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THE  MODERN  STUDENT'S  LIBRARY 

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EMERSON'S  ESSAYS 


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The  Modern    Student's  Library 

Published  by  CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 


THE  ORDEAL  OF  RICHARD  FEVEREL. 

By  George  Meredith. 
THE  HISTORY  OF  PENDENNIS. 

By  William  Makepeace  Thackeray. 
THE  RETURN  OF  THE  NATIVE. 

By  Thomas  Hardy. 
BOSWELL'S  LIFE  OF  JOHNSON. 
ADAM  BEDE. 

By  George  Eliot. 
ENGLISH  POETS  OF  THE  EIGHTEENTH 

CENTURY. 
THE  RING  AND  THE  BOOK. 

By  Robert  Browning. 
PAST  AND  PRESENT. 

By  Thomas  Carlyle. 
PRIDE  AND  PREJUDICE. 

By  Jane  Austen. 
THE  HEART  OF  MIDLOTHIAN. 

By  Sir  Walter  Scott. 
THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

By  Nathaniel  Hawthorne. 
BUNYAN'S  PILGRIM'S  PROGRESS. 
THE  ESSAYS   OF   ROBERT   LOUIS    STEVEN- 
SON. 
NINETEENTH  CENTURY  LETTERS. 
THE  ESSAYS   OF  ADDISON  AND    STEELE. 
SELECTIONS    FROM  THE   WRITINGS   OF 

BENJAMIN  FR.ANKLIN  AND  JONATHAN 

EDWARDS 
SELECTIONS  AND  ESSAYS. 

By  John  Ruskin. 
SELECTED  ESSAYS  OF  RALPH  WALDO 

EMERSON. 
AN  ESSAY  ON  COMEDY. 

Bv  George  Meredith. 
THE  ESSx\YS  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 
Each  small  i2mo. 
Other  volumes  in  preparation. 


.^-^^^fp^ 


THE  MODERN  STUDENT'S  LIBRARY 


EMERSON'S  ESSAYS 
I 


SELECTED   AND    EDITED   WITH   AN 
INTRODUCTION   BY 

ARTHUR  HOBSON  QUINN 

PROFESSOR  OF  ENGLISH  AND  DEAN  OF  THE 
COLLEGE,  UNIVERSITY  OF  PENNSYLVANIA 


fc 


I 


CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 

NEW   YORK  CHICAGO  BOSTON 


^''Q'5 

y  %^^^ 


Copyright,  1920,  by 
CHAKLES  SORIBNER'S   SONS 


©CI.A597144 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 


Introduction ix 

From  Nature,  Addresses  and  Lectures 

Nature  (1836)         ......        1 

The  American  Scholar  (1837)         ....      39 

From  the  Essays,  First  Series  (1841) 

History 57 

Self-Reliance  .        .        .        .        .        .        .77 

Spiritual  Laws 101 

Friendship 120 

Heroism 135 

The  Over-Soul        . 146 

From  the  Essays,  Second  Series  (1844) 

Character 162 

Manners .177 

Politics 197 

New  England  Reformers 210 

From  Representative  Men  (1850) 

Shakspeare ;  or,  the  Poet 229 

Napoleon ;  or,  the  Man  of  the  World     .         .         .     245 

From  English  Traits  (1856) 

Ability .        .        .264 

Character 278 

Wealth .287 


INTRODUCTION 

Among  the  shifting  values  in  our  literary  history,  Emerson 

tands  secure.     As  a  people  we  are  prone  rather  to  under- 

bstimate  our  native  writers  in  relation  to  English  and  conti- 

aental  authors,  but  even  among  those  who  have  been  content 

|fco  treat  our  literature  as  a  by-product  of  British  letters, 

Ijmerson^s  significance  has  become  only  more  apparent  with 

time.     He  moves  into  the  circle  of  those  who  are  realities, 

not  by  reason  of  any  detachment  from  his  native  conditions, 

but  because  of  that  intense  idealism  which  flowers  best  in  the 

soil  from  which  he  drew  his  inspiration,  the  soil  which  he 

always  left  with  regret  and  to  which  he  ever  returned  with 

satisfaction. 

He  was  born  in  Boston,  May  25,  1803,  of  a  stock  which 
held  high  standards  of  conduct  both  for  themselves  and 
others.  On  both  sides  he  was  descended  from  clerical 
ancestors  who  were  ornaments  of  that  theocracy  of  New 
England  in  the  seventeenth  and  eighteenth  centuries,  in 
which  an  admiring  congregation  took  the  color  of  its  thought 
from  its  minister,  and  in  return  demanded  of  him  that  he 
know  how  to  think.  His  father,  William  Emerson,  was  a 
clergyman  of  the  transition  to  Unitarianism,  and  his  mother, 
Ruth  Haskins,  was  of  a  stoical  fibre  that  made  her  lie  all 
night  with  a  broken  hip  rather  than  disturb  the  household 
routine.  She  needed  all  her  courage,  for  her  husband  died 
in  1811,  leaving  her  with  five  boys  to  bring  up,  of  whom  one 
was  mentally  defective. 

Ralph  Waldo  Emerson  was  the  second  of  the  five.  He 
was  not  particularly  distinguished  at  the  Boston  Latin 
School  or  at  Harvard  College,  from  which  he  graduated  in 
1821.  He  had  been  learning  during  this  period  frugality 
and  industry  and  the  other  lessons  that  came  naturally  to  a 


J 


X  INTRODUCTION 

boy  in  a  family  which  had  Uttle  money,  but  which  insisted 
upon  education  as  a  matter  of  course  and  in  which  each 
brother,  as  it  came  his  turn,  helped  the  younger  ones  to  their 
birthright.  Emerson  was  not  a  man  set  apart  from  the  be- 
ginning as  a  prophet  and  a  lonely  soul.  He  did  not  make 
many  friends,  it  is  true,  but  his  Journals  show  that  at  college 
he  was  simply  one  of  many,  belonging  to  the  usual  college 
societies,  and  not  recognized  by  his  fellows  as  one  especially 
worthy  of  reverence.  The  minutes  of  the  P3rfchologian  Club 
for  November  18,  1820,  state  'Hhat  although  Br.  Emerson 
was  prepared  to  read  the  Essay  due  from  him  .  .  .  such 
was  their  desire  to  depart  that  it  was  found  impossible  to 
keep  them  together  any  longer. '^ 

Emerson  taught  school  for  a  while  after  graduation  in 
Boston  and  Chelmsford,  Massachusetts,  and  was  admitted 
to  the  ministry  of  the  Unitarian  Church  in  1826.  A  period 
of  ill  health  followed,  but  in  1829  he  was  ordained  as  the 
colleague  of  the  Reverend  Henry  Ware,  Jr.  in  the  Second 
Church  of  Boston  and  after  his  marriage  in  the  same  year  to 
Ellen  Louisa  Tucker,  his  future  seemed  assured  in  pleasant 
places.  But  even  in  the  anticipation  of  his  happiness,  we 
find  him  writing  to  his  Aunt,  Mary  Moody  Emerson,  a  woman 
of  sterling  character,  who  was  a  great  influence  in  his  life,  — 

^^  Waldo  is  comparatively  well  and  comparatively  success- 
ful .  .  .  and  I  straightway  say,  can  this  hold?  .  .  .  There's 
an  apprehension  of  reverse  always  arising  from  success. ''  ^ 

That  apprehension  was  soon  realized.  In  1832  his  wife 
died  of  tuberculosis,  and  on  September  9,  1832,  he  resigned 
from  his  pastorate  because  he  declined  to  administer  the 
Lord's  Supper.  The  sermon  which  he  preached  on  this 
occasion,  now  printed  in  the  Miscellanies,  and  the  references 
through  the  earlier  Journals,  are  significant  as  showing 
Emerson's  change  in  attitude  toward  the  ministry  and  its 
functions.  In  the  beginning  he  refers  to  his  ^^  vocation,"  and 
wonders  whether  he  is  fit  for  it;  later  it  becomes  his  ^'pro- 
fession" and  he  speculates  on  his  chance  of  success  in  it. 
When  he  sums  up  his  reasons  for  objecting  to  the  Communion 
service  he  says  ''I  have  no  hostility  to  this  institution:  I 
am  only  stating  my  want  of  sj^mpathy  with  it.  .  .  .  That  is 
the  end  of  my  opposition,  that  I  am  not  interested  in  it."  ^    it 

1  Journals,  Vol.  2.  p.  259. 

2  "The  Lord's  Supper,"  in  Miscellanies,  p.  24,  Centenary  Ed. 


INTRODUCTION  xi 

is  as  though  a  physician  were  retiring  from  practice  because 
he  no  longer  was  '^interested''  in  the  circulation  of  the  blood 
or  a  lawyer  because  he  was  ''  interested  "  no  longer  in  the  Con- 
stitution of  the  United  States.  There  is  perhaps  nothing 
he  ever  said  that  showed  more  definitely  his  limitations,  just 
as  the  act  itself  showed  his  courage  and  his  independence. 

On  December  25,  1832,  he  sailed  for  Europe,  landing  at 
Malta,  and  he  visited  Italy,  France,  and  England.  On  this 
visit  he  met  Coleridge,  Wordsworth,  and  Landor,  and  laid 
the  foundation  of  his  long  friendship  with  Carlyle.  He 
records  his  impression  that  ''not  one  of  these  is  a  mind  of 
the  very  first  class,"  and  he  rejoiced  when  in  October,  1833, 
he  was  once  more  in  the  United  States.  "Travelling,"  he 
says  in  "Self -Reliance,"  "is  a  fool's  paradise."  Emerson 
believed  that  any  one  who  did  not  carry  inspiration  within 
himseK  could  obtain  little  from  historic  associations.  To  use 
his  own  phrase,  such  a  one  "carries  ruins  to  ruins." 

In  1834  we  find  him  preaching  and  lecturing,  with  his 
headquarters  at  Concord,  in  the  Old  Manse,  afterward  Haw- 
thorne's residence.  In  September,  1835,  he  married  Lydia 
Jackson,  of  Plj^mouth,  and  brought  her  home  to  the  house  he 
had  purchased  in  Concord,  in  which  they  lived  during  the 
rest  of  their  lives.  It  was  never  a  pretentious  house,  but 
even  as  it  stands  to-day  after  the  rebuilding  consequent  upon 
the  fire  of  1872,  it  gives  an  appearance  of  comfort  to  the 
passerby  on  the  Cambridge  Turnpike.  Emerson  may  now 
be  said  to  have  begun  his  permanent  mode  of  living.  He 
had  an  income  by  inheritance  from  his  first  wife,  which 
brought  him  about  twelve  hundred  dollars  a  year.  He  added 
to  this  his  lecturing  fees  which  varied  greatly  but  probably 
did  not  exceed  in  any  year  eight  hundred  dollars.  In  later 
years  there  was,  of  course,  some  income  from  his  books. 
What  Emerson  valued  most  in  this  manner  of  life  was  its 
independence.  He  was  free  to  think  and  to  write.  By  his 
own  action  he  had  shut  himself  out  of  the  profession  for  which 
he  had  been  trained,  but  this  action  gave  him  the  opportunity 
to  take  up  his  real  vocation,  the  stimulation  of  the  mind  of 
his  readers  and  hearers.  Curiously  he  cherished  all  his  life 
the  hope  that  he  would  be  called  to  a  chair  of  rhetoric  and 
oratory  in  a  college.  It  is  interesting  to  speculate  upon  the 
kind  of  a  professor  he  would  have  been,  but  there  can  be  no 
regret  on  our  part  that  the  offer  never  came. 


xii  INTRODUCTION 

His  creative  period  had  already  commenced.     In  1836  he 
pubUshed  the  first  essay  on  ^'Nature/'  which  he  had  begun 
in  1834  and  nearly  all  of  which  had  been  written  in  the  Old 
Manse.     It  is  one  of  the  most  significant  of  his  essays,  for 
on  the  first  page  he  shows  the  independent  soul  who  is  bound 
by  no  tradition.     ^'Let  us  demand  our  own  works  and  laws 
and  worship.^'     Soon  we   are  introduced  to  the   Emerson 
method  of  generalization.     '^Miller  owns  this  field,  Locke 
that,  and  Manning  the  woodland  beyond.     But  none  of  them 
owns  the  landscape.''     A  few  particular  statements,  then  a 
generalization.     No  trouble  seems  to  have  been  taken  to  j 
round  off  the  corners,  or  to  make  things  fit.     But  when  the  I 
conclusion  is  a  real  one,  these  apparently  disconnected  ideas  ! 
cause  one  to  stop  and  think  as  no  other  writer  of  his  day  has  j 
the  power  to  do.     Reading  Emerson  is  not  like  entering  the  j 
fresh  air  —  it  is  rather  Uke  entering  a  room  highly  charged  i 
with  oxygen.  •  j 

In  '^  Nature,''  the  doctrine  of  the  Over-soul  is  first  presented. 
''The  currents  of  the  invisible  being  circulate  through  me. 
I  am  part  or  parcel  of  God."  This  theme,  of  the  Divine  Mind, 
animating  all  creation,  unifjdng  it,  sinking  thereby  all  distinc- 
tions of  a  minor  kind,  is  one  to  which  he  returns  again  and  | 
again.     Stated  first  in  '^ Nature"  it  forms  the  topic  of  ''The 
Over-soul,"  and  it  reappears  in  itself  or  in  its  amphfication  I 
throughout  his  work  until,  in  "The  Natural  History  of  the  | 
Intellect,"  it  becomes  the  attempted  basis  of  a  philosophy.  ; 
The  idea  is,  of  course,  not  a  new  one.     But  it  is  the  form  in  ' 
which  Emerson  expresses  the  theme  that  is  important.     When 
he  defines  the~ Over-soul  as  "the  soul  of  the  whole ;   the  wise 
silence ;    the   universal  beauty,   to  which  every  part   and  i 
particle  is  equally  related;    the  eternal  One,"  or  when  he; 
tells  us  that  "I  dare   not  deal  with  this  element   in  its  ; 
pure  essence.     It  is  too  rare  for  the  wings  of  words,"  we  see  : 
the  poet  and  the  philosopher  combining  to  create  or  to  adapt  \ 
the  inevitable  phrase.     It  was  most  fitting  that  on  Emerson's  | 
tomb  were  cut  the  Hnes,  from  "The  Problem  "  :  j 

"The  passive  master  lent  his  hand  i 

To  the  vast  soul  that  o'er  him  planned" 

for  they  express  the  doctrine  which  he  spent  his  life  in  ex- 
pounding in  verse  and  prose.  In  "Woodnotes"  where  we 
are  told  to 


INTRODUCTION  xiii 

**  Leave  all  thy  pedant  lore  apart 
God  hid  the  whole  world  in  thy  heart '^ 

in  the  essay  on  ^^Love/'  where  the  final  thought  is  that  of 
the  supremacy  of  the  one  Eternal  Love  over  all  earthly  finite 
love,  the  same  idea  is  presented. 

This  idea  of  the  Over-soul  was  one  of  the  ties  that  bound 
Emerson  to  the  Transcendental  movement  in  our  literature 
and  our  philosophy.  He  was  by  nature  attracted  to  this 
way  of  thinking  and  it  is  not  necessary  to  wander  far  into  the 
purlieus  of  German  philosophy  to  find  the  origins  of  his 
transcendentalism.  The  opposition  to  the  sensualistic  phi- 
losophy of  the  eighteenth  century  is  shown  already  in  1821 
when  in  his  prize  essay  on  ^^The  Present  State  of  Ethical 
Philosophy '^  ^  he  speaks  of  the  moral  faculty  as  ^^an  intuition 
by  which  we  directly  determine  the  merit  or  demerit  of 
action."  The  doctrine  of  the  superiority  of  intuition  to 
experience  was,  therefore,  in  his  mind  before  he  turned  his 
attention  to  German  thought.  Whether  he  derived  it  from 
Ethan  Allen,  as  he  might  have  done,  or  from  other  native 
sources,  need  not  concern  us  here.  He  contributed  to  the 
Transcendental  movement  his  interest  and  support.  He 
belonged  to  the  group  known  by  those  outside  of  it  as  the 
^'Transcendental  Club"  which  began  to  meet  in  1836,  and 
which  included  in  its  variable  list  such  men  and  women  as 
Bronson  Alcott,  George  Ripley,  Theodore  Parker,  Margaret 
Fuller,  Orestes  Brownson,  James  Freeman  Clarke,  William 
Henry  Channing,  and  others.  He  was  glad  to  discuss  with 
them  the  problems,  ethical  and  spiritual,  which  were  brought 
into  their  meetings,  and  he  gave  much  strength  and  time  to 
the  editorship  of  The  Dial^  the  journal  of  the  movement, 
from  1842  to  1844.  Twenty-three  poems  and  fifty-five 
prose  articles  were  contributed  by  him  to  The  Dial,  and  he 
lost  financially  by  the  enterprise.  But  he  did  not  enter 
Brook  Farm,  the  communistic  experiment  that  grew  out  of 
the  dehberations  of  the  Transcendental  Club.  In  1842  he 
could  even  criticize  the  movement  in  his  address  on  '^The 
Transcendentalist "  in  Boston.  It  was  the  individuahstic 
note,  not  the  communistic,  that  appealed  to  him  in 
Transcendentalism. 

1  E.  E.  Hale.  Ralph  Waldo  Emerson,  Together  with  Two  Early 
Essays  of  Emerson.     Boston,  1902,  pp.  95-135. 


xiv  INTRODUCTION 

Naturally  connected  with  the  idea  of  an  Over-soul  were 
the  relations  of  the  supreme  mind  to  the  individual  mind  and 
the  relations  of  the  individual  to  Nature.  The  unity  and 
supremacy  of  Nature  is  expressed  effectively  in  ^'Spiritual 
Laws/^ 

'^Nature  will  not  have  us  fret  and  fume  —  When  we  come 
out  of  the  caucus  or  the  bank  or  the  Abolition  convention, 
or  the  Temperance  meeting  or  the  Transcendental  Club  — 
into  the  fields  and  woods,  she  says  to  us,  ^So  hot?  my  little 
Sir?'^^ 

Emerson^s  panacea  for  the  evils  of  the  world  lay  in  the 
reconnection  of  the  individual  with  Nature.  In  his  essay  on 
^^ The  Poet';  he  says: 

^^For  as  it  is  dislocation  and  detachment  from  the  life  of 
God  that  makes  things  ugly,  the  poet,  who  reattaches  things 
to  nature  and  the  whole,  —  disposes  very  easily  of  the  most 
disagreeable  facts.'' 

Again,  in  the  essay  on  '^Nature"  of  1844,  he  says  that 
Nature  is  the  circumstance  that  '^  dwarfs  every  other  circum- 
stance and  judges  like  a  god  all  men  that  come  to  her."  Yet 
■he  acknowledges  later  that  ^Hhe  beauty  of  nature  must 
always  seem  unreal  and  mocking,  until  the  landscape  has 
human  figures  that  are  as  good  as  itself,"  and  he  admits  that 
the  '^fop  of  fields  is  no  better  than  his  brother  of  Broadway." 

Emerson  was  no  hermit.  He  did  not  believe  in  removing 
himself  mechanically  from  society  but  he  insisted  on  pre- 
serving his  spiritual  independence.  In  his  Journal  for  1858 
we  find  an  illuminating  criticism  of  Thoreau  which  he  con- 
cludes by  questioning  whether  Thoreau  has  not  found  it 
wasteful  and  foolish  ^Ho  spend  a  tenth  or  a  twentieth  of  his 
active  life  with  a  muskrat  or  fried  fishes.  I  tell  him  that  man 
was  not  made  to  live  in  a  swamp  but  a  frog.  If  God  meant 
him  to  live  in  a  swamp,  he  would  have  made  him  a  frog."  ^ 

The  supremacy  of  the  primal  mind  emphasizes  rather  than 
diminishes  the  importance  of  the  individual.  Inasmuch  as 
the  primal  mind  manifests  itself  in  the  individual  mind,  each 
individual  mind  is  competent  to  judge  for  itself  because  it 
cannot  go  contrary  to  its  own  standards,  and,  therefore,  it 
must  be  right. 

Of  all  Emerson's  major  topics,  it  is  this  idea  of  the  impor- 
tance of  the  individual  that  he  stresses  most.     It  forms  the 

1  Journals,  Vol.  9,  p.  153. 


h 


INTRODUCTION  xv 

keynote  of  the  essays  on  '^SeK-Reliance^'  and  ^^ Character^'; 
it  colors  his  conception  of  ^'History'';  it  establishes  his 
standards  in  ^^  Manners '';  it  determines  the  quality  of  his 
^' Heroism^';  it  underlies  his  political  philosophy  in  ^'Poli- 
ties'' and  ''New  England  Reformers.''  It  also  determines 
the  selection  of  his  topics  in  Representative  Men,  In  the 
essay  on  "History"  he  says,  "Every  reform  was  once  a 
private  opinion,  and  when  it  shall  be  a  private  opinion  again 
it  will  solve  the  problem  of  the  age." 

The  great  lesson  of  "  SeK-Reliance "  is  to  be  original,  to 
speak  one's  own  thoughts,  so  that  we  shall  not  have  to  take 
our  opinions  from  another.  In  fact  he  carried  this  dislike 
for  conformity,  and  consistency  still  further.  He  believed  in 
being  independent  of  one's  self :  — 

"With  consistency  a  great  soul  has  nothing  to  do.  He 
may  as  well  concern  himself  with  his  shadow  on  the  wall. 
Speak  what  you  think  now  in  hard  words  and  to-morrow 
speak  what  to-morrow  thinks  in  hard  words  again,  though  it 
contradict  everything  you  said  to-day." 

He  believed  that  even  fashion  would  yield  to  the  self-reliant 
man  and  that  if  all  classes  were  destroyed  until  only  two  men 
were  left,  one  of  these  would  be  the  leader.  It  is  the  heroic, 
the  independent  quality,  and  the  surety  that  appeal  to  him 
even  in  good  manners.  His  description  of  the  personality 
of  the  charming  woman  is  tinged  with  this  thought  when  he 
described  the  Persian  Lilla :  "  She  did  not  study  the  Persian 
grammar,  nor  the  books  of  the  seven  poets,  but  all  the  poems 
of  the  seven  seemed  to  be  written  upon  her." 

Another  of  the  fundamental  principles  which  Emerson 
endeavors  to  establish  is  idealism.  He  uses  the  word  both 
in  its  popular  and  its  philosophic  senses.  In  his  first  essay 
on  "Nature"  he  defines  Idealism  in  the  Platonic  manner  and 
teaches  that  the  world  must  remain  ideal  because  the  veracity 
of  the  senses  cannot  be  tried.  He  shows,  too,  the  limitations 
of  the  ideal  theory  and  the  barrier  it  puts  up  between  the 
mind  and  the  outside  world.  It  solves  only  the  question 
—  What  is  matter  ?  It  does  not  solve  the  problems  —  whence 
is  it  ?  and  whereto  ?  Emerson  tries  to  show  that  spirit  creates 
matter,  but  even  he  does  not  try  to  answer  the  third  question. 
In  fact  his  Puritan  inheritance  struggled  hard  against  the 
purely  ideal  theory  of  nature,  as  we  see  in  his  essay  on  "Ex- 
perience" ;  and  although  he  decides  finally  against  the  argu- 


xvi  INTRODUCTION  'i 

ment  from  experience,  we  feel  that  his  philosophic  system  was'j 
only  in  the  making.  I 

Ideals  were  rather  to  be  striven  for  than  idealism.  And] 
ideals  when  they  were  found  were  of  little  worth  unless  they;] 
were  made  practical.  In  the  purely  abstract  conception  of  j 
idealism  that  emanated  from  Germany  he  had  little  interest.  \ 
He  took  it  mainly  through  Carlyle  and  Coleridge  and  by  the ' 
time  it  had  passed  through  the  practical  moral  digestion  of 
the  British  philosophers  it  became  better  suited  to  his  Newl| 
England  consciousness.     In  ^^ Circles'^  we  find  his  gospel:       j 

''There  are  degrees  in  ideahsm.  We  learn  first  to  play 
with  it  academically.  .  .  .  Then  we  see  in  the  heyday  of 
youth  and  poetry  that  it  may  be  true,  that  it  is  true  in 
gleams  and  fragments.  Then  its  coimtenance  waxes  stem 
and  grand,  and  we  see  that  it  must  be  true.  It  now  shows 
itseK  ethical  and  practical.  We  learn  that  God  is :  that  he 
is  in  me ;  and  that  all  things  are  shadows  of  him.'^ 

The  practical  quality  of  his  idealism  is  shown  in  such  an 
essay  as  ''New  England  Reformers.''  He  did  not  believe 
sincerely  in  reforms  unless  the  reformation  was  one  of  char- 
acter, and  he  warns  us  against  being  in  a  hurry  to  reform  one 
thing,  preferring  to  reform  the  basis  and  let  the  result  come. 
The  best  union  he  felt  was  one  of  isolated  individuals  because 
it  was  likely  to  be  more  spiritual.  He  had  no  sympathy  with 
the  rather  wild  theories  and  vagaries  of  his  day,  and  he  took 
no  part  in  them.  He  had  a  personal  admiration,  however, 
for  a  sincere  reformer  who  was  making  a  sacrifice  for  a  great 
cause.  He  befriended  Harriet  Martineau  and  John  Brown, 
and  he  even  went  so  far  as  to  take  part  in  the  free  soil  campaign 
for  James  G.  Palfrey  in  1851.  Abohtion  of  slavery  was  the 
one  great  reform  to  which  he  devoted  his  energy,  and  he  never 
refused  an  opportunity  to  speak  or  write  in  favor  of  freedom. 

It  was  this  practical  good  sense  which  marked  him  out 
from  among  the  more  radical  of  his  friends,  with  whom  he 
associated  freely,  but  whom  he  resolutely  declined  to  follow 
to  their  various  extremities.  Above  all  his  other  quahties, 
perhaps,  was  Emerson's  ability  to  think  clearly,  and  his  calm 
sense  of  proportion  was  offended  by  the  inability  to  distin- 
guish between  a  proper  independence  and  the  extreme  | 
individualism  which  would  destroy  the  very  organization  of  | 
the  State.     In  his  Journal  for  1845  ^  he  says  :  i 

HT  1  P.  18.  \ 


INTRODUCTION  xvii 

*^  The  State  is  our  neighbors ;  our  neighbors  are  the  State. 
It  is  a  folly  to  treat  the  State  as  if  it  were  some  individual, 
arbitrarily^  willing  thus  and  so.  .  .  .  God  and  the  nature  of 
things  imposes  the  tax,  requires  that  the  land  shall  bear  its 
burden,  of  road  and  of  social  order,  and  defence,  and  I 
confess  I  lose  all  respect  for  this  tedious  denouncing  of  the 
State  by  idlers  who  rot  in  indolence,  selfishness,  and  envy  in 
the  chimney  corner.'^ 

Later  he  adds :  ^^  Don't  run  amuck  against  the  world.  Have 
a  good  case  to  try  the  question  on.  It  is  the  part  of  a  fanatic 
to  fight  out  a  revolution  on  the  shape  of  a  hat  or  surplice  .  .  . 
or  altar  rails,  or  fish  on  Friday.  As  long  as  the  State  means 
you  well,  do  not  refuse  your  pistareen  .  .  .  ninety  parts  of 
the  pistareen  it  will  spend  for  what  you  think  also  good : 
ten  parts  for  mischief.  .  .  .  Your  objection,  then,  to  the 
State  of  Massachusetts  is  deceptive.  Your  true  quarrel  is 
with  the  state  of  Man.''  ^ 

Emerson's  social  philosophy  was  also  of  a  practical  kind. 
He  participated  in  the  township  organization  and  he  had  no 
patience  with  the  extreme  individualism  of  Alcott  and 
Thoreau.  He  expressed  himself  quite  frankly  about  these 
friends  in  his  Journal  in  1842.     Of  Alcott,  he  says  : 

^•'It  must  be  conceded  that  it  is  speculation  which  he  loves 
and  not  action.  Therefore,  he  dissatisfies  everybody  and 
disgusts  many.  ...  He  has  no  vocation  to  labor,  and 
though  he  strenuously  preached  it  for  a  time,  and  made 
some  efforts  to  practise  it,  he  soon  found  he  had  no  genius 
for  it,  and  that  it  was  a  cruel  waste  of  his  time.  It  depressed 
his  spirits  even  to  tears." 

This  passage  was  written  before  Alcott  took  his  family  to 
Fruitlands,  lost  all  his  venture  by  incompetence  and  then 
weakly  took  to  his  bed  and  determined  to  die.  It  would 
seem  as  though  Emerson  had  some  foreknowledge  of  the 
essential  flaw  in  Alcott's  character  for  he  concludes  his  analy- 
sis by  the  pithy  sentence,  ^^I  do  not  want  any  more  such 
persons  to  exist."  The  son  of  Ruth  Haskins  had  no  sym- 
pathy with  any  one  who,  while  speculating  upon  the  rights 
of  the  individual,  lost  his  sense  of  the  duty  he  owed  to  others. 

These  six  great  topics  —  the  supremacy  of  the  Infinite 
Mind  or  Over-soul;  its  relations  with  the  individual;  the 
unity  and  supremacy  of  Nature ;    the  independence  of  the 

1  Journals,  Vol.  7,  p.  221. 


xviii  INTRODUCTION 

individual;    the  necessity  of  following  one^s  ideals  and  the, 
importance  of  making  ideals  practical  when  they  have  been 
found  —  form   the    groundwork   of   the   earliest    and   most 
significant    of    the    essays   of    Emerson.     The  First   Series 
of  these  was  published  in  1841,  the  Second  Series  in  1844, 
and  in  1849  some  of  the  earher  addresses  were  combined, 
together  with  '^ Nature,'^  in  a  volume  called  Nature,  Addresses 
and  Lectures.     While  Emerson  did  not  merely  repeat  himself 
in  his  later  essays,  which  were  published  during  his  life  time 
under  the  titles,    The  Conduct  of  Life   (1860),  Society  and 
Solitude  (1870),  Letters  and  Social  Aims  (1876),  there  is  no 
doubt    that    they,    together    with    the    volumes    pubhshed 
posthumously,  are  to  a  great  extent  ampHfications  of  his 
earlier  work.     It  is,  therefore,  in  these  three  first  volumes  < 
and  in  his  treatment  of  more  concrete  themes  in  Representor-  i 
live  Men  and  English  Traits  that  we  must  look  for  his  most  ] 
significant  work.  ^  i 

Representative  Men  was  published  in  1850.     It  was  natural  \ 
that  Emerson  should  have  written  a  book  which  is  a  celebra- 
tion of  personality.     To  him  all  history  was  a  chronicle  of  i 
the  deeds  of  great  men,  and  like  Carlyle  he  had  an  aristo- 
cratic and  not  a  democratic  conception  of  the  progress  of 
the  race.     But  it  is  interesting  to  compare  their  selection  of 
great  men  in  Heroes  and  Hero  Worship  and  in  Representative  \ 
Men.     Carlyle    chose    Odin,    the    divinity,    Mahomet,    the  ' 
prophet,  Dante  and  Shakespeare  as  poets,  Luther  and  Knox 
as  priests,  Johnson,  Rousseau,  and  Burns  as  men  of  letters,  \ 
Cromwell  and  Napoleon  as  kings.     Emerson  selected  Plato 
as  philosopher,  Swedenborg  as  mystic,  Montaigne  as  sceptic,  ; 
Shakespeare  as  poet.  Napoleon  as  man  of  the  world,  and  ; 
Goethe  as  writer.     Shakespeare  and  Napoleon  are  in  both  ; 
lists,  but  Napoleon  is  chosen  as  a  king  by  Carlyle  and  as  a  i 
representative  of  the  middle  class  by  Emerson.     Emerson^s  ; 
aristocracy  was  intellectual ;   politically  he  was  a  theoretical 
democrat.     In  the  ^'hero  as  king'^  he  had  little  interest,  he 
liked  strong  men  ''who  stand  for  facts  and  for  thoughts.''  ; 
In  the  introductory  chapter  on  ''Uses  of  Great  Men,''  he  ! 
says :  ' 

"I  like  the  first  Caesar;  and  Charles  V  of  Spain;  and  i 
Charles  XII  of  Sweden ;  Richard  Plantagenet ;  and  Bona-  i 
parte,  in  France.  I  applaud  a  sufficient  man,  an  officer  equal  i 
to  his  office.  ...     But  I  find  him  greater  when  he  can  abolish  ; 


INTRODUCTION  xix 

himself  and  all  heroes  by  letting  in  this  element  of  reason, 
irrespective  of  persons,  this  subtilizer  and  irresistible  upward 
force,  into  our  thought,  destroying  individualism ;  the  power 
so  great  that  the  potentate  is  nothing/' 

It  will  be  noticed  that  Emerson  avoided  the  hero  as  priest 
and  prophet  and  divinity;  the  hero  who  is  inspired  by  a 
faith  or  belief  in  a  great  cause  is  not  one  of  his  representative 
men.  The  type  of  hero  represented  by  Joan  of  Arc  or 
Columbus  is  rarely  even  mentioned  in  his  essays.  The 
quality  which  attracted  Emerson  in  his  representative  men 
was  their  originality,  their  self-reliance.  ^'He  is  great,"  he 
says,  ^'  who  is  what  he  is  from  nature,  and  who  never  reminds 
us  of  others. '' 

It  is  interesting  to  see  his  two  lists,  given  in  his  Journal 
for  1849 :  ^ 

"Big-endians  Little-endians 

Plato  Alcott 

Swedenborg  Very 

Shakspeare  Newcomb 

Montaigne  Channing 

Goethe  R.  W.  E. 

Napoleon  Thoreau ' ' 

Of  his  hst  of  ^^Little-endians,''  Jones  Very,  the  sonneteer, 
and  William  EUery  Channing,  the  younger,  are  known  only 
to  the  special  student  of  our  poetry,  and  Charles  Newcomb  is 
utterly  forgotten.  What  led  Emerson  to  make  the  compari- 
son is  not  quite  clear  unless  it  was  to  strengthen  his  own 
judgment  of  the  wisdom  of  his  selections  by  concrete 
comparison. 

The  essay  on  Shakespeare  is  not  only  the  greatest  of 
the  volume  b\it  it  also  illustrates  his  method  as  a  Hterary 
critic.  He  is  not  in  any  sense  an  historian  of  literature,  he 
had  not  the  impulse  to  pursue  facts  and  make  significant 
classifications.  But  he  could  interpret,  he  could  analyze,  and 
occasionally  he  could  give  us  constructive  criticism.  From 
the  vast  mass  of  textual  scholarship  of  Teutonic  origin  which 
has  blurred  our  vision  of  Shakespeare,  lovers  of  our  great 
English  poet  will  forever  turn  to  that  famous  passage  which 
ends  :  *^  What  king  has  he  not  taught  state.  .  .  .     What  maiden 

1  P.  62. 


XX  INTRODUCTION 

has  not  found  him  finer  than  her  dehcacy?  What  lover  has 
he  not  outloved?  What  sage  has  he  not  outseen?  What 
gentleman  has  he  not  instructed  in  the  rudeness  of  his 
behaviour  ?'' 

Emerson  does  not  hesitate  to  criticize  his  representative 
men  unfavorably.  He  disliked  Swedenborg's  symbolism. 
Napoleon  he  judges  finally  on  the  basis  of  his  lack  of  con- 
science. The  defects  of  Plato  are,  first,  that  he  is  literary, 
and,  therefore,  he  has  not  the  influence,  the  vital  authority 
that  less  learned  prophets  have  had ;  second,  that  he  has  no 
system  —  he  attempted  a  theory  of  the  universe  and  the 
theory  is  not  complete  or  seh-evident.  He  has  said  one  thing 
in  one  place,  and  has  contradicted  it  elsewhere.  This  criti- 
cism of  Plato  is  interesting  because  it  comprehends  just  the 
defects  which  mar  Emerson's  own  philosophy. 

English  Traits,  which  appeared  in  1856,  reflected  his  judg- 
ment of  his  mother  country  after  two  visits  to  her.  The 
first  was  in  1833  in  search  of  health ;  and  the  second,  in  1847 
and  '48,  was  the  result  of  invitations  to  lecture  from  a  union 
of  certain  Mechanics'  Institutes.  He  landed  on  October 
22,  1847,  at  Liverpool  and  paid  his  first  visit  to  Carlyle  in 
London.  He  had  ample  opportunity  to  see  both  literar}^  and 
social  life  in  England  and  we  find  him  recording  with  keen 
appreciation  in  his  Journal,  the  clever  talk  at  Samuel  Rogers' 
table.  He  seems  not  to  have  avoided  meeting  people,  as 
Hawthorne  did,  and  w^hile  his  actual  time  in  England  was 
shorter  than  that  spent  by  Irving,  Willis,  or  Ha^vthorne,  he 
has  given  us  surely  an  account  of  English  character  that  is 
excelled  by  none  of  these  other  American  writers  upon 
England  of  his  own  day.  If  there  is  not  the  general  sympathy 
with  Enghsh  country  life  that  we  find  in  Bracehridge  Hall, 
or  the  appreciation  of  the  English  house  party  so  apparent 
in  P enduing s  by  the  Way,  or  the  sense  of  the  picturesque 
that  struggles  through  the  general  depression  of  Our  Old 
Home,  we  find  a  penetration  beneath  the  surface,  an  under- 
standing of  the  strength  and  the  weakness  of  English  charac- 
ter, an  appreciation  of  moral  and  ethical  values,  and  above 
all  a  judicial  attitude,  that  makes  it  unsurpassed  as  an  exposi- 
tion of  England  of  that  day  to  America. 

On  leaving  he  wrote  to  Margaret  Fuller:  '^I  leave  England 
with  an  increased  respect  for  the  Englishman.  His  stuff  or 
substance  seems  to  be  the  best  of  the  world.     I  forgive  him 


INTRODUCTION  xxi 

Ms  pride.  My  respect  is  the  more  generous  that  I  have  no 
sympathy  with  him,  only  an  admiration/^  ^ 

He  did  have  real  sympathy  with  Englishmen  for  those 
qualities  in  which  he  was  like  them.  Especially  good  are  his 
estimates  of  their  ^'Character"  and  ^'Ability.''  The  British 
quahty  of  persistence  appealed  to  him  and  also  the  paradox  by 
which  England  attracts  everjrthing  worth  having  although 
nothing  is  native.  He  quotes  the  French  Comte  de  Laura- 
guais.as  saying  '^no  fruit  ripens  in  England  but  a  baked 
apple,"  but  adds  that  oranges  and  pineapples  are  as  cheap 
in  London  as  in  the  Mediterranean.  Their  manners  amused 
him  a  bit.  ^' Every  one  of  these  islanders  is  an  island  himself, 
safe,  tranquil,  incommunicable."  He  liked  their  pluck  — 
^^They  require  you  to  be  of  your  own  opinion."  In  the  chap- 
ter on  '^ Truth"  he  calls  attention  to  their  national  sincerity 
as  the  basis  of  their  practical  power.  ^' Their  ruling  passion 
is  a  horror  of  humbug." 

He  was  not  blind,  of  course,  to  defects  either.  '^A  saving 
stupidity,"  he  observes  in  the  chapter  on  '^Character," 
'^  masks  and  protects  their  perception,  as  the  curtain  of  the 
eagle's  eye."  The  chapter  on  ^'Wealth"  begins,  ^^ There  is 
no  country  in  which  so  absolute  a  homage  is  paid  to  wealth." 
The  chapter  on  ^'Religion"  must  have  been  irritating  to 
members  of  the  Church  of  England,  but  the  descendant  of 
the  Puritan  could  not  help  his  instinctive  revulsion  against 
religious  form.  The  weakness  of  English  Traits  lies  in  its 
historical  references.  His  knowledge  of  Enghsh  history  and 
ethnology  was  faulty.  He  confuses  the  Saxons  and  Angles 
constantly  and  he  is  unfair  to  the  Norman  element  in  England, 
attributing  practically  all  its  virtues  to  the  Saxon  strain. 
Yet  when  all  is  said,  English  Traits^  while  not  so  representa- 
tive a  book  as  the  earlier  essays,  remains  one  of  the  most 
interesting  of  Emerson's  works. 

It  is  this  combination  of  sympathy  and  hereditary  detach- 
ment which  makes  English  Traits  such  an  interesting  book. 
He  was  a  descendant  of  Englishmen  and  yet  he  never  forgot 
that  his  race  had  lived  fast  in  the  two  hundred  years  that  had 
separated  them  from  the  mother  country.  His  independence 
in  matters  of  religion  and  philosophy  was  closely  paralleled 

1  Cf .  note  in  Centenary  Edition  of  English  Traits,  by  E.  W.  Emer- 
son, p.  405. 


xxii  INTRODUCTION 

by  his  attitude  toward  European  standards  of  literary  taste, 
methods  of  education,  and  pohtical  institutions.  The  lecture 
on  ^'  The  American  Scholar  '^  in  1837  is  a  literary  declaration  of 
independence.  ^^Our  day  of  dependence,  our  long  ap- 
prenticeship to  the  learning  of  other  lands,  draws  to  a  close.'' 
Much  as  he  loved  and  appreciated  Shakespeare,'  he  put  his 
finger  on  one  of  the  hindrances  to  the  progress  of  our  drama 
when  he  said:  ^^ Genius  is  always  sufficiently  the  enemy  of 
genius  by  over-influence.  The  literature  of  every  nation 
bears  me  witness.  The  English  dramatic  poets  have 
Shakspearized  now  for  two  hundred  years.''  His  position 
was,  of  course,  far  different  from  the  ignorant  self-assertion 
which  began,  in  this  country,  by  1840,  to  take  the  place  of 
our  earUer  slavish  dependence  upon  English  criticism.  The 
scholar  is  to  be  independent  because  he  has  the  inspiration 
of  the  Infinite  Mind  to  guide  him.  He  is  to  be  brave,  self- 
trusting,  active ;  and  as  he  has  his  rights,  so  he  has  his  duties. 
If  he  fulfils  them — ^^if  the  single  man  plant  himself  in- 
domitably on  his  instincts,  and  there  abide,  the  huge  world 
will  come  round  to  him." 

There  was  nothing  parochial  in  his  scholastic  attitude  — 
nor  was  his  patriotism  any  more  sectional  than  might  have 
been  expected.  He  had  had  a  Southern  roommate  at  col- 
lege and  he  had  a  broader  view  than  Whittier  or  Garrison 
upon  the  subject  of  slavery,  but  his  mind  could  not  rise  to 
the  height  of  Lincoln's  and  consider  the  Union  first  and 
slavery  afterwards.  Yet  he  could  foresee  what  was  actually 
coming  some  time  before  Lincoln.  In  the  Journal  for  1856 
he  prophesied  that  South  Carolina  would  attack  as  soon  as 
she  was  able  to  do  it,  and  at  the  close  of  the  ^^  Address  on 
Affairs  in  Kansas,"  in  the  same  year,  he  said:  '^Send  home 
every  one  who  is  abroad,  lest  they  should  find  no  country  to 
return  to.  Come  home  and  stay  at  home,  while  there  is  a 
country  to  save."  Two  years  later  Lincoln  in  his  debates 
with  Stephen  A.  Douglas  assured  the  citizens  of  Illinois 
that  there  was  no  danger  of  their  having  to  invade  the 
South. 

Emerson's  love  of  country  began,  as  was  proper,  with  his 
love  for  his  own  soil,  and  he  has  probably  never  better 
epitomized  his  patriotic  creed  than  in  the  oft  quoted  lines 
which  he  wrote  for  the  dedication  of  the  Battle  Monument  on 
July  4,  1837,  at  Concord. 


I 


INTRODUCTION  xxiii 

^'By  the  rude  bridge  that  arched  the  flood, 
Their  flag  to  April's  breeze  unfurled, 
Here  once  the  embattled  farmers  stood 

And  fired  the  shot  heard  round  the  world." 

This  was  the  kind  of  battle  he  loved  to  celebrate ;  one  in 
which  individual  initiative,  combined  with  intelligence, 
defended  its  home  against  organized,  less  intelligent  invasion. 

In  his  essay  on  Politics  he  carries  his  theories  into  the  field 
of  political  organization  with  confidence.  Much  as  he 
beheved  the  State  to  be  a  necessity,  it  must  never  sin  against 
the  rights  of  individuals,  for  they  make  up  the  vState.  The 
law  itseK  is  only  as  good  as  the  men  who  made  it,  or,  he 
expressed  it  effectively : 

^^Our  statute  is  a  currency  which  we  stamp  with  our  own 
portrait :  it  soon  becomes  unrecognizable,  and  in  process  of 
time  will  return  to  the  mint." 

The  practical  quality  of  Emerson's  political  philosophy  is 
shown  by  his  clear  distinction  between  the  rights  of  property 
and  the  rights  of  persons,  and  by  his  accurate  judgment 
concerning  the  political  beliefs  and  parties  of  his  own  day. 
^^Of  the  two  great  parties  which  at  this  hour  almost  share  the 
nation  between  them,  I  should  say  that  one  has  the  best 
cause  and  the  other  contains  the  best  men."  He  bfelieved  in 
free  trade  and  in  universal  suffrage  But  he  liked  the  Whig 
leaders,  though  he  thought  they  were  timid.  Even  in  this 
essay,  however,  the  most  suggestive  portions  are  those  in 
which  he  introduces  us  to  himself. 

And  that,  after  all,  is  the  great  reward  of  the  readers  of 
Emerson,  as  it  was  in  a  larger  measure  the  reward  of  those 
who  heard  him  lecture.  They  came  in  contact  with  a  great 
personality  and  also  with  a  great  character.  In  these  days, 
when  we  suffer  from  an  excess  of  personality  without  the 
saving  balance  of  character,  Emerson's  written  word  is  all 
the  more  a  tonic  and  a  stimulant.  For  he  speaks  to  us 
clearly  as  a  poet,  a  prophet,  and  a  patriot,  —  the  coiner  of 
immortal  phrases,  the  severe  critic  of  his  own  day,  yet  the 
hopeful  prophet  of  better  things  to  come,  the  patriot  who 
loved  his  country  too  well  to  spare  her  faults  but  who  even 
in  moments  of  doubt  or  danger  never  despaired  of  the 
Republic. 


t 


EMERSON'S  ESSAYS 


NATURE 

A  SUBTLE  chain  of  countless  rings 
The  next  unto  the  farthest  brings ; 
The  eye  reads  omens  where  it  goes, 
And  speaks  all  languages  the  rose ; 
And,  striving  to  be  man,  the  worm 
Moimts  through  all  the  spires  of  form. 

INTRODUCTION 

Our  age  is  retrospective.  It  builds  the  sepulchres  of  the 
fathers.  It  writes  biographies,  histories,  and  criticism.  The 
foregoing  generations  beheld  God  and  nature  face  to  face ; 
we,  through  their  eyes.  Why  should  not  we  also  enjoy  an 
original  relation  to  the  universe?  Why  should  not  we  have 
a  poetry  and  philosoph}^  of  insight  and  not  of  tradition,  and  a 
religion  by  revelation  to  us,  and  not  the  history  of  theirs? 
Embosomed  for  a  season  in  nature,  whose  floods  of  life  stream 
around  and  through  us,  and  invite  us,  by  the  powers  they 
supply,  to  action  proportioned  to  nature,  why  should  we 
grope  among  the  dry  bones  of  the  past,  or  put  the  living 
generation  into  masquerade  out  of  its  faded  wardrobe  ?  The 
sun  shines  to-day  also.  There  is  more  wool  and  flax  in  the 
fields.  There  are  new  lands,  new  men,  new  thoughts.  Let 
us  demand  our  own  works  and  laws  and  worship. 

Undoubtedly  we  have  no  questions  to  ask  which  are 
unanswerable.  We  must  trust  the  perfection  of  the  creation 
so  far  as  to  believe  that  whatever  curiosity  the  order  of  things 
has  awakened  in  our  minds,  the  order  of  things  can  satisfy. 
Every  man^s  condition  is  a  solution  in  hieroglyphic  to  those 
inquiries  he  would  put.  He  acts  it  as  life,  before  he  appre- 
hends it  as  truth.     In  like  manner,  nature  is  already,  in  its 

1 


n 


2  NATURE 

forms  and  tendencies,  describing  its  own  design.  Let  us 
interrogate  the  great  apparition  that  shines  so  peacefully 
around  us.     Let  us  inquire,  to  what  end  is  nature? 

All  science  has  one  aim,  namely,  to  find  a  theory  of  nature. 
We  have  theories  of  races  and  of  functions,  but  scarce^  yet  a 
remote  approach  to  an  idea  of  creation.  We  are  now  so  far 
from  the  road  to  truth,  that  religious  teachers  dispute  and 
hate  each  other,  and  speculative  men  are  esteemed  unsound 
and  frivolous.  But  to  a  sound  judgment,  the  most  abstract 
truth  is  the  most  practical.  Whenever  a  true  theory  appears, 
it  will  be  its  own  evidence.  Its  test  is,  that  it  will  explain  all 
phenomena.  Now  many  are  thought  not  only  unexplained 
but  inexphcable;  as  language,  sleep,  madness,  dreams, 
beasts,  sex. 

Philosophically  considered,  the  universe  is  composed  of 
Nature  and  the  Soul.  Strictly  speaking,  therefore,  all  that 
is  separate  from  us,  all  which  Philosophy  distinguishes  as 
the  NOT  ME,  that  is,  both  nature  and  art,  all  other  men  and 
my  own  body,  must  be  ranked  under  this  name.  Nature. 
In  enumerating  the  values  of  nature  and  casting  up  their  sum, 
I  shall  use  the  word  in  both  senses ;  —  in  its  common  and  in 
its  philosophical  import.  In  inquiries  so  general  as  our 
present  one,  the  inaccuracy  is  not  material;  no  confusion  of 
thought  will  occur.  Nature^  in  the  common  sense,  refers  to 
€ssences  unchanged  by  man;  space,  the  air,  the  river,  the 
leaf.  Art  is  applied  to  the  mixture  of  his  will  with  the  same 
things,  as  in  a  house,  a  canal,  a  statue,  a  picture.  But  his 
operations  taken  together  are  so  insignificant,  a  little  chip- 
ping, baking,  patching,  and  washing,  that  in  an  impression  so 
grand  as  that  of  the  world  on  the  human  mind,  they  do  not 
vary  the  result. 

NATURE 

I 

To  go  into  solitude,  a  man  needs  to  retire  as  much  from  his 
chamber  as  from  society.  I  am  not  solitary  whilst  I  read  and 
write,  though  nobody  is  with  me.  But  if  a  man  would  be 
alone,  let  him  look  at  the  stars.  The  rays  that  come  from 
those  heavenly  worlds  will  separate  between  him  and  what 
he  touches.  One  might  think  the  atmosphere  was  made 
transparent  with  this  design,  to  give  man,  in  the  heavenly 


NATURE  3 

bodies,  the  perpetual  presence  of  the  sublime.  Seen  in  the 
streets  of  cities,  how  great  they  are !  If  the  stars  should 
appear  one  night  in  a  thousand  years,  how  would  men  be- 
lieve and  adore;  and  preserve  for  many  generations  the 
remembrance  of  the  city  of  God  which  had  been  shown! 
But  every  night  come  out  these  envoys  of  beauty,  and  light 
the  universe  with  their  admonishing  smile. 

The  stars  awaken  a  certain  reverence,  because  though 
always  present,  they  are  inaccessible ;  but  all  natural  objects 
make  a  kindred  impression,  when  the  mind  is  open  to  their 
influence.  Nature  never  wears  a  mean  appearance.  Neither 
does  the  wisest  man  extort  her  secret,  and  lose  his  curiosity 
by  finding  out  all  her  perfection.  Nature  never  became  a 
toy  to  a  wise  spirit.  The  flowers,  the  animals,  the  moun- 
tains, reflected  the  wisdom  of  his  best  hour,  as  much  as  they 
had  delighted  the  simpUcity  of  his  childhood. 

