schools,  36, 
40  ;  at  school  at  Concord,  45 ;  early 
verses,  45  ;  college  days,  50  ;  school- 
keeping,  67  ;  preparation  for  the 
ministry,  74  ;  at  Canterbury,  83,  96 ; 
letters  to  J.  B.  Hill,  86 ;  at  Divinity 


School,  98  ;    choice   of   profession, 
100  ;  doubts,  105  ;   ill  health,  111 ; 
first    sermon,  112  ;    approbated   to 
preach,  118  ;  trip  to  the  South,  119  ; 
return,   131  ;    recovers   his    health, 
140  ;  his  reflections  on  himself,  142 ; 
engaged    to    Ellen    Tucker,    142 ; 
preaches    at   Second  Church,   144 ; 
marriage,  146;  preaching,  etc.,  150, 
165,  169  ;  disagreement  about  com- 
munion service,  154 ;  the  death  of  his 
wife,  172  ;  resigns  his  charge,  158 ; 
project  of  a  magazine,  171  ;  visit  to 
Europe,   173  ;    visits  Carlyle,   194 ; 
reflections  on  Europe,  etc.,  198  ;  re- 
turn home,  205 ;  first  lectures,  207  ; 
thoughts  on  a  reform  of  public  wor- 
ship,   209  ;    death    of    his   brother 
Edward,  219  ;  thinks  of  retiring  to 
solitude,  22S ;    moves  to   Concord, 
ib.  ;  marriage,  229,  236  ;  lectures  on 
Biography,  231 ;   historical  address 
at  Concord,  235  ;  lectures  on  English 
Literature,  237 ;  Transcendentalism, 
244;    "Nature"    published,     248; 
death  of  his  brother  Charles,  268  ; 
makes  acquaintance  with  Mr.  Alcott 
and  Miss  Fuller,  275  ;  Thoreau,  282  ; 
life  in  Concord,  284  ;   birth  of  his 
first  child,  2S7  ;  habits  of  work,  287 ; 
lectures  on  "Philosophy  of  History," 
298;  at  Mr.  Farley's  church,  300; 
thoughts  on  religion,  303 ;  his  first 
Phi  Beta  Kappa  speech,  321  ;   lec- 
tures on  "Human Culture," 322  ;  re- 
signs his  charge  at  East  Lexington, 
324;    Divinity    Hall  address,    330; 
lectures  on  "  Human  Life,"  384  :  ill 
health,  387  ;  outlay  for  Carlyle,  392  ; 
disgust  of  lecturing,  391,  397  ;  lec- 
tures on  the  "Present  Age,"  393  ; 
the  Dial,  401 ;  Emerson's  Transcen- 
dentalism, 412  ;    American  genius, 
420,  495  ;   position  with  regard  to 
reform,   421,  451,  453  ;   first    anti- 
slavery  speech,  425 ;  address  on  West 
India  Emancipation,  430 ;  letter  to 
Van  Buren  on  the  Cherokee  outrage, 
433  ;  dislike  of  inequality,  442  ;  do- 
mestic service,  446 ;  ill  health,  448  ; 
manual  labor,  450  ;   vegetarianism, 
ib. ;  women's  rights,  455  ;  objections 
to  the  profession  of  lecturer,  457, 
469,  477  ;  money,  458 ;  the  seashore, 
464  ;   Waterville  address,  466  ;   Ro- 
man Catholic  worship,  471 ;  dislike 
of  travelling,  473 ;  his  own  poetry, 
479  ;  death  of  his  eldest  child,  481  ; 
with  his  children,  484 ;  New  York, 
489 ;  Fourierism,  491 ;  wood-lots,  493 ; 
Massachusetts    Quarterly    Review, 
497,  515;  second  visit  to  England, 
501  ;    London   society,  526 ;    Paris, 
541  ;  lectures,  547  ;  Stafford  House, 
551 ;  return  home,  563  ;  lecturing  at 


INDEX. 