When  we  speak  of  nature  in  this  manner,  we  have  a  dis- 
tinct but  most  poetical  sense  in  the  mind.  We  mean  the 
integrity  of  impression  made  by  manifold  natural  objects. 
It  is  this  which  distinguishes  the  stick  of  timber  of  the  wood- 
cutter from  the  tree  of  the  poet.  The  charming  landscape 
which  I  saw  this  morning  is  indubitably  made  up  of  some 
twenty  or  thirty  farms.  Miller  owns  this  field,  Locke 
that,  and  Manning  the  woodland  beyond.  But  none  of 
them  owns  the  landscape.  There  is  a  property  in  the 
horizon  which  no  man  has  but  he  whose  eye  can  integrate 
all  the  parts,  that  is,  the  poet.  This  is  the  best  part  of  these 
men's  farms,  yet  to  this  their  warranty-deeds  give  no  title. 

To  speak  truly,  few  adult  persons  can  see  nature.  Most 
persons  do  not  see  the  sun.  At  least  they  have  a  very  super- 
ficial seeing.  The  sun  illuminates  only  the  eye  of  the  man, 
but  shines  into  the  eye  and  the  heart  of  the  child.  The  lover 
of  nature  is  he  whose  inward  and  outward  senses  are  still 
truly  adjusted  to  each  other;  who  has  retained  the  spirit  of 
infancy  even  into  the  era  of  manhood.  His  intercourse  with 
heaven  and  earth  becomes  part  of  his  daily  food.  In  the 
presence  of  nature  a  wild  delight  runs  through  the  man,  in 
spite  of  teal  sorrows.  Nature  says,  —  he  is  my  creature,  and 
maugre  all  his  impertinent  griefs,  he  shall  be  glad  with  me. 
Not  the  sun  or  the  summer  alone,  but  every  hour  and  season 
yields  its  tribute  of  delight ;  for  every  hour  and  change  corre- 
sponds to  and  authorizes  a  different  state  of  the  mind,  from 


4  NATURE 

breathless  noon  to  grimmest  midnight.  Nature  is  a  setting 
that  fits  equally  well  a  comic  or  a  mourning  piece.  In  good 
health,  the  air  is  a  cordial  of  incredible  virtue.  Crossing  a 
bare  common,  in  snow  puddles,  at  twilight,  under  a  clouded 
sky,  without  having  in  my  thoughts  any  occurrence  of  special 
good  fortune,  I  have  enjoyed  a  perfect  exhilaration.  I  am 
glad  to  the  brink  of  fear.  In  the  woods,  too,  a  man  casts  off 
his  years,  as  the  snake  his  slough,  and  at  what  period  soever 
of  life  is  always  a  child.  In  the  woods  is  perpetual  youth. 
Within  these  plantations  of  God,  a  decorum  and  sanctity  j 
reign,  a  perennial  festival  is  dressed,  and  the  guest  sees  not 
how  he  should  tire  of  them  in  a  thousand  years.  In  the 
woods,  we  return  to  reason  and  faith.  There  I  feel  that 
nothing  can  befall  me  in  life,  —  no  disgrace,  no  calamity 
{leaving  me  my  eyes),  which  nature  cannot  repair.  Standing 
on  the  bare  ground,  —  my  head  bathed  by  the  blithe  air  and 
uplifted  into  infinite  space,  —  all  mean  egotism  vanishes. 
I  become  a  transparent  eyeball ;  I  am  nothing ;  I  see  all ;  the 
currents  of  the  Universal  Being  circulate  through  me ;  I  am 
part  or  parcel  of  God.  The  name  of  the  nearest  friend  sounds 
then  foreign  and  accidental :  to  be  brothers,  to  be  acquaint- 
ances, master  or  servant,  is  then  a  trifle  and  a  disturbance. 
I  am  the  lover  of  uncontained  and  immortal  beauty.  In  the 
wilderness,  I  find  something  more  dear  and  connate  than  in 
the  streets  or  villages.  In  the  tranquil  landscape,  and 
especially  in  the  distant  line  of  the  horizon,  man  beholds 
somewhat  as  beautiful  as  his  own  nature. 

The  greatest  dehght  which  the  fields  and  woods  minister 
is  the  suggestion  of  an  occult  relation  between  man  and  the 
vegetable.  I  am  not  alone  and  unacknowledged.  They  nod 
to  me,  and  I  to  them.  The  waving  of  the  boughs  in  the  storm 
is  new  to  me  and  old.  It  takes  me  b^^  surprise,  and  yet  is  not 
unknown.  Its  effect  is  like  that  of  a  higher  thought  or  a 
better  emotion  coming  over  me,  when  I  deemed  I  was  think- 
ing justly  or  doing  right. 

Yet  it  is  certain  that  the  power  to  produce  this  delight 
does  not  reside  in  nature,  but  in  man,  or  in  a  harmony  of 
both.  It  is  necessary  to  use  these  pleasures  with  great  tem- 
perance. For  nature  is  not  always  tricked  in  hohday  attire, 
but  the  same  scene  which  yesterday  breathed  perfume  and 
glittered  as  for  the  frolic  of  the  nymphs  is  overspread  with 
melancholy  to-day.     Nature  always  wears  the  colors  of  the 


NATURE  5 

spirit.  To  a  man  laboring  under  calamity,  the  heat  of  his 
own  fire  hath  sadness  in  it.  Then  there  is  a  kind  of  contempt 
of  the  landscape  felt  by  him  who  has  just  lost  by  death  a  dear 
friend.  The  sky  is  less  grand  as  it  shuts  down  over  less 
worth  in  the  population. 

II 

Commodity 

Whoever  considers  the  final  cause  of  the  world  will  discern 
a  multitude  of  uses  that  enter  as  parts  into  that  result.  They 
all  admit  of  being  thrown  into  one  of  the  following  classes : 
Commodity;  Beauty;  Language;  and  Discipline. 

Under  the  general  name  of  commodity,  I  rank  all  those 
advantages  which  our  senses  owe  to  nature.  This,  of  course, 
is  a  benefit  which  is  temporary  and  mediate,  not  ultimate, 
like  its  service  to  the  soul.  Yet  although  low,  it  is  perfect  in 
its  kind,  and  is  the  only  use  of  nature  which  all  men  appre- 
hend. The  misery  of  man  appears  like  childish  petulance, 
when  we  explore  the  steady  and  prodigal  provision  that  has 
been  made  for  his  support  and  delight  on  this  green  ball 
which  floats  him  through  the  heavens.  What  angels  in- 
vented these  splendid  ornaments,  these  rich  conveniences, 
this  ocean  of  air  above,  this  ocean  of  water  beneath,  this 
firmament  of  earth  between,  this  zodiac  of  lights,  this  tent  of 
dropping  clouds,  this  striped  coat  of  climates,  this  fourfold 
year?  Beasts,  fire,  water,  stones,  and  corn  serve  him.  The 
field  is  at  once  his  floor,  his  work-yard,  his  play-ground,  his 
garden,  and  his  bed. 

"More  servants  wait  on  man 
Than  he'll  take  notice  of." 

Nature,  in  its  ministry  to  man,  is  not  only  the  material, 
but  is  also  the  process  and  the  result.  All  the  parts  inces- 
santly work  into  each  other ^s  hands  for  the  profit  of  man. 
The  wind  sows  the  seed ;  the  sun  evaporates  the  sea ;  the  wind 
blows  the  vapor  to  the  field ;  the  ice,  on  the  other  side  of  the 
planet,  condenses  rain  on  this ;  the  rain  feeds  the  plant ;  the 
plant  feeds  the  animal;  and  thus  the  endless  circulations  of 
the  divine  charity  nourish  man. 

The  useful  arts  are  reproductions  or  new  combinations  by 


6  NATURE 

the  wit  of  man,  of  the  same  natural  benefactors.  He  no 
longer  waits  for  favoring  gales,  but  by  means  of  steam,  he 
reahzes  the  fable  of  iEolus's  bag,  and  carries  the  two  and 
thirty  winds  in  the  boiler  of  his  boat.  To  diminish  friction, 
he  paves  the  road  with  iron  bars,  and,  mounting  a  coach  with 
a  ship-load  of  men,  animals,  and  merchandise  behind  him, 
he  darts  through  the  country,  from  town  to  town,  like  an 
eagle  or  a  swallow  through  the  air.  By  the  aggregate  of 
these  aids,  how  is  the  face  of  the  world  changed,  from  the  era 
of  Noah  to  that  of  Napoleon !  The  private  poor  man  hath 
cities,  ships,  canals,  bridges,  built  for  him.  He  goes  to  the 
post-office,  and  the  human  race  run  on  his  errands ;  to  the 
book-shop,  and  the  human  race  read  and  write  of  all  that 
happens,  for  him ;  to  the  court-house,  and  nations  repair  his 
wrongs.  He  sets  his  house  upon  the  road,  and  the  human 
race  go  forth  every  morning,  and  shovel  out  the  snow,  and 
cut  a  path  for  him. 

But  there  is  no  need  of  specifying  particulars  in  this  class 
of  uses.  The  catalogue  is  endless,  and  the  examples  so 
obvious,  that  I  shall  leave  them  to  the  reader's  reflection, 
with  the  general  remark,  that  this  mercenary  benefit  is  one 
which  has  respect  to  a  farther  good.  A  man  is  fed,  not  that 
he  may  be  fed,  but  that  he  may  work. 

Ill 

Beauty 

A  nobler  want  of  man  is  served  by  nature,  namely,  the  love 
of  Beauty. 

The  ancient  Greeks  called  the  world  koct/xos,  beauty.  Such 
is  the  constitution  of  all  things,  or  such  the  plastic  power  of 
the  human  eye,  that  the  primary  forms,  as  the  sky,  the 
mountain,  the  tree,  the  animal,  give  us  a  deUght  in  and  for 
themselves ;  a  pleasure  arising  from  outUne,  color,  motion,  and 
grouping.  This  seems  partly  owing  to  the  eye  itself.  The 
eye  is  the  best  of  artists.  By  the  mutual  action  of  its  struc- 
ture and  of  the  laws  of  light,  perspective  is  produced,  which 
integrates  every  mass  of  objects,  of  what  character  soever, 
into  a  well  colored  and  shaded  globe,  so  that  where  the  par- 
ticular objects  are  mean  and  unaffecting,  the  landscape  which 
they  compose  is  round  and  symmetrical.    And  as  the  eye  is 


NATURE  7 

the  best  composer,  so  light  is  the  first  of  painters.  There  is 
no  object  so  foul  that  intense  light  will  not  make  beautiful. 
And  the  stimulus  it  affords  to  the  sense,  and  a  sort  of  infini- 
tude which  it  hath,  like  space  and  time,  make  all  matter  gay. 
Even  the  corpse  has  its  own  beauty.  But  besides  this  general 
grace  diffused  over  nature,  almost  all  the  individual  forms  are 
agreeable  to  the  eye,  as  is  proved  by  our  endless  imitations 
of  some  of  them,  as  the  acorn,  the  grape,  the  pine-cone,  the 
wheat-ear,  the  egg,  the  wings  and  forms  of  most  birds,  the 
lion's  claw,  the  serpent,  the  butterfly,  sea-shells,  flames, 
clouds,  buds,  leaves,  and  the  forms  of  many  trees,  as  the 
palm. 

For  better  consideration,  we  may  distribute  the  aspects  of 
Beauty  in  a  threefold  manner. 

1.  First,  the  simple  perception  of  natural  forms  is  a  de- 
light. The  influence  of  the  forms  and  actions  in  nature  is  so 
needful  to  man,  that,  in  its  lowest  functions,  it  seems  to  lie 
on  the  confines  of  commodity  and  beauty.  To  the  body  and 
mind  which  have  been  cramped  by  noxious  work  or  company, 
nature  is  medicinal  and  restores  their  tone.  The  tradesman, 
the  attorney  comes  out  of  the  din  and  craft  of  the  street  and 
sees  the  sky  and  the  woods,  and  is  a  man  again.  In  their 
eternal  calm,  he  finds  himself.  The  health  of  the  eye  seems 
to  demand  a  horizon.  We  are  never  tired,  bo  long  as  we  can 
see  far  enough. 

But  in  other  hours.  Nature  satisfies  by  its  loveliness,  and 
without  any  mixture  of  corporeal  benefit.  I  see  the  spectacle 
of  morning  from  the  hilltop  over  against  my  house,  from  day- 
break to  sunrise,  with  emotions  which  an  angel  might  share. 
The  long  slender  bars  of  cloud  float  like  fishes  in  the  sea  of 
crimson  light.  From  the  earth,  as  a  shore,  I  look  out  into 
that  silent  sea.  I  seem  to  partake  its  rapid  transformations ; 
the  active  enchantnient  reaches  my  dust,  and  I  dilate  and 
conspire  with  the  morning  wind.  How  does  Nature  deify  us 
with  a  few  and  cheap  elements !  Give  me  health  and  a  day, 
and  I  will  make  the  pomp  of  emperors  ridiculous.  The 
dawn  is  my  Assyria;  the  sunset  and  moonrise  my  Paphos, 
and  unimaginable  realms  of  faerie ;  broad  noon  shall  be  my 
England  of  the  senses  and  the  understanding ;  the  night  shall 
be  my  Germany  of  mystic  philosophy  and  dreams. 

Not  less  excellent,  except  for  our  less  susceptibility  in  the 
afternoon,  was  the  charm,  last  evening,  of  a  January  sunset. 


8  NATURE  Ij 

The  western  clouds  divided  and  subdivided  themselves  into  | 
pink  flakes  modulated  with  tints  of  unspeakable  softness,  and  \ 
the  air  had  so  much  life  and  sweetness  that  it  was  a  pain  to  i 
come  within  doors.  What  was  it  that  nature  would  say?  I 
Was  there  no  meaning  in  the  live  repose  of  the  valley  behind  i 
the  mill,  and  which  Homer  or  Shakespeare  could  not  re-form  j 
for  me  in  words?  The  leafless  trees  become  spires  of  flame  | 
in  the  sunset,  with  the  blue  east  for  their  background,  and 
the  stars  of  the  dead  calices  of  flowers,  and  every  withered 
stem  and  stubble  rimed  with  frost,  contribute  something  tO' 
the  mute  music.  \ 

The  inhabitants  of  cities  suppose  that  the  country  land- 
scape is  pleasant  only  half  the  year.  T  please  myself  with 
the  graces  of  the  winter  scenery,  and  believe  that  we  are  as 
much  touched  by  it  as  by  the  genial  influences  of  summer. 
To  the  attentive  eye,  each  moment  of  the  year  has  its  own 
beauty,  and  in  the  same  field,  it  beholds,  every  hour,  a 
picture  which  was  never  seen  before,  and  which  shall  never 
be  seen  again.  The  heavens  change  every  moment,  and 
reflect  their  glory  or  gloom  on  the  plains  beneath.  The  state 
of  the  crop  in  the  surrounding  farms  alters  the  expression  of 
the  earth  from  week  to  week.  The  succession  of  native  plants 
in  the  pastures  and  roadsides,  which  makes  the  silent  clock 
by  which  time  tells  the  summer  hours,  will  make  even  the 
divisions  of  the  day  sensible  to  a  keen  observer.  The  tribes 
of  birds  and  insects,  like  the  plants  punctual  to  their  time, 
follow  each  other,  and  the  year  has  room  for  all.  By  water- 
courses, the  variety  is  greater.  In  July,  the  blue  pontederia 
or  pickerel-weed  blooms  in  large  beds  in  the  shallow  parts 
of  our  pleasant  river,  and  swarms  with  yellow  butterflies  in 
continual  motion.  Art  cannot  rival  this  pomp  of  purple  and 
gold.  Indeed  the  river  is  a  perpetual  gala  and  boasts  each 
month  a  new  ornament. 

But  this  beauty  of  Nature  which  is  seen  and  felt  as  beauty, 
is  the  least  part.  The  shows  of  day,  the  dewy  morning,  the 
rainbow,  mountains,  orchards  in  blossom,  stars,  moonlight, 
shadows  in  still  water,  and  the  like,  if  too  eagerly  hunted, 
become  shows  merely,  and  mock  us  with  their  unreality. 
Go  out  of  the  house  to  see  the  moon,  and  H  is  mere  tinsel ; 
it  will  not  please  as  when  its  light  shines  upon  your  necessary 
journey.  The  beauty  that  shimmers  in  the  yellow  afternoons 
of  October,  who  ever  could  clutch  it?     Go  forth  to  find  it, 


NATURE  ^ 

and  it  is  gone ;  't  is  only  a  mirage  as  you  look  from  the  win-^ 
dows  of  diligence. 

2.  The  presence  of  a  higher,  namely,  of  the  spiritual  ele- 
ment is  essential  to  its  perfection.  The  high  and  divine 
beauty  which  can  be  loved  without  effeminacy,  is  that  which 
is  found  in  combination  with  the  human  will.  Beauty  is  the 
mark  God  sets  upon  virtue.  Every  natural  action  is  grace- 
ful. Every  heroic  act  is  also  decent,  and  causes  the  place 
and  the  bystanders  to  shine.  We  are  taught  by  great  actions 
that  the  universe  is  the  property  of  every  individual  in  it. 
Every  rational  creature  has  all  nature  for  his  dowry  and 
estate.  It  is  his,  if  he  will.  He  may  divest  himself  of  it ; 
he  may  creep  into  a  corner,  and  abdicate  his  kingdom,  as  most 
men  do,  but  he  is  entitled  to  the  world  by  his  constitution. 
In  proportion  to  the  energy  of  his  thought  and  will,  he  takes 
up  the  world  into  himself.  ^^All  those  things  for  which  men 
plough,  build,  or  sail,  obey  virtue;'^  said  Sallust.  '^The 
winds  and  waves,"  said  Gibbon,  ^'are  always  on  the  side  of 
the  ablest  navigators."  So  are  the  sun  and  moon  and  all  the 
stars  of  heaven.  When  a  noble  act  is  done,  —  perchance  in 
a  scene  of  great  natural  beauty ;  when  Leonidas  and  his  three 
hundred  martyrs  consume  one  day  in  dying,  and  the  sun  and 
moon  come  each  and  look  at  them  once  in  the  steep  defile  of 
Thermopylae;  when  Arnold  Winkelried,  in  the  high  Alps, 
under  the  shadow  of  the  avalanche,  gathers  in  his  side  a  sheaf 
of  Austrian  spears  to  break  the  line  for  his  comrades ;  are  not 
these  heroes  entitled  to  add  the  beauty  of  the  scene  to  the 
beauty  of  the  deed?  When  the  bark  of  Columbus  nears  the 
shore  of  America ;  —  before  it  the  beach  lined  with  savages, 
fleeing  out  of  all  their  huts  of  cane ;  the  sea  behind ;  and  the 
purple  mountains  of  the  Indian  Archipelago  around,  can  we 
separate  the  man  from  the  living  picture?  Does  not  the 
New  World  clothe  his  form  with  her  palm  groves  and  savan- 
nahs as  fit  drapery?  Ever  does  natural  beauty  steal  in  like 
air,  and  envelope  great  actions.  When  Sir  Harry  Vane  was 
dragged  up  the  Tower-hill,  sitting  on  a  sled,  to  suffer  death 
as  the  champion  of  the  English  laws,  one  of  the  multitude 
cried  out  to  him,  ^'You  never  sate  on  so  glorious  a  seat!" 
Charles  II.,  to  intimidate  the  citizens  of  London,  caused  the 
patriot  Lord  Russell  to  be  drawn  in  an  open  coach  tlirough 
the  principal  streets  of  the  city  on  his  way  to  the  scaffold. 
"But,"  his  biographer  says,  "the  multitude  imagined  they 


10  NATURE 

saw  liberty  and  virtue  sitting  by  his  side/'  In  private  places, 
among  sordid  objects,  an  act  of  truth  or  heroism  seems  at 
once  to  draw  to  itself  the  sky  as  its  temple,  the  sun  as  its 
candle.  Nature  stretches  out  her  arms  to  embrace  man,  only 
let  his  thoughts  be  of  equal  greatness.  Willingly  does  she 
follow  his  steps  with  the  rose  and  the  violet,  and  bend  her 
lines  of  grandeur  and  grace  to  the  decoration  of  her  darling 
child.  Only  let  his  thoughts  be  of  equal  scope,  and  the 
frame  will  suit  the  picture.  A  virtuous  man  is  in  unison  with 
her  works,  and  makes  the  central  figure  of  the  visible  sphere. 
Homer,  Pindar,  Socrates,  Phocion,  associate  themselves  fitly 
in  our  memory  with  the  geography  and  climate  of  Greece. 
The  visible  heavens  and  earth  sympathize  with  Jesus.  And 
in  common  life  whosoever  has  seen  a  person  of  powerful 
character  and  happy  genius,  will  have  remarked  how  easily 
he  took  all  things  along  with  him,  —  the  persons,  the  opinions, 
and  the  day,  and  nature  became  ancillary  to  a  man. 

3.  There  is  still  another  aspect  under  which  the  beauty  of 
the  world  may  be  viewed,  namely,  as  it  becomes  an  object 
of  the  intellect.  Beside  the  relation  of  things  to  virtue,  they 
have  a  relation  to  thought.  The  intellect  searches  out  the 
absolute  order  of  things  as  they  stand  in  the  mind  of  God, 
and  without  the  colors  of  affection.  The  intellectual  and  the 
active  powers  seem  to  succeed  each  other,  and  the  exclusive 
activity  of  the  one  generates  the  exclusive  activity  of  the 
other.  There  is  something  unfriendly  in  each  to  the  other, 
but  they  are  like  the  alternate  periods  of  feeding  and  working 
in  animals ;  each  prepares  and  will  be  followed  by  the  other. 
Therefore  does  beauty,  which,  in  relation  to  actions,  as  we 
have  seen,  comes  unsought,  and  comes  because  it  is  unsought, 
remain  for  the  apprehension  and  pursuit  of  the  intellect ;  and 
then  again,  in  its  turn,  of  the  active  power.  Nothing  divine 
dies.  All  good  is  eternally  reproductive.  The* beauty  of 
nature  re-forms  itself  in  the  mind,  and  not  for  barren  con- 
templation, but  for  new  creation. 

All  men  are  in  some  degree  impressed  by  the  face  of  the 
world;  some  men  even  to  delight.     This  love  of  beauty  is 
Taste.     Others  have  the  same  love  in  such  excess,  that,  not . 
content  with  admiring,  they  seek  to  embody  it  in  new  forms. 
The  creation  of  beauty  is  Art. 

The  production  of  a  work  of  art  throws  a  light  upon  the 
mystery  of  humanity.    A  work  of  art  is  an  abstract  or  epit- 


NATURE  11 

ome  of  the  world.  It  is  the  result  or  expression  of  nature,  in 
miniature.  For  although  the  works  of  nature  are  innu- 
merable and  all  different,  the  result  or  the  expression  of  them 
all  is  similar  and  single.  Nature  is  a  sea  of  forms  radically 
alike  and  even  unique.  A  leaf,  a  sunbeam,  a  landscape,  the 
ocean,  make  an  analogous  impression  on  the  mind.  What  is 
common  to  them  all,  —  that  perfectness  and  harmony,  is 
beauty.  The  standard  of  beauty  is  the  entire  circuit  of 
natural  forms,  —  the  totality  of  nature ;  which  the  Italians 
expressed  by  defining  beauty  ^'il  piu  nelF  uno.'^  Nothing 
is  quite  beautiful  alone ;  nothing  but  is  beautiful  in  the  whole. 
A  single  object  is  only  so  far  beautiful  as  it  suggests  this 
universal  grace.  The  poet,  the  painter,  the  sculptor,  the 
musician,  the  architect,  seek  each  to  concentrate  this  radi- 
ance of  the  world  on  one  point,  and  each  in  his  several  work 
to  satisfy  the  love  of  beauty  which  stimulates  him  to  produce. 
Thus  is  Art  a  nature  passed  through  the  alembic  of  man. 
Thus  in  art  does  Nature  work  through  the  will  of  a  man  filled 
with  the  beauty  of  her  first  works. 

The  world  thus  exists  to  the  soul  to  satisfy  the  desire  of 
beauty.  This  element  I  call  an  ultimate  end.  No  reason 
can  be  asked  or  given  why  the  soul  seeks  beauty.  Beauty, 
in  its  largest  and  profoundest  sense,  is  one  expression  for  the 
universe.  God  is  the  all-fair.  Truth,  and  goodness,  and 
beauty,  are  but  different  faces  of  the  same  All.  But  beauty 
in  nature  is  not  ultimate.  It  is  the  herald  of  inward  and 
eternal  beauty,  and  is  not  alone  a  solid  and  satisfactory  gocfd. 
It  must  stand  as  a  part,  and  not  as  yet  the  last  or  highest 
expression  of  the  final  cause  of  Nature.  . 

IV 

Language 

Language  is  a  third  use  which  Nature  subserves  to  man. 
Nature  is  the  vehicle  of  thought,  and  in  a  simple,  double,  and 
three-fold  degree. 

L   Words  are  signs  of  natural  facts. 

2.  Particular  natural  facts  are  symbols  of  particular 
spiritual  facts. 

3.  Nature  is  the  symbol  of  spirit. 

^  1.  Words  are  signs  of  natural  facts.     The  use  of  natural 
history  is  to  give  us  aid  in  super-natural  history ;  the  use  of 


12  NATURE 

the  outer  creation,  to  give  us  language  for  the  beings  and 
changes  of  the  inward  creation.  Every  word  which  is  used 
to  express  a  moral  or  intellectual  fact,  if  traced  to  its  root,  is 
found  to  be  borrowed  from  some  material  appearance. 
Right  means  straight;  wrong  means  twisted.  Spirit  primarily 
means  wind;  transgression^  the  crossing  of  a  line;  supercilious, 
the  raising  of  the  eyebrow.  We  say  the  heart  to  express 
emotion,  the  head  to  denote  thought ;  and  thought  and  emotion 
are  words  borrowed  from  sensible  things,  and  now  appro- 
priated to  spiritual  nature.  Most  of  the  process  by  which 
this  transformation  is  made,  is  hidden  from  us  in  the  remote 
time  when  language  was  framed;  but  the  same  tendency 
may  be  daily  observed  in  children.  Children  and  savages  use 
only  nouns  or  names  of  things,  which  they  convert  into  verbs, 
and  apply  to  analogous  mental  acts. 

2.  But  this  origin  of  all  words  that  convey  a  spiritual 
import,  —  so  conspicuous  a  fact  in  the  history  of  language,  — 
is  our  least  debt  to  nature.  It  is  not  words  only  that  are 
emblematic;  it  is  things  which  are  emblematic.  Every 
natural  fact  is  a  symbol  of  some  spiritual  fact.  Every  ap- 
pearance in  nature  corresponds  to  some  state  of  the  mind, 
and  that  state  of  the  mind  can  only  be  described  by  pre- 
senting that  natural  appearance  as  its  picture.  An  enraged 
man  is  a  lion,  a  cunning  man  is  a  fox,  a  firm  man  is  a  rock,  a 
learned  man  is  a  torch.  A  lamb  is  innocence;  a  snake  is 
subtle  spite ;  flowers  express  to  us  the  delicate  affections. 
Light  and  darkness  are  our  familiar  expression  for  knowledge 
and  ignorance;  and  heat  for  love.  Visible  distance  behind 
and  before  us,  is  respectively  our  image  of  memory  and  hope. 

Who  looks  upon  a  river  in  a  meditative  hour  and  is  not 
reminded  of  the  flux  of  all  things?  Throw  a  stone  into  the 
stream,  and  the  circles  that  propagate  themselves  are  the 
beautiful  type  of  all  influence.  Man  is  conscious  of  a  uni- 
versal soul  within  or  behind  his  individual  life,  wherein,  as 
in  a  firmament,  the  natures  of  Justice,  Truth,  Love,  Freedom, 
arise  and  shine.  This  universal  soul  he  calls  Reason :  it  is 
not  mine,  or  thine,  or  his,  but  we  are  its ;  we  are  its  property 
and  men.  And  the  blue  sky  in  which  the  private  earth  is 
buried,  the  sky  with  its  eternal  calm,  and  full  of  everlasting 
orbs,  is  the  type  of  Reason.  That  which  intellectually  con- 
sidered we  call  Reason,  considered  in  relation  to  nature,  we 
call  Spirit.     Spirit  is  the  Creator.     Spirit  hath  life  in  itself. 


NATURE  IS 

And  man  in  all  ages  and  countries  embodies  it  in  his  language 
as  the  Father. 

It  is  easily  seen  that  there  is  nothing  lucky  or  capricious 
in  these  analogies,  but  that  they  are  constant,  and  pervade 
nature.  These  are  not  the  dreams  of  a  few  poets,  here  and 
there,  but  man  is  an  analogist,  and  studies  relations  in  all 
objects.  He  is  placed  in  the  centre  of  beings,  and  a  ray  of 
relation  passes  from  every  other  being  to  him.  And  neither 
can  man  be  understood  without  these  objects,  nor  these 
objects  without  man.  All  the  facts  in  natural  history  taken 
by  themselves,  have  no  value,  but  are  barren,  like  a  single 
sex.  But  marry  it  to  human  history,  and  it  is  full  of  life. 
Whole  floras,  all  Linnaeus'  and  Buffon's  volumes,  are  dry 
catalogues  of  facts;  but  the  most  trivial  of  these  facts,  the 
habit  of  a  plant,  the  organs,  or  work,  or  noise  of  an  insect, 
applied  to  the  illustration  of  a  fact  in  intellectual  philosophy,, 
or  in  any  way  associated  to  human  nature,  affects  us  in  the 
most  lively  and  agreeable  manner.  The  seed  of  a  plant,  — 
to  what  affecting  analogies  in  the  nature  of  man  is  that  little 
fruit  made  use  of,  in  all  discourse,  up  to  the  voice  of  Paul, 
who  calls  the  human  corpse  a  seed,  —  ^^It  is  sown  a  natural 
body;  it  is  raised  a  spiritual  body.''  The  motion  of  the 
earth  round  its  axis  and  round  the  sun,  makes  the  day  and  the 
year.  These  are  certain  amounts  of  brute  light  and  heat. 
But  is  there  no  intent  of  an  analogy  between  man's  life  and 
the  seasons  ?  And  do  the  seasons  gain  no  grandeur  or  pathos 
from  that  analogy?  The  instincts  of  the  ant  are  very  unim- 
portant considered  as  the  ant's;  but  the  moment  a  ray  of 
relation  is  seen  to  extend  from  it  to  man,  and  the  little  drudge 
is  seen  to  be  a  monitor,  a  little  body  with  a  mighty  heart, 
then  all  its  habits,  even  that  said  to  be  recently  observed, 
that  it  never  sleeps,  become  sublime. 

Because  of  this  radical  correspondence  between  visible 
things  and  human  thoughts,  savages,  who  have  only  what  is 
necessary,  converse  in  figures.  As  we  go  back  in  history, 
language  becomes  more  picturesque,  until  its  infancy,  when 
it  is  all  poetry ;  or  all  spiritual  facts  are  represented  by  natural 
symbols.  The  same  symbols  are  found  to  make  the  original 
elements  of  all  languages.  It  has  moreover  been  observed, 
that  the  idioms  of  all  languages  approach  each  other  in  pas- 
sages of  the  greatest  eloquence  and  power.  And  as  this  is 
the  first  language,  so  is  it  the  last.     This  immediate  depend- 


14  NATURE 

ence  of  language  upon  nature,  this  conversion  of  an  outward 
phenomenon  into  a  type  of  somewhat  in  human  Hfe,  never 
loses  its  power  to  affect  us.  It  is  this  which  gives  that 
piqua;ncy  to  the  conversation  of  a  strong-natured  farmer  or 
backwoodsman,  which  all  men  relish. 

A  man's  power  to  connect  his  thought  with  its  proper 
symbol,  and  so  to  utter  it,  depends  on  the  simplicity  of  his 
character,  that  is,  upon  his  love  of  truth  and  his  desire  to 
communicate  it  without  loss.  The  corruption  of  man  is 
followed  by  the  corruption  of  language.  When  simplicity 
of  character  and  the  sovereignty  of  ideas  is  broken  up  by  the 
prevalence  of  secondary  desires,  —  the  desire  of  riches,  of 
pleasure,  of  power,  and  of  praise,  —  and  duplicity  and  false- 
hood take  place  of  simplicity  and  truth,  the  power  over  na- 
ture as  an  interpreter  of  the  will  is  in  a  degree  lost;  new 
imagery  ceases  to  be  created,  and  old  words  are  perverted 
to  stand  for  things  which  are  not;  a  paper  currency  is  em- 
ployed, when  there  is  no  bullion  in  the  vaults.  In  due  time 
the  fraud  is  manifest,  and  words  lose  all  power  to  stimulate 
the  understanding  or  the  affections.  Hundreds  of  writers 
may  be  found  in  every  long-civilized  nation  who  for  a  short 
time  believe  and  make  others  believe  that  they  see  and  utter 
truths,  who  do  not  of  themselves  clothe  one  thought  in  its 
natural  garment,  but  who  feed  unconsciously  on  the  language 
created  by  the  primary  writers  of  the  country,  those,  namely, 
who  hold  primarily  on  nature. 

But  wise  men  pierce  this  rotten  diction  and  fasten  words 
again  to  visible  things ;  so  that  picturesque  language  is  at 
once  a  commanding  certificate  that  he  w^ho  employs  it  is  a 
man  in  alliance  with  truth  and  God.  The  moment  our  dis- 
course rises  above  the  ground  line  of  familiar  facts  and  is 
inflamed  with  passion  or  exalted  by  thought,  it  clothes  itself 
in  images.  A  man  conversing  in  earnest,  if  he  watch  his 
intellectual  processes,  will  find  that  a  material  image  more  or 
less  luminous  arises  in  his  mind,  contemporaneous  with  every 
thought,  which  furnishes  the  vestment  of  the  thought. 
Hence,  good  writing  and  brilliant  discourse  are  perpetual 
allegories.  This  imagery  is  spontaneous.  It  is  the  blending 
of  experience  with  the  present  action  of  the  mind.  It  is 
proper  creation.  It  is  the  working  of  the  Original  Cause 
through  the  instruments  he  has  already  made. 

These  facts  may  suggest  the  advantage  which  the  country- 


NATURE  15 

life  possesses,  for  a  powerful  mind,  over  the  artificial  and 
curtailed  life  of  cities.  We  know  more  from  nature  than  we 
can  at  will  communicate.  Its  light  flows  into  the  mind 
evermore,  and  we  forget  its  presence.  The  poet,  the  orator, 
bred  in  the  woods,  whose  senses  have  been  nourished  by  their 
fair  and  appeasing  changes,  year  after  year,  without  design 
and  without  heed,  —  shall  not  lose  their  lesson  altogether,, 
in  the  roar  of  cities  or  the  broil  of  politics.  Long  hereafter^ 
amidst  agitation  and  terror  in  national  councils,  —  in  the 
hour  of  revolution,  —  these  solemn  images  shall  reappear  in 
their  morning  lustre,  as  fit  symbols  and  words  of  the  thoughts 
which  the  passing  events  shall  awaken.  At  the  call  of  a, 
noble  sentiment,  again  the  woods  wave,  the  pines  murmur, 
the  river  rolls  and  shines,  and  the  cattle  low  upon  the  moun- 
tains, as  he  saw  and  heard  them  in  his  infancy.  And  with 
these  forms,  the  spells  of  persuasion,  the  keys  of  power  are 
put  into  his  hands. 

3.  We  are  thus  assisted  by  natural  objects  in  the  expres- 
sion of  particular  meanings.  But  how  great  a  language  ta 
convey  such  pepper-corn  informations !  Did  it  need  such 
noble  races  of  creatures,  this  profusion  of  forms,  this  host  of 
orbs  in  heaven,  to  furnish  man  with  the  dictionary  and 
grammar  of  his  municipal  speech  ?  Whilst  we  use  this  grand 
cipher  to  expedite  the  affairs  of  our  pot  and  kettle,  we  feel 
that  we  have  not  yet  put  it  to  its  use,  neither  are  able.  We 
are  like  travellers  using  the  cinders  of  a  volcano  to  roast 
their  eggs.  Whilst  we  see  that  it  always  stands  ready  to* 
clothe  what  we  would  say,  we  cannot  avoid  the  question 
whether  the  characters  are  not  significant  of  themselves. 
Have  mountains,  and  waves,  and  skies,  no  significance  but 
what  we  consciously  give  them  when  we  employ  them  a& 
emblems  of  our  thoughts  ?  The  world  is  emblematic.  Parts 
of  speech  are  metaphors,  because  the  whole  of  nature  is  a. 
metaphor  of  the  human  mind.  The  laws  of  moral  nature 
answer  to  those  of  matter  as  face  to  face  in  a  glass.  ^^The 
visible  world  and  the  relation  of  its  parts,  is  the  dial  plate 
of  the  invisible.'^  The  axioms  of  physics  translate  the  laws 
of  ethics.  Thus,  'Hhe  whole  is  greater  than  its  part;'^ 
"reaction  is  equal  to  action;"  "the  smallest  weight  may  be 
made  to  lift  the  greatest,  the  difference  of  weight  being  com-^ 
pensated  by  time ; "  and  many  the  like  propositions,  which 
have  an  ethical  as  well  as  physical  sense.     These  proposi- 


16  NATURE  I 

tions  have  a  much  more  extensive  and  universal  sense  when 
-applied  to  human  life,  than  when  confined  to  technical  use. 

In  like  manner,  the  memorable  words  of  history  and  the 
proverbs  of  nations  consist  usually  of  a  natural  fact,  selected 
as  a  picture  or  parable  of  a  moral  truth.  Thus;  A  rolling 
stone  gathers  no  moss ;  A  bird  in  the  hand  is  worth  two  in  the 
bush;  A  cripple  in  the  right  way  will  beat  a  racer  in  the 
wrong ;  Make  hay  while  the  sun  shines ;  T  is  hard  to  carry 
n  full  cup  even ;  Vinegar  is  the  son  of  vane ;  The  last  ounce 
broke  the  camel's  back ;  Long-lived  trees  make  roots  first ;  — 
and  the  like.  In  their  primary  sense  these  are  trivial  facts, 
but  we  repeat  them  for  the  value  of  their  analogical  import. 
What  is  true  of  proverbs,  is  true  of  all  fables,  parables,  and 
allegories. 

This  relation  between  the  mind  and  matter  is  not  fancied 
by  some  poet,  but  stands  in  the  will  of  God,  and  so  is  free  to 
be  known  by  all  men.  It  appears  to  men,  or  it  does  not  ap- 
pear. When  in  fortunate  hours  we  ponder  this  miracle,  the 
ivise  man  doubts  if  at  all  other  times  he  is  not  blind  and  deaf ; 

''Can  such  things  be, 
And  overcome  us  Hke  a  summer's  cloud. 
Without  our  special  wonder?" 

for  the  universe  becomes  transparent,  and  the  light  of  higher 
lavfs  than  its  own  shines  through  it.  It  is  the  standing  prob- 
lem which  has  exercised  the  wonder  and  the  study  of  every 
fine  genius  since  the  world  began ;  from  the  era  of  the  Egyp- 
tians and  the  Brahmins  to  that  of  Pythagoras,  of  Plato,  of 
Bacon,  of  Leibnitz,  of  Swedenborg.  There  sits  the  Sphinx 
a,t  the  road-side,  and  from  age  to  age,  as  each  prophet  comes 
by,  he  tries  his  fortune  at  reading  her  riddle.  There  seems 
to  be  a  necessity  in  spirit  to  manifest  itself  in  material  forms ; 
and  day  and  night,  river  and  storm,  beast  and  bird,  acid  and 
alkali,  preexist  in  necessary  Ideas  in  the  mind  of  God,  and 
are  what  thej^  are  by  virtue  of  preceding  affections  in  the 
world  of  spirit.  A  Fact  is  the  end  or  last  issue  of  spirit.  The 
A^sible  creation  is  the  terminus  or  the  circumference  of  the 
invisible  world.  ''Material  objects,"  said  a  French  philos- 
opher, "are  necessarily  kinds  of  sconce  of  the  substantial 
thoughts  of  the  Creator,  which  must  always  preserve  an 
exact  relation  to  their  first  origin;  in  other  words,  visible 
nature  must  have  a  spiritual  and  moral  side.'* 


NATURE  17 

This  doctrine  is  abstruse,  and  though  the  images  of  "gar- 
ment," "scoriae,"  "mirror,"  etc.,  may  stimulate  the  fancy, 
we  must  summon  the  aid  of  subtler  and  more  vital  expositors 
to  make  it  plain.  "Every  scripture  is  to  be  interpreted  by 
the  same  spirit  which  gave  it  forth,"  —  is  the  fundamental 
law  of  criticism.  A  life  in  harmony  with  Nature,  the  love  of 
truth  and  of  virtue,  will  purge  the  eyes  to  understand  her 
text.  By  degrees  we  may  come  to  know  the  primitive  sense 
of  the  permanent  objects  of  nature,  so  that  the  world  shall 
be  to  us  an  open  book,  and  every  form  significant  of  its  hidden 
life  and  final  cause. 

A  new  interest  surprises  us,  whilst,  under  the  view  now 
suggested,  we  contemplate  the  fearful  extent  and  multitude 
of  objects;  since  "every  object  rightly  seen,  unlocks  a  new 
faculty  of  the  soul."  That  which  was  unconscious  truth, 
becomes,  when  interpreted  and  defined  in  an  object,  a  part 
of  the  domain  of  knowledge,  —  a  new  weapon  in  the  maga- 
zine of  power. 

V    K 
Discipline 

In  view  of  the  significance  of  nature,  we  arrive  at  once  at 
a  new  fact,  that  nature  is  a  discipline.  This  use  of  the  world 
includes  the  preceding  uses,  as  parts  of  itself. 

Space,  time,  society,  labor,  climate,  food,  locomotion,  the 
animals,  the  mechanical  forces,  give  us  sincerest  lessons,  day 
by  day,  whose  meaning  is  unlimited.  They  educate  both  the 
Understanding  and  the  Reason.  Every  property  of  matter 
is  a  school  for  the  understanding,  —  its  solidity  or  resistance, 
its  inertia,  its  extension,  its  figure,  its  divisibility.  The 
understanding  adds,  divides,  combines,  measures,  and  finds 
nutriment  and  room  for  its  activity  in  this  worthy  scene. 
Meantime,  Reason  transfers  all  these  lessons  into  its  own 
world  of  thought,  by  perceiving  the  analogy  that  marries 
Matter  and  Mind. 

1.  Nature  is  a  discipline  of  the  understanding  in  intel- 
lectual truths.  Our  dealing  with  sensible  objects  is  a  constant 
exercise  in  the  necessary  lessons  of  difference,  of  likeness,  of 
order,  of  being  and  seeming,  of  progressive  arrangement; 
of  ascent  from  particular  to  general ;  of  combination  to  one 
end  of  manifold  forces.    Proportioned  to  the  importance  of 


18  NATURE 

the  organ  to  be  formed,  is  the  extreme  care  with  which  its 
tuition  is  provided,  —  a  care  pretermitted  in  no  single  case. 
What  tedious  training,  day  after  day,  year  after  year,  never 
ending,  to  form  the  common  sense ;  what  continual  reproduc- 
tion of  annoyances,  inconveniences,  dilemmas ;  what  rejoicing 
over  us  of  little  men ;  what  disputing  of  prices,  what  reckon- 
ings of  interest,  —  and  all  to  form  the  Hand  of  the  mind ;  — 
to  instruct  us  that  ^'good  thoughts  are  no  better  than  good 
dreams,  unless  they  be  executed!" 

The  same  good  office  is  performed  by  Property  and  its 
filial  systems  of  debt  and  credit.  Debt,  grinding  debt,  whose 
iron  face  the  widow,  the  orphan,  and  the  sons  of  genius  fear 
and  hate ;  —  debt,  which  consumes  so  much  time,  which  so 
cripples  and  disheartens  a  great  spirit  with  cares  that  seem 
so  base,  is  a  preceptor  whose  lessons  cannot  be  foregone,  and 
is  needed  most  by  those  who  suffer  from  it  most.  Moreover, 
property,  which  has  been  well  compared  to  snow,  —  "if  it 
fall  level  to-day,  it  will  be  blown  into  drifts  to-morrow,"  — 
is  the  surface  action  of  internal  machinery,  like  the  index 
on  the  face  of  a  clock.  WTiilst  now  it  is  the  gymnastics  of 
the  understanding,  it  is  hiving,  in  the  foresight  of  the  spirit, 
experience  in  profounder  laws. 

The  whole  character  and  fortune  of  the  individual  are 
affected  by  the  least  inequalities  in  the  culture  of  the  under- 
standing; for  example,  in  the  perception  of  differences. 
Therefore,  is  Space,  and  therefore  Time,  that  man  may  know 
that  things  are  not  huddled  and  lumped,  but  sundered  and 
individual.  A  bell  and  a  plough  have  each  their  use,  and 
neither  can  do  the  office  of  the  other.  Water  is  good  to  drink, 
coal  to  burn,  wool  to  wear;  but  wool  cannot  be  drunk,  nor 
water  spun,  nor  coal  eaten.  The  wise  man  shows  his  wisdom 
in  separation,  in  gradation,  and  his  scale  of  creatures  and  of 
merits  is  as  wide  as  nature.  The  foolish  have  no  range  in 
their  scale,  but  suppose  every  man  is  as  every  other  man. 
What  is  not  good  they  call  the  worst,  and  what  is  not  hateful, 
they  call  the  best. 

In  like  manner,  what  good  heed  Nature  forms  in  us !  She 
pardons  no  mistakes.     Her  yea  is  yea,  and  her  nay,  nay. 

The  first  steps  in  Agriculture,  Astronomy,  Zoology  (those 
first  steps  which  the  farmer,  the  hunter,  and  the  sailor  take), 
teach  that  Nature^s  dice  are  always  loaded;  that  in  her 
heaps  and  rubbish  are  concealed  sure  and  useful  results. 


NATURE  19 

How  calmly  and  genially  the  mind  apprehends  one  after 
another  the  laws  of  physics!  What  noble  emotions  dilate 
the  mortal  as  he  enters  into  the  councils  of  th'fe  creation,  and 
feels  by  knowledge  the  privilege  to  Be  !  His  insight  refines 
him.  The  beauty  of  nature  shines  in  his  own  breast.  Man 
is  greater  that  he  can  see  this,  and  the  universe  less,  because 
Time  and  Space  relations  vanish  as  laws  are  known. 

Here  again  we  are  impressed  and  even  daunted  by  the 
immense  Universe  to  be  explored.  ''What  we  know  is 
a  point  to  what  we  do  not  know.'^  Open  any  recent  journal 
of  science,  and  weigh  the  problems  suggested  concerning 
Light,  Heat,  Electricity,  Magnetism,  Physiology,  Geology, 
and  judge  whether  the  interest  of  natural  science  is  likely 
to  be  soon  exhausted. 

Passing  by  many  particulars  of  the  discipline  of  nature, 
we  must  not  omit  to  specify  two. 

The  exercise  of  the  Will,  or  the  lesson  of  power,  is  taught 
in  every  event.  From  the  child's  successive  possession  of 
his  several  senses  up  to  the  hour  when  he  saith,  "Thy  will 
be  done !''  he  is  learning  the  secret  that  he  can  reduce  under 
his  will  not  only  particular  events  but  great  classes,  nay, 
the  whole  series  of  events,  and  so  conform  all  facts  to  his  char- 
acter. Nature  is  thoroughly  mediate.  It  is  made  to  serve. 
It  receives  the  dominion  of  man  as  meekly  as  the  ass  on 
which  the  Saviour  rode.  It  offers  all  its  kingdoms  to  man 
as  the  raw  material  which  he  may  mould  into  what  is  useful. 
Man  is  never  weary  of  working  it  up.  He  forges  the  subtile 
and  delicate  air  into  wise  and  melodious  words,  and  gives 
them  wing  as  angels  of  persuasion  and  command.  One  after 
another  his  victorious  thought  comes  up  with  and  reduces 
all  things,  until  the  world  becomes  at  last  only  a  realized 
will,  —  the  double  of  the  man. 

2.  Sensible  objects  conform  to  the  premonitions  of  Reason 
and  reflect  the  conscience.  All  things  are  moral ;  and  in  their 
boundless  changes  have  an  unceasing  reference  to  spiritual 
nature.  Therefore  is  nature  glorious  with  form,  color,  and 
motion;  that  every  globe  in  the  remotest  heaven,  every 
chemical  change  from  the  rudest  crystal  up  to  the  laws  of 
life,  every  change  of  vegetation  from  the  first  principle  of 
growth  in  the  eye  of  a  leaf,  to  the  tropical  forest  and  ante- 
diluvian coal-mine,  every  animal  function  from  the  sponge 
up  to  Hercules,  shall  hint  or  thunder  to  man  the  laws  of  right 


20  NATURE 

and  wrong,  and  echo  the  Ten  Commandments.  Therefore 
is  Nature  ever  the  ally  of  Religion :  lends  all  her  pomp  and 
riches  to  the  religious  sentiment.  Prophet  and  priest,  David, 
Isaiah,  Jesus,  have  drawn  deeply  from  this  source.  This 
ethical  character  so  penetrates  the  bone  and  marrow  of  nature, 
as  to  seem  the  end  for  which  it  was  made.  Whatever  private 
purpose  is  answered  by  any  member  or  part,  this  is  its  public  , 
and  universal  function,  and  is  never  omitted.  Nothing  in  il 
nature  is  exhausted  in  its  first  use.  When  a  thing  has  served  j 
an  end  to  the  uttermost,  it  is  wholly  new  for  an  ulterior 
service.  In  God,  every  end  is  converted  into  a  new  means. 
Thus  the  use  of  commodity,  regarded  by  itself,  is  mean  and 
squalid.  But  it  is  to  the  mind  an  education  in  the  doctrine 
of  Use,  namely,  that  a  thing  is  good  only  so  far  as  it  serves ; 
that  a  conspiring  of  parts  and  efforts  to  tlie  production  of 
an  end  is  essential  to  any  being.  The  first  and  gross  manifes- 
tation of  this  truth  is  our  inevitable  and  hated^  training  in 
values  and  wants,  in  corn  and  meat. 

It  has  already  been  illustrated,  that  every  natural  process 
is  a  version  of  a  moral  sentence.  The  moral  law  lies  at  the  j 
centre  of  nature  and  radiates  to  the  circumference.  It  is  : 
the  pith  and  marrow  of  every  substance,  eYery  relation,  and 
every  process.  All  things  with  which  we  deal,  preach  to  us. 
What  is  a  farm  but  a  mute  gospel?  The  chaff  and  the 
wheat,  weeds  and  plants,  blight,  rain,  insects,  sun,  —  it  ' 
is  a  sacred  emblem  from  the  first  furrow  of  spring  to  the  last 
stack  which  the  snow  of  winter  overtakes  in  the  fields.  But 
the  sailor,  the  shepherd,  the  miner,  the  merchant,  in  their 
several  resorts,  have  each  an  experience  precisely  parallel, 
and  leading  to  the  same  conclusion  :  because  all  organizations 
are  radically  alike.  Nor  can  it  be  doubted  that  this  moral 
sentiment  which  thus  scents  the  air,  grows  in  the  grain,  and 
impregnates  the  waters  of  the  world,  is  caught  by  man  and 
sinks  into  his  soul.  The  moral  influence  of  nature  upon 
every  individual  is  that  amount  of  truth  which  it  illustrates  to 
him.  Who  can  estimate  this?  Who  can  guess  how  much 
firmness  the  sea-beaten  rock  has  taught  the  fisherman? 
how  much  tranquillity  has  been  reflected  to  man  from  the  ' 
azure  sky,  over  whose  unspotted  deeps  the  winds  forever- 
more  drive  flocks  of  stormy  clouds,  and  leave  no  wTinkle 
or  stain?  how  much  industry  and  providence  and  affection 
we   have   caught  from  the   pantomime   of  brutes?    What 


NATURE  21 

a  searching  preacher  of  self-command  is  the  varying  phenom- 
enon of  Health ! 

Herein  is  especially  apprehended  the  unity  of  Nature,  — 
the  unity  in  variety,  —  which  meets  us  everywhere.  All 
the  endless  variety  of  things  make  an  identical  impression. 
Xenophanes  complained  in  his  old  age,  that,  look  where  he 
would,  all  things  hastened  back  to  Unity.  He  was  weary 
of  seeing  the  same  entity  in  the  tedious  variety  of  forms. 
The  fable  of  Proteus  has  a  cordial  truth.  A  leaf,  a  drop, 
a  crystal,  a  moment  of  time,  is  related  to  the  whole,  and  par-  [ 
takes  of  the  perfection  of  the  whole.  Each  particle  is  a 
microcosm,  and  faithfully  renders  the  likeness  of  the  world. 

Not  only  resemblances  exist  in  things  whose  analogy  is 
obvious,  as  when  we  detect  the  type  of  the  human  hand  in 
the  flipper  of  the  fossil  saurus,  but  also  in  objects  wherein 
there  is  great  superficial  unlikeness.  Thus  architecture 
is  called  ^^ frozen  music, '^  by  De  Stael  and  Goethe.  Vitruvius 
thought  an  architect  should  be  a  musician.  ^'A  Gothic 
church,"  said  Coleridge,  "is  a  petrified  religion.''  Michael 
Angelo  maintained,  that,  to  an  architect,  a  knowledge  of 
anatomy  is  essential.  In  Haydn's  oratorios,  the  notes 
present  to  the  imagination  not  only  motions,  as  of  the  snake, 
the  stag,  and  the  elephant,  but  colors  also ;  as  the  green  grass. 
The  law  of  harmonic  sounds  reappears  in  the  harmonic 
colors.  The  granite  is  differenced  in  its  laws  only  by  the 
more  or  less  of  heat  from  the  river  that  wears  it  away.  The 
river,  as  it  flows,  resembles  the  air  that  flows  over  it ;  the  air 
resembles  the  light  which  traverses  it  with  more  subtile 
currents;  the  light  resembles  the  heat  which  rides  with  it 
through  Space.  Each  creature  is  only  a  modification  of  the 
other ;  the  likeness  in  them  is  more  than  the  difference,  and 
their  radical  law  is  one  and  the  same.  A  rule  of  one  art, 
or  a  law  of  one  organization,  holds  true  throughout  nature. 
So  intimate  is  this  Unity,  that,  it  is  easily  seen,  it  lies  under 
the  undermost  garment  of  Nature,  and  betrays  its  source 
in  Universal  Spirit.  For  it  pervades  Thought  also.  Every 
universal  truth  which  we  express  in  words,  implies  or  supposes 
every  other  truth.  Omne  verum  vero  consonat.  It  is  lilce 
a  great  circle  on  a  sphere,  comprising  all  possible  circles; 
which,  however,  may  be  drawn  and  comprise  it  in  like  manner. 
Every  such  truth  is  the  absolute  Ens  seen  from  one  side. 
But  it  has  innumerable  sides. 


22  NATURE 

The  central  Unity  is  still  more  conspicuous  in  actions. 
Words  are  finite  organs  of  the  infinite  mind.  They  cannot 
•cover  the  dimensions  of  what  is  in  truth.  They  break,  chop, 
and  impoverish  it.  An  action  is  the  perfection  and  publi- 
cation of  thought.  A  right  action  seems  to  fill  the  eye,  and 
to  be  related  to  all  nature.  ^^The  wise  man,  in  doing  one 
thing,  does  all ;  or,  in  the  one  thing  he  does  rightly,  he  sees 
the  likeness  of  all  which  is  done  rightly. '^ 

Words  and  actions  are  not  the  attributes  of  brute  nature. 
They  introduce  us  to  the  human  form,  of  which  all  other 
organizations  appear  to  be  degradations.  When  this  appears 
among  so  many  that  surround  it,  the  spirit  prefers  it  to  all 
others.  It  says,  ^'From  such  as  this  have  I  drawn  joy  and 
knowledge ;  in  such  as  this  have  I  found  and  beheld  myself ; 
I  wdll  speak  to  it ;  it  can  speak  again ;  it  can  yield  me  thought 
already  formed  and  alive."  In  fact,  the  eye,  —  the  mind,  — 
is  always  accompanied  by  these  forms,  male  and  female ; 
and  these  are  incomparably  the  richest  informations  of  the 
power  and  order  that  lie  at  the  heart  of  things.  Unfortu- 
nately every  one  of  them  bears  the  marks  as  of  some  injury ;  is 
marred  and  superficially  defective.  Nevertheless,  far  different 
from  the  deaf  and  dumb  nature  around  them,  these  all  rest  like 
fountain-pipes  on  the  unfathomed  sea  of  thouglit  and  virtue 
whereto  they  alone,  of  all  organizations,  are  the  entrance. 

It  were  a  pleasant  inquiry  to  follow  into  detail  their  ministry 
to  our  education,  but  where  would  it  stop  ?  We  are  associated 
in  adolescent  and  adult  life  with  some  friends,  who,  like  skies 
and  waters,  are  coextensive  with  our  idea;  who,  answering 
each  to  a  certain  affection  of  the  soul,  satisfy  our  desire  on 
that  side ;  whom  we  lack  power  to  put  at  such  focal  dis- 
tance from  us,  that  we  can  mend  or  even  analyze  them.  We 
cannot  choose  but  love  them.  When  much  intercourse  with 
a  friend  has  supplied  us  with  a  standard  of  excellence,  and 
has  increased  our  respect  for  the  resources  of  God  who  thus 
sends  a  real  person  to  outgo  our  ideal ;  when  he  has,  moreover, 
become  an  object  of  thought,  and,  whilst  his  character  retains 
all  its  unconscious  effect,  is  converted  in  the  mind  into  solid 
and  sweet  wisdom,  —  it  is  a  sign  to  us  that  his  office  is 
closing,  and  he  is  commonly  withdrawn  from  our  sight  in 
;a  short  time. 


NATURE  25 

VI 

Idealism 

Thus  is  the  unspeakable  but  inteUigible  and  practicable 
meaning  of  the  world  conveyed  to  man,  the  immortal  pupil^ 
in  every  object  of  sense.  To  this  one  end  of  Discipline,  all 
parts  of  nature  conspire. 

A  noble  doubt  perpetually  suggests  itself,  —  whether 
this  end  be  not  the  Final  Cause  of  the  Universe ;  and  whether 
nature  outwardly  exists.  It  is  a  sufficient  account  of  that 
Appearance  we  call  the  World,  that  God  will  teach  a  human 
mind,  and  so  makes  it  the  receiver  of  a  certain  number  of 
congruent  sensations,  which  we  call  sun  and  moon,  man  and 
woman,  house  and  trade.  In  my  utter  impotence  to  test 
the  authenticity  of  the  report  of  my  senses,  to  loiow  whether 
the  impressions  they  make  on  me  correspond  with  outlying 
objects,  what  difference  does  it  make,  whether  Orion  is  up 
there  in  heaven,  or  some  god  paints  the  image  in  the  firma- 
ment of  the  soul?  The  relations  of  parts  and  the  end  of  the 
whole  remaining  the  same,  what  is  the  difference,  whether 
land  and  sea  interact,  and  worlds  revolve  and  intermingle 
without  number  or  end,  —  deep  yawning  under  deep,  and 
galaxy  balancing  galaxy,  throughout  absolute  space,  —  or 
whether,  without  relations  of  time  and  space,  the  same 
appearances  are  inscribed  in  the  constant  faith  of  man? 
Whether  nature  enjoy  a  substantial  existence  without,  or 
is  only  in  the  apocalypse  of  the  mind,  it  is  alike  useful  and 
alike  venerable  to  me.  Be  it  what  it  may,  it  is  ideal  to  me 
so  long  as  I  cannot  try  the  accuracy  of  my  senses. 

The  frivolous  make  themselves  merry  with  the  Ideal 
theory,  as  if  its  consequences  were  burlesque  ;  as  if  it  affected 
the  stability  of  nature.  It  surely  does  not.  God  never 
jests  with  us,  and  wdll  not  compromise  the  end  of  nature 
permitting  any  inconsequence  in  its  procession.  Any  dis- 
trust of  the  permanence  of  laws  would  paralyze  the  faculties 
of  man.  Their  permanence  is  sacredly  respected,  and  his 
faith  therein  is  perfect.  The  wheels  and  springs  of  man  are 
all  set  to  the  hypothesis  of  the  permanence  of  nature.  We 
are  not  built  like  a  ship  to  be  tossed,  but  like  a  house  to  stand. 
It  is  a  natural  consequence  of  this  structure,  that  so  long  as 
the  active  powers  predominate  over  the  reflective,  we  resist 


24  NATURE 

with  indignation  any  hint  that  nature  is  more  short-lived  or 
iTiuta})le  than  spirit.  The  broker,  the  wheelwright,  the 
carpenter,  the  tollman,  are  much  displeased  at  the  intimation. 

But  whilst  we  acquiesce  entirely  in  the  permanence  of 
natural  laws,  the  question  of  the  absolute  existence  of  nature 
still  remains  open.  It  is  the  uniform  effect  of  culture  on 
the  human  mind,  not  to  shake  our  faith  in  the  stability  of 
particular  phenomena,  as  of  heat,  watc^r,  azote ;  but  to  lead 
us  to  n^gard  nature  as  phenomenon,  not  a  substance ;  to 
attribute  necessary  existence  to  spirit;  to  esteem  nature 
as  an  a(;cident  and  an  effect. 

To  the  senses  and  the  unrenewed  understanding,  belongs 
a  sort  of  instinctive  belief  in  tlie  al)solute  existence  of  nature. 
In  tlieir  view  man  and  nature  are  indissolubly  joined.  Things 
are  ultimates,  and  they  never  look  beyond  their  sphere. 
The  presence  of  R(^ason  mars  this  faith.  The  first  effort 
of  thought  tends  to  n^lax  this  despotism  of  the  senses  which 
binds  us  to  nature  as  if  we  were  a  part  of  it,  and  shows  us 
nature  aloof,  and,  as  it  were,  afloat.  Until  this  higher 
agency  ink^rvened,  the  animal  eye  sees,  with  wonderful 
accuracy,  sharp  outlines  and  colored  surfaces.  When  the 
€ye  of  Reason  opens,  to  outline  and  surface  are  at  once  added 
grac(^  and  (expression.  Tlu^se  proccxnl  from  imagination  and 
affe(;tion,  and  abate  somewhat  of  the  angular  distinctness 
of  objects.  If  the  R(^ason  be  stimulated  to  more  earnest 
vision,  outlines  and  surfaces  become  transparent,  and  are 
no  longer  seen ;  causes  and  spirits  are  seen  through  them. 
Th(^  Ix^st  moments  of  life  are  these  delicious  awakenings  of 
th(^  higher  powers,  and  the  reverential  withdrawing  of  nature 
before  its  God. 

Let  us  proceed  to  indicate  the  effects  of  culture. 

1.  Our  first  institution  in  the  Ideal  philosophy  is  a  hint 
from  Nature  herself. 

Nature  is  made  to  conspire  with  spirit  to  emancipate  us. 
Certain  mechanical  changes,  a  small  alteration  in  our  local 
position,  apprizes  us  of  a  dualism.  We  are  strangely  affected 
by  seeing  the  shore  from  a  moving  ship,  from  a  balloon,  or 
tlirough  the  tints  of  an  unusual  sky.  The  least  change  in 
our  point  of  view  gives  the  whole  world  a  pictorial  air.  A 
man  who  seklom  rides,  needs  only  to  get  into  a  coach  and 
traverse  his  own  town,  to  turn  the  street  into  a  puppet-show. 
The  men,  the  women,  —  talking,  running,  bartering,  fighting, 


NATURE  25 

—  the  earnest  mechanic,  the  lounger,  the  beggar,  the  boys, 
the  dogs,  are  unrealized  at  once,  or,  at  least,  wholly  detached 
from  all  relation  to  the  observer,  and  seen  as  apparent,  not 
substantial  beings.  What  new  thoughts  are  suggested  by 
seeing  a  face  of  country  quite  familiar,  in  the  rapid  movement 
of  the  railroad  car!  Nay,  the  most  wonted  objects,  (make 
a  very  slight  change  in  the  point  of  vision,)  please  us  most. 
In  a  camera  obscura,  the  butcher^s  cart,  and  the  figure  of  one 
of  our  own  family  amuse  us.  So  a  portrait  of  a  well-known 
face  gratifies  us.  Turn  the  eyes  upside  down,  by  looking  at 
the  landscape  through  your  legs,  and  how  agreeable  is  the 
picture,  though  you  have  seen  it  any  time  these  twenty  years ! 

In  these  cases,  by  mechanical  means,  is  suggested  the 
difference  between  the  observer  and  the  spectacle  —  between 
man  and  nature.  Hence  arises  a  pleasure  mixed  with  awe ; 
I  may  say,  a  low  degree  of  the  sublime  is  felt,  from  the  fact, 
probably,  that  man  is  hereby  apprized  that  whilst  the  world 
is  a  spectacle,  something  in  himself  is  stable. 

2.  In  a  higher  manner  the  poet  communicates  the  same 
pleasure.  By  a  few  strokes  he  delineates,  as  on  air,  the 
sun,  the  mountain,  the  camp,  the  city,  the  hero,  the  maiden, 
not  different  from  what  we  know  them,  but  only  Hfted  from 
the  ground  and  afloat  before  the  eye.  He  unfixes  the  land 
and  the  sea,  makes  them  revolve  around  the  axis  of  his 
primary  thought,  and  disposes  them  anew.  Possessed  him- 
self by  a  heroic  passion,  he  uses  matter  as  symbols  of  it. 
The  sensual  man  conforms  thoughts  to  things;  the  poet 
conforms  things  to  his  thoughts.  The  one  esteems  nature 
as  rooted  and  fast ;  the  other,  as  fluid,  and  impresses  his 
being  thereon.  To  him,  the  refractory  world  is  ductile  and 
flexible;  he  invests  dust  and  stones  with  humanity,  and 
makes  them  the  words  of  the  Reason.  The  Imagination 
may  be  defined  to  be  the  use  which  the  Reason  makes  of 
the  material  world.  Shakespeare  possesses  the  power  of 
subordinating  nature  for  the  purposes  of  expression,  beyond 
all  poets.  His  imperial  muse  tosses  the  creation  like  a  bauble 
from  hand  to  hand,  and  uses  it  to  embody  any  caprice  of 
thought  that  is  uppermost  in  his  mind.  The  remotest 
spaces  of  nature  are  visited,  and  the  farthest  sundered  things 
are  brought  together,  by  a  subtile  spiritual  connection.  We 
are  made  aware  that  magnitude  of  material  things  is  relative, 
and  all  objects  shrink  and  expand  to  serve  the  passion  of  the 


26  NATURE 

poet.  Thus  in  his  sonnets,  the  lays  of  birds,  the  scents  and 
dyes  of  flowers  he  finds  to  be  the  shadow  of  his  beloved ;  time^ 
wWch  keeps  her  from  him,  is  his  chest;  the  suspicion  she  has 
awakened,  is  her  ornament; 

The  ornament  of  beauty  is  Suspect, 

A  crow  which  flies  in  heaven's  sweetest  air. 

His  passion  is  not  the  fruit  of  chance ;  it  swells,  as  he  speaks^ 
to  a  city,  or  a  state. 

No,  it  was  builded  far  from  accident ; 

It  suffers  not  in  smiling  pomp,  nor  falls 

Under  the  brow  of  thralling  discontent ; 

It  fears  not  policy,  that  heretic, 

That  works  on  leases  of  short  numbered  hours. 

But  all  alone  stands  hugely  politic. 

In  the  strength  of  his  constancy,  the  Pyramids  seem  to 
him  recent  and  transitory.  The  freshness  of  youth  and  love 
dazzles  him  with  its  resemblance  to  morning  ; 

Take  those  lips  away 
Which  so  sweetly  were  forsworn ; 
.   And  those  eyes,  —  the  break  of  day. 
Lights  that  do  mislead  the  morn. 

The  wild  beauty  of  this  hyperbole,  I  may  say  in  passing,  it 
would  not  be  easy  to  match  in  literature. 

This  transfiguration  which  all  material  objects  undergo 
through  the  passion  of  the  poet,  —  this  power  which  he 
exerts  to  dwarf  the  great,  to  magnify  the  small,  —  might  be 
illustrated  by  a  thousand  examples  from  his  Plays.  I  have 
before  me  the  Tempest,  and  will  cite  only  these  few  lines. 

Ariel.     The  strong  based  promontory 
Have  I  made  shake,  and  by  the  spurs  plucked  up 
The  pine  and  cedar. 

Prospero  calls  for  music  to  soothe  the  frantic  Alonzo,  and  his 
companions ; 

A  solemn  air,  and  the  best  comforter 
To  an  unsettled  fancy,  cure  thy  brains 
Now  useless,  boiled  within  thy  skull. 


NATURE  27 

Again ; 

The  charm  dissolves  apace, 
And,  as  the  morning  steals  upon  the  night, 
Melting  the  darkness,  so  their  rising  senses 
Begin  to  chase  the  ignorant  fumes  that  mantle 
Their  clearer  reason. 

Their  understanding 
Beg(ins  to  swell :  and  the  approaching  tide 
Will  shortly  fill  the  reasonable  shores 
That  now  lie  foul  and  muddy. 

The  perception  of  real  affinities  between  events  (that  is. 
to  say,  of  ideal  affinities,  for  those  only  are  real),  enables 
the  poet  thus  to  make  free  with  the  most  imposing  forms  and 
phenomena  of  the  world,  and  to  assert  the  predominance  of 
the  soul. 

3.  Whilst  thus  the  poet  animates  nature  with  his  own: 
thoughts,  he  differs  from  the  philosopher  only  herein,  that 
the  one  proposes  Beauty  as  liis  main  end,  the  other  Truth.. 
But  the  philosopher,  not  less  than  the  poet,  postpones  the 
apparent  order  and  relations  of  things  to  the  empire  of 
thought.  '^The  problem  of  philosophy,^'  according  to  Plato, 
^^is,  for  all  that  exists  conditionally,  to  find  a  ground  un- 
conditioned and  absolute.''  It  proceeds  on  the  faith  that 
a  law  determines  all  phenomena,  which  being  known,  the- 
phenomena  can  be  predicted.  That  law,  when  in  the  mind,, 
is  an  idea.  Its  beauty  is  infinite.  The  true  philosopher 
and  the  true  poet  are  one,  and  a  beauty,  which  is  truth,  and 
a  truth,  which  is  beauty,  is  the  aim  of  both.  Is  not  the 
charm  of  one  of  Plato's  or  Aristotle's  definitions  strictly  like 
that  of  the  Antigone  of  Sophocles  ?  It  is,  in  both  cases,  that  a 
spiritual  life  has  been  imparted  to  nature  ;  that  a  solid  seem-  * 
ing  block  of  matter  has  been  pervaded  and  dissolved  by 
a  thought ;  that  this  feeble  human  being  has  penetrated  the 
vast  masses  of  nature  with  an  informing  soul,  and  recognized 
itself  in  their  harmony,  that  is,  seized  their  law.  In  physics, 
when  this  is  attained,  the  memory  disburthens  itself  of  its 
cumbrous  catalogues  of  particulars,  and  carries  centuries  of 
observation  in  a  single  formula. 

Thus  even  in  physics,  the  material  is  degraded  before  the 
spiritual.  The  astronomer,  the  geometer,  rely  on  their 
irrefragable  analysis,  and  disdain  the  results  of  observation. 
The  sublime  remark  of  Euler  on.  his  law  of  arches,  '^This; 


28  NATURE 

will  be  found  contrary  to  all  experience,  yet  is  true'^  had 
already  transferred  nature  into  the  mind,  and  left  matter 
like  an  outcast  corpse. 

4.  Intellectual  science  has  been  observed  to  beget  invari- 
ably a  doubt  of  the  existence  of  matter.  Turgot  said,  "He 
that  has  never  doubted  the  existence  of  matter,  may  be 
assured  he  has  no  aptitude  for  metaphysical  inquiries/'  It 
fastens  the  attention  upon  immortal  necessary  uncreated 
natures,  that  is,  upon  Ideas ;  and  in  their  presence  we  feel 
that  the  outward  circumstance  is  a  dream  and  a  shade. 
Whilst  we  wait  in  this  Olympus  of  gods,  we  think  of  nature 
as  an  appendix  to  the  soul.  We  ascend  into  their  region,  and 
know  that  these  are  the  thoughts  of  the  Supreme  Being. 
"These  are  they  who  were  set  up  from  everlasting,  from 
the  beginning,  or  ever  the  earth  was.  When  he  prepared 
the  heavens,  they  were  there ;  when  he  established  the 
clouds  above,  when  he  strengthened  the  fountains  of  the  deep. 
Then  they  were  by  him,  as  one  brought  up  with  him.  Of  them 
took  he  counsel." 

Their  influence  is  proportionate.  As  objects  of  science 
they  are  accessible  to  few  men.  Yet  all  men  are  capable 
of  being  raised  by  piety  or  by  passion,  into  their  region. 
And  no  man  touches  these  divine  natures,  without  becoming, 
in  some  degree,  himself  divine.  Like  a  new  soul,  they 
renew  the  body.  We  become  physically  nimble  and  light- 
some ;  we  tread  on  air ;  life  is  no  longer  irksome,  and  we  think 
it  will  never  be  so.  No  man  fears  age  or  misfortune  or  death 
in  their  serene  company,  for  he  is  transported  out  of  the 
district  of  change.  Whilst  we  behold  unveiled  the  nature 
of  Justice  and  Truth,  we  learn  the  difference  between  the 
absolute  and  the  conditional  or  relative.  We  apprehend 
the  absolute.  As  it  were,  for  the  first  time,  we  exist.  We 
become  immortal,  for  we  learn  that  time  and  space  are 
relations  of  matter;  that  with  a  perception  of  truth  or  a 
virtuous  will  they  have  no  affinity. 

5.  Finally,  religion  and  ethics,  which  may  be  fitly  called 
the  practice  of  ideas,  or  the  introduction  of  ideas  into  life, 
have  an  analogous  effect  with  all  lower  culture,  in  degrading 
nature  and  suggesting  its  dependence  on  spirit.  Ethics 
and  religion  differ  herein ;  that  the  one  is  the  system  of  human 
duties  commencing  from  man;  the  other,  from  God.  Re- 
ligion includes  the  personality  of  God;    Ethics  does  not. 


NATURE  29 

They  are  one  to  our  present  design.  They  both  put  nature 
under  foot.  The  first  and  last  lesson  of  religion  is,  ^'The 
things  that  are  seen,  are  temporal ;  the  things  that  are  unseen, 
are  eternal.'^  It  puts  an  affront  upon  nature.  It  does  that 
for  the  unschooled,  which  philosophy  does  for  Berkeley  and 
Yiasa.  The  uniform  language  that  may  be  heard  in  the 
churches  of  the  most  ignorant  sects  is,  —  ^'Contemn  the 
unsubstantial  shows  of  the  world ;  they  are  vanities,  dreams, 
shadows,  unrealities;  seek  the  realities  of  religion."  The 
devotee  flouts  nature.  Some  theosophists  have  arrived  at 
a  certain  hostility  and  indignation  towards  matter,  as  the 
Manichean  and  Plotinus.  They  distrusted  in  themselves 
any  looking  back  to  these  flesh-pots  of  Egypt.  Plotinus 
was  ashamed  of  his  body.  In  short,  they  might  all  say  of 
matter,  what  Michael  Angelo  said  of  external  beauty,  ''It 
is  the  frail  and  weary  weed,  in  which  God  dresses  the  soul 
which  he  has  called  into  time." 

It  appears  that  motion,  poetry,  physical  and  intellectual 
science,  and  religion,  all  tend  to  affect  our  convictions  of  the 
reality  of  the  external  world.  But  I  own  there  is  something 
ungrateful  in  expanding  too  curiously  the  particulars  of 
the  general  proposition,  that  all  culture  tends  to  imbue  us 
with  idealism.  I  have  no  hostility  to  nature,  but  a  child's 
love  to  it.  I  expand  and  live  in  the  warm  day  like  corn  and 
melons.  Let  us  speak  her  fair.  I  do  not  wish  to  fling  stones 
at  my  beautiful  mother,  nor  soil  my  gentle  nest.  I  only 
wish  to  indicate  the  true  position  of  nature  in  regard  to  man, 
wherein  to  establish  man  all  right  education  tends;  as  the 
ground  which  to  attain  is  the  object  of  human  life,  that  is, 
of  man's  connection  with  nature.  Culture  inverts  the 
vulgar  views  of  nature,  and  brings  the  mind  to  call  that 
apparent  which  it  uses  to  call  real,  and  that  real  which  it 
uses  to  call  visionary.  Children,  it  is  true,  believe  in  the 
external  world.  The  belief  that  it  appears  only,  is  an  after- 
thought, but  with  culture  this  faith  will  as  surely  arise  on 
the  mind  as  did  the  first. 

The  advantage  of  the  ideal  theory  over  the  popular  faith 
is  this,  that  it  presents  the  world  in  precisely  that  view  which 
is  most  desirable  to  the  mind.  It  is,  in  fact,  the  view  which 
Reason,  both  speculative  and  practical,  that  is,  philosophy 
and  virtue,  take.  For  seen  in  the  light  of  thought,  the  world 
always  is  phenomenal ;  and  virtue  subordinates  it  to  the  mind. 


30  NATURE 

Idealism  sees  the  world  in  God.  It  beholds  the  whole  circle 
of  persons  and  things,  of  actions  and  events,  of  country  and 
religion,  not  as  painfully  accumulated,  atom  after  atom,  act 
after  act,  in  an  aged  creeping  Past,  but  as  one  vast  picture 
which  God  paints  on  the  instant  eternit}^  for  the  contemplation 
of  the  soul.  Therefore  the  soul  holds  itself  off  from  a  too 
trivial  and  microscopic  stud}^  of  the  universal  tablet.  It 
respects  the  end  too  much  to  immerse  itself  in  the  means. 
It  sees  something  more  important  in  Christianity  than  the 
scandals  of  ecclesiastical  liistory  or  the  niceties  of  criticism  ; 
and,  very  incurious  concerning  persons  or  miracles,  and  not 
at  all  disturbed  bj^  chasms  of  historical  evidence,  it  accepts 
from  God  the  phenomenon,  as  it  finds  it,  as  the  pure  and 
awiul  form  of  religion  in  the  world.  It  is  not  hot  and  pas- 
sionate at  the  appearance  of  what  it  calls  its  own  good  or 
bad  fortune,  at  the  union  or  opposition  of  other  persons. 
No  man  is  its  enemy.  It  accepts  whatsoever  befalls,  as 
part  of  its  lesson.  It  is  a  watcher  more  than  a  doer,  and 
it  is  a  doer,  only  that  it  may  the  better  watch. 

VII 

Spirit 

It  is  essential  to  a  true  theory  of  nature  and  of  man,  that 
it  should  contain  somewhat  progressive.  Uses  that  are 
exliausted  or  that  may  be,  and  facts  that  end  in  the  statement, 
cannot  be  all  that  is  true  of  this  brave  lodging  wherein  man 
is  harbored,  and  wherein  all  his  faculties  find  appropriate 
and  endless  exercise.  And  all  the  uses  of  nature  admit  of 
being  summed  in  one,  wliich  yields  the  activity  of  man 
an  infinite  scope.  Tlirough  all  its  kingdoms,  to  the  suburbs 
and  outskirts  of  things,  it  is  faithful  to  the  cause  whence 
it  had  its  origin.  It  alwa^^s  speaks  of  Spirit.  It  suggests 
the  absolute.  It  is  a  perpetual  effect.  It  is  a  great  shadow 
pointing  always  to  the  sun  behind  us. 

The  aspect  of  Nature  is  devout.  Like  the  figure  of  Jesus, 
she  stands  with  bended  head,  and  hands  folded  upon  the 
breast.  The  happiest  man  is  he  who  learns  from  nature  the 
lesson  of  worship. 

Of  that  ineffable  essence  which  we  call  Spirit,  he  that 
thinks  most,  will  say  least.     We  can  foresee  God  in  the 


NATURE  31 

coarse,  and,  as  it  were,  distant  phenomena  of  matter;  but 
when  we  try  to  define  and  describe  himself,  both  language 
and  thought  desert  us,  and  we  are  as  helpless  as  fools  and 
savages.  That  essence  refuses  to  be  recorded  in  propositions, 
but  when  man  has  worshipped  him  intellectually,  the  noblest 
ministry  of  nature  is  to  stand  as  the  apparition  of  God.  It 
is  the  organ  through  which  the  universal  spirit  speaks  to  the 
indi\ddual,  and  strives  to  lead  back  the  indi\ddual  to  it. 

"WHien  we  consider  Spirit,  we  see  that  the  views  already 
presented  do  not  include  the  whole  circumference  of  man. 
We  must  add  some  related  thoughts. 

Three  problems  are  put  by  nature  to  the  mind:  What 
is  matter?  Whence  is  it?  and  "VMiereto?  The  first  of 
these  questions  only,  the  ideal  theory  answers.  Idealism 
saith :  matter  is  a  phenomenon,  not  a  substance.  Idealism 
acquaints  us  mth  the  total  disparity  between  the  evidence 
of  our  own  being  and  the  evidence  of  the  world's  being.  The 
one  is  perfect ;  the  other,  incapable  of  any  assurance :  the 
mind  is  a  part  of  the  nature  of  things ;  the  world  is  a  divine 
dream,  from  which  we  may  presently  awake  to  the  glories 
and  certainties  of  day.  Idealism  is  a  hypothesis  to  account 
for  nature  by  other  principles  than  those  of  carpentry  and 
chemistry.  Yet,  if  it  only  deny  the  existence  of  matter,  it 
does  not  satisfy  the  demands  of  the  spirit.  It  leaves  God 
out  of  me.  It  leaves  me  in  the  splendid  labyrinth  of  my 
perceptions,  to  wander  without  end.  Then  the  heart  resists 
it,  because  it  balks  the  affections  in  denying  substantive 
being  to  men  and  women.  Nature  is  so  pervaded  with 
human  life  that  there  is  something  of  humanity  in  all  and 
in  every  particular.  But  this  theory  makes  nature  foreign 
to  me,  and  does  not  account  for  that  consanguinity  which 
we  acknowledge  to  it. 

Let  it  stand  then,  in  the  present  state  of  our  knowledge, 
merely  as  a  useful  introductory  hypothesis,  serving  to  apprize 
us  of  the  eternal  distinction  between  the  soul  and  the  world. 

But  when,  following  the  invisible  steps  of  thought,  we  come 
to  inquire.  Whence  is  matter?  and  Whereto?  many  truths 
arise  to  us  out  of  the  recesses  of  consciousness.  We  learn 
that  the  highest  is  present  to  the  soul  of  man ;  that  the 
dread  universal  essence,  which  is  not  wisdom,  or  love,  or 
beauty,  or  power,  but  all  in  one,  and  each  entirely,  is  that 
for  which  all  things  exist,  and  that  by  which  they  are ;  that 


32  NATURE 

spirit  creates ;  that  behind  nature,  throughout  nature,  spirit 
is  present ;  one  and  not  compound  it  does  not  act  upon  us 
from  without,  that  is,  in  space  and  time,  but  spiritually, 
or  through  ourselves:  therefore,  that  spirit,  that  is,  the 
Being,  does  not  build  up  nature  around  us,  but  puts  it  forth 
through  us,  as  the  life  of  the  tree  puts  forth  new  branches 
and  leaves  through  the  pores  of  the  old.  As  a  plant  upon 
the  earth,  so  a  man  rests  upon  the  bosom  of  God;  he  is 
nourished  by  unfailing  fountains,  and  draws  at  his  need 
inexhaustible  power.  Who  can  set  bounds  to  the  possibili- 
ties of  man?  Once  inhale  the  upper  air,  being  admitted 
to  behold  the  absolute  natures  of  justice  and  truth,  and  we 
learn  that  man  has  access  to  the  entire  mind  of  the  Creator, 
is  himself  the  creator  in  the  finite.  This  view,  which  ad- 
monishes me  where  the  sources  of  wisdom  and  power  lie, 
and  points  to  virtue  as  to 

"The  golden  key 
Which  opes  the  palace  of  eternity/* 

carries  upon  its  face  the  highest  certificate  of  truth,  because 
it  animates  me  to  create  my  own  world  through  the  purifi- 
cation of  my  soul. 

The  world  proceeds  from  the  same  spirit  as  the  body  of 
man.  It  is  a  remoter  and  inferior  incarnation  of  God, 
a  projection  of  God  in  the  unconscious.  But  it  differs  from 
the  body  in  one  important  respect.  It  is  not,  like  that,  now 
subjected  to  the  human  will.  Its  serene  order  is  inviolable 
by  us.  It  is,  therefore,  to  us,  the  present  expositor  of  the 
divine  mind.  It  is  a  fixed  point  whereby  we  may  measure 
our  departure.  As  we  degenerate,  the  contrast  between 
us  and  our  house  is  more  evident.  We  are  as  much  strangers 
in  nature  as  we  are  aliens  from  God.  We  do  not  understand 
the  notes  of  birds.  The  fox  and  the  deer  run  away  from 
us ;  the  bear  and  tiger  rend  us.  We  do  not  know  the  uses 
of  more  than  a  few  plants,  as  corn  and  the  apple,  the  potato 
and  the  vine.  Is  not  the  landscape,  every  glimpse  of  which 
hath  a  grandeur,  a  face  of  him  ?  Yet  this  may  show  us  what 
discord  is  between  man  and  nature,  for  you  cannot  freely 
admire  a  noble  landscape  if  laborers  are  digging  in  the  field 
hard  by.  The  poet  finds  something  ridiculous  in  his  delight 
until  he  is  out  of  the  sight  of  men. 


NATURE  33 

VIII 

Prospects 

In  inquiries  respecting  the  laws  of  the  world  and  the  frame 
of  things,  the  highest  reason  is  always  the  truest.  That 
which  seems  faintly  possible,  it  is  so  refined,  is  often  faint  and 
dim  because  it  is  deepest  seated  in  the  mind  among  the 
eternal  verities.  Empirical  science  is  apt  to  cloud  the  sight, 
and  by  the  very  knowledge  of  functions  and  processes  to 
bereave  the  student  of  the  manly  contemplation  of  the 
whole.  The  savant  becomes  unpoetic.  But  the  best  read 
naturalist  who  lends  an  entire  and  devout  attention  to  truth, 
will  see  that  there  remains  much  to  learn  of  his  relation  to 
the  world,  and  that  it  is  not  to  be  learned  by  any  addition 
or  subtraction  or  other  comparison  of  known  quantities, 
but  is  arrived  at  by  untaught  sallies  of  the  spirit,  by  a  con- 
tinual self-recovery,  and  by  entire  humility.  He  will  per- 
ceive that  there  are  far  more  excellent  qualities  in  the  student 
than  preciseness  and  infallibility ;  that  a  guess  is  often  more 
fruitful  than  an  indisputable  affirmation,  and  that  a  dream 
may  let  us  deeper  into  the  secret  of  nature  than  a  hundred 
concerted  experiments. 

For  the  problems  to  be  solved  are  precisely  those  which 
the  physiologist  and  the  naturalist  omit  to  state.  It  is  not 
so  pertinent  to  man  to  know  all  the  individuals  of  the  animal 
kingdom,  as  it  is  to  know  whence  and  whereto  is  this  tyran- 
nizing unity  in  his  constitution,  which  evermore  separates 
and  classifies  things,  endeavoring  to  reduce  the  most  diverse 
to  one  form.  When  I  behold  a  rich  landscape,  it  is  less  to 
my  purpose  to  recite  correctly  the  order  and  superposition 
of  the  strata,  than  to  know  why  all  thought  of  multitude 
is  lost  in  a  tranquil  sense  of  unity.  I  cannot  greatly  honor 
minuteness  in  details,  so  long  as  there  is  no  hint  to  explain 
the  relation  between  things  and  thoughts ;  no  ray  upon  the 
metaphysics  of  conchology,  of  botany,  of  the  arts,  to  show 
the  relation  of  the  forms  of  flowers,  shells,  animals,  architec- 
ture, to  the  mind,  and  build  science  upon  ideas.  In  a  cabinet 
of  natural  history,  we  become  sensible  of  a  certain  occult 
recognition  and  sympathy  in  regard  to  the  most  unwieldy 
and  eccentric  forms  of  beast,  fish,  and  insect.  The  American 
who  has  been  confined,  in  his  own  country,  to  the  sight  of 


34  NATURE 

buildings  designed  after  foreign  models,  is  surprised  on 
entering  York  Minster  or  St.  Peter^s  at  Rome,  by  the  feeling 
that  these  structures  are  imitations  also,  —  faint  copies  of 
.an  invisible  archetype.  Nor  has  science  sufficient  humanity, 
so  long  as  the  naturalist  overlooks  that  wonderful  congruity 
which  subsists  between  man  and  the  world;  of  which  he  is 
lord,  not  because  he  is  the  most  subtile  inhabitant,  but 
because  he  is  its  head  and  heart,  and  finds  something  of 
himself  in  every  great  and  small  thing,  in  every  mountain 
stratum,  in  every  new  law  of  color,  fact  of  astronomy,  or 
atmospheric  influence  which  observation  or  analysis  lays 
open.  A  perception  of  this  mystery  inspires  the  muse  of 
•George  Herbert,  the  beautiful  psalmist  of  the  seventeenth 
century.  The  following  lines  are  part  of  his  little  poem  on 
Man. 

Man  is  all  symmetry, 
Full  of  proportions,  one  limb  to  another. 

And  all  to  all  the  world  besides. 

Each  part  may  call  the  farthest,  brother ; 
For  head  with  foot  hath  private  amity. 

And  both  with  moons  and  tides. 

Nothing  hath  got  so  far 
But  man  hath  caught  and  kept  it  as  his  prey ; 

His  eyes  dismount  the  highest  star : 

He  is  in  little  all  the  sphere. 
Herbs  gladly  cure  our  flesh,  because  that  they 

Find  their  acquaintance  there. 

For  us,  the  winds  do  blow, 
The  earth  doth  rest,  heaven  move,  and  fountains  flow ; 

Nothing  we  see,  but  means  our  good, 

As  our  delight,  or  as  our  treasure ; 
The  whole  is  either  our  cupboard  of  food. 

Or  cabinet  of  pleasure.  ^ 

The  stars  have  us  to  bed : 
Night  draws  the  curtain ;  which  the  sun  withdraws. 

Music  and  light  attend  our  head. 

All  things  unto  our  flesh  are  kind, 
In  their  descent  and  being ;  to  our  mind, 

In  their  ascent  and  cause. 

More  servants  wait  on  man 
Than  he'll  take  notice  of.     In  every  path, 


NATURE  35 

He  treads  down  that  which  doth  befriend  him 
When  sickness  makes  him  pale  and  wan. 
Oh  mighty  love !  Man  is  one  world,  and  hath 
Another  to  attend  him. 

The  perception  of  this  class  of  truths  makes  the  attraction 
which  draws  men  to  science,  but  the  end  is  lost  sight  of  in 
attention  to  the  means.  In  view  of  this  half -sight  of  science^ 
we  accept  the  sentence  of  Plato,  that  "poetry  comes  nearer 
to  vital  truth  than  history.' '  Every  surmise  and  vaticination 
of  the  mind  is  entitled  to  a  certain  respect,  and  we  learn  to 
prefer  imperfect  theories,  and  sentences  which  contain 
glimpses  of  truth,  to  digested  systems  which  have  no  one 
valuable  suggestion.  A  wise  writer  will  feel  that  the  ends 
of  study  and  composition  are  best  answered  by  announcing 
undiscovered  regions  of  thought,  and  so  communicating,, 
through  hope,  new  activity  to  the  torpid  spirit. 

I  shall  therefore  conclude  this  essay  with  some  traditions- 
of  man  and  nature,  which  a  certain  poet  sang  to  me ;  and 
which,  as  they  have  always  been  in  the  world,  and  perhaps 
reappear  to  every  bard,  may  be  both  history  and  prophecy. 

*The  foundations  of  man  are  not  in  matter,  but  in  spirit. 
But  the  element  of  spirit  is  eternity.  To  it,  therefore,  the 
longest  series  of  events,  the  oldest  chronologies  are  young; 
and  recent.  In  the  cycle  of  the  universal  man,  from  whom 
the  known  individuals  proceed,  centuries  are  points,  and  all 
history  is  but  the  epoch  of  one  degradation. 

'We  distrust  and  deny  inwardly  our  sympathy  with  nature. 
We  own  and  disown  our  relation  to  it,  by  turns.  We  are  like 
Nebuchadnezzar,  dethroned,  bereft  of  reason,  and  eating 
grass  like  an  ox.  But  who  can  set  limits  to  the  remedial 
force  of  spirit? 

'A  man  is  'a  god  in  ruins.  When  men  are  innocent,  life 
shall  be  longer,  and  shall  pass  into  the  immortal  as  gently 
as  we  awake  from  dreams.  Now,  the  world  would  be  insane 
and  rabid,  if  these  disorganizations  should  last  for  hundreds 
of  years.  It  is  kept  in  check  by  death  and  infancy.  Infancy 
is  the  perpetual  Messiah,  which  comes  into  the,  arms  of  fallen 
men,  and  pleads  with  them  to  return  to  paradise. 

'Man  is  the  dwarf  of  himself.  Once  he  was  permeated 
and  dissolved  by  spirit.  He  filled  nature  with  his  over- 
flowing currents.  Out  from  him  sprang  the  sun  and  moon ; 
from  man  the  sun,  from  woman  the  moon.     The  laws  of  his 


36  NATURE  ' 

mind,  the  periods  of  his  actions  externized  themselves  into 
day  and  night,  into  the  year  and  the  seasons.  But,  having 
made  for  himself  this  huge  shell,  his  waters  retired;  he  no 
longer  fills  the  veins  and  veinlets ;  he  is  shrunk  to  a  drop. 
He  sees  that  the  structure  still  fits  him,  but  fits  him  colossally. 
Say,  rather,  once  it  fitted  him,  now  it  corresponds  to  him 
from  far  and  on  high.  He  adores  timidly  his  own  work. 
Now  is  man  the  follower  of  the  sun,  and  woman  the  follower 
of  the  moon.  Yet  sometimes  he  starts  in  his  slumber,  and 
wonders  at  himself  and  his  house,  and  muses  strangely  at 
the  resemblance  betwixt  him  and  it.  He  perceives  that  if 
his  law  is  still  paramount,  if  still  he  have  elemental  power, 
if  his  word  is  sterling  yet  in  nature,  it  is  not  conscious  power, 
it  is  not  inferior  but  superior  to  his  will.  It  is  instinct.' 
Thus  my  Orphic  poet  sang. 

At  present,  man  applies  to  nature  but  half  his  force.  He 
works  on  the  world  with  his  understanding  alone.  He  lives 
in  it  and  masters  it  by  a  penny-wisdom ;  and  he  that  works 
most  in  it  is  but  a  half-man,  and  whilst  his  arms  are  strong 
and  his  digestion  good,  his  mind  is  imbruted,  and  he  is  a  self- 
ish savage.  His  relation  to  nature,  his  power  over  it,  is 
through  the  understanding,  as  by  manure ;  the  economic  use 
of  fire,  wind,  water,  and  the  mariner's  needle ;  steam,  coal, 
■chemical  agriculture ;  the  repairs  of  the  human  body  by  the 
dentist  and  the  surgeon.  This  is  such  a  resumption  of  power 
as  if  a  banished  king  should  buy  his  territories  inch  by  inch, 
instead  of  vaulting  at  once  into  his  throne.  Meantime, 
in  the  thick  darkness,  there  are  not  wanting  gleams  of  a 
better  light,  —  occasional  examples  of  the  action  of  man 
upon  nature  with  his  entire  force,  —  with  reason  as  well  as 
understanding.  Such  examples  are,  the  traditions  of  miracles 
in  the  earliest  antiquity  of  all  nations ;  the  history  of  Jesus 
Christ ;  the  achievements  of  a  principle,  as  in  religious  and 
political  revolutions,  and  in  the  abolition  of  the  slave-trade ; 
the  miracles  of  enthusiasm,  as  those  reported  of  Sweden- 
borg,  Hohenlohe,  and  the  Shakers;  many  obscure  and  yet 
contested  facts,  now  arranged  under  the  name  of  Animal 
Magnetism;  prayer;  eloquence;  self-healing;  and  the 
wisdom  of  children.  These  are  examples  of  Reason's  mo- 
mentary grasp  of  the  sceptre  ;  the  exertions  of  a  power  which 
exists  not  in  time  or  space,  but  an  instantaneous  in-streaming 
causing  power.     The  difference  between  the  actual  and  the 


NATURE  37 

ideal  force  of  man  is  happily  figured  by  the  schoolmen,  in 
saying,  that  the  knowledge  of  man  is  an  evening  knowledge, 
vespertina  cognitioy  but  that  of  God  is  a  morning  knowledge, 
matutina  cognitio. 

The  problem  of  restoring  to  the  world  original  and  eternal 
beauty  is  solved  by  the  redemption  of  the  soul.  The  ruin 
or  the  blank  that  we  see  when  we  look  at  nature,  is  in  our 
own  eye.  The  axis  of  vision  is  not  coincident  with  the  axis 
of  things,  and  so  they  appear  not  transparent  but  opaque. 
The  reason  why  the  world  lacks  unity,  and  lies  broken  and  in 
heaps,  is  because  man  is  disunited  with  himself.  He  cannot 
be  a  naturalist  until  he  satisfies  all  the  demands  of  the  spirit. 
Love  is  as  much  its  demand  as  perception.  Indeed,  neither 
can  be  perfect  without  the  other.  In  the  uttermost  meaning 
of  the  words,  thought  is  devout,  and  devotion  is  thought. 
Deep  calls  unto  deep.  But  in  actual  life,  the  marriage  is 
not  celebrated.  There  are  innocent  men  who  worship  God 
after  the  tradition  of  their  fathers,  but  their  sense  of  duty 
has  not  yet  extended  to  the  use  of  all  their  faculties.  And 
there  are  patient  naturalists,  but  they  freeze  their  subject 
under  the  wintry  light  of  the  understanding.  Is  not  prayer 
also  a  study  of  truth,  —  a  sally  of  the  soul  into  the  unf ound 
infinite?  No  man  every  prayed  heartily  without  learning 
something.  But  when  a  faithful  thinker,  resolute  to  detach 
every  object  from  personal  relations  and  see  it  in  the  light 
of  thought,  shall,  at  the  same  time,  kindle  science  with  the 
fire  of  the  holiest  affections,  then  will  God  go  forth  anew  into 
the  creation. 

It  will  not  need,  when  the  mind  is  prepared  for  study,  to 
search  for  objects.  The  invariable  mark  of  wisdom  is  to 
see  the  miraculous  in  the  common.  Whtit  is  a  day?  What 
is  a  year?  What  is  summer?  What  is  woman?  What 
is  a  child?  What  is  sleep?  To  our  blindness,  these  things 
seem  unaffecting.  We  make  fables  to  hide  the  baldness 
of  the  fact  and  conform  it,  as  we  say,  to  the  higher  law  of  the 
mind.  But  when  the  fact  is  seen  under  the  light  of  an  idea, 
the  gaudy  fable  fades  and  shrivels.  We  behold  the  real 
higher  law.  To  the  wise,  therefore,  a  fact  is  true  poetry, 
and  the  most  beautiful  of  fables.  These  wonders  are  brought 
to  our  own  door.  You  also  are  a  man.  Man  and  woman 
and  their  social  life,  poverty,  labor,  sleep,  fear,  fortune,  are 
known  to  you.     Learn  that  none  of  these  things  is  superficial, 


38  NATURE 


but  that  each  phenomenon  has  its  roots  in  the  faculties  and  j 
affections  of  the  mind.  Whilst  the  abstract  question  oc-;; 
cupies  your  intellect,  nature  brings  it  in  the  concrete  to  be  |  * 
solved  by  your  hands.  It  were  a  wise  inquiry  for  the  closet,  { \ 
to  compare,  point  by  point,  especially  at  remarkable  crises  * ' 
in  life,  our  daily  history  with  the  rise  and  progress  of  ideas 
in  the  mind. 

So  shall  we  come  to  look  at  the  world  with  new  eyes.  It 
shall  answer  the  endless  inquiry  of  the  intellect,  —  \\Tiat 
is  truth?  and  of  the  affections,  —  What  is  good?  by  yielding  | 
itself  passive  to  the  educated  Will.  Then  shall  come  to  pass 
what  my  poet  said:  'Nature  is  not  fixed  but  fluid.  Spirit 
alters,  moulds,  makes  it.  The  immobility  or  bruteness  of 
nature  is  the  absence  of  spirit ;  to  pure  spirit  it  is  fluid,  it  is 
volatile,  it  is  obedient.  Every  spirit  builds  itself  a  house, 
and  beyond  its  house  a  world,  and  beyond  its  world  a  heaven. 
Know  then  that  the  world  exists  for  you.  For  you  is  the 
phenomenon  perfect.  Whsit  we  are,  that  only  can  we  see. 
All  that  Adam  had,  all  that  Csesar  could,  you  have  and  can 
do.  Adam  called  his  house,  heaven  and  earth ;  Csesar  called 
his  house,  Rome ;  you  perhaps  call  yours,  a  cobbler's  trade ; 
a  hundred  acres  of  ploughed  land;  or  a  scholar's  garret. 
Yet  line  for  line  and  point  for  point  your  dominion  is  as  great 
as  theirs,  though  without  fine  names.  Build  therefore  your 
own  world.  As  fast  as  you  conform  your  life  to  the  pure  idea 
in  your  mind,  that  will  unfold  its  great  proportions.  A 
correspondent  revolution  in  things  will  attend  the  influx  of 
the  spirit.  So  fast  will  disagreeable  appearances,  swine, 
spiders,  snakes,  pests,  mad-houses,  prisons,  enemies,  vanish; 
they  are  temporary  and  shall  be  no  more  seen.  The  sordor 
and  filths  of  nature,  the  sun  shall  dry  up  and  the  wind  exhale. 
As  when  the  summer  comes  from  the  south  the  snow-banks 
melt  and  the  face  of  the  earth  becomes  green  before  it,  so 
shall  the  advancing  spirit  create  its  ornaments  along  its  path, 
and  carry  with  it  the  beauty  it  visits  and  the  song  which 
enchants  it ;  it  shall  draw  beautiful  faces,  warm  hearts,  wise 
discourse,  and  heroic  acts,  around  its  way,  until  evil  is  no 
more  seen.  The  kingdom  of  man  over  nature,  which  cometh 
not  with  observation,  —  a  dominion  such  as  now  is  beyond 
his  dream  of  God,  —  he  shall  enter  without  more  wonder 
than  the  blind  man  feels  who  is  gradually  restored  to  perfect 
sight.' 


THE  AMERICAN   SCHOLAR 

An  Oration  Delivered  before  the  Phi  Beta 

E^APPA  Society  at  Cambridge, 

August  31,  1837. 