807 


the  West,  ib.  ;  death  of  Margaret 
Fuller,  571 ;  of  Mrs.  Ruth  Emerson, 
572 ;  slavery,  574 ;  annexation  of 
Texas,  575 :  Webster,  578 ;  lecture 
interrupted,  585 ;  speeches  against 
the  Fugitive  Slave  Law,  587 ;  Amer- 
ican want  of  faith,  5S9 ;  project  of 
buying  the  slaves,  592 ;  the  North- 
ern temperament,  594  ;  John  Brown, 
596  ;  an  immoral  law  void,  598 ;  "  Civ- 
ilization at  a  Pinch,"  600  ;  lecture  in 
Washington,  605  ;  emancipation,  ib.; 
English  feeling,  608  ;  education,  611 ; 
at  West  Point,  613  ;  the  college,  614 ; 
Agassiz,  617  ;  Saturday  Club,  618 ; 
conversation,  622 ;  laughter,  624 ; 
position  in  the  community,  625 :  mar- 
riage of  his  daughter,  628 ;  second 
Phi  Beta  Kappa  speech,  629;  over- 
seer, etc.,  ib.  ;  rumors  of  return  to 
orthodoxy,  ib. ;  Memorial  Hall,  632  ; 
university  lectures,  633  ;  trip  to  Cal- 
ifornia, 644 ;  declining  strength,  648; 
loss  of  memory,  651  ;  Plutarch's 
Morals,  652  ;  Parnassus,  ib.  ;  burn- 
ing of  his  house,  653  ;  third  visit  to 
Europe,  656 ;  Egypt,  659  ;  England, 
662  ;  return  home,  664 ;  reception, 
ib. ;  candidate  for  Glasgow  Rector- 
ship, 666 ;  letter  to  Dr.  Furness, 
ib. ;  Minute-Man  speech,  66S ;  "  Let- 
ters and  Social  Aims,"  669 ;  Virginia 
speech,  673  ;  the  bodyguard,  676  ; 
French's  bust  of  Emerson,  678 ;  visit 
to  Concord,  N.  H.,  679 ;  last  years, 
671,  680  ;  last  illness  and  death,  681. 

Emerson,  Robert  Bulkeley,  R.  W.'s 
brother,  27,  99. 

Emerson,  Mrs.  Ruth,  R.  W.'s  mother, 
37 ;  her  death,  572. 

Emerson,  William  (of  Concord),  R. 
W.'s  grandfather,  10,  12,  14. 

Emerson,  William  (of  Harvard  and 
Boston),  R.  W.'s  father,  13;  letter 
to  Mrs.  Grosvenor,  15 ;  at  Boston, 
19  ;  his  death,  26. 

England,  first  visit  (1833),  193 ;  sec- 
ond visit  (1847-48),  501  ;  third  visit 
(1872),  656. 

English,  imitated  by  Americans,  226. 

English  literature,  Lectures  on,  238, 
714,  716. 

"  English  Traits,"  563. 

Everett,  Edward,  Emerson's  early  ad- 
miration of  him,  61,  95. 

Examiner,  The  Christian,  on  "Na- 
ture," 261  ;  the  Divinity  Hall  ad- 
dress, 337. 

Farley,  Rev.  F.  A.,  anecdote  of  Em- 
erson, 300. 

Fate,  or  the  order  of  Nature,  to  be 
reckoned  with,  422,  469. 

First  Philosophy,  199,  246. 

Florida,  trip  to,  121. 


France,  visit  to  (1833),  190 ;  in  1848, 
541  ;  in  1872,  660 ;  lecture,  756. 

Francis,  Dr.  Convers,  the  Divinity 
Hall  address,  337. 

French,  D.  C,  his  bust  of  Emerson, 
678. 

Friendship,  359,  365. 

Froude,  J.  A.,  533. 

Fruitlands,  438. 

Fugitive  Slave  Law,  speech  on,  587. 

Fuller,  S.  M.,  at  Emerson's  house, 
275  ;  her  death,  571. 