Mr.  President  and  Gentlemen: 

1  greet  you  on  the  recommencement  of  our  literary  year. 
Our  anniversary  is  one  of  hope,  and,  perhaps,  not  enough  of 
labor.  We  do  not  meet  for  games  of  strength  or  skill,  for  the 
recitation  of  histories,  tragedies,  and  odes,  like  the  ancient 
Greeks ;  for  parliaments  of  love  and  poesy,  like  the  Trouba- 
dours ;  nor  for  the  advancement  of  science,  like  our  contem- 
poraries in  the  British  and  European  capitals.  Thus  far,  our 
holiday  has  been  simply  a  friendly  sign  of  the  survival  of  the 
love  of  letters  amongst  a  people  too  busy  to  give  to  letters  any 
more.  As  such  it  is  precious  as  the  sign  of  an  indestructible 
instinct.  Perhaps  the  time  is  already  come  when  it  ought  to 
be,  and  will  be,  something  else ;  when  the  sluggard  intellect 
of  this  continent  will  look  from  under  its  iron  lids  and  fill  the 
postponed  expectation  of  the  world  with  something  better 
than  the  exertions  of  mechanical  skill.  Our  day  of  depen- 
dence, our  long  apprenticeship  to  the  learning  of  other  lands, 
draws  to  a  close.  The  millions  that  around  us  are  rushing 
into  life,  cannot  always  be  fed  on  the  sere  remains  of  foreign 
harvests.  Events,  actions  arise,  that  must  be  sung,  that  will 
sing  themselves.  Who  can  doubt  that  poetry  will  revive  and 
lead  in  a  new  age,  as  the  star  in  the  constellation  Harp,  which 
now  flames  in  our  zenith,  astronomers  announce,  shall  one 
day  be  the  pole  star  for  a  thousand  years? 

In  this  hope  I  accept  the  topic  which  not  only  usage  but 
the  nature  of  our  association  seem  to  prescribe  to  this  day,  — 
the  American  Scholar.  Year  by  year  we  come  up  hither 
to  read  one  more  chapter  of  his  biography.     Let  us  inquire 

39 


40  THE  AMERICAN  SCHOLAR 

what  light  new  days  and  events  have  thrown  on  his  character 
and  his  hopes. 

It  is  one  of  those  fables  which  out  of  an  unknown  antiquity 
convey  an  unlooked-for  wisdom,  that  the  gods,  in  the  begin- 
ning, divided  Man  into  Men,  that  he  might  be  more  helpful 
to  himself ;  just  as  the  hand  was  divided  into  fingers,  the  better 
to  answer  its  end. 

The  old  fable  covers  a  doctrine  ever  new  and  sublime ;  that 
there  is  One  Man,  —  present  to  all  particular  men  only  par- 
tially, or  through  one  faculty;  and  that  you  must  take  the 
whole  society  to  find  the  whole  man.     Man  is  not  a  farmer,  ! 
or  a  professor,  or  an  engineer,  but  he  is  all.     Man  is  priest,  ' 
and  scholar,  and  statesman,  and  producer,  and  soldier.     In 
the  divided  or  social  state  these  functions  are  parcelled  out 
to  individuals,  each  of  whom  aims  to  do  his  stint  of  the  joint 
work,  whilst  each  other  performs  his.     The  fable  implies  that 
the  individual,  to  possess  himself,  must  sometimes  return  from  -j 
his  own  labor  to  embrace  all  the  other  laborers.     But,  unfor-  i 
tunately,  this  original  unit,  this  fountain  of  power,  has  been  '. 
so  distributed  to  multitudes,  has  been  so  minutely  subdivided 
and  peddled  out,  that  it  is  spilled  into  drops,  and  cannot  be 
gathered.     The  state  of  society  is  one  in  which  the  members 
have  suffered  amputation  from  the  trunk,  and  strut  about  so 
many  walking  monsters,  —  a  good  finger,  a  neck,  a  stomach, 
an  elbow,  but  never  a  man. 

Man  is  thus  metamorphosed  into  a  thing,  into  many  things. ' 
The  planter,  who  is  Man  sent  out  into  the  field  to  gather  food, 
is  seldom  cheered  by  any  idea  of  the  true  dignity  of  his  min- 
istry. He  sees  his  bushel  and  his  cart,  and  nothing  beyond, 
and  sinks  into  the  farmer,  instead  of  Man  on  the  farm.  The 
tradesman  scarcely  ever  gives  an  ideal  worth  to  his  work,  but 
is  ridden  by  the  routine  of  his  craft,  and  the  soul  is  subject  to 
dollars.  The  priest  becomes  a  form ;  the  attorney  a  statute- 
book  ;  the  mechanic  a  machine  ;  the  sailor  a  rope  of  the  ship. 

In  this  distribution  of  functions  the  scholar  is  the  delegated 
intellect.  In  the  right  state  he  is  Man  Thinking.  In  the  de- 
generate state,  when  the  victim  of  society,  he  tends  to  become 
a  mere  thinker,  or  still  worse,  the  parrot  of  other  men^s  think- 
ing. 

In  this  view  of  him,  as  Man  Thinking,  the  theory  of  his 
ofHce  is  contained.  Him  Nature  solicits  with  all  her  placid, 
all  her  monitory  pictures;  him  the  past  instructs;  him  the 


THE  AMERICAN  SCHOLAR  41 

future  invites.  Is  not  indeed  every  man  a  student,  and  do 
not  all  things  exist  for  the  student^s  behoof?  And,  finally^ 
is  not  the  true  scholar  the  only  true  master?  But  the  old 
oracle  said,  "All  things  have  two  handles:  beware  of  the 
wrong  one/'  In  life,  too  often,  the  scholar  errs  with  man- 
kind and  forfeits  his  privilege.  Let  us  see  him  in  his  school, 
and  consider  him  in  reference  to  the  main  influences  he  re- 
ceives. 

I.  The  first  in  time  and  the  first  in  importance  of  the  in- 
fluences upon  the  mind  is  that  of  nature.  Every  day,  the 
sun ;  and,  after  sunset.  Night  and  her  stars.  Ever  the  winds 
blow;  ever  the  grass  grows.  Every  day,  men  and  women, 
conversing  —  beholding  and  beholden.  The  scholar  is  he  of 
all  men  whom  this  spectacle  most  engages.  He  must  settle 
its  value  in  his  mind.  What  is  nature  to  him?  There  is 
never  a  beginning,  there  is  never  an  end,  to  the  inexplicable 
continuity  of  this  web  of  God,  but  always  circular  power  re- 
turning into  itself.  Therein  it  resembles  his  own  spirit,  whose 
beginning,  whose  ending,  he  never  can  find,  —  so  entire,  so- 
boundless.  Far  too  as  her  splendors  shine,  system  on  system 
shooting  like  rays,  upward,  downward,  without  centre,  without 
circumference, — in  the  mass  and  in  the  particle.  Nature  hast- 
ens to  render  account  of  herself  to  the  mind.  Classification 
begins.  To  the  young  mind  every  thing  is  individual,  stands 
by  itself.  By  and  by,  it  finds  how  to  join  two  things  and  see 
in  them  one  nature  ;  then  three,  then  three  thousand ;  and  so, 
tyrannized  over  by  its  own  unifying  instinct,  it  goes  on  tying 
things  together,  diminishing  anomalies,  discovering  roots  run- 
ning under  ground  whereby  contrary  and  remote  things  cohere 
and  flower  out  from  one  stem.  It  presently  learns  that  since 
the  dawn  of  history  there  has  been  a  constant  accumulation 
and  classifying  of  facts.  But  what  is  classification  but  the 
perceiving  that  these  objects  are  not  chaotic,  and  are  not 
foreign,  but  have  a  law  which  is  also  a  law  of  the  human 
mind?  The  astronomer  discovers  that  geometry,  a  pure 
abstraction  of  the  human  mind,  is  the  measure  of  planetary 
motion.  The  chemist  finds  proportions  and  intelligible 
method  throughout  matter;  and  science  is  nothing  but  the 
finding  of  analogy,  identity,  in  the  most  remote  parts.  The 
ambitious  soul  sits  down  before  each  refractory  fact ;  one 
after  another  reduces  all  strange  constitutions,  all  new  powers,. 


42  THE  AMERICAN  SCHOLAR 

to  their  class  and  their  law,  and  goes  on  forever  to  animate 
the  last  fibre  of  organization,  the  outskirts  of  nature,  by 
insight. 

Thus  to  him,  to  this  schoolboy  under  the  bending  dome  of 
day,  is  suggested  that  he  and  it  proceed  from  one  root ;  one 
is  leaf  and  one  is  flower ;  relation,  sympathy,  stirring  in  every 
vein.  And  what  is  that  root?  Is  not  that  the  soul  of  his 
^  soul?  A  thought  too  bold;  a  dream  too  wild.  Yet  when 
\  this  spiritual  fight  shall  have  revealed  the  law  of  more  earthly 
natures,  —  when  he  has  learned  to  worship  the  soul,  and  to 
see  that  the  natural  philosophy  that  now  is,  is  only  the  first 
gropings  of  its  gigantic  hand,  he  shall  look  forward  to  an  ever 
expanding  knowledge  as  to  a  becoming  creator.  He  shall  see 
that  nature  is  the  opposite  of  the  soul,  answering  to  it  part  for 
part.  One  is  seal  and  one  is  print.  Its  beauty  is  the  beauty 
of  his  own  mind.  Its  laws  are  the  laws  of  his  own  mind.  Na- 
ture then  becomes  to  him  the  measure  of  his  attainments.  So 
much  of  nature  as  he  is  ignorant  of,  so  much  of  his  own  mind 
does  he  not  yet  possess.  And,  in  fine,  the  ancient  precept, 
'^Know  thyself, '^  and  the  modern  precept,  ^^  Study  nature,'' 
become  at  last  one  maxim. 

II.  The  next  great  influence  into  the  spirit  of  the  scholar 
is  the  mind  of  the  Past,  —  in  whatever  form,  whether  of  liter- 
ature, of  art,  of  institutions,  that  mind  is  inscribed.  Books 
are  the  best  type  of  the  influence  of  the  past,  and  perhaps  we 
shall  get  at  the  truth,  —  learn  the  amount  of  this  influence 
more  conveniently,  —  by  considering  their  value  alone. 

The  theory  of  books  is  noble.  The  scholar  of  the  first  age 
received  into  him  the  world  around ;  brooded  thereon ;  gave 
it  the  new  arrangement  of  his  own  mind,  and  uttered  it  again. 
It  came  into  him  fife ;  it  went  out  from  him  truth.  It  came 
to  him  short-lived  actions ;  it  went  out  from  him  immortal 
thoughts.  It  came  to  him  business  ;  it  went  from  him  poetry. 
It  was  dead  fact ;  now,  it  is  quick  thought.  It  can  stand, 
and  it  can  go.  It  now  endures,  it  now  flies,  it  now  inspires. 
Precisely  in  proportion  to  the  depth  of  mind  from  which  it 
issued,  so  high  does  it  soar,  so  long  does  it  sing. 

Or,  I  might  say,  it  depends  on  how  far  the  process  had  gone, 
of  transmuting  life  into  truth.  In  proportion  to  the  complete- 
ness of  the  distillation,  so  will  the  purity  and  imperishableness 
of  the  product  be.  But  none  is  quite  perfect.  As  no  air- 
pump  can  by  any  means  make  a  perfect  vacuum,  so  neither 


THE  AMERICAN  SCHOLAR  43 

can  any  artist  entirely  exclude  the  conventional,  the  local, 
the  perishable  from  his  book,  or  write  a  book  of  pure  thought, 
that  shall  be  as  efficient,|in  all  respects,  to  a  remote  posterity^ 
as  to  contemporaries,  or  rather  to  the  second  age.  Each  age, 
it  is  found,  must  write  its  own  books ;  or  rather,  each  genera- 
tion for  the  next  succeeding.  The  books  of  an  older  period 
will  not  fit  this. 

Yet  hence  arises  a  grave  mischief.  The  sacredness  which 
attaches  to  the  act  of  creation,  the  act  of  thought,  is  trans- 
ferred to  the  record.  The  poet  chanting  was  felt  to  be  a  di- 
vine man :  henceforth  the  chant  is  divine  also.  The  writer 
was  a  just  and  wise  spirit :  henceforward  it  is  settled  the  book 
is  perfect ;  as  love  of  the  hero  corrupts  into  worship  of  his 
statue.  Instantly  the  book  becomes  noxious :  the  guide  is  a 
tyrant.  The  sluggish  and  perverted  mind  of  the  multitude, 
slow  to  open  to  the  incursions  of  Reason,  having  once  so 
opened,  having  once  received  this  book,  stands  upon  it,  and 
makes  an  outcry  if  it  is  disparaged.  Colleges  are  built  on  it. 
Books  are  written  on  it  by  thinkers,  not  by  Man  Thinking ; 
by  men  of  talent,  that  is,  who  start  wrong,  who  set  out  from 
accepted  dogmas,  not  from  their  own  sight  of  principles. 
Meek  young  men  grow  up  in  libraries,  believing  it  their  duty 
to  accept  the  views  which  Cicero,  which  Locke,  which  Bacon, 
have  given;  forgetful  that  Cicero,  Locke,  and  Bacon  were 
only  young  men  in  libraries  when  they  wrote  these  books. 

Hence,  instead  of  Man  Thinking,  we  have  the  bookworm. 
Hence  the  book-learned  class,  who  value  books  as  such ;  not 
as  related  to  nature  and  the  human  constitution,  but  as  mak- 
ing a  sort  of  Third  Estate  with  the  world  and  the  soul.  Hence 
the  restorers  of  readings,  the  emendators,  the  bibliomaniacs 
of  all  degrees. 

Books  are  the  best  of  things,  well  used;  abused,  among 
the  worst.  What  is  the  right  use  ?  What  is  the  one  end  which 
all  means  go  to  effect?  They  are  for  nothing  but  to  inspire. 
I  had  better  never  see  a  book  than  to  be  warped  by  its  attrac- 
tion clean  out  of  my  own  orbit,  and  made  a  satellite  instead 
of  a  system.  The  one  thing  in  the  world  of  value,  is  the  active 
soul.  This  every  man  is  entitled  to  ;  this  every  man  contains 
within  him,  although  in  almost  all  men  obstructed  and  as  yet 
unborn.  The  soul  active  sees  absolute  truth  and  utters  truth, 
or  creates.  In  this  action,  it  is  genius ;  not  the  privilege  of 
here  and  there  a  favorite,  but  the  sound  estate  of  every  man. 


44  THE  AMERICAN  SCHOLAR  ^ 

In  its  essence  it  is  progressive.  The  book,  the  college,  the 
school  of  art,  the  institution  of  any  kind,  stop  with  some  past 
utterance  of  genius.  This  is  good,  say  they,  —  let  us  hold 
by  this.  They  pin  me  down.  They  look  backward  and  not 
forward.  But  genius  looks  forward :  the  eyes  of  man  are 
set  in  his  forehead,  not  in  his  hindhead :  man  hopes :  genius 
creates.  Whatever  talents  may  be,  if  the  man  create  not, 
the  pure  efflux  of  the  Deity  is  not  his ;  —  cinders  and  smoke 
there  may  be,  but  not  yet  flame.  There  are  creative  manners, 
there  are  creative  actions,  and  creative  words ;  manners,  ac- 
tions, words,  that  is,  indicative  of  no  custom  or  authority,  but 
springing  spontaneous  from  the  mind's  own  sense  of  good  and 
fair. 

On  the  other  part,  instead  of  being  its  own  seer,  let  it  re- 
ceive from  another  mind  its  truth,  though  it  were  in  torrents 
of  Ught,  without  periods  of  solitude,  inquest,  and  seK-recovery, 
and  a  fatal  disservice  is  done.  -Genius  is  always  sufficiently 
the  enemy  of  genius  by  over-influence.  The  literature  of 
every  nation  bears  me  witness.  The  English  dramatic  poets 
have  Shakspearized  now  for  two  hundred  years. 

Undoubtedly  there  is  a  right  way  of  reading,  so  it  be  sternly 
subordinated.  Man  Thinking  must  not  be  subdued  by  his 
instruments.  Books  are  for  the  scholar's  idle  times.  When 
he  can  read  God  directly,  the  hour  is  too  precious  to  be  wasted 
in  other  men's  transcripts  of  their  readings.  But  when  the 
intervals  of  darkness  come,  as  come  they  must,  —  when  the 
sun  is  hid  and  the  stars  withdraw  their  shining,  —  we  repair 
to  the  lamps  which  were  kindled  by  their  ray,  to  guide  our 
steps  to  the  East  again,  where  the  dawn  is.  We  hear,  that 
we  may  speak.  The  Arabian  proverb  says,  ^'A  fig  tree,  look- 
ing on  a  fig  tree,  becometh  fruitful." 

It  is  remarkable,  the  character  of  the  pleasure  we  derive 
from  the  best  books.  They  impress  us  with  the  conviction 
that  one  nature  wrote  and  the  same  reads.  We  read  the  verses 
of  one  of  the  great  English  poets,  of  Chaucer,  of  Marvell,  of 
Dryden,  with  the  most  modern  joy,  —  with  a  pleasure,  T  mean, 
which  is  in  great  part  caused  by  the  abstraction  of  all  time 
from  their  verses.  There  is  some  awe  mixed  with  the  joy 
of  our  surprise,  when  this  poet,  who  lived  in  some  past  world, 
two  or  three  hundred  years  ago,  says  that  which  lies  close  to 
my  own  soul,  that  which  I  also  had  well-nigh  thought  and  said. 
But  for  the  evidence  thence  afforded  to  the  philosophical  doc- 


THE  AMERICAN  SCHOLAR  45 

trine  of  the  identity  of  all  minds,  we  should  suppose  some  pre- 
established  harmony,  some  foresight  of  souls  that  were  to  be, 
and  some  preparation  of  stores  for  their  future  wants,  like 
the  fact  observed  in  insects,  who  lay  up  food  before  death  for 
the  young  grub  they  shall  never  see. 

I  would  not  be  hurried  by  any  love  of  system,  by  any  ex- 
aggeration of  instincts,  to  underrate  the  Book.  We  all  know, 
that  as  the  human  body  can  be  nourished  on  any  food,  though 
it  were  boiled  grass  and  the  broth  of  shoes,  so  the  human  mind 
can  be  fed  by  any  knowledge.  And  great  and  heroic  men 
have  existed  who  had  almost  no  other  information  than  by 
the  printed  page.  I  only  would  say  that  it  needs  a  strong 
head  to  bear  that  diet.  One  must  be  an  inventor  to  read  well. 
As  the  proverb  says,  *^He  that  would  bring  home  the  wealth  of 
the  Indies,  must  carry  out  the  wealth  of  the  Indies. '^  There 
is  then  creative  reading  as  well  as  creative  writing.  When 
the  mind  is  braced  by  labor  and  invention,  the  p„  l_  of  what- 
ever book  we  read  becomes  luminous  with  niauifol;]  allusion. 
Every  sentence  is  doubly  significant,  and  the  sejise  of  our 
author  is  as  broad  as  the  world.  We  then  see,  what  ic  alvvays 
true,  that  as  the  seer's  hour  of  vision  h  short  and  rare  among 
heavy  days  and  months,  so  is  its  record,  perchance,  the  least 
part  of  his  volume.  The  discerning  will  read,  in  In  P-.:  or 
Shakspeare,  only  that  least  part,  —  only  the  authentic  utter- 
ances of  the  oracle ;  —  all  the  rest  he  rejects,  were  it  never  so 
many  times  Plato\s  and  Shakspeare's. 

Of  course  there  is  a  portion  of  reading  quite  indispensable 
to  a  wise  man.  History  and  exact  science  he  must  learn  by 
laborious  reading.  Colleges,  in  like  manner,  have  their  in- 
dispensable office,  —  to  teach  elements.  But  they  can  only 
highly  serve  us  when  they  aim  not  to  drill,  but  to  create  ;  when 
they  gather  from  far  every  ray  of  various  genius  to  thoir  J^os- 
pitable  halls,  and  by  the  concentrated  fires,  set  the  heai  is  of 
their  youth  on  flame.  Thought  and  knowledge  are  natures 
in  which  apparatus  and  pretension  avail  nothing.  Gowns 
and  pecuniary  foundations,  though  of  towns  of  gold,  can  never 
countervail  the  least  sentence  or  sA'-^able  of  wit.  Forget  this, 
and  our  American  colleges  will  roc^  le  in  their  pubhc  impor- 
tance, whilst  they  grow  richci*  evi;ry  year. 

III.  There  goes  in  the  world  a  notion  that  the  scholar  should 
be  a  recluse,  a  valetudinarian,  —  as  unfit  for  any  handiwork 
or  public  labor  as  a  penknife  for  an  axe.     The  so-called  **prac- 


46  THE  AMERICAN  SCHOLAR 

tical  men''  sneer  at  speculative  men,  as  if,  because  they  specu- 
late or  see,  they  could  do  nothing.  I  have  heard  it  said  that 
the  clergy, — who  are  always,  more  universally  than  any  other 
class,  the  scholars  of  their  day,  —  are  addressed  as  women; 
that  the  rough  spontaneous  conversation  of  men  they  do  not 
hear,  but  only  a  mincing  and  diluted  speech.  They  are  often 
virtually  disfranchised ;  and  indeed  there  are  advocates  for 
their  cehbacy.  As  far  as  this  is  true  of  the  studious  classes, 
it  is  not  just  and  wise.  Action  is  with  the  scholar  subordi- 
nate, but  it  is  essential.  Without  it  he  is  not  yet  man.  With- 
out it  thought  can  never- ripen  into  truth.  Whilst  the  world 
hangs  before  the  eye  as  a  cloud  of  beauty,  we  cannot  even  see 
its  beauty.  Inaction  is  cowardice,  but  there  can  be  no  scholar 
without  the  heroic  mind.  The  preamble  of  thought,  thetran- 
'Bition  through  which  it  passes  from  the  unconscious  to  the 
conscious,  is  action.  Only  so  much  do  I  know,  as  I  have 
lived.  Instantly  we  know  whose  words  are  loaded  with  Ufe, 
and  whose  not. 

The  world,  —  this  shadow  of  the  soul,  or  other  me,  —  hes 
wide  around.  Its  attractions  are  the  keys  which  unlock  my 
thoughts  and  make  me  acquainted  with  myself.  I  run  eagerly 
into  this  resounding  tumult.  I  grasp  the  hands  of  those  next 
me,  and  take  my  place  in  the  ring  to  suffer  and  to  work,  taught 
by  an  instinct  that  so  shall  the  dumb  abyss  be  vocal  with 
speech.  I  pierce  its  orders ;  I  dissipate  its  fear ;  I  dispose  of 
it  within  the  circuit  of  my  expanding  life.  So  much  only  of 
life  as  I  know  by  experience,  so  much  of  the  wilderness  have  I 
vanquished  and  planted,  or  so  far  have  I  extended  my  being, 
my  dominion.  I  do  not  see  how  any  man  can  afford,  for  the 
sake  of  his  nerves  and  his  nap,  to  spare  any  action  in  which 
he  can  partake.  It  is  pearls  and  rubies  to  his  discourse. 
Drudgery,  calamity,  exasperation,  want,  are  instructors  in  elo- 
quence and  wisdom.  The  true  scholar  grudges  every  oppor- 
tunity of  action  past  by,  as  a  loss  of  power.  It  is  the  raw  ma- 
terial out  of  which  the  intellect  moulds  her  splendid  products. 
A  strange  process  too,  this  by  which  experience  is  converted 
into  thought)  as  a  mulberry  leaf  is  converted  into  satin.  The 
manufacture  goes  forward  at  all  hours. 

The  actions  and  events  of  our  childhood  and  youth  are  now 
matters  of  calmest  observation.  They  lie  like  fair  pictures  in 
the  air.  Not  so  with  our  recent  actions,  —  \vith  the  business 
which  we  now  have  in  hand.     On  this  we  are  quite  unable  to 


THE  AMERICAN  SCHOLAR  47 

speculate.  Our  affections  as  yet  circulate  through  it.  We 
no  more  feel  or.  know  it  than  we  feel  the  feet,  or  the  hand,  or 
the  brain  of  our  body.  The  new  deed  is  yet  a  part  of  life,  — 
remains  for  a  time  immersed  in  our  unconscious  life.  In  some 
contemplative  hour  it  detaches  itself  from  the  life  like  a  ripe 
fruit,  to  become  a  thought  of  the  mind.  Instantly  it  is  raised, 
transfigured ;  the  corruptible  has  put  on  incorruption.  Hence- 
forth it  is  an  object  of  beauty,  however  base  its  origin  and 
neighborhood.  Observe  too  the  impossibility  of  antedating 
this  act.  In  its  grub  state,  it  cannot  fly,  it  cannot  shine,  it  is 
a  dull  grub.  But  suddenly,  without  observation,  the  self- 
same thing  unfurls  beautiful  wings,  and  is  an  angel  of  wisdom. 
So  is  there  no  fact,  no  event,  in  our  private  history,  which 
shall  not,  sooner  or  later,  lose  its  adhesive,  inert  form,  and 
astonish  us  by  soaring  from  our  body  into  the  empyrean.' 
Cradle  and  infancy,  school  and  playground,  the  fear  of  boys, 
and  dogs,  and  ferrules,  the  love  of  little  maids  and  berries,  and 
many  another  fact  that  once  filled  the  whole  sky,  are  gone  al-; 
ready;  friend  and  relative,  profession  and  party,  town  andj 
country,  nation  and  world,  must  also  soar  and  sing.       -^ 

Of  course,  he  who  has  put  forth  his  total  strength  in  fit' 
actions  has  the  richest  return  of  wisdom.  I  will  not  shut  my- 
self out  of  this  globe  of  action,  and  transplant  an  oak  into  a 
flower-pot,  there  to  hunger  and  pine ;  nor  trust  the  revenue  of 
some  single  faculty,  and  exhaust  one  vein  of  thought,  much 
like  those  Savoyards,  who,  getting  their  livelihood  by  carving 
shepherds,  shepherdesses,  and  smoking  Dutchmen,  for  all 
Europe,  went  out  one  day  to  the  mountain  to  find  stock,  and 
discovered  that  they  had  whittled  up  the  last  of  their  pine 
trees.  Authors  we  have,  in  numbers,  who  have  written  out 
their  vein,  and  who,  moved  by  a  commendable  prudence,  sail 
for  Greece  or  Palestine,  follow  the  trapper  into  the  prairie, 
or  ramble  round  Algiers,  to  replenish  their  merchantable  stock. 

If  it  were  only  for  a  vocabulary,  the  scholar  would  be  covet- 
o.us  of  action.  Life  is  our  dictionary.  Years  are  well  spent 
in  country  labors;  in  town;  in  the  insight  into  trades  and 
manufactures;  in  frank  intercourse  with  many  men  and 
women ;  in  science  ;  in  art ;  to  the  one  end  of  mastering  in  all 
their  facts  a  language  by  which  to  illustrate  and  embody  our 
perceptions.  I  learn  immediately  from  any  speaker  how 
much  he  has  already  lived,  through  the  poverty  or  the  splen- 
dor of  his  speech.     Life  lies  behind  us  as  the  quarry  from 


4c  THE  AMERICAN  SCHOLAR 

whence  we  get  tiles  and  copestones  for  the  masonry  of  to-day. 
This  is  the  way  to  learn  grammar.  Colleges  and  books  only 
copy  the  language  which  the  field  and  the  work-yard  made. 

But  the  final  value  of  action,  like  that  of  books,  and  better 
than  books,  is  that  it  is  a  resource.  That  great  principle  of 
Undulation  in  nature,  that  shows  itself  in  the  inspiring  and 
expiring  of  the  breath ;  in  desire  and  satiety ;  in  the  ebb  and 
flow  of  the  sea ;  in  day  and  night ;  in  heat  and  cold ;  and, 
^s  yet  more  deeply  ingrained  in  every  atom  and  every  fluid, 
is  known  to  us  under  the  name  of  Polarity,  — these  '^fits  of 
easy  transmission  and  reflection,'^  as  Newton  called  them,  are 
the  law  of  nature  because  they  are  the  law  of  spirit. 

The  mind  now  thinks,  now  acts,  and  each  fit  reproduces 
the  other.  When  the  artist  has  exhausted  his  materials,  when 
the  fancy  no  longer  paints,  when  thoughts  are  no  longer  appre- 
hended and  books  are  a  weariness,  —  he  has  always  the  re- 
source to  live.  Character  is  higher  than  intellect.  Thinking 
is  the  function.  Living  is  the  functionary.  The  stream  re- 
treats to  its  source.  A  great  soul  will  be  strong  to  live,  as 
well  as  strong  to  think.  Does  he  lack  organ  or  medium  to 
impart  his  truths?  He  can  still  fall  back  on  this  elemental 
force  of  living  them.  This  is  a  total  act.  Thinking  is  a  par- 
tial act.  Let  the  grandeur  of  justice  shine  in  his  affairs.  Let 
the  beauty  of  affection  cheer  his  lowly  roof.  Those  ^^far 
from  fame,''  who  dwell  and  act  with  him,  will  feel  the  force 
of  his  constitution  in  the  doings  and  passages  of  the  day  better 
than  it  can  be  measured  by  any  public  and  designed  display. 
Time  shall  teach  him  that  the  scholar  loses  no  hour  which  the 
man  lives.  Herein  he  unfolds  the  sacred  germ  of  his  instinct, 
screened  from  influence.  What  is  lost  in  seemliness  is  gained 
in  strength.  Not  out  of  those  on  whom  systems  of  education 
have  exhausted  their  culture,  comes  the  helpful  giant  to  de- 
stroy the  old  or  to  build  the  new,  but  out  of  unhandselled  sav- 
age nature ;  out  of  terrible  Druids  and  Berserkers  come  at 
last  Alfred  and  Shakspeare. 

I  hear  therefore  with  joy  whatever  is  beginning  to  be  said 
of  the  dignity  and  necessity  of  labor  to  every  citizen.  There 
is  virtue  yet  in  the  hoe  and  the  spade,  for  learned  as  well  as 
for  unlearned  hands.  And  labor  is  everywhere  welcome  ;  always 
we  are  invited  to  work;  only  be  this  limitation  observed, 
that  a  man  shall  not  for  the  sake  of  wider  activity  sacrifice 
any  opinion  to  the  popular  judgments  and  modes  of  action. 


THE  AMERICAN  SCHOLAR  49 

I  have  now  spoken  of  the  education  of  the  scholar  by  nature, 
by  books,  and  by  action.  It  remains  to  say  somewhat  of  his 
duties. 

They  are  such  as  become  Man  Thinking.  They  may  all 
be  comprised  in  self-trust.  The  office  of  the  scholar  is  to 
cheer,  to  raise,  and  to  guide  men  by  showing  them  facts  amidst 
appearances.  He  plies  the  slow,  unhonored,  and  unpaid 
task  of  observation.  Flamsteed  and  Herschel,  in  their  glazed 
observatories,  may  catalogue  the  stars  with  the  praise  of  all 
men,  and  the  results  being  splendid  and  useful,  honor  is  sure. 
But  he,  in  his  private  observatory,  cataloguing  obscure  and 
nebulous  stars  of  the  human  mind,  which  as  yet  no  man  has 
thought  of  as  such,  —  watching  days  and  months  sometimes 
for  a  few  facts ;  correcting  still  his  old  records ;  —  must  re- 
linquish display  and  immediate  fame.  In  the  long  period  of 
his  preparation  he  must  betray  often  an  ignorance  and  shift- 
lessness  in  popular  arts,  incurring  the  disdain  of  the  able  who 
shoulder  him  aside.  Long  he  must  stammer  in  his  speech; 
often  forego  the  living  for  the  dead.  Worse  yet,  he  must  ac- 
cept—  how  often!  —  poverty  and  solitude.  For  the  ease 
and  pleasure  of  treading  the  old  road,  accepting  the  fash- 
ions, the  education,  the  religion  of  society,  he  takes  the 
cross  of  making  his  own,  and,  of  course,  the  self-accusation, 
the  faint  heart,  the  frequent  uncertainty  and  loss  of  time, 
which  are  the  nettles  and  tangling  vines  in  the  way  of  the  self- 
relying  and  self-directed ;  and  the  state  of  virtual  hostility 
in  which  he  seems  to  stand  to  society,  and  especially  to  edu- 
cated society.  For  all  this  loss  and  scorn,  what  offset?  He 
is  to  find  consolation  in  exercising  the  highest  functions  of  hu- 
man nature.  He  is  one  who  raises  himself  from  private  con- 
siderations and  breathes  and  lives  on  public  and  illustrious 
thoughts.  He  is  the  world's  eye.  He  is  the  world's  heart. 
He  is  to  resist  the  vulgar  prosperity  that  retrogrades  ever  to 
barbarism,  by  preserving  and  communicating  heroic  senti- 
ments, noble  biographies,  melodious  verse,  and  the  conclusions 
of  history.  Whatsoever  oracles  the  human  heart,  in  all  emer- 
gencies, in  all  solemn  hours,  has  uttered  as  its  commentary 
on  the  world  of  actions,  —  these  he  shall  receive  and  impart. 
And  whatsoever  new  verdict  Reason  from  her  inviolable  seat 
pronounces  on  the  passing  men  and  events  of  to-day,  —  this 
he  shall  hear  and  promulgate. 

These  being  his  functions,  it  becomes  him  to  feel  all  con- 


50  THE  AMERICAN  SCHOLAR 

fidence  in  himself,  and  to  defer  never  to  the  popular  cry.  He 
and  he  only  knows  the  world.  The  world  of  any  moment  is 
the  merest  appearance.  Some  great  decorum,  some  fetish 
of  a  government,  some  ephemeral  trade,  or  war,  or  man,  is 
cried  up  by  half  mankind  and  cried  down  by  the  other  half, 
as  if  all  depended  on  this  particular  up  or  down.  The  odds 
are  that  the  whole  question  is  not  worth  the  poorest  thought 
which  the  scholar  has  lost  in  listening  to  the  controversy.  Let 
him  not  quit  his  belief  that  a  popgun  is  a  popgun,  though  the 
ancient  and  honorable  of  the  earth  affirm  it  to  be  the  crack  of 
doom.  In  silence,  in  steadiness,  in  severe  abstraction,  let  him 
hold  by  himself;  add  observation  to  observation,  patient  of 
neglect,  patient  of  reproach,  and  bide  his  own  time,  —  happy 
enough  if  he  can  satisfy  himself  alone  that  this  day  he  has  seen 
something  truly.  Success  treads  on  every  right  step.  For 
the  instinct  is  sure,  that  prompts  him  to  tell  his  brother  what 
he  thinks.  He  then  learns  that  in  going  down  into  the  secrets 
of  his  own  mind  he  has  descended  into  the  secrets  of  all  minds. 
He  learns  that  he  who  has  mastered  any  law  in  his  private 
thoughts,  is  master  to  that  extent  of  all  men  whose  language 
he  speaks,  and  of  all  into  whose  language  his  own  can  be  trans- 
lated. The  poet,  in  utter  solitude  remembering  his  spon- 
taneous thoughts  and  recording  them,  is  found  to  have  re- 
corded that  which  men  in  crowded  cities  find  true  for  them 
also.  The  orator  distrusts  at  first  the  fitness  of  his  frank  con- 
fessions, his  want  of  knowledge  of  the  persons  he  addresses, 
until  he  finds  that  he  is  the  complement  of  his  hearers ;  — 
that  they  drink  his  words  because  he  fulfils  for  them  their 
own  nature ;  the  deeper  he  dives  into  his  privatest,  secretest 
presentiment,  to  his  wonder  he  finds  this  is  the  most  accept- 
able, most  public,  and  universally  true.  The  people  delight 
in  it ;  the  better  part  of  every  man  feels.  This  is  my  music ; 
this  is  myself. 

In  self-trust  all  the  virtues  are  comprehended.  Free  should 
the  scholar  be,  —  free  and  brave.  Free  even  to  the  defini- 
tion of  freedom,  ^Svithout  any  hindrance  that  does  not  arise 
out  of  his  own  constitution.^^  Brave  ;  for  fear  is  a  thing  which 
a  scholar  by  his  very  function  puts  behind  him.  Fear  always 
springs  from  ignorance.  It  is  a  shame  to  him  if  his  tranquillity, 
amid  dangerous  times,  arise  from  the  presumption  that  like 
children  and  women  his  is  a  protected  class ;  or  if  he  seek  a 
tertporary  peace  by  the  diversion  of  his  thoughts  from  politics 


THE  AMERICAN  SCHOLAR  51 

or  vexed  questions,  hiding  his  head  like  an  ostrich  in  the  flower- 
ing bushes,  peeping  into  microscopes,  and  turning  rhymes, 
as  a  boy  whistles  to  keep  his  courage  up.  So  is  the  danger  a 
danger  still ;  so  is  the  fear  worse.  Manlike  let  him  turn  and 
face  it.  Let  him  look  into  its  eye  and  search  its  nature,  inspect 
its  origin,  —  see  the  whelping  of  this  lion,  —  which  lies  no 
great  way  back;  he  will  then  find  in  himself  a  perfect  com- 
prehension of  its  nature  and  extent;  he  will  have  made  his 
hands  meet  on  the  other  side,  and  can  henceforth  defy  it  and 
pass  on  superior.  The  world  is  his  who  can  see  through  its 
pretension.  What  deafness,  what  stone-blind  custom,  what 
overgrown  error  you  behold  is  there  only  by  sufferance,  —  by 
your  sufferance.  See  it  to  be  a  lie,  and  you  have  already  dealt 
it  its  mortal  blow. 

Yes,  we  are  the  cowed,  —  we  the  trustless.  It  is  a  mis- 
chievous notion  that  we  are  come  late  into  nature ;  that  the 
world  was  finished  a  long  time  ago.  As  the  world  was  plastic 
and  fluid  in  the  hands  of  God,  so  it  is  ever  to  so  much  of  his 
attributes  as  we  bring  to  it.  To  ignorance  and  sin,  it  is  flint. 
They  adapt  themselves  to  it  as  they  may ;  but  in  proportion 
as  a  man  has  any  thing  in  him  divine, -the  firmament  flows  be- 
fore him  and  takes  his  signet  and  form.  Not  he  is  great  who 
can  alter  matter,  but  he  who  can  alter  my  state  of  mind.  They 
are  the  kings  of  the  world  who  give  the  color  of  their  present 
thought  to  all  nature  and  all  art,  and  persuade  men  b}^  the 
cheerful  serenity  of  their  carrying  the  matter,  that  this  thing 
which  they  do  is  the  apple  which  the  ages  have  desired  to 
pluck,  now  at  last  ripe,  and  inviting  nations  to  the  harvest. 
The  great  man  makes  the  great  thing.  Wherever  Macdonald 
sits,  there  is  the  head  of  the  table.  Linnaeus  makes  botany 
the  most  alluring  of  studies,  and  wins  it  from  the  farmer  and 
the  herb-woman ;  Davy,  chemistry ;  and  Cuvier,  fossils. 
The  day  is  always  his  who  works  in  it  with  serenity  and  great 
aims.  The  unstable  estimates  of  men  crowd  to  him  whose 
mind  is  filled  with  a  truth,  as  the  heaped  waves  of  the  Atlantic 
follow  the  moon. 

For  this  self-trust,  the  reason  is  deeper  than  can  be  fathomed, 
—  darker  than  can  be  enlightened.-  I  might  not  carry  with 
me  the  feeling  of  my  audience  in  stating  my  own  belief.  But  I 
have  already  shown  the  ground  of  my  hope,  in  adverting  to  the 
doctrine  that  man  is  one.  I  believe  man  has  been  wronged ; 
he  has  wionged  himself.     He  has  almost  lost  the  light  that 


52  THE  AMERICAN  SCHOLAR 


1 


can  lead  him  back  to  his  prerogatives.  Men  are  become 
of  no  account.  Men  in  history,  men  in  the  world  of  to-day, 
are  bugs,  are  spawn,  and  are  called  ^^the  mass''  and  'Hhe 
herd.''  In  a  century,  in  a  millennium,  one  or  two  men;  that 
is  to  say,  one  or  two  approximations  to  the  right  state  of  every 
man.  AH  the  rest  behold  in  the  hero  or  the  poet  their  own 
green  and  crude  being,  —  ripened ;  yes,  and  are  content  to  be 
less,  so  that  may  attain  to  its  full  stature.  What  a  testimony, 
full  of  grandeur,  full  of  pity,  is  borne  to  the  demands  of  his 
own  nature,  by  the  poor  clansman,  the  poor  partisan,  who 
rejoices  in  the  glory  of  his  chief.  The  poor  and  the  low  find 
some  amends  to  their  immense  moral  capacity,  for  their  ac- 
quiescence in  a  political  and  social  inferiority.  They  are 
content  to  be  brushed  like  flies  from  the  path  of  a  great  person, 
so  that  justice  shall  be  done  by  him  to  that  common  nature 
which  it  is  the  dearest  desire  of  all  to  see  enlarged  and  glorified. 
They  sun  themselves  in  the  great  man's  light,  and  feel  it  to  be 
their  own  element.  They  cast  the  dignity  of  man  from  their 
downtrod  selves  upon  the  shoulders  of  a  hero,  and  will  perish 
to  add  one  drop  of  blood  to  make  that  great  heart  beat,  those 
giant  sinews  combat  and  conquer.  He  lives  for  us,  and  we 
live  in  him. 

Men,  such  as  they  are,  very  naturally  seek  money  or  power ; 
and  power  because  it  is  as  good  as  money,  —  the  ^^  spoils,"  so 
called,  "of  office."  And  why  not?  for  they  aspire  to  the 
highest,  and  this,  in  their  sleep-walking,  they  dream  is  highest. 
Wake  them  and  they  shall  quit  the  false  good  and  leap  to  the 
true,  and  leave  governments  to  clerks  and  desks.  This  revo- 
lution is  to  be  wrought  by  the  gradual  domestication  of  the 
idea  of  Culture.  The  main  enterprise  of  the  world  for  splen- 
dor, for  extent,  is  the  upbuilding  of  a  man.  Here  are  the 
materials  strewn  along  the  ground.  The  private  life  of  one 
man  shall  be  a  more  illustrious  monarchy,  more  formidable 
to  its  enemy,  more  sweet  and  serene  in  its  influence  to  its 
friend,  than  any  kingdom  in  history.  For  a  man,  rightly 
viewed,  comprehendeth  the  particular  natures  of  all  men. 
Each  philosopher,  each  bard,  each  actor  has  only  done  for  me, 
as  by  a  delegate,  what  one  day  I  can  do  for  myself.  The " 
books  which  once  we  valued  more  than  the  apple  of  the  eye, 
we  have  quite  exhausted.  What  is  that  but  saying  that  we  | 
have  come  up  with  the  point  of  view  which  the  universal  i 
mind  took  through  the  eyes  of  one  scribe ;  we  have  been  that  ] 


THE  AMERICAN  SCHOLAR  53 

man,  and  have  passed  on.  First,  one,  then  another,  we 
drain  all  cisterns,  and  waxing  greater  by  all  these  supplies^ 
we  crave  a  better  and  more  abundant  food.  The  man  has 
never  lived  that  can  feed  us  ever.  The  human  mind  cannot 
be  enshrined  in  a  person  who  shall  set  a  barrier  on  any  one 
side  to  this  unbounded,  unboundable  empire.  It  is  one  central 
fire,  which,  flaming  now  out  of  the  lips  of  Etna,  lightens  the 
capes  of  Sicily  and  now  out  of  the  throat  of  Vesuvius,  illu- 
minates the  towers  and  vineyards  of  Naples.  It  is  one  light 
which  beams  out  of  a  thousand  stars.  It  is  one  soul  which 
animates  all  men. 

But  I  have  dwelt  perhaps  tediously  upon  this  abstraction 
of  the  Scholar.  I  ought  not  to  delay  longer  to  add  what  I 
have  to  say  of  nearer  reference  to  the  time  and  to  this  country. 

Historically,  there  is  thought  to  be  a  difference  in  the  ideas 
which  predominate  over  successive  epochs,  and  there  are  data 
for  marking  the  genius  of  the  Classic,  of  the  Romantic,  and 
now  of  the  Reflective  or  Philosophical  age.  With  the  views 
I  have  intimated  of  the  oneness  or  the  identity  of  the  mind 
through  all  individuals,  I  do  not  much  dwell  on  these  differ- 
ences. In  fact,  I  believe  each  individual  passes  through  all 
three.  The  boy  is  a  Greek ;  the  youth,  romantic ;  the  adult, 
reflective.  I  deny  not,  however,  that  a  revolution  in  the 
leading  idea  may  be  distinctly  enough  traced. 

Our  age  is  bewailed  as  the  age  of  Introversion.  Must  that 
needs  be  evil  ?  We,  it  seems,  are  critical ;  we  are  embarrassed 
with  second  thoughts ;  we  cannot  enjoy  any  thing  for  hanker- 
ing to  know  whereof  the  pleasure  consists ;  we  are  lined  with 
eyes ;  we  see  with  our  feet ;  the  time  is  infected  with  Hamlet's 
unhappiness,  — 

''Sicklied  o'er  with  the  pale  cast  of  thought.'^ 

It  is  so  bad  then  ?  Sight  is  the  last  thing  to  be  pitied.  Would 
we  be  blind?  Do  we  fear  lest  we  should  outsee  nature  and 
God,  and  drink  truth  dry  ?  I  look  upon  the  discontent  of  the 
literary  class  as  a  mere  announcement  of  the  fact  that  they 
find  themselves  not  in  the  state  of  mind  of  their  fathers,  and 
regret  the  coming  state  as  untried ;  as  a  boy  dreads  the  water 
before  he  has  learned  that  he  can  swim.  If  there  is  any  period 
one  would  desire  to  be  born  in,  is  it  not  the  age  of  Revolution ; 
when  the  old  and  the  new  stand  side  by  side  and  admit  of  being 


54  THE  AMERICAN  SCHOLAR 

compared ;  when  the  energies  of  all  men  are  searched  by  fear 
and  by  hope  ;  when  the  historic  glories  of  the  old  can  be  com- 
pensated by  the  rich  possibilities  of  the  new  era  ?  This  time, 
like  all  times,  is  a  very  good  one,  if  we  but  know  what  to  do 
with  it. 

I  read  with  some  joy  of  the  auspicious  signs  of  the  coming 
days,  as  they  glimmer  already  through  poetry  and  art,  through 
philosophy  and  science,  through  church  and  state. 

One  of  these  signs  is  the  fact  that  the  same  movement  which 
effected  the  elevation  of  what  was  called  the  lowest  class  in  the 
state,  assumed  in  literature  a  very  marked  and  as  benign  an 
aspect.  Instead  of  the  sublime  and  beautiful,  the  near,  the 
low,  the  common,  was  explored  and  poetized.  That  which 
had  been  negligently  trodden  under  foot  by  those  who  were 
harnessing  and  provisioning  themselves  for  long  journeys  into 
far  countries,  is  suddenly  found  to  be  richer  than  all  foreign 
parts.  The  literature  of  the  poor,  the  feelings  of  the  child, 
the  philosophy  of  the  street,  the  meaning  of  household  life, 
are  the  topics  of  the  time.  It  is  a  great  stride.  It  is  a  sign  — 
is  it  not  ?  —  of  new  vigor  when  the  extremities  are  made  ac- 
tive, when  currents  of  warm  life  run  into  the  hands  and  the 
feet.  I  ask  not  for  the  great,  the  remote,  the  romantic ;  what 
is  doing  in  Italy  or  Arabia ;  what  is  Greek  art,  or  Provengal 
minstrels}^;  I  embrace  the  common,  I  explore  and  sit  at  the 
feet  of  the  familiar,  the  low.  Give  me  insight  into  to-day, 
and  you  may  have  the  antique  and  future  worlds.  ^Yliat 
would  we  reaUy  know  the  meaning  of  ?  The  meal  in  the  fii'kin ; 
the  milk  in  the  pan ;  the  ballad  in  the  street ;  the  news  of  the 
boat;  the  glance  of  the  eye;  the  form  and  the  gait  of  the 
body ;  —  show  me  the  ultimate  reason  of  these  matters  ;  show 
me  the  sublime  presence  of  the  highest  spiritual  cause  lurldng, 
as  alw^ays  it  does  lurk,  in  these  suburbs  and  extremities  of 
nature  ;  let  me  see  every  trifle  bristling  with  the  polarity  that 
ranges  it  instantly  on  an  eternal  law;  and  the  shop,  the 
plough,  and  the  ledger  referred  to  the  like  cause  b}^  which 
light  undulates  and  poets  sing ;  —  and  the  world  lies  no  longer 
a  dull  miscellany  and  lumber-room,  but  has  form  and  order ; 
there  is  no  trifle,  there  is  no  puzzle,  but  one  design  unites  and 
animates  the  farthest  pinnacle  and  the  lowest  trench. 

This  idea  has  inspired  the  genius  of  Goldsmith,  Burns,  Cow- 
per,  and,  in  a  newer  time,  of  Goethe,  Wordsworth,  and  Carlyle. 
This  idea  they  have  differently  followed  and  with  various 


THE  AMERICAN  SCHOLAR  55 

success.  In  contrast  with  their  writing,  the  style  of  Pope,  of 
Johnson,  of  Gibbon,  looks  cold  and  pedantic.  This  writing 
is  blood-warm.  Man  is  surprised  to  find  that  things  near  are 
not  less  beautiful  and  wondrous  than  things  remote.  The 
near  explains  the  far.  The  drop  is  a  small  ocean.  A  man  is 
related  to  all  nature.  This  perception  of  the  worth  of  the 
vulgar  is  fruitful  in  discoveries.  Goethe,  in  this  very  thing, 
the  most  modern  of  the  moderns,  has  shown  us,  as  none  ever 
did,  the  genius  of  the  ancients.  « 

There  is  one  man  of  genius  who  has  done  much  for  this, 
philosophy  of  life,  whose  literary  value  has  never  yet  been: 
rightly  estimated ;  —  I  mean  Emanuel  Swedenborg.  The 
most  imaginative  of  men,  yet  writing  with  the  precision  of  a 
mathematician,  he  endeavored  to  engraft  a  purely  philosoph- 
ical Ethics  on  the  popular  Christianity  of  his  time.  Such 
an  attempt  of  course  must  have  difficulty  which  no  genius 
could  surmount.  But  he  saw  and  showed  the  connection 
between  nature  and  the  affections  of  the  soul.  He  pierced 
the  emblematic  or  spiritual  character  of  the  visible,  audible, 
tangible  world.  Especially  did  his  shade-loving  muse  hover 
over  and  interpret  the  lower  parts  of  nature ;  he  showed  the 
mysterious  bond  that  allies  moral  evil  to  the  foul  material 
forms,  and  has  given  in  epical  parables  a  theory  of  insanity, 
of  beasts,  of  unclean  and  fearful  things. 

Another  sign  of  our  times,  also  marked  by  an  analogous 
political  movement,  is  the  new  importance  given  to  the  single 
person.  Every  thing  that  tends  to  insulate  the  individual,. 
—  to  surround  him  with  barriers  of  natural  respect,  so  that' 
each  man  shall  feel  the  world  is  his,  and  man  shall  treat  with 
man  as  a  sovereign  state  with  a  sovereign  state,  —  tends  to 
true  union  as  well  as  greatness.  ^^I  learned,'^  said  the  melan- 
choly Pestalozzi,  "that  no  man  in  God^s  wide  earth  is  either 
willing  or  able  to  help  any  other  man.^^  Help  must  come 
from  the  bosom  alone.  The  scholar  is  that  man  who  must 
take  up  into  himself  all  the  ability  of  the  time,  all  the  contri- 
butions of  the  past,  all  the  hopes  of  the  future.  He  must  be 
an  university  of  knowledges.  If  there  be  one  lesson  more 
than  another  which  should  pierce  his  ear,  it  is.  The  world  is 
nothing,  the  man  is  all ;  in  yourself  is  the  law  of  all  nature, 
and  you  know  not  yet  how  a  globule  of  sap  ascends ;  in  your- 
self slumbers  the  whole  of  Reason  ;  it  is  for  you  to  know  all ; 
it  is  for  you  to  dare  all.     Mr.  President  and  Gentlemen,  this 


56  THE  AMERICAN  SCHOLAR 

confidence  in  the  unsearched  might  of  man  belongs,  by  all 
motives,  by  all  prophecy,  by  all  preparation  to  the  American 
Scholar.  We  have  listened  too  long  to  the  courtly  muses  of 
Europe.  The  spirit  of  the  American  freeman  is  already  sus- 
pected to  be  timid,  imitative,  tame.  Public  and  private  ava- 
rice make  the  air  we  breathe  thick  and  fat.  The  scholar  is 
decent,  indolent,  complaisant.  See  already  the  tragic  con- 
sequence. The  mmd  of  this  count r}^,  taught  to  aim  at  low 
objects,  eats  upon  itself.  There  is  no  work  for  any  but  the 
decorous  and  the  complaisant.  Young  men  of  the  fairest 
promise,  who  begin  life  upon  our  shores,  inflated  by  the  moun- 
tain winds,  shined  upon  by  all  the  stars  of  God,  fuid  the  earth 
below  not  in  unison  mth  these,  but  are  hindered  from  action 
by  the  disgust  which  th^  principles  on  which  business  is  man- 
aged inspire,  and  turn  drudges,  or  die  of  disgust,  some  of  them 
suicides.  What  is  the  remedy?  They  did  not  j^et  see,  and 
thousands  of  young  men  as  hopeful  now  crowding  to  the 
barriers  for  the  career  do  not  yet  see,  that  if  the  single  man 
plant  liimself  indomitably  on  his  instincts,  and  there  abide, 
the  huge  world  will  come  round  to  him.  Patience,  —  pa- 
tience ;  with  the  shades  of  all  the  good  and  great  for  company ; 
and  for  solace  the  perspective  of  j^our  o^Ya  mfinite  life ;  and 
for  work  the  study  and  the  communication  of  principles,  the 
makmg  those  instincts  prevalent,  the  conversion  of  the  world. 
Is  it  not  the  chief  disgrace  in  the  world,  not  to  be  an  unit ;  — 
not  to  be  reckoned  one  character ;  —  not  to  yield  that  peculiar 
fruit  which  each  man  was  created  to  bear,  but  to  be  reckoned 
in  the  gross,  in  the  hundred,  or  the  thousand,  of  the  party,  the 
section,  to  which  we  belong;  and  our  opinion  predicted 
geogi'aphicall}^,  as  the  north,  or  the  south?  Not  so,  brothers 
and  friends  —  please  God,  ours  shall  not  be  so.  We  will  walk 
on  our  own  feet ;  we  will  work  wdth  our  ot\tl  hands ;  we  will 
speak  our  otmi  minds.  The  study  of  letters  shall  be  no  longer 
a  name  for  pity,  for  doubt,  and  for  sensual  indulgence.  The 
dread  of  man  and  the  love  of  man  shall  be  a  wall  of  defence 
and  a  wreath  of  joy  around  all.  A  nation  of  men  will  for  the 
first  tune  exist,  because  each  believes  liimself  inspired  by  the 
Di\dne  Soul  which  also  mspires  all  men. 


HISTORY 

There  is  no  great  and  no  small 
To  the  Soul  that  maketh  all : 
And  where  it  cometh,  all  things  are ; 
And  it  cometh  everywhere. 

I  am  owner  of  the  sphere, 

Of  the  seven  stars  and  the  solar  year, 

Of  Caesar's  hand,  and  Plato's  brain. 

Of  Lord  Christ's  heart,  and  Shakspeare's  strain. 

There  is  one  mind  common  to  all  individual  men.  Every 
man  is  an  inlet  to  the  same  and  to  all  of  the  same.  He  that  is 
once  admitted  to  the  right  of  reason  is  made  a  freeman  of 
the  whole  estate.  What  Plato  has  thought  he  may  think; 
what  a  saint  has  felt  he  may  feel;  what  at  any  time  has 
befallen  any  man,  he  can  understand.  Who  hath  access  to 
this  universal  mind  is  a  party  to  all  that  is  or  can  be  done, 
for  this  is  the  only  and  sovereign  agent. 

Of  the  works  of  this  mind  history  is  the  record.  Its  genius 
is  illustrated  by  the  entire  series  of  days.  Man  is  explicable 
by  nothing  less  than  all  his  history.  Without  hurry,  without 
rest,  the  human  spirit  goes  forth  from  the  beginning  to 
embody  every  faculty,  every  thought,  every  emotion,  which 
belongs  to  it  in  appropriate  events.  But  the  thought  is  always 
prior  to  the  fact ;  all  the  facts  of  history  pre-exist  in  the  mind 
as  laws.  Each  law  in  turn  is  made  by  circumstances  pre- 
dominant, and  the  limits  of  nature  give  power  to  but  one  at 
a  time.  A  man  is  the  whole  encyclopaedia  of  facts.  The 
creation. of  a  thousand  forests  is  in  one  acorn,  and  Egypt, 
Greece,  Rome,  Gaul,  Britain,  America,  lie  folded  already  in 
the  first  man.  Epoch  after  epoch,  camp,  kingdom,  empire, 
republic,  democracy,  are  merely  the  applications  of  his 
manifold  spirit  to  the  manifold  world. 

57 


58  HISTORY  Ij 

This  human  mind  wrote  history,  and  this  must  read  it.  \ 
The  Sphinx  must  solve  her  own  riddle.  If  the  whole  of-,! 
history  is  in  one  man,  it  is  all  to  be  explained  from  indi\ddual 
experience.  There  is  a  relation  between  the  hours  of  our 
life  and  the  centuries  of  time.  As  the  air  I  breathe  is  drawn 
from  the  great  repositories  of  nature,  as  the  hght  on  my  book 
is  yielded  by  a  star  a  hundred  millions  of  miles  distant,  as 
the  poise  of  my  body  depends  on  the  equihbrium  of  centrif- 
ugal and  centripetal  forces,  so  the  hours  should  be  instructed 
by  the  ages,  and  the  ages  explained  by  the  hours.  Of  the 
imiversal  mind  each  individual  man  is  one  more  incarnation. 
All  its  properties  consist  in  him.  Each  new  fact  in  his  private 
experience  flashes  a  light  on  what  great  bodies  of  men  have 
done,  and  the  crises  of  his  life  refer  to  national  crises.  Every 
revolution  was  first  a  thought  in  one  man^s  mind,  and  when 
the  same  thought  occurs  to  another  man,  it  is  the  key  to  that 
era.  Every  reform  was  once  a  private  opinion,  and  when  it 
shall  be  a  private  opinion  again,  it  will  solve  the  problem  of 
the  age.  The  fact  narrated  must  correspond  to  something  in 
me  to  be  credible  or  intelligible.  We  as  we  read  must  be- 
come Greeks,  Romans,  Turks,  priest  and  king,  martjT  and 
executioner,  must  fasten  these  images  to  some  reaUty  in  our 
secret  experience,  or  we  shaU  learn  nothing  rightly.  What 
befell  Asdrubal  or  Caesar  Borgia  is  as  much  an  illustration 
of  the  mind^s  powers  and  deprivations  as  what  has  befallen 
us.  Each  new  law  and  political  movement  has  a  meaning  for 
you.  Stand  before  each  of  its  tablets  and  say,  ^  Under  this 
mask  did  my  Proteus  nature  hide  itseK.^  This  remedies  the 
defect  of  our  too  great  nearness  to  ourselves.  This  throws 
our  actions  into  perspective :  and  as  crabs,  goats,  scorpions, 
the  balance,  and  the  water-pot  lose  their  meanness  when 
hung  as  signs  in  the  zodiac,  so  I  can  see  my  own  vices  without 
heat  in  the  distant  persons  of  Solomon,  Alcibiades,  and  Cati- 
line. 

It  is  the  universal  nature  which  gives  worth  to  "particular 
men  and  things.  Human  life  as  containing  this  is  mysterious 
and  inviolable,  and  we  hedge  it  round  with  penalties  and 
laws.  All  laws  derive  hence  their  ultimate  reason ;  all  express 
more  or  less  distinctly  some  command  of  this  supreme,  illim- 
itable essence.  Property  also  holds  of  the  soul,  covers  great 
spiritual  facts,  and  instinctively  we  at  first  hold  to  it  with 
swords  and  laws,  and  wide  and  complex  combinations.     The 


HISTORY  59 

obscure  consciousness  of  this  fact  is  the  hght  of  all  our  day, 
the  claim  of  claims;  the  plea  for  education,  for  justice,  for 
charity,  the  foundation  of  friendship  and  love,  and  of  the 
heroism  and  grandeur  which  belong  to  acts  of  self-reliance. 
It  is  remarkable  that  involuntarily  we  always  read  as  su- 
perior beings.  Universal  history,  the  poets,  the  romancers, 
do  not  in  their  stateliest  pictures,  —  in  the  sacerdotal,  the 
imperial  palaces,  in  the  triumphs  of  will  or  of  genius  —  any- 
where lose  our  ear,  anywhere  make  us  feel  that  we  intrude, 
that  this  is  for  better  men ;  but  rather  is  it  true,  that  in  their 
grandest  strokes  we  feel  most  at  home.  All  that  Shakspeare 
says  of  the  king,  yonder  slip  of  a  boy  that  reads  in  the  corner 
feels  to  be  true  of  himself.  We  sympathize  in  the  great 
moments  of  history,  in  the  great  discoveries,  the  great  resist- 
ances, the  great  prosperities  of  men ;  —  because  there  law  was 
enacted,  the  sea  was  searched,  the  land  was  found,  or  the 
blow  was  struck  for  us,  as  we  ourselves  in  that  place  would 
have  done  or  applauded. 

We  have  the  same  interest  in  condition  and  character. 
We  honor  the  rich,  because  they  have  externally  the  freedom, 
power,  and  grace  which  we  feel  to  be  proper  to  man,  proper 
to  us.  So  all  that  is  said  of  the  wise  man  by  Stoic,  or  Oriental 
or  modern  essajdst,  describes  to  each  reader  his  own  idea, 
describes  his  unattained  but  attainable  self.  All  hterature 
writes  the  character  of  the  wise  man.  Books,  monuments, 
pictures,  conversation,  are  portraits  in  which  he  finds  the 
lineaments  he  is  forming.  The  silent  and  the  eloquent  praise 
him  and  accost  him,  and  he  is  stimulated  wherever  he  moves 
as  by  personal  allusions.  A  true  aspirant,  therefore,  never 
needs  look  for  allusions  personal  and  laudatory  in  discourse. 
He  hears  the  commendation,  not  of  himself,  but  more  sweet, 
of  that  character  he  seeks,  in  every  word  that  is  said  concern- 
ing character,  yea,  further,  in  every  fact  and  circumstance,  — 
in  the  running  river  and  the  rustling  corn.  Praise  is  looked, 
homage  tendered,  love  flows  from  mute  nature,  from  the 
mountains  and  the  lights  of  the  firmament. 

These  hints,  dropped  as  it  were  from  sleep  and  night,  let 
us  use  in  broad  day.  The  student  is  to  read  history  actively 
and  not  passively;  to  esteem  his  own  life  the  text,  and  books 
the  commentary.  Thus  compelled,  the  Muse  of  history  will 
utter  oracles,  as  never  to  those  who  do  not  respect  themselves. 
I  have  no  expectation  that  any  man  will  read  history  aright. 


60  HISTORY 

who  thinks  that  what  was  done  in  a  remote  age,  by  men 
whose  names  have  resounded  far,  has  any  deeper  sense  than 
what  he  is  doing  to-day. 

The  world  exists  for  the  education  of  each  man.  There 
is  no  age  or  state  of  society  or  mode  of  action  in  history,  to 
which  there  is  not  somewhat  corresponding  in  his  hfe.  Every- 
thing tends  in  a  wonderful  manner  to  abbre^date  itself  and 
yield  its  own  virtue  to  him.  He  should  see  that  he  can  live 
all  history  in  his  own  person.  He  must  sit  solidly  at  home, 
and  not  suffer  himself  to  be  bullied  by  kings  or  empires,  but 
know  that  he  is  greater  than  all  the  geography  and  all  the 
government  of  the  world ;  he  must  transfer  the  point  of  view 
from  which  history  is  commonly  read,  from  Rome  and  Athens 
and  London  to  himself,  and  not  deny  his  conviction  that  he 
is  the  court,  and  if  England  or  Egypt  have  an3d:hing  to  say 
to  him,  he  will  try  the  case ;  if  not,  let  them  forever  be  silent. 
He  must  attain  and  maintain  that  lofty  sight  where  facts 
yield  their  secret  sense,  and  poetry  and  annals  are  alike. 
The  instinct  of  the  mind,  the  purpose  of  nature,  betrays 
itself  in  the  use  we  make  of  the  signal  narrations  of  history. 
Time  dissipates  to  shining  ether  the  solid  angularity  of  facts. 
No  anchor,  no  cable,  no  fences,  avail  to  keep  a  fact  a  fact. 
Babylon,  Troy,  Tyre,  Palestine,  and  early  Rome  have  passed 
or  are  passing  into  fiction.  The  Garden  of  Eden,  the  sun 
standing  still  in  Gibeon,  is  poetry  thenceforward  to  all 
nations.  Who  cares  what  the  fact  was,  when  we  have  made 
a  constellation  of  it  to  hang  in  heaven  an  immortal  sign? 
I^ondon  and  Paris  and  New  York  must  go  the  same  way. 
'^What  is  History,'^  said  Napoleon,  ^'but  a  fable  agreed 
upon?'^.  This  life  of  ours  is  stuck  round  with  Egypt,  Greece, 
Gaul,  England,  War,  Colonization,  Church,  Court,  and  Com- 
merce, as  with  so  many  flowers  and  wild  ornaments  grave  and 
gay.  I  will  not  make  more  account  of  them.  I  believe  in 
Eternity.  I  can  find  Greece,  Asia,  Italy,  Spain,  and  the 
Islands,  —  the  genius  and  creative  principle  of  each  and  of 
all  eras  in  my  own  mind. 

We  are  always  coming  up  with  the  emphatic  facts  of  his- 
tory in  our  private  experience,  and  verifying  them  here. 
All  history  becomes  subjective;  in  other  words,  there  is 
properly  no  history,  only  biography.  Every  mind  must 
know  the  whole  lesson  for  itself,  —  must  go  over  the  whole 
ground.     What  it  does  not  see,  what  it  does  not  live,  it  will 


HISTORY  61 

not  know.  What  the  former  age  has  epitomized  into  a 
formula  or  rule  for  manipular  convenience,  it  will  lose  all  the 
good  of  verifying  for  itself,  by  means  of  the  wall  of  that  rule. 
Somewhere,  sometime,  it  will  demand  and  find  compensation 
for  that  loss  by  doing  the  work  itself.  Ferguson  discovered 
many  things  in  astronomy  which  had  long  been  known.  The 
better  for  him. 

History  must  be  this  or  it  is  nothing.  Every  law  which 
the  state  enacts  indicates  a  fact  in  human  nature ;  that  is  all. 
We  must  in  ourselves  see  the  necessary  reason  of  every  fact,  — 
see  how  it  could  and  must  be.  So  stand  before  every  public 
and  private  work;  before  an  oration  of  Burke,  before  a  vic- 
tory of  Napoleon,  before  a  martyrdom  of  Sir  Thomas  More, 
of  Sidney,  of  Marmaduke  Robinson,  before  a  French  Reign 
of  Terror,  and  a  Salem  hanging  of  witches,  before  a  fanatic 
Revival,  and  the  Animal  Magnetism  in  Paris,  or  in  Provi- 
dence. We  assume  that  we  under  like  influence  should  be 
ahke  affected,  and  should  achieve  the  like ;  and  we  aim  to 
master  intellectually  the  steps,  and  reach  the  same  height 
or  the  same  degradation,  that  our  fellow,  our  proxy,  has  done. 

All  inquiry  into  antiquity  —  all  curiosity  respecting  the 
Pyramids,  the  excavated  cities,  Stonehenge,  the  Ohio  Circles, 
Mexico,  Memphis  —  is  the  desire  to  do  away  this  wild, 
savage,  and  preposterous  There  or  Then,  and  introduce  in  its 
place  the  Here  and  the  Now.  Belzoni  digs  and  measures  in 
the  mummy-pits  and  pyramids  of  Thebes,  until  he  can  see 
the  end  of  the  difference  between  the  monstrous  work  and 
himself.  When  he  has  satisfied  himseK,  in  general  and  in 
detail,  that  it  was  made  by  such  a  person  as  he,  so  armed  and 
so  motived,  and  to  ends  to  which  he  himself  should  also 
have  worked,  the  problem  is  solved ;  his  thought  lives  along 
the  whole  line  of  temples  and  sphinxes  and  catacombs,  passes 
through  them  all  with  satisfaction,  and  they  live  again  to 
the  mind,  or  are  now. 

A  Gothic  cathedral  affirms  that  it  was  done  by  us,  and  not 
done  by  us.  Surely  it  was  by  man,  but  we  find  it  not  in  our 
man.  But  we  apply  ourselves  to  the  history  of  its  produc- 
tion. We  put  ourselves  into  the  place  and  state  of  the 
builder.  We  remember  the  forest-dwellers,  the  first  temples, 
the  adherence  to  the  first  type,  and  the  decoration  of  it  as 
the  wealth  of  the  nation  increased ;  the  value  which  is  given 
to  wood  by  carving  led  to  the  carving  over  the  whole  moun- 


62  HISTORY 

tain  of  stone  of  a  cathedral.  When  we  have  gone  through 
this  process,  and  added  thereto  the  CathoHc  Church,  its  cross, 
its  music,  its  processions,  its  Saints'  days  and  image-worship, 
we  have,  as  it  were,  been  the  man  that  made  the  minister; 
we  have  seen  how  it  could  and  must  be.  We  have  the 
sufficient  reason. 

The  difference  between  men  is  in  their  principle  of  associa- 
tion. Some  men  classify  objects  by  color  and  size  and  other 
accidents  of  appearance ;  others  by  intrinsic  likeness,  or  by 
the  relation  of  cause  and  effect.  The  progress  of  the  intellect 
is  to  the  clearer  vision  of  causes,  which  neglects  surface  dif- 
ferences. To  the  poet,  to  the  philosopher,  to  the  saint,  all 
things  are  friendly  and  sacred,  all  events  profitable,  all  days 
holy,  all  men  divine.  For  the  eye  is  fastened  on  the  life,  and 
slights  the  circumstance.  Every  chemical  substance,  every 
plant,  every  animal  in  its  growth,  teaches  the  unity  of  cause, 
the  variety  of  appearance. 

Upborne  and  surrounded  as  we  are  by  this  all-creating 
nature,  soft  and  fluid  as  a  cloud  or  the  air,  why  should  we  be 
such  hard  pedants,  and  magnify  a  few  forms?  Why  should 
we  make  account  of  time,  or  of  magnitude,  or  of  figure? 
The  soul  knows  them  not,  and  genius,  obeying  its  law,  knows 
how  to  play  with  them  as  a  young  child  plays  with  gray- 
beards  and  in  churches.  Genius  studies  the  causal  thought, 
and  far  back,  in  the  womb  of  things,  sees  the  rays  parting 
from  one  orb,  that  diverge  ere  they  fall  by  infinite  diameters. 
Genius  watches  the  monad  through  all  his  masks  as  he  per- 
forms the  metempsychosis  of  nature.  Genius  detects  through 
the  fly,  through  the  caterpillar,  through  the  grub,  through 
the  egg,  the  constant  individual ;  through  countless  indi- 
viduals, the  fixed  species ;  through  many  species,  the  genus ; 
through  all  genera,  the  steadfast  type ;  through  all  the  king- 
doms of  organized  life,  the  eternal  imity.  Nature  is  a  mu- 
table cloud,  which  is  always  and  never  the  same.  She  casts 
the  same  thought  into  troops  of  forms,  as  a  poet  makes 
twenty  fables  with  one  moral.  Through  the  bruteness  and 
toughness  of  matter,  a  subtle  spirit  bends  all  things  to  its  own 
will.  The  adamant  streams  into  soft  but  precise  form  before 
it,  and  whilst  I  look  at  it,  its  outline  and  texture  are  changed 
again.  Nothing  is  so  fleeting  as  form ;  yet  never  does  it  quite 
deny  itself.  In  man  we  still  trace  the  remains  or  hints  of  all 
that  we  esteem  badges  of  servitude  in  the  lower  races;  yet 


HISTORY  63 

in  him  they  enhance  his  nobleness  and  grace ;  as  lo,  in  ^Eschy- 
lus,  transformed  to  a  cow,  offends  the  imagination ;  but  how 
changed,  when  as  Isis  in  Egypt  she  meets  Osiris- Jove,  a 
beautiful  woman,  with  nothing  of  the  metamorphosis  left 
but  the  lunar  horns  as  the  splendid  ornament  of  her  brows ! 

The  identity  of  history  is  equally  intrinsic,  the  diversity 
equally  obvious.  There  is  at  the  surface  infinite  variety  of 
things  ;  at  the  centre  there  is  simplicity  of  cause.  How  many 
are  the  acts  of  one  man  in  which  we  recognize  the  same  char- 
acter! Observe  the  sources  of  our  information  In  respect 
to  the  Greek  genius.  We  have  the  civil  history  of  that  people, 
as  Herodotus,  Thucydides,  Xehophon,  and  Plutarch  have 
given  it ;  a  very  sufficient  account  of  what  manner  of  persons 
they  were,  and  what  they  did.  We  have  the  same  national 
mind  expressed  for  us  again  in  their  literature,  in  epic  and 
lyric  poems,  drama,  and  philosophy;  a  very  complete  form. 
Then  we  have  it  once  more  in  their  architecture,  sl  beauty  as  of 
temperance  itseK,  limited  to  the  straight  line  and  the  square, 
—  a  builded  geometry.  Then  we  have  it  once  again  in 
sculpture,  the  ^H.ongue  on  the  balance  of  expression, ''  a  mul- 
titude of  forms  in  the  utmost  freedom  of  action,  and  never 
transgressing  the  ideal  serenity;  like  votaries  performing 
some  religious  dance  before  the  gods,  and,  though  in  convul- 
sive pain  or  mortal  combat,  never  daring  to  break  the  figure 
and  decorum  of  their  dance.  Thus,  of  the  genius  of  one 
remarkable  people,  we  have  a  fourfold  representation:  and 
to  the  senses  what  more  unlike  than  an  ode  of  Pindar,  a 
marble  centaur,  the  peristyle  of  the  Parthenon,  and  the  last 
actions  of  Phocion? 

Every  one  must  have  observed  faces  and  forms  which, 
without  any  resembling  feature,  make  a  like  impression  on 
the  beholder.  A  particular  picture  or  copy  of  verses,  if  it  do 
not  awaken  the  same  train  of  images,  will  yet  superinduce 
the  same  sentiment  as  some  wild  mountain  walk,  although 
the  resemblance  is  nowise  obvious  to  the  senses,  but  is  occult 
and  out  of  the  reach  of  the  understanding.  Nature  is  an 
endless  combination  and  repetition  of  a  very  few  laws.  She 
hums  the  old  well-known  air  through  innumerable  variations. 

Nature  is  full  of  a  sublime  family  likeness  throughout  her 
works ;  and  delights  in  startling  us  with  resemblances  in  the 
most  unexpected  quarters.  I  have  seen  the  head  of  an  old 
sachem  of  the  forest,  which  at  once  reminded  the  eye  of  a 


64  HISTORY 

bald  mountain  summit,  and  the  furrows  of  the  brow  sug- 
gested the  strata  of  the  rock.  There  are  men  whose  manners 
have  the  same  essential  splendor  as  the  simple  and  awful 
sculpture  on  the  friezes  of  the  Parthenon,  and  the  remains  of 
the  earliest  Greek  art.  And  there  are  compositions  of  the 
same  strain  to  be  found  in  the  books  of  all  ages.  What  is 
Guidons  RospigHosi  Aurora  but  a  morning  thought,  as  the 
horses  in  it  are  only  a  morning  cloud?  If  any  one  will  but 
take  pains  to  observe  the  variety  of  actions  to  which  he  is 
equally  incHned  in  certain  moods  of  mind,  and  those  to  which 
he  is  averse,  he  will  see  how  deep  is  the  chain  of  affinity. 

A  painter  told  me  that  nobody  could  draw  a  tree  without 
in  some  sort  becoming  a  tree ;  or  draw  a  child  by  studying  the 
outlines  of  its  form  merely,  —  but,  by  watching  for  a  time 
his  motions  and  plays,  the  painter  enters  into  his  nature,  and 
can  then  draw  him  at  will  in  every  attitude.  So  Roos  ^^ en- 
tered into  the  inmost  nature  of  a  sheep.''  I  knew  a  draughts- 
man employed  in  a  public  survey,  who  found  that  he  could 
not  sketch  the  rocks  until  their  geological  structure  was  first 
explained  to  him.  In  a  certain  state  of  thought  is  the  com- 
mon origin  of  very  diverse  works.  It  is  the  spirit  and  not 
the  fact  that  is  identical.  By  a  deeper  apprehension,  and 
not  primarily  by  a  painful  acquisition  of  many  manual  skills, 
the  artist  attains  the  power  of  awakening  other  souls  to  a 
given  activity. 

It  has  been  said,  that  '^common  souls  pay  with  what  they 
do;  nobler  souls  with  that  which  they  are.''  And  why? 
Because  a  profound  nature  awakens  in  us  by  its  actions  and 
words,  by  its  very  looks  and  manners,  the  same  power  and 
beauty  that  a  gallery  of  sculpture,  or  of  pictures,  addresses. 

Civil  and  natural  history,  the  history  of  art  and  of  htera- 
ture,  must  be  explained  from  individual  history,  or  must 
remain  words.  There  is  nothing  but  is  related  to  us,  nothing 
that  does  not  interest  us,  —  kingdom,  college,  tree,  horse,  or 
iron  shoe,  the  roots  of  all  things  are  in  man.  Santa  Croce 
and  the  dome  of  St.  Peter's  are  lame  copies  after  a  divine 
model.  Strasburg  Cathedral  is  a  material  counterpart  of 
the  soul  of  Erwin  of  Steinbach.  The  true  poem  is  the  poet's 
mind ;  the  true  ship  is  the  shipbuilder.  In  the  man,  could 
we  lay  him  open,  we  should  see  the  reason  for  the  last  flourish 
and  tendril  of  his  work;  as  every  spine  and  tint  in  the  sea- 
shell  preexists  in  the  secreting  organs  of  the  fish.     The  whole 


HISTORY  65 

of  heraldry  and  of  chivalry  is  in  courtesy.  A  man  of  fine 
manners  shall  pronounce  your  name  with  all  the  ornament 
that  titles  of  nobility  could  ever  add. 

The  trivial  experience  of  every  day  is  always  verifying 
some  old  prediction  to  us,  and  converting  into  things  the 
words  and  signs  which  we  had  heard  and  seen  without  heed. 
A  lady,  with  whom  I  was  riding  in  the  forest,  said  to  me, 
that  the  woods  always  seemed  to  her  to  wait,  as  if  the  genii 
who  inhabit  them  suspended  their  deeds  until  the  wayfarer 
has  passed  onward  :  a  thought  which  poetry  has  celebrated  in 
the  dance  of  the  fairies,  which  breaks  off  on  the  approach 
of  human  feet.  The  man  who  has  seen  the  rising  moon 
break  out  of  the  clouds  at  midnight  has  been  present  like  an 
archangel  at  the  creation  of  light  and  of  the  world.  I  re- 
member one  summer  day,  in  the  fields,  my  companion  pointed 
out  to  me  a  broad  cloud,  which  might  extend  a  quarter  of  a 
mile  parallel  to  the  horizon,  quite  accurately  in  the  form  of 
a  cherub  as  painted  over  churches,  —  a  round  block  in  the 
centre,  which  it  was  easy  to  animate  with  eyes  and  mouth, 
supported  on  either  side  by  wide-stretched  symmetrical  wings. 
What  appears  once  in  the  atmosphere  may  appear  often,  and 
it  was  undoubtedly  the  archetype  of  that  familiar  ornament. 
I  have  seen  in  the  sky  a  chain  of  summer  lightning  which  at 
once  showed  to  me  that  the  Greeks  drew  from  nature  when 
they  painted  the  thunderbolt  in  the  hand  of  Jove.  I  have 
seen  a  snowdrift  along  the  sides  of  the  stone-wall  which 
obviously  gave  the  idea  of  the  common  architectural  scroll 
to  abut  a  tower. 

By  surrounding  ourselves  with  the  original  circumstances, 
we  invent  anew  the  orders  and  the  ornaments  of  architecture, 
as  we  see  how  each  people  merely  decorated  its  primitive 
abodes.  The  Doric  temple  preserves  the  semblance  of  the 
wooden  cabin  in  which  the  Dorian  dwelt.  The  Chinese 
pagoda  is  plainly  a  Tartar  tent.  The  Indian  and  Egyptian 
temples  still  betray  the  mounds  and  subterranean  houses  of 
their  forefathers.  '^The  custom  of  making  houses  and 
tombs  in  the  living  rock,''  says  Heeren,  in  his  researches  on 
the  Ethiopians,  '^determined  very  naturally  the  principal 
character  of  the  Nubian  Egyptian  architecture  to  the  colossal 
form  which  it  assumed.  In  these  caverns,  already  prepared 
by  nature,  the  eye  was  accustomed  to  dwell  on  huge  shapes 
and  masses,  so  that  when  art/  came  to  the  assistance  of  nature. 


66  HISTORY 

it  could  not  move  on  a  small  scale  without  degrading  itself. 
What  would  statues  of  the  usual  size,  or  neat  porches  and 
wings  have  been,  associated  with  those  gigantic  halls  before 
which  only  Colossi  could  sit  as  watchman,  or  lean  on  the 
pillars  of  the  interior  ?'' 

The  Gothic  church  plainly  originated  in  a  rude  adaptation 
of  the  forest  trees  with  all  their  boughs  to  a  festal  or  solemn 
arcade,  as  the  bands  about  the  cleft  pillars  still  indicate  the 
green  Tvdthes  that  tied  them.  No  one  can  walk  in  a  road  cut 
through  pine  woods,  without  being  struck  with  the  archi- 
tectural appearance  of  the  grove,  especially  in  winter,  when 
the  barrenness  of  all  other  trees  shows  the  low  arch  of  the 
Saxons.  In  the  woods  in  a  winter  afternoon  one  will  see  as 
readily  the  origin  of  the  stained  glass  window,  with  which 
the  Gothic  cathedrals  are  adorned,  in  the  colors  of  the  western 
sky  seen  through  the  bare  and  crossing  branches  of  the  forest. 
Nor  can  any  lover  of  nature  enter  the  old  piles  of  Oxford  and 
the  Enghsh  cathedrals,  without  feehng  that  the  forest  over- 
powered the  mind  of  the  builder,  and  that  his  chisel,  his  saw, 
and  plane  still  reproduced  its  ferns,  its  spikes  of  flowers,  its 
locust,  ehn,  oalv,  pine,  fir,  and  spruce. 

The  Gothic  cathedral  is  a  blossoming  in  stone  subdued  by 
the  insatiable  demand  of  harmony  in  man.  The  mountain 
of  granite  blooms  into  an  eternal  flower,  with  the  Hghtness 
and  deHcate  finish,  as  weU  as  the  aerial  proportions  and  per- 
spective, of  vegetable  beauty. 

In  like  manner,  all  pubHc  facts  are  to  be  individualized, 
all  private  facts  are  to  be  generahzed.  Then  at  once  History 
becomes  fluid  and  true,  and  Biography  deep  and  sublime. 
As  the  Persian  imitated  in  the  slender  shafts  and  capitals  of 
his  architecture  the  stem  and  flower  of  the  lotus  and  palm,  so 
the  Persian  court  in  its  magnificent  era  never  gave  over  the 
nomadism  of  its  barbarous  tribes,  but  travelled  from  Ecba- 
tana,  where  the  spring  was  spent,  to  Susa  in  summer,  and  to 
Babylon  for  the  wdnter. 

In  the  early  history  of  Asia  and  Africa,  Nomadism  and 
Agriculture  are  the  two  antagonist  facts.  The  geography  of 
Asia  and  of  Africa  necessitated  a  nomadic  life.  But  the 
nomads  were  the  terror  of  all  those  whom  the  soil,  or  the  ad- 
vantages of  a  market,  had  induced  to  build  towns.  Agri- 
culture, therefore,  was  a  rehgious  injunction,  because  of  the 
perils  of  the  state  from  nomadism.     And  in  these  late  and 


I 


HISTORY  67 

civil  countries  of  England  and  America,  these  propensities 
still  fight  out  the  old  battle  in  the  nation  and  in  the  individual. 
The  nomads  of  Africa  were  constrained  to  wander  by  the 
attacks  of  the  gadfly,  which  drives  the  cattle  mad,  and  so 
compels  the  tribe  to  emigrate  in  the  rainy  season,  and  to 
drive  off  the  cattle  to  the  higher  sandy  regions.  The  nomads 
of  Asia  follow  the  pasturage  from  month  to  month.  In 
America  and  Europe,  the  nomadism  is  of  trade  and  curiosity ; 
a  progress,  certainly,  from  the  gadfly  of  Astaboras  to  the 
Anglo  and  Italomania  of  Boston  Bay.  Sacred  cities,;^to 
which  a  periodical  religious  pilgrimage  was  enjoined,  or 
stringent  laws  and  customs,  tending  to  invigorate  the  national 
bond,  were  the  check  on  the  old  rovers ;  and  the  cumulative 
values  of  long  residence  are  the  restraints  on  the  itineracy  of 
the  present  day..  The  antagonism  of  the  two  tendencies  is 
not  less  active  in  individuals,  as  the  love  of  adventure  or  the 
love  of  repose  happens  to  predominate.  A  man  of  rude 
health  and  flowing  spirits  has  the  faculty  of  rapid  domesti- 
cation, lives  in  his  wagon,  and  roams  through  all  latitudes  as 
easily  as  a  Calmuc.  At  sea,  or  in  the  forest,  or  in  the  snow, 
he  sleeps  as  warm,  dines  with  as  good  appetite,  and  asso- 
ciates as  happily,  as  beside  his  own  chimneys.  Or  perhaps 
his  facility  is  deeper  seated,  in  the  increased  range  of  his 
faculties  of  observation,  which  yield  him  points  of  interest 
wherever  fresh  objects  meet  his  eyes.  The  pastoral  nations 
were  needy  and  hungry  to  desperation ;  and  this  intellectual 
nomadism,  in  its  excess,  bankrupts  the  mind,  through  the 
dissipation  of  power  on  a  miscellany  of  objects.  The  home- 
keeping  wit,  on  the  other  hand,  is  that  continence  or  content 
which  finds  all  the  elements  of  life  in  its  own  soil ;  and  which 
has  its  own  perils  of  monotony  and  deterioration,  if  not 
stimulated  by  foreign  infusions. 

Everything  the  individual  sees  without  him  corresponds  to 
his  states  of  mind,  and  everything  is  in  turn  intelligible  to 
him,  as  his  onward  thinking  leads  him  into  the  truth  to  which 
that  fact  or  series  belongs. 

The  primeval  world,  —  the  Fore- World,  as  the  Germans 
say,  —  I  can  dive  to  it  in  myself  as  well  as  grope  for  it  with 
researching  fingers  in  catacombs,  libraries,  and  the  broken 
reliefs  and  torsos  of  ruined  villas. 

What  is  the  foundation  of  that  interest  all  men  feel  in 
Greek  history,  letters,  art,  and  poetry,  in  all  its  periods,  from 


68  HISTORY 

the  Heroic  or  Homeric  age  down  to  the  domestic  hfe  of  the 
Athenians  and  Spartans,  four  or  five  centuries  later?  What 
but  this,  that  every  man  passes  personally  through  a  Grecian 
period.  The  Grecian  state  is  the  era  of  the  bodily  nature, 
the  perfection  of  the  senses,  —  of  the  spiritual  nature  un- 
folded in  strict  unity  with  the  body.  In  it  existed  those 
human  forms  which  suppHed  the  sculptor  with  his  models  of 
Hercules,  Phoebus,  and  Jove;  not  hke  the  forms  abounding 
in  the  streets  of  modern  cities,  wherein  the  face  is  a  confused 
blur  of  features,  but  composed  of  incorrupt,  sharply  defined, 
and  sjnnametrical  features,  whose  eye-sockets  are  so  formed 
that  it  would  be  impossible  for  such  eyes  to  squint,  and  take 
furtive  glances  on  this  side  and  on  that,  but  they  must  turn 
the  whole  head.  The  manners  of  that  period  are  plain  and 
fierce.  The  reverence  exhibited  is  for  personal  quahties, 
courage,  address,  self-command,  justice,  strength,  swiftness, 
a  loud  voice,  a  broad  chest.  Luxmy  and  elegance  are  not 
known.  A  sparse  population  and  want  make  every  man  his 
own  valet,  cook,  butcher,  and  soldier,  and  the  habit  of  supply- 
ing his  own  needs  educates  the  body  to  wonderful  perform- 
ances. Such  are  the  Agamemnon  and  Diomed  of  Homer, 
and  not  far  different  is  the  picture  Xenophon  gives  of  himself 
and  his  compatriots  in  the  Retreat  of  the  Ten  Thousand. 
'^  After  the  army  had  crossed  the  river  Teleboas  in  Armenia, 
there  fell  much  snow,  and  the  troops  lay  miserably  on  the 
ground  covered  with  it.  But  Xenophon  arose  naked,  and, 
taking  an  axe,- began  to  spUt  wood;  whereupon  others  rose 
and  did  the  like."  Throughout  his  army  exists  a  boundless 
liberty  of  speech.  They  quarrel  for  plunder,  they  wrangle 
with  the  generals  on  each  new  order,  and  Xenophon  is  as 
sharp-tongued  as  any,  and  sharper-tongued  than  most,  and 
so  gives  as  good  as  he  gets.  ^Tio  does  not  see  that  this  is  a 
gang  of  great  boys,  with  such  a  code  of  honor  and  such  lax 
discipline  as  great  boys  have  ? 

The  costly  charm  of  the  ancient  tragedy,  and  indeed  of  all 
the  old  hterature,  is,  that  the  persons  speak  simply,  —  speak 
as  persons  who  have  great  good  sense  without  knowing  it, 
before  yet  the  reflective  habit  has  become  the  predominant 
habit  of  the  mind.  Our  admiration  of  the  antique  is  not 
admiration  of  the  old,  but  of  the  natural.  The  Greeks  are 
not  reflective,  but  perfect  in  their  senses  and  in  their  health, 
with  the  finest  physical  organization  in  the  world.     Adults 


HISTORY  69 

acted  with  the  simplicity  and  grace  of  children.  They  made 
vases,  tragedies,  and  statues,  such  as  healthy  senses  should, 
—  that  is,  in  good  taste.  Such  things  have  continued  to  be 
made  in  all  ages,  and  are  now,  wherever  a  healthy  physique 
exists ;  but  as  a  class,  from  their  superior  organization,  they 
have  surpassed  all.  They  combine  the  energy  of  manhood 
with  the  engaging  unconsciousness  of  childhood.  The  attrac- 
tion of  these  manners  is  that  they  belong  to  man,  and  are 
known  to  every  man  in  virtue  of  his  being  once  a  child; 
besides  that  there  are  always  individuals  who  retain  these 
characteristics.  A  person  of  childUke  genius  and  inborn 
energy  is  still  a  Greek,  and  revives  our  love  of  the  Muse  of 
Hellas.  I  admire  the  love  of  nature  in  the  Philoctetes.  In 
reading  those  fine  apostrophes  to  sleep,  to  the  stars,  rocks, 
mountains,  and  waves,  I  feel  time  passing  away  as  an  ebbing 
sea.  I  feel  the  eternity  of  man,  the  identity  of  his  thought. 
The  Greek  had,  it  seems,  the  same  fellow  beings  as  I.  The 
sun  and  moon,  water  and  fire,  met  his  heart  precisely  as  they 
meet  mine.  Then  the  vaunted  distinction  between  Greek 
and  EngHsh,  between  Classic  and  Romantic  schools,  seems 
superficial  and  pedantic.  When  a  thought  of  Plato  becomes 
a  thought  to  me,  —  when  a  truth  that  fired  the  soul  of  Pindar 
fires  mine,  time  is  no  more.  When  I  feel  that  we  two  meet  in 
a  perception,  that  our  two  souls  are  tinged  with  the  same  hue, 
and  do,  as  it  were,  run  into  one,  why  should  I  measure  degrees 
of  latitude,  why  should  I  count  Egyptian  3^ears? 

The  student  interprets  the  age  of  chivalry  by  his  own  age  of 
chivalry,  and  the  days  of  maritime  adventure  and  circum- 
navigation by  quite  parallel  miniature  experiences  of  his  own. 
To  the  sacred  history  of  the  world,  he  has  the  same  key. 
When  the  voice  of  a  prophet  out  of  the  deeps  of  antiquity 
merely  echoes  to  him  a  sentiment  of  his  infancy,  a  prayer  of 
his  youth,  he  then  pierces  to  the  truth  through  all  the  con- 
fusion of  tradition  and  the  caricature  of  institutions. 

Rare,  extravagant  spirits  come  by  us  at  intervals,  who 
disclose  to  us  new  facts  in  nature.  I  see  that  men  of  God 
have,  from  time  to  time,  wall<:ed  among  men  and  made  their 
conmiission  felt  in  the  heart  and  soul  of  the  commonest 
hearer.  Hence,  evidently,  the  tripod,  the  priest,  the  priestess 
inspired  by  the  divine  afflatus. 

Jesus  astonishes  and  overpowers  sensual  people.  They 
cannot  imite  him  to  history,  or  reconcile  him  with  them- 


70  HISTORY 

selves.  As  they  come  to  revere  their  intuitions  and  aspire 
to  hve  hoHly,  their  own  piety  explains  every  fact,  every  word. 

How  easily  these  old  worships  of  Moses,  of  Zoroaster,  of 
Menu,  of  Socrates,  domesticate  themselves  in  the  mind.  I 
cannot  find  any  antiquity  in  them.  They  are  mine  as  much 
as  theirs. 

I  have  seen  the  first  monks  and  anchorets  without  crossing 
seas  or  centuries.  More  than  once  some  individual  has 
appeared  to  me  with  such  negligence  of  labor  and  such  com- 
manding contemplation,  a  haughty  beneficiary,  begging  in 
the  name  of  God,  as  made  good  to  the  nineteenth  century 
Simeon  the  Stylite,  the  Thebais,  and  the  first  Capuchins. 

The  priestcraft  of  the  East  and  West,  of  the  Magian, 
Brahmin,  Druid,  and  Inca,  is  expounded  in  the  individuaFs 
private  life.  The  cramping  influence  of  a  hard  formalist  on 
a  young  child  in  repressing  his  spirits  and  courage,  paralyzing 
the  understanding,  and  that  without  producing  indignation, 
but  only  fear  and  obedience,  and  even  much  s^mipathy  Tv^th 
the  tyranny,  —  is  a  familiar  fact  explained  to  the  child  when 
he  becomes  a  man,  only  by  seeing  that  the  oppressor  of  his 
youth  is  himself  a  child  tyrannized  over  by  those  names  and 
words  and  forms,  of  whose  influence  he  was  merely  the  organ 
to  the  youth.  The  fact  teaches  him  how  Belus  was  wor- 
shipped, and  how  the  Pyramids  were  built,  better  than  the 
discovery  by  Champollion  of  the  names  of  all  the  workmen 
and  the  cost  of  every  tile.  He  finds  Assyria  and  the  Mounds 
of  Cholula  at  his  door,  and  himself  has  laid  the  courses. 

Again,  in  that  protest  which  each  considerate  person  makes 
against  the  superstition  of  his  times,  he  repeats  step  for  step 
the  part  of  old  reformers,  and  in  the  search  after  truth  finds 
like  them  new  perils  to  virtue.  He  learns  again  what  moral 
vigor  is  needed  to  supply  the  girdle  of  a  superstition.  A  great 
licentiousness  treads  on  the  heels  of  a  reformation.  How 
many  times  in  the  history  of  the  world  has  the  Luther  of  the 
day  had  to  lament  the  decay  of  piety  in  his  own  household ! 
'^Doctor,''  said  his  wife  to  Martin  Luther,  one  day,  ^4iow  is 
it  that,  whilst  subject  to  papacy,  we  prayed  so  often  and 
with  such  fervor,  whilst  now  we  pray  with  the  utmost  cold- 
ness and  very  seldom?'' 

The  advancing  man  discovers  how  deep  a  property  he  has 
in  literature,  —  in  all  fable  as  well  as  in  all  history.  He  finds 
that  the  poet  was  no  odd  fellow  who  described  strange  and 


HISTORY  71 

impossible  situations,  but  that  universal  man  wrote  by  his 
pen  a  confession  true  for  one  and  true  for  all.  His  own  secret 
biography  he  finds-  in  lines  wonderfully  intelligible  to  him, 
dotted  down  before  he  was  born.  One  after  another  he  comes 
up  in  his  private  adventures  v/ith  every  fable  of  ^sop,  of 
Homer,  of  Hafiz,  of  Ariosto,  of  Chaucer,  of  Scott,  and  veri- 
fies them  with  his  own  head  and  hands. 

The  beautiful  fables  of  the  Greeks,  being  proper  creations 
of  the  imagination  and  not  of  the  fancy,  are  universal  verities. 
What  a  range  of  meanings  and  what  perpetual  pertinence  has 
the  story  of  Prometheus!  Beside  its  primary  value  as  the 
first  chapter  of  the  history  of  Europe  (the  mythology  thinly 
veiling  authentic  facts,  the  invention  of  the  mechanic  arts, 
and  the  migration  of  colonies),  it  gives  the  history  of  religion 
with  some  closeness  to  the  faith  of  later  ages.  Prometheus 
is  the  Jesus  of  the  old  mythology.  He  is  the  friend  of  man ; 
stands  between  the  unjust  ^^ justice '^  of  the  Eternal  Father 
and  the  race  of  mortals,  and  readily  suffers  all  things  on  their 
account.  But  where  it  departs  from  the  Calvinistic  Chris- 
tianity, and  exhibits  him  as  the  defier  of  Jove,  it  represents  a 
state  of  mind  which  readily  appears  wherever  the  doctrine  of 
Theism  is  taught  in  a  crude,  objective  form,  and  which  seems 
the  self-defence  of  man  against  this  untruth,  namely,  a  dis- 
content with  the  beheved  fact  that  a  God  exists,  and  a  feeling 
that  the  obligation  of  reverence  is  onerous.  It  would  steal, 
if  it  could,  the  fire  of  the  Creator,  and  live  apart  from  him, 
and  independent  of  him.  The  Prometheus  Vinctus  is  the 
romance  of  scepticism.  Not  less  true  to  all  time  are  the  de- 
tails of  that  stately  apologue.  Apollo  kept  the  flocks  of 
Admetus,  said  the  poets.  When  the  gods  come  among  men, 
they  are  not  known.  Jesus  was  not;  Socrates  and  Shaks- 
peare  were  not.  Antaeus  was  suffocated  by  the  gripe  of 
Hercules,  but  every  time  he  touched  his  mother  earth,  his 
strength  was  renewed.  Man  is  the  broken  giant,  and,  in  all 
his  weakness,  both  his  body  and  his  mind  are  invigorated 
by  habits  of  conversation  with  nature.  The  power  of  music, 
the  power  of  poetry  to  unfix,  and,  as  it  were,  clap  wings  to 
sohd  nature,  interprets  the  riddle  of  Orpheus.  The  philo- 
sophical perception  of  identity  through  endless  mutations  of 
form  makes  him  know  the  Proteus.  What  else  am  I  who 
laughed  or  wept  yesterday,  who  slept  last  night  like  a  corpse, 
and  this  morning  stood  and  ran  ?     And  what  see  I  on  any  side 


72  HISTORY 

but  the  transmigrations  of  Proteus?     I  can  symbolize  my 
thought  by  using  the  name  of  any  creature,  of  any  fact, 
because  every  creature  is  man  agent  or  patient.     Tantalus  is  j 
but  a  name  for  you  and  me.     Tantalus  means  the  impos-|l 
sibility  of  drinking  the  waters  of  thought  which  are  always; 
gleaming  and  waving  within  sight  of  the  soul.     The  trans- 
migration of  souls  is  no  fable.     I  would  it  were ;  but  men  and 
women  are  only  half  human.     Every  animal  of  the  barn-  - 
yard,  the  field,  and  the  forest,  of  the  earth  and  of  the  waters 
that  are  under  the  earth,  has  contrived  to  get  a  footing  and  I 
to  leave  the  print  of  its  features  and  form  in  some  one  or  other  : 
of  these  upright,  heaven-facing  speakers.     Ah !  brother,  stop  j 
the  ebb  of  thy  soul,  —  ebbing  downward  into  the  forms  into  j 
whose  habits  thou  hast  now  for  many  years  slid.     As  near 
and  proper  to  us  is  also  that  old  fable  of  the  Sphinx,  who  was  \ 
said  to  sit  in  the  roadside  and  put  riddles  to  every  passenger.  ; 
If  the  man  could  not  answer,  she  swallowed  him  alive.     If  he  i 
could  solve  the  riddle,  the  Sphinx  was  slain.     What  is  our  ! 
life  but  an  endless  flight  of  winged  facts  or  events !     In  splen-  i 
did  variety  these  changes  come,  all  putting  questions  to  the 
human  spirit.     Those  men  who  cannot  answer  by  a  superior 
wisdom  these  facts  or  questions  of  time,  serve  them.     Facts 
encumber  them,  tyrannize  over  them,  and  make  the  men  of 
routine  the  men  of  sense,  in  whom  a  literal  obedience  to  facts  j 
has  extinguished  every  spark  of  that  light  by  which  man  is 
truly  man.     But  if  the  man  is  true  to  his  better  instincts  or  ' 
sentiments,  and  refuses  the  dominion  of  facts,  as  one  that  ' 
comes  of  a  higher  race,  remains  fast  by  the  soul  and  sees  the  : 
principle,  then  the  facts  fall  aptly  and  supple  into  their  places ;  j 
they  know  their  master,  and  the  meanest  of  them  glorifies  ; 
him. 

See  in  Goethe's  Helena  the  same  desire  that  every  word  , 
should  be  a  thing.  These  figures,  he  would  say,  these  Chirons,  ; 
Griffins,  Phorkyas,  Helen,  and  Leda,  are  somewhat,  and  do  ! 
exert  a  specific  influence  on  the  mind.  So  far  then  are  they 
eternal  entities,  as  real  to-day  as  in  the  first  Olympiad.  Much  \ 
revolving  them,  he  writes  out  freely  his  humor,  and  gives 
them  body  to  his  own  imagination.  And  although  that  poem  j 
be  as  vague  and  fantastic  as  a  dream,  yet  is  it  much  more  i 
attractive  than  the  more  regular  dramatic  pieces  of  the  same  ) 
author,  for  the  reason  that  it  operates  a  wonderful  rehef  to  I 
the  mind  from  the  routine  of  customary  images,  —  awakens  i 


HISTORY  73 

the  reader's  invention  and  fancy  by  the  wild  freedom  of  the 
design,  and  by  the  unceasing  succession  of  brisk  shocks  of 
surprise. 