Furness,  Rev.  W.  H.,  Emerson's  boy- 
hood, 5,  43. 

Gardner,  J.  L.,  recollections  of  Emer- 
son, 64. 

Garrison,  W.  Lloyd,  430. 

Glasgow  Rectorship,  the,  666. 

God,  340,  498. 

"  Good-bye,  proud  world  "  (Emerson's 
poem),  84. 

Gould,  B.  A.,  Emerson's  school-mas- 
ter, 41. 

Greeley,  Horace,  489. 

Hague,  Rev.  Dr.,  reminiscences  of 
Emerson,  169,  232. 

Harvard  College  :  Emerson  at  college, 
55  ;  commemoration  speech,  627  ; 
overseer,  629 ;  university  lectures, 
633. 

Harvard  Community,  438. 

Haskins,  Ruth,  Emerson's  mother,  17, 
37 ;  her  death,  572. 

Haskins,  Rev.  David  Green,  reminis- 
cences, 172,  note. 

Hawthorne,  Nath.,  description  of  Em- 
erson, 297  ;  their  walk,  373 ;  Emer- 
son's opinion  of  him,  376. 

Health,  Emerson's,  111,  173. 

Hedge,  Rev.  F.  H.,  Emerson  at  the 
Divinity  School,  138 ;  sermons,  150 ; 
Emerson's  opinion  of  him,  216 ; 
Transcendentalism,  244. 

Herbert,  George,  719. 

Hill,  J.  B.,  recollections  of  Emerson, 
59 ;  correspondence  with,  86. 

History,  lectures  on  Philosophy  of, 
298,  724. 

Hoar,  Judge  E.  R.,  601. 

Hoar,  Miss  Elizabeth.  3S0. 

Hoar,  Samuel,  575,  751. 

Holmes,  Dr.  O.  W.,  quoted,  262,  321. 

Howe,  L.  G.,  editor  of  Massachusetts 
Quarterly  Review,  497. 

"Human  Culture,"  lectures  on,  322, 
733. 

"Human  Life,"  lectures  on,  384,  738. 

Hume,  David,  Emerson  a  student  of, 
104. 

Idealist,  Emerson  an,  478. 
Immortality,  130. 
Infinite,  the  feeling  of,  250. 


808 


INDEX. 


Intellect,  Natural  History  of,  lectures, 

753. 
Ireland,  Alexander,  496,  509. 
Italy,  lectures  on,  227. 

Jackson,  Miss  lydia.     (See  Emerson, 

Mrs.) 
James,   Henry,   sketch   of    Emerson, 

353,  359,  364. 
Jeffrey,  Lord,  523. 
Jesus,  his  character,  331,  343. 
Jonson,  Ben,  719. 
Joy,  Benjamin,  2. 

Lamarck,  223. 

Landor,  W.  S.,  190,  529. 

Latin  School,  41. 

Law,  an  immoral  law  void,  598. 

Lecturing,  365 ;  at  the  West,  563. 

Lectures,  list  of,  Appendix  F. 

Lexington,  East,  Emerson  preaching 
there,  237. 

Liberal  Christianity,  307. 

"Life  and  Literature,"  lectures,  774. 

Lincoln,  Abraham,  605. 

Literature,  English,  lectures  on,  238. 

Liverpool,  impression  of,  504. 

London,  first  visit,  193  ;  in  1848,  526  ; 
in  1S72,  G56  ;  lectures,  547,  753. 

Lord's  Supper,  sermon  on,  154. 

Loring,  Judge  Edward  Greeley,  recol- 
lections of  Emerson,  42. 

Lothrop,  Dr.  S.  K.,  recollections  of 
Emerson,  53. 

Lovejoy,  E.  P.,  a  martyr  for  free 
speech,  323. 

Lowell.  Rev.  Chas.,  account  of  Emer- 
son's father,  22. 

Lowell,  Francis  Cabot,  654. 

Lowell,  J.  R.,  Emerson's  $  B  K  speech, 
321 ;  aversion  to  laughter,  624 ;  Em- 
erson's influence,  628. 