The  universal  nature,  too  strong  for  the  petty  nature  of 
the  bard,  sits  on  his  neck  and  writes  through  his  hand ;  so 
that  when  he  seems  to  vent  a  mere  caprice  and  wild  romance, 
the  issue  is  an  exact  allegory.  Hence  Plato  said  that  ^^poets- 
utter  great  and  wise  things  which  they  do  not  themselves^ 
understand. '^  All  the  fictions  of  the  Middle  Age  explain 
themselves  as  a  masked  or  frolic  expression  of  that  which  in 
grave  earnest  the  mind  of  that  period  toiled  to  achieve. 
Magic,  and  all  that  is  ascribed  to  it,  is  a  deep  presentiment 
of  the  powers  of  science.  The  shoes  of  swiftness,  the  sword  of 
sharpness,  the  power  of  subduing  the  elements,  of  using  the 
secret  virtues  of  minerals,  of  understanding  the  voices  of  birds^- 
are  the  obscure  efforts  of  the  mind  in  a  right  direction.  The 
preternatural  prowess  of  the  hero,  the  gift  of  perpetual  youth, 
and  the  like,  are  alike  the  endeavor  of  the  human  spirit  ^'to 
bend  the  shows  of  things  to  the  desires  of  the  mind.'' 

In  Perceforest  and  Amadis  de  Gaul,  a  garland  and  a  rose 
bloom  on  the  head  of  her  who  is  faithful,  and  fade  on  the  brow 
of  the  inconstant.  In  the  story  of  the  Boy  and  the  Mantle, 
even  a  mature  reader  may  be  surprised  with  a  glow  of  vir- 
tuous pleasure  at  the  triumph  of  the  gentle  Genelas;  and^ 
indeed,  all  the  postulates  of  elfin  annals, — that  the  fairies 
do  not  like  to  be  named ;  that  their  gifts  are  capricious  and  not 
to  be  trusted ;  that  who  seeks  a  treasure  must  not  speak ;  and 
the  like,  —  I  find  true  in  Concord,  however  they  might  be  in 
Cornwall  or  Bretagne. 

Is  it  otherwise  in  the  newest  romance?  I  read  the  Bride 
of  Lammermoor.  Sir  William  Ashton  is  a  mask  for  a  vulgar 
temptation,  Ravenswood  Castle  a  fine  name  for  proud  pov- 
erty, and  the  foreign  mission  of  state  only  a  Bunyan  disguise 
for  honest  industry.  We  may  all  shoot  a  wild  bull  that 
would  toss  the  good  and  beautiful,  by  fighting  down  the 
unjust  apd  sensual.  Lucy  Ashton  is  another  name  for  fidel- 
ity, which  is  always  beautiful  and  always  liable  to  calamity 
in  this  world. 

But  along  with  the  civil  and  metaphysical  history  of  man, 
another  history  goes  daily  forward,  —  that  of  the  external 
world,  —  in  which  he  is  not  less  strictly  implicated.     He  is 


74  HISTORY 

the  compend  of  time;  he  is  also  the  correlative  of  nature. 
His  power  consists  in  the  multitude  of  his  affinities,  in  the 
fact  that  his  life  is  interwined  with  the  whole  chain  of  organic 
and  inorganic  being.     In  old  Rome  the  pubhc  roads  begin-  -I 
ning  at  the  Forum  proceeded  north,  south,  east,  west,  to  the  ' 
centre  of  every  province  of  the  empire,  making  each  market-  j 
town  of  Persia,  Spain,  and  Britain  pervious  to  the  soldiers  I 
of  the  capital:  so  out  of  the  human  heart  go,  as  it  were,  ] 
highways  to  the  heart  of  every  object  in  nature,  to  reduce  j 
it  imder  the  dominion  of  man.     A  man  is  a  bundle  of  rela-  \ 
tions,  a  knot  of  roots,  whose  flower  and  fruitage  is  the  world.   | 
His  faculties  refer  to  natures  out  of  him,  and  predict  the  world  j 
he  is  to  inhabit,  as  the  fins  of  the  fish  foreshow  that  water 
exists,  or  the  wings  of  an  eagle  in  the  egg  presuppose  air.     He 
cannot  live  without  a  world.     Put  Napoleon  in  an  island 
prison,  let  his  faculties  find  no  men  to  act  on,  no  Alps  to 
climb,  no  stake  to  play  for,  and  he  would  beat  the  air  and  i 
appear   stupid.     Transport    him  to   large    countries,    dense 
population,  complex  interests,  and  antagonist  power,  and  you  : 
shall  see  that  the  man  Napoleon,  bounded,  that  is,  by  such  a 
profile  and  out  fine,  is  not  the  virtual  Napoleon.     This  is  but 
Talbot's  shadow ; 

'^His  substance  is  not  here : 
For  what  you  see  is  but  the  smallest  part 
And  least  proportion  of  humanity ; 
But  were  the  whole  frame  here, 
It  is  of  such  a  spacious,  lofty  pitch, 
Your  roof  were  not  sufficient  to  contain  it."  i 

Columbus  needs  a  planet  to  shape  his  course  upon.     New-  i 
ton  and  Laplace  need  myriads  of  ages  and  thick-strewn  celes-  \ 
tial  areas.     One  may  say  a  gra^dtating  solar  system  is  already  \ 
prophesied  in  the  nature  of  Newton's  mind.     Not  less  does  ! 
the  brain  of  Davy  or  of  Gay-Lussac,  from  childhood  exploring  ] 
the  affinities  and  repulsions  of  particles,  anticipate  the  laws  j 
of  organization.     Does  not  the  eye  of  the  human  embryo  j 
predict  the  light?  the  ear  of  Handel  predict  the  witchcraft 
of  harmonic  sound  ?     Do  not  the  constructive  fingers  of  Watt,  ' 
Fulton,  Whittemore,  Arkwright,  predict  the  fusible,  hard, 
and  temperable  texture  of  metals,  the  properties  of  stone, 
water,   and   wood?     Do   not  the   lovely  aiJeributes   of  the  j 
maiden  child  predict  the  refinements  and  decorations  of  civil  j 


HISTORY  75 

society  ?  Here  also  we  are  reminded  of  the  action  of  man  on 
man.  A  mind  might  ponder  its  thought  for  ages,  and  not 
gain  so  much  self-knowledge  as  the  passion  of  love  shall  teach 
it  in  a  day.  Who  knows  himseK  before  he  has  been  thrilled 
with  indignation  at  an  outrage,  or  has  heard  an  eloquent 
tongue,  or  has  shared  the  throb  of  thousands  in  a  national 
exultation  or  alarm?  No  man  can  antedate  his  experience, 
or  guess  what  faculty  or  feeUng  a  new  object  shall  unlock,  any 
more  than  he  can  draw  to-day  the  face  of  a  person  whom  he 
shall  see  to-morrow  for  the  first  time. 

I  will  not  now  go  behind  the  general  statement  to  explore 
the  reason  of  this  correspondency.  Let  it  suffice  that  in  the 
light  of  these  two  facts,  namely,  that  the  mind  is  One,  and 
that  nature  is  its  correlative,  history  is  to  be  read  and  written. 

Thus  in  all  ways  does  the  soul  concentrate  and  reproduce 
its  treasures  for  each  pupil.  He,  too,  shall  pass  through  the 
whole  cycle  of  experience.  He  shall  collect  into  a  focus  the 
rays  of  nature.  History  no  longer  shall  be  a  dull  book.  It 
shall  walk  incarnate  in  every  just  and  wise  man.  You  shall 
not  tell  me  by  languages  and  titles  a  catalogue  of  the  volumes 
you  have  read.  You  shall  make  me  feel  what  periods  you 
have  lived.  A  man  shall  be  the  Temple  of  Fame.  He  shall 
walk,  as  the  poets  have  described  that  goddess,  in  a  robe 
painted  all  over  with  wonderful  events  and  experiences ;  his 
own  form  and  features  by  their  exalted  intelligence  shall  be 
that  variegated  vest.  I  shall  find  in  him  the  Fore-world ; 
in  his  childhood  the  Age  of  Gold ;  the  Apples  of  Knowledge ; 
the  Argonautic  Expedition;  the  calling  of  Abraham;  the 
building  of  the  Temple ;  the  Advent  of  Christ ;  Dark  Ages ; 
the  Revival  of  Letters ;  the  Reformation ;  the  discovery  of 
new  lands ;  the  opening  of  new  sciences,  and  new  regions  in 
man.  He  shall  be  the  priest  of  Pan,  and  bring  with  him  into 
humble  cottages  the  blessing  of  the  morning  stars  and  all 
the  recorded  benefits  of  heaven  and  earth. 

Is  there  somewhat  overweening  in  this  claim?  Then  I 
reject  all  I  have  written,  for  what  is  the  use  of  pretending 
to  know  what  we  know  not?  But  it  is  the  fault  of  our 
rhetoric  that  we  cannot  strongly  state  one  fact  without  seem- 
*ing  to  belie  s'ome  other.  I  hold  our  actual  knowledge  very 
cheap.  Hear  the  rats  in  the  wall,  see  the  lizard  on  the  fence, 
the  fungus  under  foot,  the  Uchen  on  the  log.  What  do  I 
'  know  sympathetically,  morally,  of  either  of  these  worlds  of 


76  HISTORY 

life  ?  As  old  as  the  Caucasian  man,  —  perhaps  older,  —  these 
creatures  have  kept  their  counsel  beside  him,  and  there  is  no 
record  of  any  word  or  sign  that  has  passed  from  one  to  the 
other.  What  connection  do  the  books  show  between  the 
fifty  or  sixty  chemical  elements  and  the  historical  eras? 
Nay,  what  does  history  yet  record  of  the  metaphysical  annals 
of  man?  What  light  does  it  shed  on  those  mysteries  which 
we  hide  under  the  names  Death  and  Immortality?  Yet 
every  history  should  be  ^Titten  in  a  wisdom  which  divined 
the  range  of  our  affinities  and  looked  at  facts  as  symbols.  I 
am  ashamed  to  see  what  a  shallow  village  tale  our  so-called 
History  is.  How  many  times  we  must  say  Rome,  and  Paris, 
and  Constantinople !  What  does  Rome  know  of  rat  and 
lizard  ?  What  are  Olympiads  and  Consulates  to  these  neigh- 
boring systems  of  being?  Nay,  what  food  or  experience  or 
succor  have  they  for  the  Esquimaux  seal-hunter,  for  the 
Kanaka  in  his  canoe,  for  the  fisherman,  the  stevedore,  the 
porter  ? 

Broader  and  deeper  we  must  write  our  annals,  —  from  an 
ethical  reformation,  from  an  influx  of  the  ever  new,  ever 
sanative  conscience,  —  if  we  would  truly  express  our  central 
and  wide-related  nature,  instead  of  this  old  chronology  of 
selfishness  and  pride  to  which  we  have  too  long  lent  our  eyes. 
Already  that  day  exists  for  us,  shines  in  on  us  at  unawares, 
but  the  path  of  science  and  of  letters  is  not  the  way  into 
nature.  The  idiot,  the  Indian,  the  child,  and  unschooled 
farmer's  boy  stand  nearer  to  the  light  by  which  nature  is  to 
be  read,  than  the  dissector  or  the  antiquary. 


SELF-RELIANCE 

''Ne  te  qusesiveris  extra." 

"Man  is  his  own  star;  and  the  soul  that  can 
Render  an  honest  and  a  perfect  man, 
Commands  all  light,  all  influence,  all  fate ; 
Nothing  to  him  falls  early  or  too  late. 
Our  acts  our  angels  are,  or  good  or  ill, 
Our  fatal  shadows  that  walk  by  us  still." 

Epilogue  to  Beaumont  and  Fletcher's  Honest  Man's  Fortunes^ 

Cast  the  bantling  on  the  rocks, 
Suckle  him  with  the  she-wolf's  teat ; 
Wintered  with  the  hawk  and  fox. 
Power  and  speed  be  hands  and  feet. 

I  read  the  other  day  some  verses  written  by  an  eminent 
painter  which  were  original  and  not  conventional.  The  soul 
always  hears  an  admonition  in  such  lines,  let  the  subject  be 
what  it  may.  The  sentiment  they  instil  is  of  more  value  than 
any  thought  they  may  contain.  To  believe  your  own 
thought,  to  believe  that  what  is  true  for  you  in  your  private 
heart  is  true  for  all  men,  —  that  is  genius.  Speak  your 
latent  conviction,  and  it  shall  be  the  universal  sense ;  for  the 
inmost  in  due  time  becomes  the  outmost,  —  and  our  first 
thought  is  rendered  back  to  us  by  the  trumpets  of  the  Last 
Judgm^ent.  Familiar  as  the  voice  of  the  mind  is  to  each, 
the  highest  merit  we  ascribe  to  Moses,  Plato,  and  Milton  is, 
that  they  set  at  naught  books  and  traditions,  and  spoke  not 
♦what  men  but  what  they  thought.  A  man  should  learn  to 
detect  and  watch  that  gleam  of  light  which  flashes  across  his 
mind  from  within,  more  than  the  lustre  of  the  firmament 
of  bards  and  sages.  Yet  he  dismisses  without  notice  his 
thought,  because  it  is  his.  In  every  work  of  genius  we 
recognize  our  own  rejected  thoughts:  they  come  back  to  us. 

77 


78  SELF-RELIANCE 

with  a  certain  alienated  majesty.  Great  works  of  art  have 
no  more  affecting  lesson  for  us  than  this.  They  teach  us  to 
abide  by  our  spontaneous  impression  with  good-humored 
inflexibility  then  most  when  the  whole  cry  of  voices  is  on 
the  other  side.  Else,  to-morrow  a  stranger  will  say  with 
masterl}^  good  sense  precisely  what  we  have  thought  and  felt 
all  the  time,  and  we  shall  be  forced  to  take  with  shame  our 
own  opinion  from  another. 

There  is  a  time  in  every  man's  education  when  he  arrives 
at  the  conviction  that  enw  is  ignorance ;  that  imitation  is 
suicide ;  that  he  must  take  himself  for  better,  for  worse,  as 
his  portion ;  that  though  the  \\dde  universe  is  full  of  good,  no 
kernel  of  nourishing  corn  can  come  to  him  but  through  his 
toil  bestowed  on  that  plot  of  ground  which  is  given  to  him  to 
till.  The  power  which  resides  in  him  is  new  in  nature,  and 
none  but  he  knows  what  that  is  which  he  can  do,  nor  does  he 
know  until  he  has  tried.  Not  for  nothing  one  face,  one 
character,  one  fact,  makes  much  impression  on  him,  and 
another  none.  This  sculpture  in  the  memory  is  not  without 
pre-established  harmony.  The  eye  was  placed  where  one  ray 
should  fall,  that  it  might  testify  of  that  particular  ray.  We 
but  half  express  ourselves,  and  are  ashamed  of  that  divine 
idea  which  each  of  us  represents.  It  may  be  safeh^  trusted 
as  proportionate  and  of  good  issues,  so  it  be  faitMully  un- 
paged, but  God  will  not  have  his  work  made  manifest  by 
cowards.  A  man  is  reheved  and  gay  when  he  has  put  his 
heart  into  his  work  and  done  his  best ;  but  what  he  has  said 
or  done  otherwise,  shall  give  him  no  peace.  It  is  a  deliver- 
ance which  does  not  dehver.  In  the  attempt  his  genius 
deserts  him ;  no  muse  befriends ;  no  invention,  no  hope. 

Trust  thyself :  every  heart  vibrates  to  that  iron  string. 
Accept  the  place  the  divine  pro\adence  has  found  for  you, 
the  society  of  your  contemporaries,  the  connection  of  events. 
Great  men  have  always  done  so,  and  confided  themselves 
childlike  to  the  genius  of  their  age,  betraying  their  perception 
that  the  absolutely  trustworthy  was  seated  at  their  heart, 
working  through  their  hands,  predominating  in  all  their  be- 
ing. And  we  are  now  men,  and  must  accept  in  the  highest 
mind  the  same  transcendent  destiny ;  and  not  minors  and 
invalids  in  a  protected  corner,  not  cowards  fleeing  before  a 
revolution,  but  guides,  redeemers,  and  benefactors,  obeying 
the  Almighty  effort,  and  advancing  on  Chaos  and  the  Dark. 


SELF-RELIANCE  79 

What  pretty  oracles  nature  yields  us  on  this  text,  in  the 
face  and  behavior  of  children,  babes,  and  even  brutes  !  That 
divided  and  rebel  mind,  that  distrust  of  a  sentiment  because 
our  arithmetic  has  computed  the  strength  and  means  opposed 
to  our  purpose,  these  have  not.  Their  mind  being  whole, 
their  eye  is  as  yet  unconquered,  and  when  we  look  in  their 
faces,  we  are  disconcerted.  Infancy  conforms  to  nobody: 
all  conform  to  it,  so  that  one  babe  commonly  makes  four  or 
five  out  of  the  adults  who  prattle  and  play  to  it.  So  God  has 
armed  youth  and  puberty  and  manhood  no  less  with  its  own 
piquancy  and  charm,  and  made  it  enviable  and  gracious  and 
its  claims  not  to  be  put  by,  if  it  will  stand  by  itself.  Do  not 
think  the  youth  has  no  force,  because  he  cannot  speak  to  you 
and  me.  Hark!  in  the  next  room  his  voice  is  sufficiently 
clear  and  emphatic.  It  seems  he  knows  how  to  speak  to  his 
contemporaries.  Bashful  or  bold,  then,  he  will  know  how  to 
make  us  seniors  very  unnecessary. 

The  nonchalance  of  boys  who  are  sure  of  a  dinner,  and 
would  disdain  as  much  as  a  lord  to  do  or  say  aught  to  con- 
ciliate one,  is  the  healthy  attitude  of  human  nature.  A  boy 
is  in  the  parlor  wha^t  the  pit  is  in  the  playhouse  ;  independent^ 
irresponsible,  looking  out  from  his  corner  on  such  people  and 
facts  as  pass  by,  he  tries  and  sentences  them  on  their  merits, 
in  the  swift,  summary  way  of  boys,  as  good,  bad,  interesting, 
silly,  eloquent,  troublesome.  He  cumbers  himseK  never 
about  consequences,  about  interests ;  he  gives  an  independent, 
genuine  verdict.  You  must  court  him:  he  does  not  court 
you.  But  the  man  is,  as  it  were,  clapped  into  jail  by  his  con- 
sciousness. As  soon  as  he  has  once  acted  or  spoken  with 
eclat,  he  is  a  committed  person,  watched  by  the  sympathy 
or  the  hatred  of  hundreds,  whose  affections  must  now  enter 
into  his  account.  There  is  no  Lethe  for  this.  Ah,  that  he 
could  pass  again  into  his  neutrality!  Who  can  thus  avoid 
all  pledges,  and  having  observed,  observe  again  from  the 
same  unaffected,  unbiassed,  unbribable,  unaffrighted  inno- 
cence, must  always  be  formidable.  He  would  utter  opinions 
on  all  passing  affairs,  which  being  seen  to  be  not  private,  but 
necessary,  would  sink  like  dartS'^into  the  ear  of  men,  and  put 
them  in  fear. 

These  are  the  voices  which  we  hear  in  solitude,  but  they 
grow  faint  and  inaudible  as  we  enter  into  the  world.  Society 
everywhere  is  in  conspiracy  against  the  manhood  of  every 


80  SELF-RELIANCE 

one  of  its  members.  Society  is  a  joint-stock  company,  in 
wliich  the  members  agree,  for  the  better  securing  of  his  bread 
to  each  shareholder,  to  surrender  the  hberty  and  culture  of 
the  eater.  The  virtue  in  most  request  is  conformity.  Self- 
reliance  is  its  aversion.  It  loves  not  reahties  and  creators, 
but  names  and  customs. 

Whoso  would  be  a  man  must  be  a  nonconformist.  He 
who  would  gather  immortal  pahns  must  not  be  hindered  byl 
the  name  of  goodness,  but  must  explore  if  it  be  goodness. 
Nothing  is  at  last  sacred  but  the  integrity  of  your  own  mind. 
Absolve  you  to  yourself,  and  you  shall  have  the  suffrage  of] 
the  world.  I  remember  an  answer  which  when  quite  young' 
I  was  prompted  to  make  to  a  valued  ad^dser,  who  was  wont 
to  importune  me  with  the  dear  old  doctrines  of  the  church 
On  my  saying,  What  have  I  to  do  with  the  sacredness  of 
traditions,  if  I  hve  wholly  from  within  ?  my  friend  suggested 
''But  these  impulses  may  be  from  below,  not  from  above." 
I  replied :  'They  do  not  seem  to- me  to  be  such ;  but  if  I  am 
the  Devil's  child,  I  will  Hve  then  from  the  Devil.'  No  law 
can  be  sacred  to  me  but  that  of  my  nature.  Good  and  bad 
are  but  names  very  readily  transferable  to  that  or  this ;  the 
only  right  is  what  is  after  my  constitution,  the  only  wrong 
what  is  against  it.  A  man  is  to  carry  himself  in  the  presence 
of  all  opposition,  as  if  everything  were  titular  and  ephemeral 
but  him.  I  am  ashamed  to  think  how  easily  we  capitulate 
to  badges  and  names,  to  large  societies  and  dead  institutions. 
Every  decent  and  weU-spoken  indi\ddual  affects  and  sways 
me  more  than  is  right.  I  ought  to  go  upright  and  vital,  and 
speak  the  rude  truth  in  all  ways.  If  mahce  and  vanity  wear 
the  coat  of  philanthropy,  shall  that  pass?  If  an  angry  bigot 
assumes  this  bountiful  cause  of  AboHtion,  and  comes  to  me 
wdth  his  last  news  from  Barbadoes,  why  should  I  not  say  to 
him :  '  Go  love  thy  infant ;  love  th}''  wood-chopper :  be  good- 
natured  and  modest :  have  that  grace ;  and  never  varnish 
your  hard,  uncharitable  ambition  with  this  incredible  ten- 
derness for  black  folk  a  thousand  miles  off.  Thy  love  afar 
is  spite  at  home.'  Rough  and  graceless  would  be  such  greet- 
ing, but  truth  is  handsomer  than  the  affectation  of  love. 
Your  goodness  must  have  some  edge  to  it,  — else  it  is  none. 
The  doctrine  of  hatred  must  be  preached  as  the  counter- 
action of  the  doctrine  of  love  when  that  pules  and  whines. 
I  shun  father  and  mother  and  wife  and  brother,  when  my 


ii 


1 


SELF-RELIANCE  81 

genius  calls  me.  I  would  write  on  the  lintels  of  the  door- 
post, Whim.  I  hope  it  is  somewhat  better  than  whim  at  last, 
but  we  cannot  spend  the  day  in  explanation.  Expect  me  not 
to  show  cause  why  I  seek  or  why  I  exclude  company.  Then, 
again,  do  not  tell  me,  as  a  good  man  did  to-day,  of  my  obli- 
gation to  put  all  poor  men  in  good  situations.  Are  they  my 
poor?  I  tell  thee,  thou  foolish  philanthropist,  that  I  grudge 
the  dollar,  the  dime,  the  cent,  I  give  to  such  men  as  do  not 
belong  to  me  and  to  whom  I  do  not  belong.  There  is  a  class 
of  persons  to  whom  by  all  spiritual  affinity  I  am  bought  and 
sold ;  for  them  I  will  go  to  prison,  if  need  be ;  but  your  miscel- 
laneous popular  charities ;  the  education  at  college  of  fools ; 
the  building  of  meeting-houses  to  the  vain  end  to  which  many 
now  stand ;  alms  to  sots ;  and  the  thousand-fold  Relief  Soci- 
eties ;  —  though  I  confess  with  shame  I  sometimes  succumb 
and  give  the  dollar,  it  is  a  wicked  dollar  which  by  and  by  I 
shall  have  the  manhood  to  withhold. 

Virtues  are,  in  the  popular  estimate,  rather  the  exception 
than  the  rule.  There  is  the  man  and  his  virtues.  Men  do 
what  is  called  a  good  action,  as  some  piece  of  courage  or 
charity,  much  as  they  would  pay  a  fine  in  expiation  of  daily 
non-appearance  on  parade.  Their  works  are  done  as  an 
apology  or  extenuation  of  their  living  in  the  world,  —  as 
invalids  and  the  insane  pay  a  high  board.  Their  virtues  are 
penances.  I  do  not  wish  to  expiate,  but  to  live.  My  life  is 
for  itself  and  not  for  a  spectacle.  I  much  prefer  that  it  should 
be  of  a  lower  strain,  so  it  be  genuine  and  equal,  than  that  it 
should  be  glittering  and  unsteady.  I  wish  it  to  be  sound 
and  sweet,  and  not  to  need  diet  and  bleeding.  I  ask  primary 
evidence  that  you  are  a  man,  and  refuse  this  appeal  from  the 
man  to  his  actions.  I  know  that  for  myself  it  makes  no 
difference  whether  I  do  or  forbear  those  actions  which  are 
reckoned  excellent.  I  cannot  consent  to  pay  for  a  privilege 
where  I  have  intrinsic  right.  Few  and  mean  as  my  gifts  may 
be,  I  actually  am,  and  do  not  need  for  my  own  assurance 
or  the  assurance  of  my  fellows  any  secondary  testimony. 

What  I  must  do  is  all  that  concerns  me,  not  what  the 
people  think.  This  rule,  equally  arduous  in  actual  and  in 
intellectual  life,  may  serve  for  the  whole  distinction  between 
greatness  and  meanness.  It  is  the  harder,  because  you  will 
always  find  those  who  think  they  know  what  is  your  duty 
better  than  you  know  it.     It  is  easy  in  the  world  to  live 


82  SELF-RELIANCE  \ 

after  the  world's  opinion  ;  it  is  easy  in  solitude  to  live  after  our  I 
own ;  but  the  great  man  is  he  who  in  the  midst  of  the  crowd : 
keeps  with  perfect  sweetness  the  independence  of  solitude.      \ 
The  objection  to  conforming  to  usages  that  have  become  j 
dead  to  you  is,  that  it  scatters  your  force.     It  loses  your  time  j 
and  blurs  the  impression  of  your  character.     If  you  maintain  | 
a  dead  church,  contribute  to  a  dead  Bible  society,  vote  with  \ 
a  great  party  either  for  the  government  or  against  it,  spread  | 
your  table  like  base  housekeepers,  —  under  all  these  screens  i 
I  have  difficulty  to  detect  the  precise  man  you  are.     And,  of  j 
course,  so  much  force  is  withdrawn  from  your  proper  life.  ^ 
But  do  your  work,  and  I  shall  know  you.     Do  your  work,  and  ; 
you  shall  reinforce  yourself.     A  man  must  consider  what  aj 
blind-man's-buff  is  this  game  of  conformity.     If  I  know  your  j 
sect,  I  anticipate  your  argument.     I  hear  a  preacher  announce  | 
for  his  text  and  topic  the  expediency  of  one  of  the  institutions 
of  his  church.     Do  I  not  know  beforehand  that  not  possibly  j 
can  he  say  a  new  and  spontaneous  word?     Do  I  not  know 
that,  with  all  this  ostentation  of  examining  the  grounds  of  the 
institution,  he  will  do  no  such  thing?     Do  I  not  know  that 
he  is  pledged  to  himself  not  to  look  but  at  one  side,  —  the 
permitted  side,  not  as  a  man,  but  as  a  parish  minister?     He 
is  a  retained  attorney,  and  these  airs  of  the  bench  are  the 
emptiest  affectation.     Well,  most  men  have  bound  their  eyes 
with  one  or  another  handkerchief,  and  attached  themselves 
to  some  one  of  these  communities  of  opinion.     This  con- 
formity makes  them  not  false  in  a  few  particulars,  authors  of 
a  few  lies,  but  false  in  all  particulars.     Their  every  truth  is 
not  quite  true.     Their  two  is  not  the  real  two,  their  foiu*  is  not 
the  real  four ;  so  that  every  word  they  say  chagrins  us,  and 
we  know  not  where  to  begin  to  set  them  right.     Meantime 
nature  is  not  slow  to  equip  us  in  the  prison-uniform  of  the 
party  to  which  we  adhere.     We  come  to  wear  one  cut  of  face 
and  figure,  and  acquire  by  degrees  the  gentlest  asinine  ex-j 
pression.     There  is  a  mortifying  experience  in  particular,' 
which  does  not  fail  to  wreck  itself  also  in  the  general  history ; 
I  mean  'Hhe  foolish  face  of  praise,''  the  forced  smile  which  we 
put  on  in  company  where  we  do  not  feel  at  ease  in  answer  to 
conversation  which  does  not  interest  us.     The  muscles,  not 
spontaneously  moved,  but  moved  by  a  low  usurping  wilful- 
ness, grow  tight  about  the  outline  of  the  face  with  the  most 
disagreeable  sensation. 


SELF-RELIANCE  83 

For  non-conformity  the  world  whips  you  with  its  dis- 
pleasure. And  therefore  a  man  must  know  how  to  estimate 
a  sour  face.  The  bystanders  look  askance  on  him  in  the 
public  street  or  in  the  friend's  parlor.  If  this  aversion  had 
its  origin  in  contempt  and  resistance  like  his  own,  he  might 
well  go  home  with  a  sad  countenance ;  but  the  sour  faces  of 
the  multitude,  like  their  sweet  faces,  have  no  deep  cause, 
but  are  put  on  and  off  as  the  wind  blows  and  a  newspaper 
directs.  Yet  is  the  discontent  of  the  multitude  more  for- 
midable than  that  of  the  senate  and  the  college.  It  is  easy 
enough  for  a  firm  man  who  knows  the  world  to  brook  the  rage 
of  the  cultivated  classes.  Their  rage  is  decorous  and  pru- 
dent, for  they  are  timid  as  being  very  vulnerable  themselves. 
But  when  to  their  feminine  rage  the  indignation  of  the  people 
is  added,  when  the  ignorant  and  the  poor  are  aroused,  when 
the  unintelligent  brute  force  that  lies  at  the  bottom  of  society 
is  made  to  growl  and  mow,  it  needs  the  habit  of  magna- 
nimity and  religion  to  treat  it  godlike  as  a  trifle  of  no  con- 
cernment. 

The  other  terror  that  scares  us  from  self-trust  is  our.  con- 
sistency; a  reverence  for  our  past  act  or  word,  because  the 
eyes  of  others  have  no  other  data  for  computing  our  orbit 
than  our  past  acts,  and  we  are  loath  to  disappoint  them. 

But  why  should  you  keep  your  head  over  your  shoulder? 
Why  drag  about  this  corpse  of  your  memory,  lest  you  con- 
tradict somewhat  you  have  stated  in  this  or  that  public 
place  ?  Suppose  you  should  contradict  yourself  ;  what  then  ? 
It  seems  to  be  a  rule  of  wisdom  never  to  rely  on  your  memory 
alone,  scarcely  even  in  acts  of  pure  memory,  but  to  bring  the 
past  for  judgment  into  the  thousand-eyed  present,  and  live 
ever  in  a  new  day.  In  your  metaphysics  you  have  denied 
personality  to  the  Deity:  yet  when  the  devout  m.otions  of 
the  soul  come,  yield  to  them  heart  and  life,  though  they 
should  clothe  God  with  shape  and  color.  Leave  your  theory, 
as  Joseph  his  coat  in  the  hand  of  the  harlot,  and  flee. 

A  foolish  consistency  is  the  hobgoblin  of  little*  minds, 
adored  by  little  statesmen  and  philosophers  and  divines. 
With  consistency  a  great  soul  has  simply  nothing  to  do.  He 
may  as  well  concern  himself  with  his  shadow  on  the  wall. 
Speak  what  you  think  now  in  hard  words  and  to-morrow 
speak  what  to-morrow  thinks  in  hard  words  again,  though  it 
contradict  everything  you  said  to-day.  —  ''Ah,  so  you  shall 


84  SELF-RELIANCE 

be  sure  to  be  misunderstood ?''  —  Is  it  so  bad,  then,  to  be 
misunderstood?  Pythagoras  was  misunderstood,  and  Soc- 
rates, and  Jesus,  and  Luther,  and  Copernicus,  and  Galileo,^ 
and  Newton,  and  every  pure  and  wise  spirit  that  ever  too'  ' 
flesh.     To  be  great  is  to  be  misunderstood. 

I  suppose  no  man  can  violate  his  nature.  All  the  salliei 
of  his  will  are  rounded  in  by  the  law  of  his  being,  as  the 
inequalities  of  Andes  and  Himmaleh  are  insignificant  in  the 
curve  of  the  sphere.  Nor  does  it  matter  how  you  gauge  and 
try  him.  A  character  is  like  an  acrostic  or  Alexandrian 
stanza ;  —  read  it  forward,  backward,  or  across,  it  still  spells 
the  same  thing.  In  this  pleasing,  contrite  wood-life  which 
God  allows  me,  let  me  record  day  by  day  my  honest  thought 
without  prospect  or  retrospect,  and,  I  cannot  doubt,  it  will 
be  found  symmetrical,  though  I  mean  it  not  and  see  it  not. 
My  book  should  smell  of  pines  and  resound  with  the  hum  of 
insects.  The  swallow  over  my  window  should  interweave 
that  thread  or  straw  he  carries  in  his  bill  into  my  web  also. 
We  pass  for  what  we  are.  Character  teaches  above  our  wills. 
Men  imagine  that  they  communicate  their  virtue  •  or  vice 
only  by  overt  actions,  and  do  not  see  that  virtue  or  vice  emit 
a  breath  every  moment. 

There  will  be  an  agreement  in  whatever  variety  of  actions, 
so  they  be  each  honest  and  natural  in  their  hour.  For  of  one 
will,  the  actions  will  be  harmonious,  however  unlike  they 
seem.  These  varieties  are  lost  sight  of  at  a  little  distance,  at 
a  little  height  of  thought.  One  tendency  unites  them  all. 
The  voyage  of  the  best  ship  is  a  zigzag  line  of  a  hundred 
tacks.  See  the  line  from  a  sufficient  distance,  and  it 
straightens  itself  to  the  average  tendency.  Your  genuine 
action  will  explain  itself,  and  will  explain  your  other  genuine 
actions.  Your  conformity  explains  nothing.  Act  singly,  and 
what  you  have  already  done  singly  will  justify  you  now. 
Greatness  appeals  to  the  future.  If  I  can  be  firm  enough 
to-day  to  do  right,  and  scorn  eyes,  I  must  have  done  so  much 
right  before  as  to  defend  me  now.  Be  it  how  it  will,  do  right 
now.  Always  scorn  appearances,  and  you  always  may.  The 
force  of  character  is  cumulative.  All  the  foregone  days  of 
virtue  work  their  health  into  this.  What  makes  the  majesty 
of  the  heroes  of  the  senate  and  the  field,  which  so  fills  the 
imagination  ?  The  consciousness  of  a  train  of  great  days  and 
victories  behind.     They  shed  a  united  light  on  the  advanc- 


I 

1 


SELF-RELIANCE  85 

ing  actor.  He  is  attended  as  by  a  visible  escort  of  angels^ 
That  is  it  which  throws  thunder  into  Chatham's  voice,  and 
dignity  into  Washington's  port,  and  America  into  Adams's 
eye.  Honor  is  venerable  to  us  because  it  is  no  ephemeris. 
It  is  always  ancient  virtue.  We  worship  it  to-day  because 
it  is  not  of  to-day.  We  love  it  and  pay  it  homage,  because 
it  is  not  a  trap  for  our  love  and  homage,  but  is  self -dependent^ 
self-derived,  and  therefore  of  an  old  immaculate  pedigree^ 
even  if  shown  in  a  young  person. 

I  hope  in  these  days  we  have  heard  the  last  of  conformity  I 
and  consistency.  Let  the  words  be  gazetted  and  ridiculous 
henceforward.  Instead  of  the  gong  for  dinner,  let  us  hear  a- 
whistle  from  the  Spartan  fife.  Let  us  never  bow  and  apologize 
more.  A  great  man  is  coming  to  eat  at  my  house.  I  do  not 
wish  to  please  him ;  I  wish  that  he  should  wish  to  please  me. 
I  will  stand  here  for  humanity,  and  though  I  would  make  it 
kind,  I  would  make  it  true.  Let  us  affront  and  reprimand 
the  smooth  mediocrity  and  squalid  contentment  of  the  times ^ 
and  hurl  in  the  face  of  custom,  and  trade,  and  office,  the  fact 
which  is  the  upshot  of  all  history,  that  there  is  a  great  re- 
sponsible  Thinker  and  Actor  working  wherever  a  man  works ; 
that  a  true  man  belongs  to  no  other  time  or  place,  but  is  the 
centre  of  things.  Where  he  is,  there  is  nature.  He  measures 
you,  and  all  men,  and  all  events.  Ordinarily,  everybody  in 
society  reminds  us  of  somewhat  else,  or  of  some  other  person. 
Character,  reality,  reminds  you  of  nothing  else  ;  it  takes  place 
of  the  whole  creation.  The  man  must  be  so  much,  that  he 
must  make  all  circumstances  indifferent.  Every  true  man  is  a. 
cause,  a  country,  and  an  age;  requires  infinite  spaces  and 
numbers  and  time  fully  to  accomplish  his  design ;  —  and 
posterity  seems  to  follow  his  steps  as  a  train  of  clients.  A 
man  Caesar  is  born,  and  for  ages  after  we  have  a  Roman 
Empire.  Christ  is  born,  and  millions  of  minds  so  grow  and 
cleave  to  his  genius,  that  he  is  confounded  with  virtue  and 
the  possible  of  man.  An  institution  is  the  lengthened  shadow 
of  one  man ;  as  Monachism,  of  the  Hermit  Antony ;  the 
Reformation,  of  Luther ;  Quakerism,  of  Fox ;  Methodism,  of 
Wesley;  Abolition,  of  Clarkson.  Scipio,  Milton  called  'Hhe 
height  of  Rome";  and  all  history  resolves  itself  very  easily 
into  the  biography  of  a  few  stout  and  earnest  persons. 

Let  a  man  then  know  his  worth,  and  keep  things  under  his 
feet.     Let  him  not  peep  or  steal,  or  skulk  up  and  down  with 


86  SELF-RELIANCE 

the  air  of  a  charity-boy,  a  bastard,  or  an  interloper,  in  the 
woHd  which  exists  for  him.  But  the  man  in  the  street, 
finding  no  worth  in  himself  which  corresponds  to  the  force 
which  built  a  tower  or  sculptured  a  marble  god,  feels  poor 
when  he  looks  on  these.  To  him  a  palace,  a  statue,  or  a 
costly  book  has  an  alien  and  forbidding  air,  much  like  a  gay 
equipage,  and  seems  to  say  hke  that,  'Who  are  3^ou  sir?^ 
Yet  they  all  are  his  suitors  for  his  notice,  petitioners  to  his 
faculties  that  they  mil  come  out  and  take  possession.  The 
picture  waits  for  my  verdict :  it  is  not  to  command  me,  but  I 
am  to  settle  its  claims  to  praise.  That  popular  fable  of  the 
sot  who  was  picked  up  dead  drunk  in  the  street,  carried  to 
the  duke's  house,  washed  and  dressed  and  laid  in  the  duke's 
bed,  and,  on  his  waking,  treated  with  all  obsequious  cere- 
mony like  the  duke,  and  assured  that  he  had  been  insane, 
owes  its  popularity  to  the  fact,  that  it  s^mibolizes  so  well  the 
state  of  man,  who  is  in  the  world  a  sort  of  sot,  but  now  and 
then  wakes  up,  exercises  his  reason  and  finds  himself  a  true 
prince. 

Our  reading  is  mendicant  and  sycophantic.  In  history, 
our  imagination  plays  us  false.  Kingdom  and  lordship, 
power  and  estate,  are  a  gaudier  vocabulary  than  private  John 
and  Edward  in  a  small  house  and  common  day's  work ;  but 
the  things  of  Hfe  are  the  same  to  both ;  the  sum  total  of  both 
are  the  same.  Why  all  this  deference  to  Alfred,  and  Scan- 
derbeg,  and  Gustavus?  Suppose  they  were  virtuous;  did 
they  wear  out  virtue?  As  great  a  stake  depends  on  your 
private  act  to-day,  as  followed  their  public  and  renowned 
steps.  When  private  men  shall  act  with  original  views,  the 
lustre  will  be  transferred  from  the  actions  of  kings  to  those 
of  gentlemen. 

The  world  has  been  instructed  by  its  kings,  who  have  so 
magnetized  the  eyes  of  nations.  It  has  been  taught  by  this 
colossal  symbol  the  mutual  reverence  that  is  due  from  man 
to  man.  The  joyful  loyalty  with  which  men  have  every- 
where suffered  the  king,  the  noble,  or  the  great  proprietor  to 
walk  among  them  by  a  law  of  his  own,  make  his  own  scale  of 
men  and  things  and  reverse  theirs,  pay  for  benefits  not  with 
money  but  with  honor,  and  represent  the  law  in  his  person, 
was  the  hieroglyphic  by  which  they  obscurely  signified  their 
consciousness  of  their  own  right  and  comeliness,  the  right 
of  every  man. 


SELF-RELIANCE  87 

The  magnetism  which  all  original  action  exerts  is  explained 
when  we  inquire  the  reason  of  self-trust.  Who  is  the  Trustee  ? 
What  is  the  aboriginal  Self,  on  which  a  universal  reliance  may 
be  grounded  ?  What  is  the  nature  and  power  of  that  science- 
baffling  star,  without  parallax,  without  calculable  elements^ 
which  shoots  a  ray  of  beauty  even  into  trivial'  and  impure 
actions,  if  the  least  mark  of  independence  appear?  The 
inquiry  leads  us  to  that  source,  at  once  the  essence  of  genius^ 
of  virtue,  and  of  hfe,  which  we  call  Spontaneity  or  Instinct. 
We  denote  this  primary  wisdom  as  Intuition,  whilst  all  later 
teachings  are  tuitions.  In  that  deep  force,  the  last  fact  be- 
hind which  analysis  cannot  go,  aU  things  find  their  common 
origin.  For,  the  sense  of  being  which  in  cahn  hours  rises,, 
we  know  not  how,  in  the  soul,  is  not  diverse  from  things, 
from  space,  from  light,  from  time,  from  man,  but  one  with 
them,  and  proceeds  obviously  from  the  same  source  whence 
their  life  and  being  also  proceed.  We  first  share  the  hfe  by 
which  things  exist,  and  afterwards  see  them  as  appearances 
in  nature,  and  forget  that  we  have  shared  their  cause.  Here 
is  the  fountain  of  action  and  of  thought.  Here  are  the  lungs 
of  that  inspiration  which  giveth  m^an  wisdom,  and  which 
cannot  be  denied  without  impiety  and  atheism.  We  He  in 
the  lap  of  immense  intelligence,  which  makes  us  receivers  of 
its  truth  and  organs  of  its  activity.  When  we  discern  justice, 
when  we  discern  truth,  we  do  nothing  of  ourselves,  but  allow 
a  passage  to  its  beams.  If  we  ask  whence  this  comes,  if  we 
seek  to  pry  into  the  soul  that  causes,  all  philosophy  is  at  fault. 
Its  presence  or  its  absence  is  all  we  can  affirm.  Every  man 
discriminates  between  the  voluntary  acts  of  his  mind,  and  his 
involuntary  perceptions,  and  knows  that  to  his  involuntary 
perceptions  a  perfect  faith  is  due.  He  may  err  in  the  expres- 
sion of  them,  but  he  knows  that  these  things  are  so,  like  day 
and  night,  not  to  be  disputed.  My  wilful  actions  and  ac- 
quisitions are  but  roving ;  —  the  idlest  revery,  the  faintest 
native  emotion,  command  my  curiosity  and  respect. 
Thoughtless  people  contradict  as  readily  the  statements  of 
perceptions  as  of  opinions,  or  rather  much  more  readily ;  for, 
they  do  not  distinguish  between  perception  and  notion. 
They  fancy  that  I  choose  to  see  this  or  that  thing.  But  per- 
ception is  not  whimsical,  it  is  fatal.  If  I  see  a  trait,  my 
children  will  see  it  after  me,  and  in  course  of  time,  all  man- 
kind, —  although  it  may  chance  that  no  one  has  seen  it  be- 


88  SELF-RELIANCE  M 

fore  me.  For  my  perception  of  it  is  as  much  a  fact  as 
the  sun. 

The  relations  of  the  soul  to  the  divine  spirit  are  so  pure, 
that  it  is  profane  to  seek  to  interpose  helps.  It  must  be  that 
when  God  speaketh  he  should  communicate,  not  one  thing, 
but  all  things;  should  fill  the  world  \\dth  his  voice;  should 
i5catter  forth  light,  nature,  time,  souls,  from  the  centre  of  the 
present  thought ;  and  new  date  and  new  create  the  whole. 
Whenever  a  mind  is  simple,  and  receives  a  divine  wisdom, 
old  things  pass  away,  —  means,  teachers,  texts,  temples,  fall ; 
it  lives  now,  and  absorbs  past  and  future  into  the  present  hour. 
All  things  are  made  sacred  by  relation  to  it,  —  one  as  much  as 
another.  All  things  are  dissolved  to  their  centre  by  their 
cause,  and,  in  the  universal  miracle,  petty  and  particular 
miracles  disappear.  If,  therefore,  a  man  claims  to  know  and 
speak  of  God,  and  carries  you  backward  to  the  phraseology 
of  some  old  mouldered  nation  in  another  country,  in  another 
world,  believe  him  not.  Is  the  acorn  better  than  the  oak 
which  is  its  fulness  and  completion?  Is  the  parent  better 
than  the  child  into  whom  he  has  cast  his  ripened  being? 
Whence,  then,  this  worship  of  the  past?  The  centuries  are 
conspirators  against  the  sanity  and  authority  of  the  soul. 
Time  and  space  are  but  physiological  colors  which  the  eye 
makes,  but  the  soul  is  light ;  where  it  is,  is  day ;  where  it.  was, 
is  night ;  and  history  is  an  impertinence  and  an  injury,  if  it  be 
anything  more  than  a  cheerful  apologue  or  parable  of  my 
being  and  becoming. 

Man  is  timid  and  apologetic ;  he  is  no  longer  upright ;  he 
dares  not  say,  'I  think, ^  ^I  am,'  but  quotes  some  saint  or  sage. 
He  is  ashamed  before  the  blade  of  grass  or  the  blowing  rose. 
These  roses  under  my  window  make  no  reference  to  former 
roses  or  to  better  ones ;  they  are  for  what  they  are ;  they  exist 
with  God  to-day.  There  is  no  time  to  them.  There  is 
simply  the  rose  ;  it  is  perfect  in  every  moment  of  its  existence. 
Before  a  leaf-bud  has  burst,  its  whole  life  acts ;  in  the  full- 
blown flower  there  is  no  more ;  in  the  leafless  root  there  is  no 
less.  Its  nature  is  satisfied,  and  it  satisfies  nature,  in  all 
moments  alike.  But  man  postpones  or  remembers ;  he  does 
not  Hve  in  the  present,  but  with  reverted  eye  laments  the  past, 
or,  heedless  of  the  riches  that  surround  him,  stands  on  tip- 
toe to  foresee  the  future.  He  cannot  be  happy  and  strong 
until  he  too  lives  with  nature  in  the  present,  above  time. 


SELF-RELIANCE  89 

This  should  be  plain  enough.  Yet  see  what  strong  intel- 
lects dare  not  yet  hear  God  himself,  unless  he  speak  the 
phraseology  of  I  know  not  what  David,  or  Jeremiah,  or  Paul. 
We  shall  not  always  set  so  great  a  price  on  a  few  texts,  on  a 
few  lives.  We  are  like  children  who  repeat  by  rote  the 
sentences  of  grandames  and  tutors,  and,  as  they  grow  older, 
of  the  men  of  talents  and  character  they  chance  to  see,  — 
painfully  recollecting  the  exact  words  they  spoke  ;  afterwards, 
when  they  come  into  the  point  of  ^dew  which  those  had  who 
uttered  these  sayings,  they  understand  them,  and  are  willing 
to  let  the  words  go ;  for,  at  any  time,  they  can  use  words  as 
good  when  occasion  comes.  If  we  Hve  truly,  we  shall  see 
truly.  It  is  as  easy  for  the  strong  man  to  be  strong,  as  it  is 
for  the  weak  to  be  weak.  When  we  have  new  perception,  we 
shall  gladly  disburden  the  memory  of  its  hoarded  treasures  as 
old  rubbish.  When  a  man  hves  with  God,  his  voice  shall  be 
as  sweet  as  the  murmur  of  the  brook  and  the  rustle  of  the  corn. 

And  now  at  last  the  highest  truth  on  this  subject  remains 
unsaid ;  probably  cannot  be  said ;  for  all  that  we  say  is  the 
far-off  remembering  of  the  intuition.  That  thought,  by  what 
I  can  now  nearest  approach  to  say  it,  is  this.  When  good  is 
near  you,  when  you  have  life  in  yourself,  it  is  not  by  any 
known  or  accustomed  way;  you  shall  not  discern  the  foot- 
prints of  any  other ;  you  shall  not  see  the  face  of  man ;  you 
shall  not  hear  any  name ;  the  way,  the  thought,  the  good, 
shall  be  wholly  strange  and  new.  It  shall  exclude  example 
and  experience.  You  take  the  way  from  man,  not  to  man. 
All  persons  that  ever  existed  are  its  forgotten  ministers. 
Fear  and  hope  are  alike  beneath  it.  There  is  somewhat  low 
even  in  hope.  In  the  hour  of  vision,  there  is  nothing  that 
can  be  called  gratitude,  nor  properly  joy.  The  soul  raised 
over  passion  beholds  identity  and  eternal  causation,  per- 
ceives the  self-existence  of  Truth  and  Right,  and  calms  itself 
with  knowing  that  all  things  go  well.  Vast  spaces  of  nature, 
the  Atlantic  Ocean,  the  South  Sea,  —  long  intervals  of  time, 
years,  centuries,  —  are  of  no  account.-  This  which  I  think 
and  feel  underlay  every  fonner  state  of  life  and  circumstances, 
as  it  does  underlie  my  present,  and  what  is  called  life,  and 
what  is  called  death. 

Life  only  avails,  not  the  having  lived.  Power  ceases  in 
the  instant  of  repose ;  it  resides  in  the  moment  of  transition 
from  a  past  to  a  new  state,  in  the  shooting  of  the  gulf,  in  the 


90  SELF-RELIANCE 

darting  to  an  aim.  This  one  fact  the  world  hates,  that  the 
soul  becomes;  for  that  forever  degrades  the  past,  turns  all 
riches  to  poverty,  all  reputation  to  a  shame,  confounds  the 
saint  with  the  rogue,  shoves  Jesus  and  Judas  equally  aside. 
Why,  then,  do  we  prate  of  self-reliance?  Inasmuch  as  the 
soul  is  present,  there  will  be  power  not  confident  but  agent. 
To  talk  of  reliance  is  a  poor  external  way  of  speaking.  Speak 
rather  of  that  which  relies,  because  it  works  and  is.  Who 
has  more  obedience  than  I  masters  me,  though  he  should  not 
raise  his  finger.  Round  him  I  must  revolve  by  the  gravi- 
tation of  spirits.  We  fancy  it  rhetoric,  when  we  speak  of 
eminent  virtue.  We  do  not  yet  see  that  virtue  is  Height, 
and  that  a  man  or  a  company  of  men,  plastic  and  permeable 
to  principles,  by  the  law  of  nature  must  overpower  and  ride 
all  cities,  nations,  kings,  rich  men,  poets,  who  are  not. 