Luther.  M.,  lecture  on,  231  ;  "  Man  of 
the  World,"  lecture,  796. 

Manners,  Emerson's,  account  of  his, 
142,  361. 

Martineau.  H.,  description  of  Emer- 
son, 296.' 

Massachusetts  Quarterly  Review,  497. 

Memorial  Hall,  laying  of  the  corner- 
stone, 632. 

Memory,  loss  of,  651. 

Mental  Philosophy,  lectures  on,  763. 

Michelangelo,  lecture  on,  231. 

Middlebury  address,  467. 

Milton,  John,  lecture  on,  231. 

Miracles,  305. 

Money,  Emerson's  view  of,  415. 

Montaigne,  167,  325. 

Monthly  Anthology,  the,  23. 

Moody,  Father,  10. 

"  Moral  Forces,"  lecture,r786. 

"Moral  Sense,"  lecture.  770. 

Morley,  John,  on  Emerson,  355. 


Murat,  Achille,  126. 
Muller,  George,  417. 

Nantasket,  visit  to,  464. 

"  Natural  Religion,"  lecture,  773. 

"Nature,"  259. 

Nature,  the  method  of,  address  at 
Waterville,  466. 

Nature,  early  feeling  about,  78,  96. 

New  Bedford,  Emerson  preaching 
there,  154,  215. 

New  England,  lectures  on,  469. 

Negro,  capabilities,  431. 

Newton  (Mass.),  residence.  205. 

New  York,  489. 

Norton,  Andrew,  remarks  on  the  Di- 
vinity Hall  address,  334. 

Old  Brick  Church,  2. 

Old  North  Church,  146. 

Ossoli,  Mme.     (See  Fuller,  S.  M.) 

Palfrey,  Dr.  John  Gorham,  575,  585. 

Paris,  visit  to  (1833),  190;  in  1848, 
541  ;  in  1872,  662. 

Parker,  Theodore,  Emerson's  lecture 
on  the  "  Present  Age,"  400  ;  in  the 
Dial,  406. 

"Parnassus,"  652. 

Pea-body,  Miss  E.  P.,  Emerson's  Di- 
vinity Hall  address,  344. 

Periodical,  projects  of  a,  171, 216, 401. 

Phi  Beta  Kappa  poem,  228  ;  first  ad- 
dress, 321  :  second,  629. 

Phillips.  Wendell,  359,  598. 

Philosophy,  the  first,  246. 

"  Philosophy  of  the  People,"  lectures, 
701. 

Pierce,  Rev.  John,  account  of  Emer- 
son's father,  20. 

Plutarch,  Emerson's  Introduction  to 
the  Morals,  652. 

Plymouth,  237. 

Poems,  Emerson's,  quoted,  182. 

Poet,  Emerson  a  poet,  236,  294,  479. 

Prayer,  Emerson's  feeling  about,  1G5 ; 
on  compulsory  attendance  at,  in 
college,  630. 

Preaching  :  Emerson's  first  sermon, 
112  ;  Dr.  Hedge's  opinion  of  Emer- 
son's preaching,  150;  last  sermon, 
498 

"  Present  Age,"  lectures,  730,  742. 

Professorship,  Emerson  desires  a,  72. 

Providence,  R.  I.,  Emerson's  preach- 
ing there,  301. 

Pulpit,  its  importance,  324. 

Pythologian  Club,  65. 

Quakers,  Emerson's  sympathy  with, 

500. 
Quincy,  Josiah,  Jr.,   recollections  of 

Emerson,  64. 

Reason  and  understanding,  218,  246. 


INDEX. 


809 


Reed,  Sampson,  his  "  Growth  of  the 
Mind,"  162. 

Reform,  Emerson's  attitude  towards, 
436  ;  lecture  on,  771. 

Religion,  725. 

"  Representative  Men,"  lectures  on, 
473  ;  published,  571. 

Ripley,  Dr.  Ezra,  46,  235. 

Ripley,  George,  editor  of  the  Dial, 
403 ;  at  Brook  Farm,  434. 

Ripley,  Rev.  Samuel,  kindness  to 
Emerson,  119 ;  his  death,  509. 

Ripley,  Mrs.  Sarah  Alden,  377. 

Robinson,  H.  Crabb,  account  of  Em- 
erson, 561. 

Rome,  visit  to,  in  1833,  185,  187. 

Roman  Catholic  worship,  188,  471. 

Rotch,  Miss  Mary,  154,  498. 

Russell,  Dr.  Le  Baron,  republishes 
"Sartor  Resartus,"  240 ;  collects  a 
fund  for  Emerson,  654,  703. 

St.  Augustine,  Florida,  121. 
Sampson,  George,   Emerson's  letters 

to  him,  183,  205. 
Sanborn,  F.  B. ,  account  of  Concord, 

284. 
"  Sartor  Resartus,"  republication  of, 

240. 
Saturday  Club,  618. 
"Scholar,  The  American,"  Phi  Beta 

Kappa  speech,  320. 
School-keeping,  69,  75,  86. 
Science,  Emerson's  position  towards, 

222. 
Scotland,  visit  to,  in  1833,  194. 
Scott,  David,  520. 
Scott,  Sir  Walter,  239,  722. 
Scripture,  the  quoting  of,  316. 
Sea,  the,  463. 
Second    Church :    Emerson    preaches 

there,  146  ;  gives  up  his  charge,  158 ; 

subsequent  addresses,  209. 
Shakspeare,  719. 
Sin,  Emerson  ignorant  of,  354. 
Slavery,  425. 

Sleepy  Hollow  address,  760. 
Social  Circle,  club  in  Concord,  287. 
Sumner,  Charles,  497. 
Sumter,  Fort,  the  attack  on,  599. 
Sutherland,  the  Duchess  of,  551. 
Swedenborg,  162. 


"Table-Talk,"  lecture,  789. 
Taylor,  Rev.  Edward,  327. 
Tennyson,  Alfred,  Emerson's  meeting 

with,  540. 
Texas,  annexation  of,  575. 
Thayer,   Professor  J.  B.  :  Emerson's 

Fugitive    Slave  Law  speech,    586 ; 

Western  journey  with  Mr.  Emerson, 

644. 
Thoreau,  H.  D.,  282. 
Threnody,  481. 
Ticknor,  George,  55. 
••  Times,  The,"  lectures,  747. 
Transcendentalism,    248 ;    Emerson's 

reserves,  412. 
Travelling,  Emerson's  dislike  of,  269. 
"Truth,"  lecture,  784. 
Tucker,  Ellen  Louisa,  Emerson's  first 

wife,  142. 
Tufts  College  address,  780. 

Van  Buren,  letter  to,  433,  697. 
Vegetarianism,  450. 
Very,  Jones,  348. 

Virginia,  Univ.  of,  Emerson's  address, 
673. 

Walden  wood-lot,  493. 

Waldo  (Emerson's  son),  his  death, 
481. 

Walker,  Rev.  James,  337. 

Ware,  Rev.  Henry,  Jr.,  Emerson  his 
colleague,  144 ;  the  Divinity  Hall 
address,  332  ;  correspondence  with, 
689. 

Washington,  lecture  at,  605. 

Waterville  address,  466. 

Wealth,  lecture,  Emerson's  views  con- 
cerning, 415,  442. 

Webster,  Daniel,  92,  228,  578. 

West,  the,  563. 

West  Point,  Emerson  a  visitor  at, 
613. 

Whipple,  E.  P.,  reminiscences  of  Em- 
erson, 467,  585. 

Williamstown  address,  757. 

Willis,  N.  P.,  description  of  Emerson, 
570. 

Wilson  (Christopher  North),  521. 

Wood-lot,  delight  in,  493. 

Wordsworth,  524,  790. 

Writing,  Emerson's  method,  294. 


AUG  2  6  195?