This  is  the  ultimate  fact  which  we  so  quicldy  reach  on  this, 
as  on  every  topic,  the  resolution  of  all  into  the  ever-blessed 
One.  Self-existence  is  the  attribute  of  the  Supreme  Cause, 
and  it  constitutes  the  measure  of  good  by  the  degree  in  which 
it  enters  into  all  lower  forms.  All  things  real  are  so  by  so 
much  virtue  as  they  contain.  Commerce,  husbandry,  hunt- 
ing, whaling,  war,  eloquence,  personal  weight,  are  somewhat, 
and  engage  my  respect  as  examples  of  its  presence  and  impure 
action.  I  see  the  same  law  working  in  nature  for  conserva- 
tion and  growth.  Power  is  in  nature  the  essential  measure 
of  right.  Nature  suffers  nothing  to  remain  in  her  kingdoms 
which  cannot  help  itself.  The  genesis  and  maturation  of  a 
planet,  its  poise  and  orbit,  the  bended  tree  recovering  itself 
from  the  strong  wind,  the  vital  resources  of  every  animal  and 
vegetable,  are  demonstrations  of  the  self-sufficing,  and, 
therefore,  self-relying  soul. 

Thus  all  concentrates ;  let  us  not  rove ;  let  us  sit  at  home 
with  the  cause.  Let  us  stun  and  astonish  the  intruding 
rabble  of  men  and  books  and  institutions,  by  a  simple  declara- 
tion of  the  divine  fact.  Bid  the  invaders  take  the  shoes  from 
off  their  feet,  for  God  is  here  within.  Let  our  simplicity 
judge  them,  and  our  docility  to  our  own  law  demonstrate  the 
poverty  of  nature  and  fortune  beside  our  native  riches. 

But  now  we  are  a  mob.  Man  does  not  stand  in  awe  of 
man,  nor  is  his  genius  admonished  to  stay  at  home,  to  put 
itself  in  communication  with  the  internal  ocean,  but  it  goes 
abroad  to  beg  a  cup  of  water  of  the  urns  of  other  men.    We 


SELF-RELIANCE  91 

must  go  alone.  I  like  the  silent  church  before  the  service 
begins,  better  than  any  preaching.  How  far  off,  how  cool,, 
how  chaste  the  persons  look,  begirt  each  one  with  a  precinct 
or  sanctuary !  So  let  us  always  sit.  Why  should  we  assume 
the  faults  of  our  friend,  or  wife,  or  father,  or  child,  because 
they  sit  around  our  hearth,  or  are  said  to  have  the  same  blood  ? 
All  men  have  my  blood,  and  I  have  all  men^s.  Not  for  that 
will  I  adopt  their  petulance  or  folly,  even  to  the  extent  of 
being  ashamed  of  it.  But  the  isolation  must  not  be  mechan- 
ical, but  spiritual,  that  is,  must  be  elevation.  At  times  the 
whole  world  seems  to  be  in  conspiracy  to  importune  you  witk 
emphatic  trifles.  Friend,  client,  child,  siclaiess,  fear,  want, 
charity,  all  knock  at  once  at  thy  closet  door,  and  say,  '  Come 
out  unto  us.'  But  keep  thy  state ;  come  not  into  their  con- 
fusion. The  power  men  possess  to  annoy  me,  I  give  them 
by  a  weak  curiosity.  No  man  can  come  near  me  but  through 
my  act.  "What  we  love  that  we  have,  but  by  desire  we 
bereave  ourselves  of  the  love.'' 

If  we  cannot  at  once  rise  to  the  sanctities  of  obedience  and 
faith,  let  us  at  least  resist  our  temptations ;  let  us  enter  into 
the  state  of  war,  and  wake  Thor  and  Woden,  courage  and 
constancy  in  our  Saxon  breasts.  This  is  to  be  done  in  our 
smooth  times  by  speaking  the  truth.  Check  this  lying 
hospitality  and  lying  affection.  Live  no  longer  to  the  expec- 
tation of  these  deceived  and  deceiving  people  with  whom  we 
converse.  Say  to  them,  0  father,  0  mother,  0  wife,  O 
brother,  0  friend,  I  have  lived  with  you  after  appearances- 
hitherto.  Henceforward  I  am  the  truth's.  Be  it  known 
unto  you  that  henceforward  I  obey  no  law  less  than  the  eternal 
law.  I  will  have  no  covenants  but  proximities.  I  shall  en- 
deavor to  nourish  my  parents,  to  support  my  family,  to  be 
the  chaste  husband  of  one  wife,  —  but  these  relations  I  must 
fill  after  a  new  and  unprecedented  way.  I  appeal  from  your 
customs.  I  must  be  myself.  I  cannot  break  myself  any 
longer  for  you,  or  you.  If  you  can  love  me  for  what  I  am,  we 
shall  be  the  happier.  If  you  cannot,  I  will  still  seek  to  de- 
serve that  you  should.  I  will  not  hide  my  tastes  or  aversions. 
I  will  so  trust  that  what  is  deep  is  holy,  that  I  will  do  strongly 
before  the  sun  and  moon  whatever  inly  rejoices  me,  and  the 
heart  appoints.  If  you  are  noble,  I  will  love  you ;  if  you  are 
not,  I  will  not  hurt  you  and  myself  by  hypocritical  attentions. 
If  you  are  true,  but  not  in  the  same  truth  with  me,  cleave  ta 


92  SELF-RELIANCE 

your  companions ;  I  will  seek  my  own.  I  do  this  not  selfishly, 
1)ut  humbly  and  truly.  It  is  alike  your  interest,  and  mine, 
and  all  men's,  however  long  we  have  dwelt  in  lies,  to  live 
in  truth.  Does  this  sound  harsh  to-day?  You  will  soon 
love  what  is  dictated  by  your  nature  as  well  as  mine,  and, 
if  we  follow  the  truth,  it  will  bring  us  out  safe  at  last.  But 
so  you  may  give  these  friends  pain.  Yes,  but  I  cannot  sell 
my  liberty  and  my  power,  to  save  their  sensibility.  Besides, 
all  persons  have  their  moments  of  reason,  when  they  look  out 
into  the  region  of  absolute  truth;  then  will  they  justify  me, 
and  do  the  same  thing. 

The  populace  think  that  your  rejection  of  popular  standards 
is  a  rejection  of  all  standard,  and  mere  antinomianism ;  and 
the  bold  sensualist  will  use  the  name  of  philosophy  to  gild 
liis  crimes.  But  the  law  of  consciousness  abides.  There 
are  two  confessionals,  in  one  or  the  other  of  which  we  must 
Toe  shriven.  You  may  fulfil  your  round  of  duties  by  clearing 
yourself  in  the  direct,  or  in  the  reflex  way.  Consider  whether 
you  have  satisfied  your  relations  to  father,  mother,  cousin, 
neighbor,  town,  cat,  and  dog;  whether  any  of  these  can 
upbraid  3^ou.  But  I  may  also  neglect  this  reflex  standard, 
and  absolve  me  to  myself.  I  have  my  own  stern  claims  and 
perfect  circle.  It  denies  the  name  of  duty  to  many  offices 
"that  are  called  duties.  But  if  I  can  discharge  its  debts,  it 
enables  me  to  dispense  with  the  popular  code.  If  any  one 
imagines  that  this  law  is  lax,  let  him  keep  its  commandment 
one  day. 

And  truly  it  demands  something  godlike  in  him  who  has 
cast  off  the  common  motives  of  humanity,  and  has  ventured 
to  trust  himself  for  a  taskmaster.  High  be  his  heart,  faithful 
his  will,  clear  his  sight,  that  he  may  in  good  earnest  be  doc- 
trine, society,  law,  to  himself,  that  a  simple  purpose  may  be 
to  him  as  strong  as  iron  necessity  is  to  6thers ! 

If  any  man  consider  the  present  aspects  of  what  is  called 
by  distinction  society,  he  will  see  the  need  of  these  ethics. 
The  sinew  and  heart  of  man  seem  to  be  drawn  out,  and  we  are 
become  timorous,  desponding  whimperers.  We  are  afraid 
of  truth,  afraid  of  fortune,  afraid  of  death,  and  afraid  of 
each  other.  Our  age  yields  no  great  and  perfect  persons. 
We  want  men  and  women  who  shall  renovate  life  and  our 
social  state,  but  we  see  that  most  natures  are  insolvent,  can- 
not satisfy  their  own  wants,  have  an  ambition  out  of  all 


SELF-RELIANCE  93 

proportion  to  their  practical  force,  and  do  lean  and  beg  day 
and  night  continually.  Our  housekeeping  is  mendicant,  our 
arts,  our  occupations,  our  marriages,  our  religion,  we  have 
not  chosen,  but  society  has  chosen  for  us.  We  are  parlor 
soldiers.  We  shun  the  rugged  battle  of  fate,  where  strength 
is  born. 

If  our  young  men  miscarry  in  their  first  enterprises,  they 
lose  all  heart.  If  the  young  merchant  fails,  men  say  he  is 
ruined.  If  the  finest  genius  studies  at  one  of  our  colleges,  and 
is  not  installed  in  an  office  within  one  year  afterwards  in  the 
cities  or  suburbs  of  Boston  or  New  York,  it  seems  to  his 
friends  and  to  himself  that  he  is  right  in  being  disheartened, 
and  in  complaining  the  rest  of  his  life.  A  sturdy  lad  from 
New  Hampshire  or  Vermont,  who  in  turn  tries  all  the  pro- 
fessions, who  teams  it,  farms  it,  peddles,  keeps  a  school, 
preaches,  edits  a  newspaper,  goes  to  Congress,  buys  a  town- 
ship, and  so  forth,  in  successive  years,  and  always,  like  a 
cat,  falls  on  his  feet,  is  worth  a  hundred  of  these  city  dolls. 
He  walks  abreast  with  his  days,  and  feels  no  shame  in  not 
'studying  a  profession,^  for  he  does  not  postpone  his  life,  but 
lives  already.  He  has  not  one  chance,  but  a  hundred  chances. 
Let  a  Stoic  open  the  resources  of  man,  and  tell  men  they  are 
not  leaning  willows,  but  can  and  must  detach  themselves; 
that  with  the  exercise  of  self -trust,  new  powers  shall  appear ; 
that  a  man  is  the  word  made  flesh,  born  to  shed  healing  to 
the  nations,  that  he  should  be  ashamed  of  our  compassion, 
and  that  the  moment  he  acts  from  himself,  tossing  the  laws, 
the  books,  idolatries,  and  customs  out  of  the  window,  we 
pity  him  no  more,  but  thank  and  revere  him,  —  and  that 
teacher  shall  restore  the  life  of  man  to  splendor,  and  make 
his  name  dear  to  all  history. 

It  is  easy  to  see  that  a  greater  self-reliance  must  work  a 
revolution  in  all  the  offices  and  relations  of  men;  in  their 
religion ;  in  their  education ;  in  their  pursuits ;  their  modes  of 
living;  their  association;  in  their  property;  in  their  specu- 
lative views. 

1.  In  what  prayers  do  men  allow  themselves!  That 
which  they  call  a  holy  office  is  not  so  much  as  brave  and 
manly.  Prayer  looks  abroad  and  asks  for  some  foreign  ad- 
dition to  come  through  some  foreign  virtue,  and  loses  itself 
in  endless  mazes  of  natural  and  supernatural,  and  mediato- 
rial and  miraculous.     Prayer  that  craves  a  particular  com- 


94  SELF-RELIANCE 

modity,  —  anything  less  than  all  good,  —  is  vicious.  Prayer 
is  the  contemplation  of  the  facts  of  life  from  the  highest 
point  of  view.  It  is  the  soliloquy  of  a  beholding  and  jubilant 
soul.  It  is  the  spirit  of  God  pronouncing  his  works  good. 
But  prayer  as  a  means  to  effect  a  private  end  is  meanness  and 
theft.  It  supposes  dualism  and  not  unity  in  nature  and  con- 
sciousness. As  soon  as  the  man  is  at  one  with  God,  he  will 
not  beg.  He  will  then  see  prayer  in  all  action.  The  prayer 
of  the  farmer  kneeling  in  his  field  to  weed  it,  the  prayer  of  the 
rower  kneeling  with  the  stroke  of  his  oar,  are  true  prayers 
heard  throughout  nature  though  for  cheap  ends.  Caratach, 
in  Fletcher's  Bonduca,  when  admonished  to  inquire  the  mind 
of  the  god  Audate,  replies,  — 

^^His  hidden  meaning  lies  in  our  endeavors; 
Our  valors  are  our  best  gods." 

Another  sort  of  false  prayers  are  our  regrets.  Discontent 
is  the  want  of  self-reliance  :  it  is  infirmity  of  will.  Regret 
calamities,  if  you  can  thereby  help  the  sufferer  :  if  not,  attend 
your  own  work,  and  already  the  evil  begins  to  be  repaired. 
Our  sympathy  is  just  as  base.  We  come  to  them  who  weep 
foolishly,  and  sit  down  and  cry  for  company,  instead  of  im- 
parting to  them  truth  and  health  in  rough  electric  shocks, 
putting  them  once  more  in  communication  with  their  own 
reason.  The  secret  of  fortune  is  joy  in  our  hands.  Welcome 
evermore  to  gods  and  men  is  the  self-helping  man.  For  him 
all  doors  are  flung  wide :  him  all  tongues  greet,  all  honors 
crown,  all  eyes  follow  with  desire.  Our  love  goes  out  to  him 
and  embraces  him,  because  he  did  not  need  it.  We  solici- 
tously and  apologetically  caress  and  celebrate  him,  because 
he  held  on  his  way  and  scorned  our  disapprobation.  The 
gods  love  him  because  men  hated  him.  ''To  the  persevering 
mortal, '^  said  Zoroaster,  ''the  blessed  Immortals  are  swift.'' 

As  men's  prayers  are  a  disease  of  the  will,  so  are  their 
creeds  a  disease  of  the  intellect.  They  say  with  those  foolish 
Israelites,  'Let  not  God  speak  to  us  lest  we  die.  Speak  thou, 
speak  any  man  with  us,  and  we  will  obey.'  Everywhere  I  am 
hindered  of  meeting  God  in  my  brother,  because  he  has  shut 
his  own  temple  doors,  and  recites  fables  merely  of  his  brother's 
or  his  brother's  brother's  God.  Every  new  mind  is  a  new 
classification.  If  it  prove  a  mind  of  uncommon  activity  and 
power,  a  Locke,  a  Lavoisier,  a  Hutton,  a  Bentham,  a  Fourier, 


SELF-RELIANCE  95 

it  imposes  its  classifioation  on  other  men,  and  lo!  a  new 
system.  In  proportion  to  the  depth  of  the  thought,  and  so 
to  the  number  of  the  objects  it  touches  and  brings  within 
reach  of  the  pupil,  is  his  complacency.  But  chiefly  is  this 
apparent  in  creeds  and  churches,  which  are  also  classifica- 
tions of  some  powerful  mind  acting  on  the  elemental  thought 
of  duty,  and  man's  relation  to  the  Highest.  Such  is  Cal- 
vinism, Quakerism,  Swedenborgism.  The  pupil  takes  the 
same  delight  in  subordinating  everything  to  the  new  termi- 
nology, as  a  girl  who  has  just  learned  botan}^  in  seeing  a  new 
earth  and  new  seasons  thereby.  It  will  happen  for  a  time, 
that  the  pupil  will  find  his  intellectual  power  has  grown  by 
the  study  of  his  master's  mind.  But  in  all  unbalanced  minds, 
the  classification  is  idolized,  passes  for  the  end,  and  not  for  a 
speedily  exhaustible  means,  so  that  the  walls  of  the  system 
blend  to  their  eye  in  the  remote  horizon  with  the  walls  of  the 
universe  ;  the  luminaries  of  heaven  seem  to  them  hung  on  the 
arch  their  master  built.  They  cannot  imagine  how  you  aliens 
have  any  right  to  see, — how  you  can  see;  4t  must  be 
somehow  that  you  stole  the  light  from  us.'  They  do  not  yet 
perceive,  that  light,  unsystematic,  indomitable,  will  break 
into  any  cabin,  even  into  theirs.  Let  them  chirp  awhile  and 
call  it  their  own.  If  they  are  honest  and  do  well,  presently 
their  neat  new  pinfold  will  be  too  strait  and  low,  will  crack, 
^dll  lean,  will  rot  and  vanish,  and  the  immortal  light,  all 
young  and  joyful,  million-orbed,  million-colored,  will  beam 
over  the  universe  as  on  the  first  morning. 

2.  It  is  for  want  of  self-reliance  that  the  superstition  of 
Travelling,  whose  idols  are  Italy,  England,  Egypt,  retains  its 
fascination  for  all  educated  Americans.  They  who  made 
England,  Italy,  or  Greece  venerable  in  the  imagination  did 
so  b}^  sticking  fast  where  they  were,  like  an  axis  of  the  earth. 
In  manly  hours,  we  feel  that  duty  is  our  place.  The  soul  is 
no  traveller;  the  wise  man  stays  at  home,  and  when  his 
necessities,  his  duties,  on  any  occasion,  call  him  from  his 
house,  or  into  foreign  lands,  he  is  at  home  still,  and  shall 
make  men  sensible,  by  the  expression  of  his  countenance,  that 
he  goes  the  missionary  of  wisdom  and  virtue,  and  visits  cities 
and  men  like  a  sovereign,  and  not  like  an  interloper  or  a  valet. 

I  have  no  churlish  objection  to  the  circumnavigation  of 
the  globe,  for  the  purposes  of  art,  of  study,  and  benevolence, 
BO  that  the  man  is  first  domesticated,  or  does  not  go  abroad 


96  SELF-RELIANCE 

with  the  hope  of  finding  somewhat  greater  than  he  knows. 
He  who  travels  to  be  amused,  or  to  get  somewhat  which  he 
does  not  carry,  travels  away  from  himself,  and  grows  old 
even  in  youth  among  old  things.  In  Thebes,  in  Palmyra, 
his  will  and  mind  have  become  old  and  dilapidated  as  they. 
He  carries  ruins  to  ruins. 

Travelling  is  a  fool's  paradise.  Our  first  journeys  dis- 
cover to  us  the  indifference  of  places.  At  home  I  dream  that 
at  Naples,  at  Rome,  I  can  be  intoxicated  with  beauty,  and 
lose  my  sadness.  I  pack  my  trunk,  embrace  my  friends, 
embark  on  the  sea,  and  at  last  wake  up  in  Naples,  and  there 
beside  me  is  the  stern  fact,  the  sad  self,  unrelenting,  identical, 
that  I  fled  from.  I  seek  the  Vatican,  and  the  palaces.  I 
affect  to  be  intoxicated  with  sights  and  suggestions,  but  I 
am  not  intoxicated.     My  giant  goes  with  me  wherever  I  go. 

3.  But  the  rage  of  travelling  is  a  symptom  of  a  deeper 
unsoundness  affecting  the  whole  intellectual  action.  The 
intellect  is  vagabond,  and  our  system  of  education  fosters 
restlessness.  Our  minds  travel  when  our  bodies  are  forced 
to  stay  at  home.  We  imitate ;  and  what  is  imitation  but  the 
travelling  of  the  mind?  Our  houses  are  built  with  foreign 
taste ;  our  shelves  are  garnished  with  foreign  ornaments ;  our 
opinions,  our  tastes,  our  faculties,  lean,  and  follow  the  Past 
and  the  Distant.  The  soul  created  the  arts  wherever  they 
have  flourished.  It  was  in  his  own  mind  that  the  artist 
sought  his  model.  It  was  an  application  of  his  own  thought 
to  the  thing  to  be  done  and  the  conditions  to  be  observed. 
And  why  need  we  copy  the  Doric  or  the  Gothic  model? 
Beauty,  convenience,  grandeur  of  thought,  and  quaint  ex- 
pression are  as  near  to  us  as  to  any,  and  if  the  American  artist 
will  study  with  hope  and  love  the  precise  thing  to  be  done  by 
him,  considering  the  climate,  the  soil,  the  length  of  the  day, 
the  wants  of  the  people,  the  habit  and  form  of  the  govern- 
ment, he  will  create  a  house  in  which  all  these  will  find  them- 
selves fitted,  and  taste  and  sentiment  will  be  satisfied  also. 

Insist  on  yourself;  never  imitate.  Your  own  gift  you  can 
present  every  moment  with  the  cumulative  force  of  a  whole 
life's  cultivation ;  but  of  the  adopted  talent  of  another,  you 
have  only  an  extemporaneous,  half  possession.  That  which 
each  can  do  best,  none  but  his  Maker  can  teach  him.  No 
man  yet  knows  what  it  is,  nor  can,  till  that  person  has  ex- 
hibited it.     Where  is  the  master  who  could  have   taught 


SELF-RELIANCE  97 

Shakspeare  ?  T\niere  is  the  master  who  could  have  instructed 
Franklin,  or  Washington,  or  Bacon,  or  Newton?  Every^ 
great  man  is  a  unique.  The  Scipionism  of  Scipio  is  precisely 
that  part  he  could  not  borrow.  Shakespeare  will  never  be 
made  by  the  study  of  Shakspeare.  Do  that  which  is  assigned 
you,  and  you  cannot  hope  too  much  or  dare  too  much.  There 
is  at  this  moment  for  you  an  utterance  brave  and  grand  a^ 
that  of  the  colossal  chisel  of  Phidias,  or  trowel  of  the  Egyp- 
tians, or  the  pen  of  Moses,  or  Dante,  but  different  from  alf 
these.  Not  possibly  will  the  soul  all  rich,  all  eloquent,  with 
thousand-cloven  tongue,  deign  to  repeat  itself ;  but  if  you  can 
hear  what  these  patriarchs  say,  surely  you  can  reply  to  them 
in  the  same  pitch  of  voice ;  for  the  ear  and  the  tongue  are  two 
organs  of  one  nature.  Abide  in  the  simple  and  noble  regions 
of  thy  life,  obej^  thy  heart,  and  thou  shalt  reproduce  the 
Fore  world  again. 

4.  As  our  Religion,  our  Education,  our  Art  look  abroad,, 
so  does  our  spirit  of  society.  All  men  plume  themselves  on 
the  improvement  of  society,  and  no  man  improves. 

Society  never  advances.  It  recedes  as  fast  on  one  side 
as  it  gains  on  the  other.  It  undergoes  continual  changes ;  it 
is  barbarous,  it  is  civilized,  it  is  Christianized,  it  is  rich,  it  is 
scientific;  but  this  change  is  not  amelioration.  For  every- 
thing that  is  given,  something  is  taken.  Society  acquires 
new  arts,  and  loses  old  instincts.  What  a  contrast  between 
the  well-clad,  reading,  writing,  thinking  American,  with  a 
watch,  a  pencil,  and  a  bill  of  exchange  in  his  pocket,  and  the 
naked  New-Zealander,  whose  property  is  a  club,  a  spear,  a 
mat,  and  an  undivided  twentieth  of  a  shed  to  sleep  under  t 
But  compare  the  health  of  the  two  men,  and  you  shall  see 
that  the  white  man  has  lost  his  aboriginal  strength.  If  the 
traveller  tell  us  truly,  strike  the  savage  with  a  broad  axe,  and 
in  a  day  or  two  the  flesh  shall  unite  and  heal  as  if  you  struck 
the  blow  into  soft  pitch,  and  the  same  blow  shall  send  the 
white  to  his  grave. 

The  civilized  man  has  built  a  coach,  but  has  lost  the  use 
of  his  feet.  He  is  supported  on  crutches,  but  lacks  so  much 
support  of  muscle.  He  has  a  fine  Geneva  watch,  but  he  fails 
of  the  skill  to  tell  the  hour  by  the  sun.  A  Greenwich  nautical 
almanac  he  has^  and  so  being  sure  of  the  information  when 
he  wants  it,  the  man  in  the  street  does  not  know  a  star  in  the 
sky.     The  solstice  he  does  not  observe,  the  equinox  he  knows 


98  SELF-RELIANCE 

as  little  ;  and  the  whole  bright  calendar  of  the  year  is  without' 
Si  dial  in  his  mind.  His  note-books  impair  his  memory ;  his 
libraries  overload  his  wit;  the  insurance  office  increases  the 
number  of  accidents ;  and  it  may  be  a  question  whether  ma- 
chinery does  not  encumber;  whether  we  have  not  lost  by 
refinement  some  energy,  by  a  Christianity  intrenched  in 
establishments  and  forms,  some  vigor  of  wild  virtue.  For 
every  Stoic  was  a  Stoic;  but  in  Christendom  where  is  the 
Christian  ? 

There  is  no  more  deviation  in  the  moral  standard  than 
in  the  standard  of  height  or  bulk.  No  greater  men  are  now 
than  ever  were.  A  singular  equality  may  be  observed  be- 
tween the  great  men  of  the  first  and  of  the  last  ages ;  nor  can 
all  the  science,  art,  religion,  and  philosophy  of  the  nineteenth 
century  avail  to  educate  greater  men  than  Plutarch's  heroes, 
three  or  four  and  twenty  centuries  ago.  Not  in  time  is  the  race 
progressive.  Phocion,  Socrates,  yAnaxagor as,  Diogenes,  are 
great  men,  but  they  leave  no  class.  He  who  is  really  of  their 
class  mil  not  be  called  by  their  name,  but  will  be  his  own 
man,  and,  in  his  turn,  the  founder  of  a  sect.  The  arts  and 
inventions  of  each  period"^  are  only  its  costume,  and  do  not 
invigorate  men.  The  harm  of  the  improved  machinery  may 
compensate  its  good.  Hudson  and  Behring  accomplished 
so  much  in  their  fishing-boats,  as  to  astonish  Parry  and 
Franklin,  whose  equipment  exhausted  the  resources  of  science 
and  art.  Galileo,  with  an  opera-glass,  discovered  a  more 
splendid  series  of  celestial  phenomena  than  any  one  since 
Columbus  found  the  New  World  in  an  undecked  boat.  It  is 
curious  to  see  the  periodical  disuse  and  perishing  of  means 
and  machinery,  which  were  introduced  with  loud  laudation 
a  few  years  or  centuries  before.  The  great  genius  returns 
to  essential  man.  We  reckoned  the  improvements  of  the  art 
of  war  among  the  triumphs  of  science,  and  yet  Napoleon 
conquered  Europe  by  the  bivouac,  which  consisted  of  falling 
back  on  naked  valor,  and  disencumbering  it  of  all  aids.  The 
Emperor  held  it  impossible  to  make  a  perfect  army,  says 
Las  Cases,  '^without  abolishing  our  arms,  magazines,  com- 
missaries, and  carriages,  until,  in  imitation  of  the  Roman 
custom,  the  soldier  should  receive  his  supply  of  corn,  grind 
it  in  his  hand-mill,  and  bake  his  bread  himself.'' 

Society  is  a  wave.  The  wave  moves  onward,  but  the 
water  of  which  it  is  composed  does  not.    The  same  particle 


SELF-RELIANCE  99 

does  not  rise  from  the  valley  to  the  ridge.  Its  unity  is  only 
phenomenal.  The  persons  who  make  up  a  nation  to-day, 
next  year  die,  and  their  experience  with  them. 

And  so  the  reliance  on  Property,  including  the  reliance  on 
governments  which  protect  it,  is  the  want  of  self-reliance. 
Men  have  looked  away  from  themselves  and  at  things  so 
long,  that  they  have  come  to  esteem  the  religious,  learned, 
and  civil  institutions  as  guards  of  property,  and  they  depre- 
cate assaults  on  these,  because  they  feel  them  to  be  assaults 
on  property.  They  measure  their  esteem  of  each  other  by 
what  each  has,  and  not  by  what  each  is.  But  a  cultivated 
man  becomes  ashamed  of  his  property,  out  Qf  new  respect 
for  his  nature.  Especially  he  hates  what  he  has,  if  he  see 
that  it  is  accidental,  —  came  to  him  by  inheritance,  or  gift,  or 
crime ;  then  he  feels  that  it  is  not  having ;  it  does  not  belong 
to  him,  has  no  root  in  him,  and  merely  lies  there,  because  no 
revolution  or  no  robber  takes  it  away.  But  that  which  a 
man  is  does  always  by  necessity  acquire,  and  what  the  man 
acquires  is  living  property,  which  does  not  wait  the  beck  of 
rulers,  or  mobs,  or  revolutions,  or  fire,  or  storm,  or  bank- 
ruptcies, but  perpetually  renews  itself  wherever  the  man 
breathes.  "Thy  lot  or  portion  of  life,^^  said  the  Caliph  AH, 
"is  seeking  after  thee ;  therefore  be  at  rest  from  seeking  after 
it.''  Our  dependence  on  these  foreign  goods  leads  us  to  our 
slavish  respect  for  numbers.  The  political  parties  meet  in 
numerous  conventions;  the  greater  the  concourse,  and  with 
each  new  uproar  of  announcement,  —  The  delegation  from 
Essex !  The  Democrats  from  New  Hampshire  !  The  Whigs 
of  Maine !  —  the  young  patriot  feels  himself  stronger  than 
before  by  a  new  thousand  of  eyes  and  arms.  In  like  manner 
the  reformers  summon  conventions,  and  vote  and  resolve  in 
multitude.  Not  so,  0  friends,  will  the  God  deign  to  enter  and 
inhabit  you,  but  by  a  method  precisely  the  reverse.  It  is 
^only  as  a  man  puts  off  all  foreign  support,  and  stands  alone, 
that  I  see  him  to  be  strong  and  to  prevail.  He  is  weaker  by 
every  recruit  to  his  banner.  Is  not  a  man  better  than  a 
town?  Ask  nothing  of  men,  and  in  the  endless  mutation, 
thou  only  firm  column  must  presently  appear  the  upholder 
of  all  that  surrounds  thee.  He  who  knows  that  power  is 
inborn,  that  he  is  weak  because  he  has  looked  for  good  out 
of  him  and  elsewhere,  and  so  perceiving,  throws  himself  un- 
hesitatingly on  his  thought,  instantly  rights  himself,  stands 


100  SELF-RELIANCE 

in  the  erect  position,  commands  his  limbs,  works  miracles; 
just  as  a  man  who  stands  on  his  feet  is  stronger  than  a  man 
who  stands  on  his  head. 

So  use  all  that  is  called  Fortune.  Most  men  gamble  with 
lier,  and  gain  all,  and  lose  all,  as  her  wheel  rolls.  But  do  thou 
leave  as  unlawful  these  winnings,  and  deal  with  Cause  and 
Effect,  the  chancellors  of  God.  In  the  Will  work  and  acquire, 
:and  thou  hast  chained  the  wheel  of  Chance,  and  shalt  sit 
hereafter  out  of  fear  from  her  rotations.  A  political  victory, 
a  rise  of  rents,  the  recovery  of  your  sick,  or  the  return  of  your 
absent  friend,  or  some  other  favorable  event,  raises  your 
spirits,  and  you  think  good  days  are  preparing  for  you.  Do 
not  believe  it.  Nothing  can  bring  you  peace  but  yourself. 
]N"othing  can  bring  you  peace  but  the  triumph  of  principles. 


SPIRITUAL  LAWS 

The  living  Heaven  thy  prayers  respect, 
House  at  once  and  architect, 
Quarrying  man's  rejected  hours, 
Builds  therewith  eternal  towers ; 
Soul  and  self -commanded  works, 
Fears  not  undermining  days, 
Grows  by  decays, 

And,  by  the  famous  might  that  lurks 
In  reaction  and  recoil. 
Makes  flame  to  freeze,  and  ice  to  boil ; 
Forging,  through  swart  arms  of  Offence, 
The  silver  seat  of  Innocence. 

When  the  act  of  reflection  takes  place  in  the  mind,  when 
we  look  at  ourselves  in  the  light  of  thought,  we  discover  that 
our  life  is  embosomed  in  beauty.  Behind  us,  as  we  go,  all 
things  assume  pleasing  forms,  as  clouds  do  far  off.  Not 
only  things  familiar  and  stale,  but  even  the  tragic  and  terrible, 
are  comely,  as  they  take  their  place  in  the  pictures  of  memory. 
The  river-bank,  the  weed  at  the  water-side,  the  old  house, 
the  fooHsh  person,  —  however  neglected  in  the  passing,  — 
have  a  grace  in  the  past.  Even  the  corpse  that  has  lain  in 
the  chambers  has  added  a  solemn  ornament  to  the  house. 
The  soul  will  not  know  either  deformity  or  pain.  If,  in  the 
hours  of  clear  reason,  we  should  speak  the  severest  truth, 
we  should  say,  that  we  had  never  made  a  sacrifice.  In  these 
hours  the  mind  seems  so  great,  that  nothing  can  be  taken 
from  us  that  seems  much.  All  loss,  all  pain,  is  particular; 
the  universe  remains  to  the  heart  unhurt.  Neither  vexations 
nor  calamities  abate  our  trust.  No  man  ever  stated  his 
griefs  as  hghtly  as  he  might.  Allow  for  exaggeration  in 
the  most  patient  and  sorely  ridden  hack  that  ever  was  driven. 
For  it  is  only  the  finite  that  has  wrought  and  suffered ;  the 
infinite  lies  stretched  in  smiling  repose. 

101 


102  SPIRITUAL   LAWS  S 

li 
The  intellectual  life  may  be  kept  clean  and  healthful,  if  H 
man  will  live  the  life  of  nature,  and  not  import  into  his  I 
mind  difficulties  which  are  none  of  his.     No  man  need  be.! 
perplexed  in  his  speculations.     Let  him  do  and  say  what.j 
strictly  belongs  to  him,  and,  though  very  ignorant  of  books,  i 
his  nature  shall  not  yield  him  any  intellectual  obstructions 
and  doubts.     Our  young  people  are  diseased  with  the  theo- 
logical problems  of  original  sin,  origin  of  evil,  predestination, 
and  the  like.     These  never  presented  a  practical  difficulty 
to  any  man,  —  never  darkened  across  any  man's  road,  who 
did  not  go  out  of  his  way  to  seek  them.     These  are  the  soul's 
mumps,  and  measles,  and  whooping-coughs,  and  those  who 
have  not  caught  them  cannot  describe  their  health  or  pre- 
scribe the  cure.     A  simple  mind  will  not  know  these  enemies. 
It  is  quite  another  thing  that  he  should  be  able  to  give  account 
of  his  faith,  and  expound  to  another  the  theory  of  his  self- 
union  and  freedom.     This  requires  rare  gifts.     Yet,  without 
this  self-knowledge,  there  may  be  a  sylvan  strength  and 
integrity  in  that  which  he  is.     ^'A  few  strong  instincts  and 
a  few  plain  rules"  suffice  us. 

My  will  never  gave  the  images  in  my  mind  the  rank  they 
now  take.  The  regular  course  of  studies,  the  years  of  acade- 
mical and  professional  education,  have  not  yielded  me  better 
facts  than  some  idle  books  under  the  bench  at  the  Latin 
School.  What  we  do  not  call  education  is  more  precious 
than  that  which  we  call  so.  We  form  no  guess,  at  the  time 
of  receiving  a  thought,  of  its  comparative  value.  And 
education  often  wastes  its  effort  in  attempts  to  thwart  and 
balk  this  natural  magnetism,  which  is  sure  to  select  what 
belongs  to  it. 

In  like  manner,  our  moral  nature  is  vitiated  by  any  inter- 
ference of  our  will.  People  represent  virtue  as  a  struggle,, 
and  take  to  themselves  great  airs  upon  their  attainments, 
and  the  question  is  everywhere  vexed,  when  a  noble  nature 
is  commended,  whether  the  man  is  not  better  w^ho  strives 
with  temptation.  But  there  is  no  merit  in  the  matter. 
Either  God  is  there,  or  he  is  not  there.  We  love  characters  \ 
in  proportion  as  they  are  impulsive  and  spontaneous.  The 
less  a  man  thinks  or  knows  about  his  virtues,  the  better  we 
like  him.  Timoleon's  victories  are  the  best  victories,  — 
which  ran  and  flowed  like  Homer's  verses,  Plutarch  said. 
When  we  see  a  soul  whose  acts  are  all  regal,  graceful,  and 


SPIRITUAL  LAWS  103 

pleasant  as  roses,  we  must  thank  God  that  such  things  can 
be  and  are,  and  not  turn  sourly  on  the  angel,  and  say,  ^  Crump 
is  a  better  man  with  his  grunting  resistance  to  all  his  native 
devils/ 

Not  less  conspicuous  is  the  preponderance  of  nature  over 
will  in  all  practical  life.  There  is  less  intention  in  history 
than  we  ascribe  to  it.  We  impute  deep-laid,  far-sighted 
plans  to  Caesar  and  Napoleon;  but  the  best  of  their  power 
was  in  nature,  not  in  them.  Men  of  an  extraordinary  success, 
in  their  honest  moments,  have  always  sung,  ^Not  unto  us, 
not  unto  us.'  According  to  the  faith  of  their  times,  they 
have  built  altars  to  Fortune,  or  to  Destiny,  or  to  St.  Juhan. 
Their  success  lay  in  their  parallelism  to  the  course  of  thought, 
which  found  in  them  an  unobstructed  channel;  and  the 
wonders  of  which  they  were  the  visible  conductors  seemed 
to  the  eye  their  deed.  Did  the  wires  generate  the  galvanism? 
It  is  even  true  that  there  was  less  in  them  on  which  they 
could  reflect,  than  in  another;  as  the  virtue  of  a  pipe  is  to 
be  smooth  and  hollow.  That  which  externally  seemed  will 
and  immovableness  was  willingness  and  self-annihilation. 
Could  Shakspeare  give  a  theory  of  Shakspeare?  Could 
ever  a  man  of  prodigious  mathematical  genius  convey  to 
others  any  insight  into  his  methods?  If  he  could  com- 
municate that  secret,  it  would  instantly  lose  its  exaggerated 
value,  blending  with  the  daylight  and  the  vital  energy,  the 
power  to  stand  and  to  go. 

The  lesson  is  forcibly  taught  by  these  observations,  that 
our  life  might  be  much  easier  and  simpler  than  we  make  it ; 
that  the  world  might  be  a  happier  place  than  it  is  ;  that  there 
is  no  need  of  struggles,  convulsions,  and  despairs,  of  the 
wringing  of  the  hands  and  the  gnashing  of  the  teeth;  that 
we  miscreate  our  own  evils.  We  interfere  with  the  optimism 
of  nature ;  for,  whenever  we  get  this  vantage-ground  of  the 
past,  or  of  a  wiser  mind  in  the  present,  we  are  able  to  discern 
that  we  are  begirt  with  laws  which  execute  themselves. 

The  face  of  eternal  nature  teaches  the  same  lesson.  Nature 
will  not  have  us  fret  and  fume.  She  does  not  like  our  benevo- 
lence or  our  learning  much  better  than  she  likes  our  frauds 
and  wars.  When  we  come  out  of  the  caucus,  or  the  bank, 
or  the  Abolition  convention,  or  the  Temperance  meeting, 
I  or  the  Transcendental  club,  into  the  fields  and  woods,  she 
says  to  us,  'So  hot?   my  little  sir.' 


104  SPIRITUAL  LAWS 

We  are  full  of  mechanical  actions.  We  must  needs  inter- 
meddle, and  have  things  in  our  own  way,  until  the  sacrifices 
and  virtues  of  society  are  odious.  Love  should  make  joy; 
but  our  benevolence  is  unhappy.  Our  Sunday  schools  and 
churches  and  pauper  societies  are  yokes  to  the  neck.  We 
pain  ourselves  to  please  nobody.  There  are  natural  ways  of 
arriving  at  the  same  ends  at  which  these  aim,  but  do  not 
arrive.  Why  should  all  virtue  work  in  one  and  the  same 
way?  Why  should  all  give  dollars?  It  is  very  incon- 
venient to  us  country  folk,  and  we  do  not  think  any  good 
will  come  of  it.  We  have  not  dollars;  merchants  have; 
let  them  give  them.  Farmers  will  give  corn  ;  poets  will  sing ; 
women  will  sew ;  laborers  will  lend  a  hand ;  the  children  will 
bring  flowers.  And  why  drag  this  dead- weight  of  a  Sunday 
school  over  the  whole  Christendom?  It  is  natural  and 
beautiful  that  childhood  should  inquire,  and  maturity  should 
teach :  but  it  is  time  enough  to  answer  questions  when  they 
are  asked.  Do  not  shut  up  the  young  people  against  their 
will  in  a  pew,  and  force  the  children  to  ask  them  questions 
for  an  hour  against  their  will. 

If  we  look  wider,  things  are  all  alike;  laws,  and  letters, 
and  creeds,  and  modes  of  living  seem  a  travesty  of  truth. 
Our  society  is  encumbered  by  ponderous  machinery,  which 
resembles  the  endless  aqueducts  which  the  Romans  built 
over  hill  and  dale,  and  which  are  superseded  b}'-  the  dis- 
covery of  the  law  that  water  rises  to  the  level  of  its  source. 
It  is  a  Chinese  wall  which  any  nimble  Tartar  can  leap  over. 
It  is  a  standing  army,  not  so  good  as  a  peace.  It  is  a  gradu- 
ated, titled,  richly  appointed  empire,  quite  superfluous  when 
town-meetings  are  found  to  answer  just  as  well. 

Let  us  draw  a  lesson  from  nature,  which  always  works 
by  short  ways.  When  the  fruit  is  ripe,  it  falls.  When  the 
fruit  is  despatched,  the  leaf  falls.  The  circuit  of  the  waters 
is  mere  falling.  The  walking  of  man  and  all  animals  is  a 
falling  forward.  All  our  manual  labor  and  works  of  strength, 
as  prying,  splitting,  digging,  rowing,  and  so  forth,  are  done 
by  dint  of  continual  falling,  and  the  globe,  earth,  moon, 
comet,  sun,  star,  fall  for  ever  and  ever. 

The  simplicity  of  the  universe  is  very  different  from  the 
simplicity  of  a  machine.  He  who  sees  moral  nature  out  and 
out,  and  thoroughly  knows  how  knowledge  is  acquired  and 
character  formed,  is  a  pedant.     The  simpUcity  of  nature 


SPIRITUAL   LAWS  105 

is  not  that  which  may  easily  be  read,  but  is  inexhaustible. 
The  last  analysis  can  no  wise  be  made.  We  judge  of  a  man's 
wisdom  by  his  hope,  knowing  that  the  perception  of  the 
inexhaustibleness  of  nature  is  an  immortal  youth.  The 
wild  fertility  of  nature  is  felt  in  comparing  our  rigid  names 
and  reputations  with  our  fluid  consciousness.  We  pass  in 
the  world  for  sects  and  schools,  for  erudition  and  piety,  and 
we  are  all  the  time  jejune  babes.  One  sees  very  well  how 
Pyrrhonism  grew  up.  Every  man  sees  that  he  is  that  middle 
point,  whereof  everything  may  be  affirmed  and  denied  with 
equal  reason.  He  is  old,  he  is  young,  he  is  very  wise,  he  is 
altogether  ignorant.  He  hears  and  feels  what  you  say  of 
the  seraphim,  and  of  the  tin-pedler.  There  is  no  permanent 
wise  man,  except  in  the  figment  of  the  Stoics.  We  side  with 
the  hero,  as  we  read  or  paint,  against  the  coward  and  the 
robber ;  but  we  have  been  ourselves  that  coward  and  robber, 
and  shall  be  again,  not  in  the  low  circumstance,  but  in  com- 
parison with  the  grandeurs  possible  to  the  soul. 

A  little  consideration  of  what  takes  place  around  us  every 
day  would  show  us,  that  a  higher  law  than  that  of  our  will 
regulates  events;  that  our  painful  labors  are  unnecessary, 
and  fruitless ;  that  only  in  our  easy,  simple,  spontaneous 
action  are  we  strong,  and  by  contenting  ourselves  with 
obedience  we  become  divine.  Belief  and  love,  — a  believing 
love  will  relieve  us  of  a  vast  load  of  care.  0  my  brothers, 
God  exists.  There  is  a  soul  at  the  centre  of  nature,  and  over 
the  will  of  every  man,  so  that  none  of  us  can  wrong  the 
universe.  It  has  so  infused  its  strong  enchantment  into 
nature,  that  we  prosper  when  we  accept  its  advice,  and  when 
we  struggle  to  wound  its  creatures,  our  hands  are  glued  to 
our  sides,  or  they  beat  our  own  breasts.  The  whole  course 
of  things  goes  to  teach  us  faith.  We  need  only  obey.  There 
is  guidance  for  each  of  us,  and  by  lowly  listening  we  shall 
hear  the  right  word.  Why  need  you  choose  so  painfully 
your  place,  and  occupation,  and  associates,  and  modes  of 
action,  and  of  entertainment?  Certainly  there  is  a  possible 
right  for  you  that  precludes  the  need  of  balance  and  wilful 
election.  For  you  there  is  a  reality,  a  fit  place  and  congenial 
duties.  Place  yourself  in  the  middle  of  the  stream  of  power 
and  wisdom  which  animates  all  whom  it  floats,  and  you  are 
without  effort  impelled  to  truth,  to  right,  and  a  perfect 
contentment.     Then  you  put  all  gainsayers  in  the  wrong. 


106  SPIRITUAL  LAWS 

Then  you  are  the  world,  the  measure  of  right,  of  truth,  of 
beauty.  If  we  will  not  be  mar-plots  with  our  miserable 
interferences,  the  work,  the  society,  letters,  arts,  science, 
religion  of  men  would  go  on  far  better  than  now,  and  the 
heaven  predicted  from  the  beginning  of  the  world,  and  still 
predicted  from  the  bottom  of  the  heart,  would  organize 
itself,  as  do  now  the  rose,  and  the  air,  and  the  sun. 

I  say,  do  not  choose ;  but  that  is  a  figure  of  speech  by  which 
\  I  would  distinguish  what  is  commonly  called  choice  among 
men,  and  which  is  a  partial  act,  the  choice  of  the  hands,  of 
the  eyes,  of  the  appetites,  and  not  a  whole  act  of  the  man. 
But  that  which  I  call  right  or  goodness  is  the  choice  of  my 
constitution;  and  that  which  I  call  heaven,  and  inwardly 
aspire  after,  is  the  state  or  circumstance  desirable  to  my 
constitution ;  and  the  action  which  I  in  all  my  years  tend 
to  do,  is  the  work  for  my  faculties.  We  must  hold  a  man 
amenable  to  reason  for  the  choice  of  his  daily  craft  or 
profession.  It  is  not  an  excuse  any  longer  for  his  deeds, 
that  they  are  the  custom  of  his  trade.  What  business  has 
he  with  an  evil  trade  ?     Has  he  not  a  calling  in  his  character  ? 

Each  man  has  his  own  vocation.  The  talent  is  the  call. 
There  is  one  direction  in  which  all  space  is  open  to  him. 
He  has  faculties  silently  inviting  him  thither  to  endless 
exertion.  He  is  like  a  ship  in  a  river ;  he  runs  against  ob- 
structions on  every  side  but  one ;  on  that  side  all  obstruction 
is  taken  away,  and  he  sweeps  serenely  over  a  deepening 
channel  into  an  infinite  sea.  This  talent  and  this  call  depend 
on  his  organization,  or  the  mode  in  which  the  general  soul 
incarnates  itself  in  him.  He  inclines  to  do  something  which 
is  easy  to  him,  and  good  when  it  is  done,  but  which  no  other 
man  can  do.  He  has  no  rival.  For  the  more  truly  he  con- 
sults his  own  powers,  the  more  difference  will  his  work  exhibit 
from  the  work  of  any  other.  His  ambition  is  exactly  pro- 
portioned to  his  powers.  The  height  of  the  pinnacle  is 
determined  by  the  breadth  of  the  base.  Every  man  has 
this  call  of  the  power  to  do  somewhat  unique,  and  no  man 
has  any  other  call.  The  pretence  that  he  has  another  call, 
a  summons  by  name  and  personal  election  and  outward 
'^  signs  that  mark  him  extraordinary,  and  not  in  the  roll  of 
common  men,''  is  fanaticism,  and  betrays  obtuseness  to 
perceive  that  there  is  one  mind  in  all  the  individuals,  and 
no  respect  of  persons  therein. 


SPIRITUAL  LAWS  107 

By  doing  his  work,  he  makes  the  need  felt  which  he  can 
supply,  and  creates  the  taste  by  which  he  is  enjoyed.  By 
doing  his  own  work,  he  unfolds  himself.  It  is  the  vice  of 
our  public  speaking  that  it  has  not  abandonment.  Some- 
where, not  only  every  orator  but  every  man  should  let  out 
all  the  length  of  all  the  reins;  should  find  or  make  a  frank 
and  hearty  expression  of  what  force  and  meaning  is  in  him. 
The  common  experience  is,  that  the  man  fits  himself  as  well 
\  as  he  can  to  the  customary  details  of  that  work  or  trade  he 
falls  into,  and  tends  it  as  a  dog  turns  a  spit.  Then  is  he  a  part 
of  the  machine  he  moves;  the  man  is  lost.  Until  he  can 
manavge  to  communicate  himself  to  others  in  his  full  stature 
and  proportion,  he  does  not  yet  find  his  vocation.  He  must 
find  in  that  an  outlet  for  his  character,  so  that  he  may  justify 
his  work  to  their  eyes.  If  the  labor  is  mean,  let  him  by  his 
thinking  and  character  make  it  liberal.  Whatever* he  knows 
and  thinks,  whatever  in  his  apprehension  is  worth  doing, 
that  let  him  communicate,  or  men  will  never  know  and  honor 
him  aright.  Foolish,  whenever  you  take  the  meanness  and 
formality  of  that  thing  you  do,  instead  of  converting  it  into 
the  obedient  spiracle  of  your  character  and  aims. 

We  like  only  such  actions  as  have  already  long  had  the  praise 
of  men,  and  do  not  perceive  that  anything  man  can  do  may 
be  divinely  done.  We  think  greatness  entailed  or  organ- 
ized in  some  places  or  duties,  in  certain  offices  or  occasions, 
and  do  not  see  that  Paganini  can  extract  rapture  from  a 
catgut,  and  Eulenstein  from  a  jewsharp,  and  a  nimble- 
fingered  lad  out  of  shreds  of  paper  with  his  scissors,  and 
Landseer  out  of  swine,  and  the  hero  out  of  the  pitiful  habita- 
tion and  company  in  which  he  was  hidden.  What  we  call 
obscure  condition  or  vulgar  society  is  that  condition  and 
society  whose  poetry  is  not  yet  written,  but  which  you  shall 
presently  make  as  enviable  and  renowned  as  any.  In  our 
estimates,  let  us  take  a  lesson  from  kings.  The  parts  of 
hospitality,  the  connection  of  families,  the  impressiveness 
of  death,  and  a  thousand  other  things,  royalty  makes  its  own 
estimate  of,  and  a  royal  mind  will.  To  make  habitually 
a  new  estimate,  —  that  is  elevation. 

What  a  man  does,  that  he  has.  What  has  he  to  do  with 
hope  or  fear?  In  himself  is  his  might.  Let  him  regard 
no  good  as  solid,  but  that  which  is  in  his  nature,  and  which 
must  grow  out  of  him  as  long  as  he  exists.     The  goods  of 


108  SPIRITUAL  LAWS 

fortune  may  come  and  go  like  summer  leaves;  let  him 
scatter  them  on  every  wind  as  the  momentary  signs  of  his 
infinite  productiveness. 

He  may  have  his  own.  A  man's  genius,  the  quality  that 
differences  him  from  every  other,  the  susceptibility  to  one 
class  of  influences,  the  selection  of  what  is  fit  for  him,  the 
rejection  of  what  is  unfit,  determines  for  him  the  character 
of  the  universe.  A  man  is  a  method,  a  progressive  arrange- 
ment ;  a  selecting  principle,  gathering  his  like  to  him,  wher- 
ever he  goes.  He  takes  only  his  own  out  of  the  multiplicity 
that  sweeps  and  circles  round  him.  He  is  like  one  of  those 
booms  which  are  set  out  from  the  shore  on  rivers  to  catch 
drift-wood,  or  like  the  loadstone  amongst  splinters  of  steel. 
Those  facts,  words,  persons,  which  dwell  in  his  memory 
without  his  being  able  to  say  why,  remain,  because  they  have 
a  relation  to  him  not  less  real  for  being  as  yet  unapprehended. 
They  are  symbols  of  value  to  him,  as  they  can  interpret  parts 
of  his  consciousness  which  he  would  vainly  seek  words  for 
in  the  conventional  images  of  books  and  other  minds.  What 
attracts  my  attention  shall  have  it,  as  I  will  go  to  the  man 
who  knocks  at  my  door,  whilst  a  thousand  persons,  as  worthy, 
go  by  it,  to  whom  I  give  no  regard.  It  is  enough  that  these 
particulars  speak  to  me.  A  few  anecdotes,  a  few  traits  of 
character,  manners,  face,  a  few  incidents,  have  an  emphasis 
in  your  memory  out  of  all  proportion  to  their  apparent 
significance,  if  you  measure  them  by  the  ordinary  standards. 
They  relate  to  your  gift.  Let  them  have  their  weight,  and 
do  not  reject  them,  and  cast  about  for  illustration  and  facts 
more  usual  in  literature.  What  your  heart  thinks  great  is 
great.     The  souFs  emphasis  is  always  right. 

Over  all  things  that  are  agreeable  to  his  nature  and  genius, 
the  man  has  the  highest  right.  Everywhere  he  may  take 
what  belongs  to  his  spiritual  estate,  nor  can  he  take  anything 
else,  though  all  doors  were  open,  nor  can  all  the  force  of  men 
hinder  him  from  taking  so  much.  It  is  vain  to  attempt  *to 
keep  a  secret  from  one  who  has  a  right  to  know  it.  It  will 
tell  itself.  That  mood  into  which  a  friend  can  bring  us  is 
his  dominion  over  us.  To  the  thoughts  of  that  state  of  mind 
he  has  a  right.  All  the  secrets  of  that  state  of  mind  he 
can  compel.  This  is  a  law  which  statesmen  use  in  practice. 
All  the  terrors  of  the  French  Republic,  which  held  Austria 
in   awe,   were   unable   to   command   her   diplomacy.    But 


SPIRITUAL  LAWS  109 

Napoleon  sent  to  Vienna  M.  de  Narbonne,  one  of  the  old 
noblesse,  with  the  morals,  manners,  and  name  of  that  interest, 
saying,  that  it  was  indispensable  to  send  to  the  old  aris- 
tocracy of  Europe  men  of  the  same  connection,  which,  in 
fact,  constitutes  a  sort  of  freemasonry.  M.  de  Narbonne, 
in  less  than  a  fortnight,  penetrated  all  the  secrets  of  the 
imperial  cabinet. 

Nothing  seems  so  easy  as  to  speak  and  to  be  understood. 
Yet  a  man  may  come  to  find  that  the  strongest  of  defences 
and  of  ties,  —  that  he  has  been  understood ;  and  he  who  has 
received  an  opinion  may  come  to  find  it  the  most  incon- 
venient of  bonds. 

If  a  teacher  have  any  opinion  which  he  wishes  to  conceal, 
his  pupils  will  become  as  fully  indoctrinated  into  that  as 
into  any. which  he  publishes.  If  you  pour  water  into  a  vessel 
twisted  into  coils  and  angles,  it  is  vain  to  say,  I  v/ill  pour 
it  only  into  this  or  that ;  it  will  find  its  level  in  all.  Men  feel 
and  act  the  consequences  of  your  doctrine,  without  being 
able  to  show  how  they  follow.  Show  us  an  arc  of  the  curve, 
and  a  good  mathematician  will  find  out  the  whole  figure » 
We  are  always  reasoning  from  the  seen  to  the  unseen.  Hence 
the  perfect  intelligence  that  subsists  between  wise  men  of 
remote  ages.  A  man  cannot  bury  his  meanings  so  deep 
in  his  book,  but  time  and  like-minded  men  will  find  them. 
Plato  had  a  secret  doctrine,  had  he?  What  secret  can  he 
conceal  from  the  eyes  of  Bacon?  of  Montaigne?  of  Kant? 
Therefore,  Aristotle  said  of  his  works,  "They  are  published 
and  not  published.^^ 

No  man  can  learn  what  he  has  not  preparation  for  learning, 
however  near  to  his  eyes  is  the  object.  A  chemist  may  tell 
his  most  precious  secrets  to  a  carpenter,  and  he  shall  be 
never  the  wiser,  —  the  secrets  he  would  not  utter  to  a  chemist 
for  an  estate.  God  screens  us  evermore  from  premature 
ideas.  Our  eyes  are  holden  that  we  cannot  see  things  that 
stare  us  in  the  face,  until  the  hour  arrives  when  the  mind  is 
ripened;  then  we  behold  them,  and  the  time  when  we  saw 
them  not  is  like  a  dream. 

Not  in  nature  but  in  man  is  all  the  beauty  and  worth  he 
sees.  The  world  is  very  empty,  and  is  indebted  to  this  gild- 
ing, exalting  soul  for  all  its  pride.  "Earth  fills  her  lap  with 
splendors''  not  her  own.  The  vale  of  Tempe,  Tivoli,  and 
Rome  are  earth  and  water,  rocks  and  sky.     There  are  as 


no  SPIRITUAL  LAWS 

good  earth  and  water  in  a  thousand  places,  yet  how  unaf- 
fecting ! 

People  are  not  the  better  for  the  sun  and  moon,  the  horizon 
and  the  trees;  as  it  is  not  observed  that  the  keepers  of 
Roman  galleries,  or  the  valets  of  painters,  have  any  eleva- 
tion of  thought,  or  that  librarians  are  wiser  men  than  others. 
There  are  graces  in  the  demeanor  of  a  polished  and  noble 
person,  which  are  lost  upon  the  eye  of  a  churl.  These  are 
like  the  stars  whose  light  has  not  yet  reached  us. 

He  may  say  what  he  maketh.  Our  dreams  are  the  sequel 
of  our  waking  knowledge.  The  visions  of  the  night  bear 
some  proportion  to  the  visions  of  the  day.  Hideous  dreams 
are  exaggerations  of  the  sins  of  the  day.  We  see  our  evil 
;affections  embodied  in  bad  physiognomies.  On  the  Alps 
the  traveller  sometimes  beholds  his  own  shadow  magnified 
to  a  giant,  so  that  every  gesture  of  his  hand  is  terrific.  '^My 
children, '^  said  an  old  man  to  his  boys  scared  by  a  figure  in 
the  dark  entry,  —  ^^my  children,  you  will  never  see  an3rthing 
worse  than  yourselves.''  As  in  dreams,  so  in  the  scarcely 
less  fluid  events  of  the  world,  every  man  sees  himself  in 
colossal,  without  knowing  that  it  is  himself.  The  good, 
compared  to  the  evil  which  he  sees,  is  as  his  own  good  to 
his  own  evil.  Every  quality  of  his  mind  is  magnified  in 
some  one  acquaintance,  and  every  emotion  of  his  heart  in 
some  one.  He  is  like  a  quincunx  of  trees,  which  counts 
five,  east,  west,  north,  or  south;  or,  an  initial,  medial,  and 
terminal  acrostic.  And  why  not?  He  cleaves  to  one  person, 
and  avoids  another,  according  to  their  likeness  or  unlikeness 
to  himself,  truly  seeking  himself  in  his  associates,  and  more- 
over in  his  trade,  and  habits,  and  gestures,  and  meats,  and 
drinks;  and  comes  at  last  to  be  faithfully  represented  by 
every  view  you  take  of  his  circumstances. 

He  may  read  what  he  writes.  What  can  we  see  or  acquire, 
but  what  we  are  ?  You  have  observed  a  skilful  man  reading 
Virgil.  Well,  that  author  is  a  thousand  books  to  a  thousand 
persons.  Take  the  book  into  your  two  hands,  and  read  your 
eyes  out ;  you  will  never  find  what  I  find.  If  any  ingenious 
reader  would  have  a  monopoly  of  the  wisdom  or  delight  he 
gets,  he  is  as  secure  now  the  book  is  Englished,  as  if  it  were 
imprisoned  in  the  Pelews'  tongue.  It  is  with  a  good  book 
as  it  is  with  good  company.  Introduce  a  base  person  among 
gentlemen;   it  is  all  to  no  purpose;   he  is  not  their  fellow. 


SPIRITUAL  LAWS  111 

Every  society  protects  itself.     The  company  is  perfectly  safe, 
and  he  is  not  one  of  them,  though  his  body  is  in  the  room. 

What  avails  it  to  fight  with  the  eternal  laws  of  mind, 
which  adjust  the  relation  of  all  persons  to  each  other,  by 
the  mathematical  measure  of  their  havings  and  beings? 
Gertrude  is  enamored  of  Guy;  how  high,  how  aristocratic, 
how  Roman  his  mien  and  manners !  to  live  with  him  were 
life  indeed,  and  no  purchase  is  too  great;  and  heaven  and 
earth  are  moved  to  that  end.  Well,  Gertrude  has  Guy; 
but  what  now  avails  how  high,  how  aristocratic,  how  Roman 
his  mien  and  manners,  if  his  heart  and  aims  are  in  the  senate, 
in  the  tHeatre,  and  in  the  billiard-room,  and  she  has  no  aims, 
no  conversation,  that  can  enchant  her  graceful  lord? 

He  shall  have  his  own  society.  W^e  can  love  nothing  but 
nature.  The  most  wonderful  talents,  the  most  meritorious: 
exertions,  really  avail  very  little  with  us;  but  nearness  or 
likeness  of  nature,  —  how  beautiful  is  the  ease  of  its  victory  t. 
Persons  approach  us  famous  for  their  beauty,  for  their 
accomplishments,  worthy  of  all  wonder  for  their  charms 
and  gifts;  they  dedicate  their  whole  skill  to  the  hour  and 
the  company,  with  very  imperfect  result.  To  be  sure,  it 
would  be  ungrateful  in  us  not  to  praise  them  loudly.  Then, 
when  all  is  done,  a  person  of  related  mind,  a  brother  or  sister 
by  nature,  comes  to  us  so  softly  and  easily,  so  nearly  and 
intimately,  as  if  it  were  the  blood  in  our  proper  veins,  that 
we  feel  as  if  some  one  was  gone,  instead  of  another  having; 
come;  we  are  utterly  relieved  and  refreshed;  it  is  a  sort 
of  joyful  solitude.  We  foolishly  think,  in  our  days  of  sin, 
that  we  must  court  friends  by  compliance  to  the  customs 
of  society,  to  its  dress,  its  breeding,  and  its  estimates.  But 
only  that  soul  can  be  my  friend  which  I  encounter  on  the  line 
jof  my  own  march,  that  soul  to  which  I  do  not  decline,  and 
which  does  not  decline  to  me,  but,  native  of  the  same  celestial 
latitude,  repeats  in  its  own  all  my  experience.  The  scholar 
forgets  himself,  and  apes  the  customs  and  costumes  of  the 
man  of  the  world,  to  deserve  the  smile  of  beauty,  and  follow 
some  giddy  girl  not  yet  taught  by  religious  passion  to  know 
the  noble  woman  with  all  that  is  serene,  oracular,  and  beauti- 
ful in  her  soul.  Let  him  be  great,  and  love  shall  follow  him. 
Nothing  is  more  deeply  punished  than  the  neglect  of  the 
affinities  by  which  alone  society  should  be  formed,  and  the 
insane  levity  of  choosing  associates  by  others'  eyes. 


112  SPIRITUAL  LAWS 

He  may  set  his  own  rate.  It  is  a  maxim  worthy  of  all 
acceptation,  that  a  man  may  have  that  allowance  he  takes. 
Take  the  place  and  attitude  which  belong  to  you,  and  all 
men  acquiesce.  The  world  must  be  just.  It  leaves  every 
man,  with  profound  unconcern,  to  set  his  own  rate.  Hero 
or  driveller,  it  meddles  not  in  the  matter.  It  will  certainly 
accept  your  own  measure  of  your  doing  and  being,  whether 
you  sneak  about  and  deny  your  own  name,  or  whether  you 
see  your  work  produced  to  the  concave  sphere  of  the  heavens, 
one  with  the  revolution  of  the  stars. 

The  same  reality  pervades  all  teaching.  The  man  may 
teach  by  doing,  and  not  otherwise.  If  he  can  communicate 
himself,  he  can  teach,  but  not  by  words.  He  teaches  who 
gives,  and  he  learns  who  receives.  There  is  no  teaching 
until  the  pupil  is  brought  into  the  same  state  or  principle 
in  which  you  are ;  a  transfusion  takes  place ;  he  is  you,  and 
you  are  he ;  then  is  a  teaching ;  and  by  no  unfriendly  chance 
or  bad  company  can  he  ever  quite  lose  the  benefit.  But  your 
propositions  run  out  of  one  ear  as  they  ran  in  at  the  other. 
We  see  it  advertised  that  Mr.  Grand  will  deliver  an  oration 
on  the  Fourth  of  July,  and  Mr.  Hand  before  the  Mechanics^ 
Association,  and  we  do  not  go  thither,  because  we  know  that 
these  gentlemen  will  not  communicate  their  own  character 
and  experience  to  the  company.  If  we  had  reason  to  expect 
such  a  confidence,  we  should  go  through  all  inconvenience 
and  opposition.  The  sick  would  be  carried  in  litters.  But 
a  public  oration  is  an  escapade,  a  non-committal,  an  apology, 
a  gag,  and  not  a  communication,  not  a  speech,  not  a  man. 

A  like  Nemesis  presides  over  all  intellectual  works.  We 
have  yet  to  learn,  that  the  thing  uttered  in  words  is  not  there- 
fore affirmed.  It  must  affirm  itself,  or  no  forms  of  logic  or 
of  oath  can  give  it  evidence.  The  sentence  must  also  contain 
its  own  apology  for  being  spoken. 

The  effect  of  any  writing  on  the  public  mind  is  mathe- 
matically measurable  by  its  depth  of  thought.  How  much 
water  does  it  draw?  If  it  awakens  you  to  think,  if  it  lift 
you  from  your  feet  with  the  great  voice  of  eloquence,  then 
the  effect  is  to  be  wide,  slow,  permanent,  over  the  minds 
of  men ;  if  the  pages  instruct  you  not,  they  will  die  like  flies 
in  the  hour.  The  way  to  speak  and  write  what  shall  not  go 
out  of  fashion  is,  to  speak  and  write  sincerely.  The  argument 
which  has  not  power  to  reach  my  own  practice,  I  may  well 


SPIRITUAL  LAWS  113 

doubt,  will  fail  to  reach  yours.  But  take  Sidney's  maxim, 
''Look  in  thy  heart,  and  write."  He  that  writes  to  himself 
writes  to  an  eternal  public.  That  statement  only  is  fit  to  be 
made  public,  which  you  have  come  at  in  attempting  to  satisfy 
your  own  curiosity.  The  writer  who  takes  his  subject  from 
his  ear,  and  not  from  his  heart,  should  know  that  he  has  lost 
as  much  as  he  seems  to  have  gained,  and  when  the  empty 
book  has  gathered  all  its  praise,  and  half  the  people  say, 
'  What  poetry !  what  genius ! '  it  still  needs  fuel  to  make 
fire.  That  only  profits  which  is  profitable.  Life  alone  can 
impart  life ;  and  though  we  should  burst,  we  can  only  be 
valued  as  we  make  ourselves  valuable.  There  is  no  luck  in 
literary  reputation.  They  who  make  up  the  final  verdict 
upon  every  book  are  not  the  partial  and  noisy  readers  of  the 
hour  when  it  appears;  but  a  court  as  of  angels,  a  public 
not  to  be  bribed,  not  to  be  entreated,  and  not  to  be  overawed, 
decides  upon  every  man^s  title  to  fame.  Only  those  books 
come  down  which  deserve  to  last.  Gilt  edges,  vellum,  and 
morocco,  and  presentation  copies  to  all  the  libraries,  will 
not  preserve  a  book  in  circulation  beyond  its  intrinsic  date. 
It  must  go  with  all  Walpole^s  Noble  and  Royal  Authors  to 
its  fate.  Blackmore,  Kotzebue,  or  PoUok  may  endure  for 
a  night,  but  Moses  and  Homer  stand  forever.  There  are 
not  in  the  world  at  any  one  time  more  than  a  dozen  persons 
who  read  and  understand  Plato :  never  enough  to  pay  for 
an  edition  of  his  works ;  yet  to  every  generation  these  come 
duly  down,  for  the  sake  of  those  few  persons,  as  if  God  brought 
them  in  his  hand.  "No  book,''  said  Bentley,  "was  ever 
written  down  by  any  but  itself.''  The  permanence  of  all 
books  is  fixed  by  no  effort  friendly  or  hostile,  but  by  their 
own  specific  gra\dty,  or  the  intrinsic  importance  of  their 
contents  to  the  constant  mind  of  man.  "Do  not  trouble 
yourself  too  much  about  the  light  on  your  statue,"  said 
Michael  Angelo  to  the  young  sculptor;  "the  light  of  the 
public  square  will  test  its  value." 

In  like  manner  the  effect  of  every  action  is  measured  by 
the  depth  of  the  sentiment  from  which  it  proceeds.  The 
great  man  knew  not  that  he  was  great.  It  took  a  century 
or  two  for  that  fact  to  appear.  What  he  did,  he  did  because 
he  must ;  it  was  the  most  natural  thing  in  the  world,  and  grew 
out  of  the  circumstances  of  the  moment.  But  now,  every- 
thing he  did,  even  to  the  lifting  of  his  finger  or  the  eating 


114  SPIRITUAL  LAWS 

of  bread,  looks  large,  all-related,  and  is  called  an  institu- 
tion. 

These  are  the  demonstrations  in  a  few  particulars  of  the  gen- 
ius of  nature ;  they  show  the  direction  of  the  stream.  But  the 
stream  is  blood ;  every  drop  is  alive.  Truth  has  not  single 
victories ;  all  things  are  its  organs,  —  not  only  dust  and 
stones,  but  errors  and  lies.  The  laws  of  disease,  physicians 
say,  are  as  beautiful  as  the  laws  of  health.  Our  philosophy 
is  affirmative,  and  readily  accepts  the  testimony  of  negative 
facts,  as  every  shadow  points  to  the  sun.  By  a  divine  neces- 
sity, every  fact  in  nature  is  constrained  to  offer  its  testimony. 

Human  character  evermore  publishes  itself.  The  most 
fugitive  deed  and  word,  the  mere  air  of  doing  a  thing,  the 
intimated  purpose,  expresses  character.  If  you  act,  you 
show  character ;  if  you  sit  still,  if  you  sleep,  you  show  it.  - 
You  think,  because  you  have  spoken  nothing  when  others 
spoke,  and  have  given  no  opinion  on  the  times,  on  the  church, 
on  slavery,  on  marriage,  on  socialism,  on  secret  societies, 
on  the  college,  on  parties  and  persons,  that  your  verdict  is 
still  expected  with  curiosity  as  a  reserved  wisdom.  Far 
otherwise;  your  silence  answers  very  loud.  You  have  no 
oracle  to  utter,  and  your  fellow-men  have  learned  that  you 
cannot  help  them;  for,  oracles  speak.  Doth  not  wisdom 
cry,  and  understanding  put  forth  her  voice? 

Dreadful  limits  are  set  in  nature  to  the  powers  of  dis- 
simulation. Truth  tyrannizes  over  the  unwilling  members 
of  the  body.  Faces  never  lie,  it  is  said.  No  man  need  be 
deceived,  who  will  study  the  changes  of  expression.  When 
a  man  speaks  the  truth  in  the  spirit  of  truth,  his  eye  is  as 
clear  as  the  heavens.  When  he  has  base  ends,  and  speaks 
falsely,  the  eye  is  muddy  and  sometimes  asquint. 

I  have  heard  an  experienced  counsellor  say,  that  he  never 
feared  the  effect  upon  a  jury  of  a  lawyer  who  does  not  believe 
in  his  heart  that  his  client  ought  to  have  a  verdict.  If  he 
does  not  believe  it,  his  unbelief  will  appear  to  the  jury, 
despite  all  his  protestations,  and  will  become  their  unbelief. 
This  is  that  law  whereby  a  work  of  art,  of  whatever  kind, 
sets  us  in  the  same  state  of  mind  wherein  the  artist  was  when 
he  made  it.  That  which  we  do  not  believe,  we  cannot 
adequately  say,  though  we  may  repeat  the  words  never  so 
often.  It  w^s  this  conviction  which  Swedenborg  expressed, 
when  he  described  a  group  of  persons  in  the  spiritual  world 


SPIRITUAL  LAWS  115 

endeavoring  in  vain  to  articulate  a  proposition  which  they 
did  not  believe;  but  they  could  not,  though  they  twisted 
and  folded  their  lips  even  to  indignation. 

A  man  passes  for  that  he  is  worth.  Very  idle  is  all  curiosity 
concerning  other  people^s  estimate  of  us,  and  all  fear  of 
remaining  unknown  is  not  less  so.  If  a  man  know  that  he 
can  do  anything,  —  that  he  can  do  it  better  than  any  one 
else,  —  he  has  a  pledge  of  the  acknowledgment  of  that  fact 
by  all  persons.  The  world  is  full  of  judgment-days,  and  into 
every  assembly  that  a  man  enters,  in  every  action  he  attempts, 
he  is  gauged  and  stamped.  In  every  troop  of  boys  that  whoop 
and  run  in  each  yard  and  square,  a  new-comer  is  as  well  and 
accurately  weighed  in  the  course  of  a  few  days,  and  stamped 
with  his  right  number,  as  if  he  had  undergone  a  formal  trial 
of  his  strength,  speed,  and  temper.  A  stranger  comes  from 
a  distant  school,  with  better  dress,  with  trinkets  in  his  pockets, 
with  airs  and  pretensions :  an  older  boy  says  to  himself, 
*It's  of  no  use;  we  shall  find  him  out  to-morrow.'  ^What 
has  he  done?'  is  the  divine  question  which  searches  men, 
and  transpierces  every  false  reputation.  A  fop  may  sit  in 
any  chair  of  the  world,  nor  be  distinguished  for  his  hour  from 
Homer  and  Washington ;  but  there  need  never  be  any  doubt 
concerning  the  respective  ability  of  human  beings.  Pre- 
tension may  sit  still,  but  cannot  act.  Pretension  never 
feigned  an  act  of  real  greatness.  Pretension  never  wrote  an 
Iliad,  nor  drove  back  Xerxes,  nor  Christianized  the  world, 
nor  abolished  slavery. 

As  much  virtue  as  there  is,  so  much  appears;  as  much 
goodness  as  there  is,  so  much  reverence  it  commands.  All 
the  devils  respect  virtue.  The  high,  the  generous,  the  self- 
devoted  sect  will  always  instruct  and  command  mankind. 
Never  was  a  sincere  word  utterly  lost.  Never  a  magnanimity 
fell  to  the  ground,  but  there  is  some  heart  to  greet  and  accept 
it  unexpectedly.  A  man  passes  for  that  he  is  worth.  What 
he  is  engraves  itself  on  his  face,  on  his  form,  on  his  fortunes,  in 
letters  of  light.  Concealment  avails  him  nothing ;  boasting, 
nothing.  There  is  confession  in  the  glances  of  our  eyes; 
in  our  smiles ;  in  salutations ;  and  the  grasp  of  hands.  His 
sin  bedaubs  him,  mars  all  his  good  impression.  Men  know 
not  why  they  do  not  trust  him ;  but  they  do  not  trust  him. 
His  vice  glasses  his  eye,  cuts  lines  of  mean  expression  in  his 
cheek,  pinches  the  nose,  sets  the  mark  of  the  beast  on  the 


116  SPIRITUAL  LAWS 

back  of  the  head,  and  writes  0  fool !  fool !  on  the  forehead 
of  a  king. 

If  you  would  not  be  known  to  do  anything,  never  do  it. 
A  man  may  play  the  fool  in  the  drifts  of  a  desert,  but  every 
grain  of  sand  shall  seem  to  see.  He  may  be  a  solitary  eater, 
but  he  cannot  keep  his  foolish  counsel.  A  broken  complexion, 
a  swinish  look,  ungenerous  acts,  and  the  want  of  due  knowl- 
edge, —  all  blab.  Can  a  cook,  a  Chiffinch,  an  lachimo,  be 
mistaken  for  Zeno  or  Paul?  Confucius  exclaimed,  '*How 
can  a  man  be  concealed !     How  can  a  man  be  concealed !"      t 

On  the  other  hand,  the  hero  fears  not  that  if  he  withhold 
the  avowal  of  a  just  and  brave  act,  it  will  go  unwitnessed 
and  unloved.  One  knows  it,  —  himself,  —  and  is  pledged  by 
it  to  sweetness  of  peace,  and  to  nobleness  of  aim,  which  will 
prove  in  the  end  a  better  proclamation  of  it  than  the  relating 
of  the  incident.  Virtue  is  the  adherence  in  action  to  the 
nature  of  things,  and  the  nature  of  things  makes  it  prevalent. 
It  consists  in  a  perpetual  substitution  of  being  for  seeming, 
and  with  sublime  propriety  God  is  described  as  saying,  I  AM. 

The  lesson  which  these  observations  convey  is.  Be,  and 
not  seem.  Let  us  acquiesce.  Let  us  take  our  bloated 
nothingness  out  of  the  path  of  the  divine  circuits.  Let 
us  unlearn  our  wisdom  of  the  world.  Let  us  lie  low  in  the 
Lord's  power,  and  learn  that  truth  alone  makes  rich  and  great. 

If  you  visit  your  friend,  why  need  you  apologize  for  not 
having  visited  him,  and  waste  his  time  and  deface  your 
own  act?  Visit  him  now.  Let  him  feel  that  the  highest 
love  has  come  to  see  him,  in  thee,  its  lowest  organ.  Or  why 
need  you  torment  yourself  and  friend  by  secret  self-reproaches 
that  you  have  not  assisted  him  or  complimented  him  with 
gifts  and  salutations  heretofore  ?  Be  a  gift  and  a  benediction. 
Shine  with  real  light,  and  not  with  the  borrowed  reflection 
of  gifts.  Common  men  are  apologies  for  men;  they  bow 
the  head,  excuse  themselves  with  prolix  reasons,  and  ac- 
cumulate appearances,  because  the  substance  is  not. 

We  are  full  of  these  superstitions  of  sense,  the  worship  of 
magnitude.  We  call  the  poet  inactive,  because  he  is  not 
a  president,  a  merchant,  or  a  porter.  We  adore  an  in- 
stitution, and  do  not  see  that  it  is  founded  on  a  thought 
which  we  have.  But  real  action  is  in  silent  moments.  The 
epochs  of  our  life  are  not  in  the  visible  facts  of  our  choice 
of  a  calling,  our  marriage,  our  acquisition  of  an  office,  and 


SPIRITUAL  LAWS  117 

the  like,  but  in  a  silent  thought  by  the  wayside  as  we  walk  ; 
in  a  thought  which  revises  our  entire  manner  of  life,  and  says, 
"Thus  hast  thou  done,  but  it  were  better  thus/^  And  all  our 
after  years,  like  menials,  serve  and  wait  on  this,  and,  according 
to  their  ability,  execute  its  will.  This  revisal  or  correction 
is  a  constant  force, '  which,  as  a  tendency,  reaches  through 
our  lifetime.  The  object  of  the  man,  the  aim  of  these  mo- 
ments, is  to  make  dayhght  shine  through  him,  to  suffer  the 
law  to  traverse  his  whole  being  without  obstruction,  so  that 
on  what  point  soever  of  his  doing  your  eye  falls,  it  shall  report 
truly  of  his  character,  whether  it  be  his  diet,  his  house,  his 
religious  forms,  his  society,  his  mirth,  his  vote,  his  opposition. 
Now  he  is  not  homogeneous,  but  heterogeneous,  and  the  ray 
does  not  traverse  ;  there  are  no  thorough  lights ;  but  the  eye 
of  the  beholder  is  puzzled,  detecting  many  unhke  tendencies, 
and  a  Hfe  not  yet  at  one. 

Why  should  we  make  it  a  point  with  our  false  modesty 
to  disparage  that  man  we  are,  and  that  form  of  being  assigned 
to  us?  A  good  man  is  contented.  I  love  and  honor  Epami- 
nondas,  but  I  do  not  wish  to  be  Epaminondas.  I  hold  it 
more  just  to  love  the  world  of  this  hour,  than  the  world  of  his 
hour.  Nor  can  you,  if  I  am  true,  excite  me  to  the  least 
uneasiness  by  saying,  ^He  acted,  and  thou  sittest  still.' 
I  see  action  to  be  good,  when  the  need  is,  and  sitting  still 
to  be  also  good.  Epaminondas,  if  he  was  the  man  I  take 
him  for,  would  have  sat  still  with  joy  and  peace,  if  his  lot 
had  been  mine.  Heaven  is  large,  and  affords  space  for  all 
modes  of  love  and  fortitude.  Why  should  we  be  busybodies 
and  superserviceable  ?  Action  and  inaction  are  alike  to  the 
true.  One  piece  of  the  tree  is  cut  for  a  weathercock,  and  one 
for  the  sleeper  of  a  bridge ;  the  virtue  of  the  wood  is  apparent 
in  both. 

I  desire  not  to  disgrace  the  soul.  The  fact  that  I  am  here 
certainly  shows  me  that  the  soul  had  need  of  an  organ  here. 
Shall  I  not  assume  the  post?  Shall  T  skullc  and  dodge  and 
duck  with  my  unseasonable  apologies  and  vain  modesty,  and 
imagine  my  being  here  impertinent?  less  pertinent  than 
Epaminondas  or  Homer  being  there?  and  that  the  soul  did 
not  know  its  own  needs?  Besides,  without  any  reasoning 
on  the  matter,  I  have  no  discontent.  The  good  soul  nourishes 
me,  and  unlocks  new  magazines  of  power  and  enjoyment  to 
me  every  day.     I  will  not  meanly  decline  the  immensity  of 


118  SPIRITUAL  LAWS 

good,  because  I  have  heard  that  it  has  come  to  others  in 
another  shape. 

Besides,  why  should  we  be  cowed  by  the  name  of  Action? 
^T  is  a  trick  of  the  senses,  —  no  more.  We  know  that  the 
ancestor  of  every  action  is  a  thought.  The  poor  mind  does 
not  seem  to  itself  to  be  an3^hing,  unless  it  have  an  outside 
badge,  —  some  Gentoo  diet,  or  Quaker  coat,  or  Calvinistic 
pra^^er-meeting,  or  philanthropic  society,  or  a  great  donation, 
or  a  high  office,  or,  any  how,  some  wild  contrasting  action 
to  testify  that  it  is  somewhat.  The  rich  mind  lies  in  the  sun 
and  sleeps,  and  is  Nature.     To  think  is  to  act. 

Let  us,  if  we  must  have  great  actions,  make  our  own  so. 
All  action  is  of  an  infinite  elasticity,  and  the  least  admits  of 
being  inflated  with  the  celestial  air  until  it  ecHpses  the  sun 
and  moon.  Let  us  seek  one  peace  by  fideUty.  Let  me  heed 
my  duties.  Why  need  I  go  gadding  into  the  scenes  and 
philosophy  of  Greek  and  Itahan  history,  before  I  have 
justified  nwself  to  my  benefactors?  How  dare  I  read 
Washington's  campaigns,  when  I  have  not  answered  the  letters 
of  my  own  correspondents?  Is  not  that  a  just  objection  to 
much  of  our  reading?  It  is  a  pusillanimous  desertion  of  our 
work  to  gaze  after  our  neighbors.  It  is  peeping.  Byron 
says  of  Jack  Bunting,  — 

^'  He  knew  not  what  to  say,  and  so  he  swore." 

I  may  say  it  of  our  preposterous  use  of  books,  —  He  knew 
not  what  to  do,  and  so  he  read.  I  can  think  of  nothing  to 
fill  my  time  with,  and  I  find  the  Life  of  Brant.  It  is  a  very 
extravagant  compliment  to  pay  to  Brant,  or  to  General 
Schuyler,  or  to  General  Washingt-on.  My  time  should  be 
as  good  as  their  time,  —  my  facts,  my  net  of  relations,  as 
good  as  theirs,  or  either  of  theirs.  Rather  let  me  do  my  work 
so  well  that  other  idlers,  if  they  choose,  may  compare  my 
texture  with  the  texture  of  these  and  find  it  identical  with  the 
best. 

This  over-estimate  of  the  possibilities  of  Paul  and  Pericles, 
this  under-estimate  of  our  own,  comes  from  a  neglect  of  the 
fact  of  an  identical  nature.  Bonaparte  knew  but  one  merit, 
and  rewarded  in  one  and  the  same  way  the  good  soldier,  the 
good  astronomer,  the  good  poet,  the  good  player.  The  poet 
uses  the  names  of  Caesar,  of  Tamerlane,  of  Bonduca,  of 
Belisarius;    the  painter  uses  the  conventional  story  of  the 


SPIRITUAL  LAWS  119 

Virgin  Mary,  of  Paul,  of  Peter.  He  does  not,  therefore, 
defer  to  the  nature  of  these  accidental  men,  of  these  stock 
heroes.  If  the  poet  write  a  true  drama,  then  he  is  Caesar, 
and  not  the  player  of  Caesar;  then  the  selfsame  strain  of 
thought,  emotion  as  pure,  wit  as  subtle,  motions  as  swift 
mounting,  extravagant,  and  a  heart  as  great,  self-sufficing, 
dauntless,  which  on  the  waves  of  its  love  and  hope  can  uplift 
all  that  is  reckoned  solid  and  precious  in  the  world,  —  palaces^ 
gardens,  money,  navies,  kingdoms,  —  marking  its  own 
incomparable  worth  by  the  slight  it  casts  on  these  gauds  of 
men,  —  these  all  are  his,  and  by  the  power  of  these  he  rouses 
the  nations.  Let  a  man  believe  in  God,  and  not  in  names 
and  places  and  persons.  Let  the  great  soul  incarnated  in 
some  woman's  form,  poor  and  sad  and  single,  in  some  Dolly 
or  Joan,  go  out  to  service,  and  sweep  chambers  and  scour 
floors,  and  its  effulgent  daybeams  cannot  be  muffled  or  hid, 
but  to  sweep  and  scour  will  instantly  appear  supreme  and 
beautiful  actions,  the  top  and  radiance  of  human  life,  and 
all  people  will  get  mops  and  brooms ;  until,  lo !  suddenly 
the  great  soul  has  enshrined  itself  in  some  other  form,  and 
done  some  other  deed,  and  that  is  now  the  flower  and  head 
of  all  living  nature. 

We  are  the  photometers,  we  the  irritable  gold-leaf  and 
tin-foil  that  measure  the  accumulations  of  the  subtle  element. 
We  know  the  authentic  effects  of  the  true  fire  through  every 
one  of  its  milHon  disguises. 


1 


FRIENDSHIP 

A  RUDDY  drop  of  manly  blood 

The  surging  sea  outweighs, 

The  world  uncertain  comes  and  goes, 

The  lover  rooted  stays. 

I  fancied  he  was  fled, 

And,  after  many  a  year. 

Glowed  unexhausted  kindliness 

Like  daily  sunrise  there. 

My  careful  heart  was  free  again,  — 

O  friend,  my  bosom  said, 

Through  thee  alone  the  sky  is  arched, 

Through  thee  the  rose  is  red, 

All  things  through  thee  take  nobler  form, 

And  look  beyond  the  earth, 

The  mill-round  of  our  fate  appears 

A  sun-path  in  thy  worth. 

Me  too  thy  nobleness  has  taught 

To  master  mj^  despair ; 

The  fountains  of  my  hidden  life 

Are  through  thy  friendship  fair. 

We  have  a  great  deal  more  kindness  than  is  ever  spoken. 
Maugre  all  the  selfishness  that  chills  like  eastwinds  the  world, 
the  whole  human  family  is  bathed  with  an  element  of  love 
like  a  fine  ether.  How  many  persons  we  meet  in  houses, 
whom  we  scarcely  speak  to,  whom  yet  we  honor,  and  who 
honor  us!  How  many  we  see  in  the  street,  or  sit  with  in 
church,  whom,  though  silently,  we  warmly  rejoice  to  be 
with!  Read  the  language  of  these  wandering  eye-beams. 
The  heart  knoweth. 

The  effect  of  the  indulgence  of  this  human  affection  is 
a  certain  cordial  exhilaration.  In  poetry,  and  in  common 
speech,  the  emotions  of  benevolence  and  complacency  which 
are  felt  towards  others  are  likened  to  the  material  effects 

120 


FRIENDSHIP  121 

of  fire;  so  swift,  or  much  more  swift,  more  active,  more 
cheering,  are  these  fine  inward  irradiations.  From  the 
highest  degree  of  passionate  love,  to  the  lowest  degree  of 
good- will,  they  make  the  sweetness  of  life. 

Our  intellectual  and  active  powers  increase  with  our 
affection.  The  scholar  sits  down  to  write,  and  all  his  years 
of  meditation  do  not  furnish  him  with  one  good  thought  or 
happy  expression;  but  it  is  necessary  to  write  a  letter  to 
a  friend,  —  and,  forthwith,  troops  of  gentle  thoughts  invest 
them.selves,  on  every  h^nd,  with  chosen  words.  See,  in  any 
house  where  virtue  and  self-respect  abide,  the  palpitation 
which  the  approach  of  a  stranger  causes.  A  commended 
stranger  is  expected  and  announced,  and  an  uneasiness  be- 
twixt pleasure  and  pain  invades  all  the  hearts  of  a  household. 
His  arrival  almost  brings  fear  to  the  good  hearts  that  would 
welcome  him.  The  house  is  dusted,  all  things  fly  into  their 
places,  the  old  coat  is  exchanged  for  the  new,  and  they  must 
get  up  a  dinner  if  they  can.  Of  a  commended  stranger,  only 
the  good  report  is  told  by  others,  only  the  good  and  new  is 
heard  by  us.  He  stands  to  us  for  humanity.  He  is  what  we 
wish.  Having  imagined  and  invested  him,  we  ask  how  we 
should  stand  related  in  conversation  and  action  with  such 
a  man,  and  are  uneasy  with  fear.  The  same  idea  exalts 
conversation  with  him.  We  talk  better  than  we  are  wont. 
We  have  the  nimblest  fancy,  a  richer  memory,  and  our  dumb 
devil  has  taken  leave  for  the  time.  For  long  hours  we  can 
continue  a  series  of  sincere,  graceful,  rich  communications, 
drawn  from  the  oldest,  secretest  experience,  so  that  they 
who  sit  by,  of  our  own  kinsfolk  and  acquaintance,  shall  feel 
a  lively  surprise  at  our  unusual  powers.  But  as  soon  as 
the  stranger  begins  to  intrude  his  partialities,  his  definitions, 
his  defects,  into  the  conversation,  it  is  all  over.  He  has 
heard  the  first,  the  last,  and  best  he  will  ever  hear  from  us. 
He  is  no  stranger  now.  Vulgarity  ignorance,  misappre- 
hension, are  old  acquaintances.  Now,  when  he  comes,  he 
may  find  the  order,  the  dress,  and  the  dinner,  —  but  the 
throbbing  of  the  heart,  and  the  communications  of  the  soul, 
no  more. 

What  is  so  pleasant  as  these  jets  of  affection  which  make 
a  young  world  for  me  again?  What  so  delicious  as  a  just 
and  firm  encounter  of  two,  in  a  thought,  in  a  feeling?  How 
beautiful,  on  their  approach  to  this  beating  heart,  the  steps 


122  FRIENDSHIP 

and  forms  of  the  gifted  and  the  true!  The  moment  we 
indulge  our  affections,  the  earth  is  metamorphosed;  there 
is  no  winter,  and  no  night ;  all  tragedies,  all  ennuis,  vanish, 
—  all  duties  even ;  nothing  fills  the  proceeding  eternity  but 
the  forms  all  radiant  of  beloved  persons.  Let  the  soul  be 
assured  that  somewhere  in  the  universe  it  should  rejoin  its 
friend,  and  it  would  be  content  and  cheerful  alone  for  a 
thousand  years. 

I  awoke  this  morning  with  devout  thanksgiving  for  my 
friends,  the  old  and  the  new.  Shall  I  not  call  God  the  beauti- 
ful, who  daily  showeth  himself  so  to  me  in  his  gifts  ?  I  chide 
society,  I  embrace  solitude,  and  yet  I  am  not  so  ungrateful 
as  not  to  see  the  wise,  the  lovely,  and  the  noble-minded,  as 
from  time  to  time  they  pass  my  gate.  Who  hears  me,  who 
understands  me,  becomes  mine,  —  a  possession  for  all  time. 
Nor  is  Nature  so  poor  but  she  gives  me  this  joy  several  times, 
and  thus  we  weave  social  threads  of  our  own,  a  new  web  of 
relations ;  and,  as  many  thoughts  in  succession  substantiate 
themselves,  we  shall  by  and  by  stand  in  a  new  world  of  our 
own  creation,  and  no  longer  strangers  and  pilgrims  in  a 
traditionary  globe.  My  friends  have  come  to  me  unsought. 
The  great  God  gave  them  to  me.  By  oldest  right,  by  the 
divine  affinity  of  virtue  with  itself,  I  find  them,  or  rather 
not  I  but  the  Deity  in  me  and  in  them  derides  and  cancels 
the  thick  walls  of  individual  character,  relation,  age,  sex, 
circumstance,  at  which  he  usually  connives,  and  now  makes 
many  one.  High  thanks  I  owe  you,  excellent  lovers,  who 
carry  out  the  world  for  me  to  new  and  noble  depths,  and 
enlarge  the  meaning  of  all  my  thoughts.  These  are  new 
poetry  of  the  first  Bard,  —  poetry  without  stop,  —  h^^mn, 
ode,  and  epic,  poetry  still  flowing,  Apollo  and  the  Muses 
chanting  still.  Will  these,  too,  separate  themselves  from 
me  again,  or  some  of  them?  I  know  not,  but  I  fear  it  not; 
for  my  relation  to  them  is  so  pure,  that  we  hold  by  simple 
affinity,  and  the  Genius  of  my  life  being  thus  social,  the  same 
affinity  will  exert  its  energy  on  whomsoever  is  as  noble  as 
these  men  and  women,  wherever  I  may  be. 

I  confess  to  an  extreme  tenderness  of  nature  on  this  point. 
It  is  almost  dangerous  to  me  to  ^^  crush  the  sweet  poison  of 
misused  wine''  of  the  affections.  A  new  person  is  to  me 
a  great  event,  and  hinders  me  from  sleep.  I  have  often  had 
fine  fancies  about  persons  which  have  given  me  delicious 


FRIENDSHIP  123 

hours;  but  the  joy  ends  in  the  day;  it  yields  no  fruit. 
Thought  is  not  born  of  it ;  my  action  is  very  little  modified. 
I  must  feel  pride  in  my  friend^s  accomplishments  as  if  they 
were  mine,  —  and  a  property  in  his  virtues.  I  feel  as  warmly 
when  he  is  praised,  as  the  lover  when  he  hears  applause  of 
his  engaged  maiden.  We  over-estimate  the  conscience  of 
our  friend.  His  goodness  seems  better  than  our  goodness, 
his  nature  finer,  bis  temptations  less.  Everything  that  is 
his,  —  his  name,  his  form,  his  dress,  books,  and  instruments, 
—  fancy  enhances.  Our  own  thought  sounds  new  and 
larger  from  his  mouth. 

Yet  the  systole  and  diastole  of  the  heart  are  not  without 
their  analogy  in  the  ebb  and  flow  of  love.  Friendship,  like 
the  immortality  of  the  soul,  is  too  good  to  be  believed.  The 
lover,  beholding  his  maiden,  half  knows  that  she  is  not 
verily  that  which  he  worships;  and  in  the  golden  hour  of 
friendship,  we  are  surprised  with  shades  of  suspicion  and 
unbelief.  We  doubt  that  we  bestow  on  our  hero  the  virtues 
in  which  he  shines,  and  afterwards  worship  the  form  to 
which  we  have  ascribed  this  divine  inhabitation.  In  strict- 
ness, the  soul  does  not  respect  men  as  it  respects  itself.  In 
strict  science  all  persons  underlie  the  same  condition  of  an 
infinite  remoteness.  Shall  we  fear  to  cool  our  love  by  mining 
for  the  metaphysical  foundation  of  this  Elysian  temple? 
Shall  I  not  be  as  real  as  the  things  I  see?  If  I  am,  I  shall 
not  fear  to  know  them  for  what  they  are.  Their  essence 
is  not  less  beautiful  than  their  appearance,  though  it  needs 
finer  organs  for  its  apprehension.  The  root  of  the  plant  is 
not  unsightly  to  science,  though  for  chaplets  and  festoons 
we  cut  the  stem  short.  And  I  must  hazard  the  production 
of  the  bald  fact  amidst  these  pleasing  reveries,  though  it 
should  prove  an  Egyptian  skull  at  our  banquet.  A  man  who 
stands  united  with  his  thought  conceives  magnificently  of 
himself.  He  is  conscious  of  a  universal  success,  even  though 
bought  by  uniform  particular  failures.  No  advantages, 
no  powers,  no  gold  or  force,  can  be  any  match  for  him.  I 
cannot  choose  but  rely  on  my  own  poverty  more  than  on 
your  wealth.  I  cannot  make  your  consciousness  tantamount 
to  mine.  Only  the  star  dazzles;  the  planet  has  a  faint, 
moon-like  ray.  I  hear  what  you  say  of  the  admirable  parts 
and  tried  temper  of  the  party  you  praise,  but  I  see  well  that 
for  all  his  purple  cloaks  I  shall  not  like  him,  unless  he  is  at 


124  FRIENDSHIP 

last  a  poor  Greek  like  me.  I  cannot  deny  it,  0  friend,  that 
the  vast  shadow  of  the  Phenomenal  includes  thee  also 
in  its  pied  and  painted  immensity,  —  thee,  also,  compared 
with  whom  all  else  is  shadow.  Thou  art  not  Being,  as 
Truth  is,  as  Justice  is,  —  thou  art  not  my  soul,  but  a  picture 
and  effigy  of  that.  Thou  hast  come  to  me  lately,  and  already 
thou  art  seizing  thy  hat  and  cloak.  Is  it  not  the  soul  puts 
forth  friends  as  the  tree  puts  forth  leaves,  and  presently,  by 
the  germination  of  new  buds,  extrudes  the  old  leaf?  The 
law  of  nature  is  alternation  forevermore.  Each  electrical 
state  superinduces  the  opposite.  The  soul  environs  itself 
with  friends,  that  it  may  enter  into  a  grander  self -acquaint- 
ance or  solitude ;  and  it  goes  alone  for  a  season,  that  it  may 
exalt  its  conversation  or  society.  This  method  betrays  itself 
along  the  whole  history  of  our  personal  relations.  The 
instinct  of  affection  revives  the  hope  of  union  with  our  mates, 
and  the  returning  sense  of  insulation  recalls  us  from  the  chase. 
Thus  every  man  passes  his  life  in  the  search  after  friendship, 
and  if  he  should  record  his  true  sentiment,  he  might  write 
a  letter  like  this  to  each  new  candidate  for  his  love. 

Dear  Friend  :  — 

If  I  was  sure  of  thee,  sure  of  thy  capacity,  sure  to  match 
my  mood  with  thine,  I  should  never  think  again  of  trifles 
in  relation  to  thy  comings  and  goings.  I  am  not  very  wise ; 
my  moods  are  quite  attainable ;  and  I  respect  thy  genius ; 
it  is  to  me  as  yet  unfathomed ;  yet  dare  I  not  presume  in  thee 
a  perfect  intelligence  of  me,  and  so  thou  art  to  me  a  delicious 
torment.     Thine  ever,  or  never. 

Yet  these  uneasy  pleasures  and  fine  pains  are  for  curiosity, 
and  not  for  life.  They  are  not  to  be  indulged.  This  is  to 
weave  cobweb,  and  not  cloth.  Our  friendships  hurry  to 
short  and  poor  conclusions,  because  we  have  made  them 
a  texture  of  wine  and  dreams,  instead  of  the  tough  fibre  of 
the  human  heart.  The  laws  of  friendship  are  austere  and 
eternal,  of  one  web  with  the  laws  of  nature  and  of  morals. 
But  we  have  aimed  at  a  swift  and  petty  benefit,  to  suck 
a  sudden  sweetness.  We  snatch  at  the  slowest  fruit  in  the 
whole  garden  of  God,  which  many  summers  and  many  winters 
must  ripen.  We  seek  our  friend  not  sacredly,  but  with  an 
adulterated  passion  which  would  appropriate  him  to  our- 


i 


FRIENDSHIP  125 


selves.  In  vain.  We  are  armed  all  over  with  subtle  antag- 
onisms, which,  as  soon  as  we  meet,  begin  to  play,  and  trans- 
late all  poetry  into  stale  prose.  Almost  all  people  descend 
to  meet.  All  association  must  be  a  compromise,  and,  what 
is  worst,  the  very  flower  and  aroma  of  the  flower  of  each  of 
the  beautiful  natures  disappears  as  they  approach  each  other. 
What  a  perpetual  disappointment  is  actual  society,  even  of 
the  virtuous  and  gifted!  After  interviews  have  been  com- 
passed with  long  foresight,  we  must  be  tormented  presently 
by  baffled  blows,  by  sudden,  unseasonable  apathies,  by 
epilepsies  of  wit  and  of  animal  spirits,  in  the  heyday  of 
friendship  and  thought.  Our  faculties  do  not  play  as  true, 
and  both  parties  are  relieved  by  solitude. 

I  ought  to  be  equal  to  every  relation.  It  makes  no  differ- 
ence how  many  friends  I  have,  and  what  content  I  can  find 
in  conversing  with  each,  if  there  be  one  to  whom  I  am  not 
equal.  If  I  have  shrunk  unequal  from  one  contest,  the  joy 
I  find  in  all  the  rest  becomes  mean  and  cowardly.  I  should 
hate  myself,  if  then  I  made  my  other  friends  my  asylum. 

''The  valiant  warrior  famoused  for  fight, 
After  a  hundred  victories,  once  foiled, 
Is  from  the  book  of  honor  razed  quite, 
And  all  the  rest  forgot  for  which  he  toiled." 

Our  impatience  is  thus  sharply  rebuked.  Bashfulness 
and  apathy  are  a  tough  husk,  in  which  a  delicate  organization 
is  protected  from  premature  ripening.  It  would  be  lost, 
if  it  knew  itself  before  any  of  the  best  souls  were  yet  ripe 
enough  to  know  and  own  it.  Respect  the  naturlangsamkeit 
which  hardens  the  ruby  in  a  million  years,  and  works  in 
duration,  in  which  Alps  and  Andes  come  and  go  as  rainbows. 
The  good  spirit  of  our  life  has  no  heaven  which  is  the  price 
of  rashness.  Love,  which  is  the  essence  of  God,  is  not  for 
levity,  but  for  the  total  worth  of  man.  Let  us  not  have  this 
childish  luxury  in  our  regards,  but  the  austerest  worth ;  let 
us  approach  our  friend  with  an  audacious  trust  in  the  truth 
of  his  heart,  in  the  breadth,  impossible  to  be  overturned,  of 
his  foundations. 

.  The  attractions  of  this  subject  are  not  to  be  resisted,  and 
I  leave,  for  the  time,  all  account  of  subordinate  social  benefit, 
to  speak  of  that  select  and  sacred  relation  which  is  a  kind 
of  absolute,  and  which  even  leaves  the  language  of  l<»ve 


IIJ  FRIENDSHIP 

suspicious  and  common,  so  much  is  this  purer,  and  nothing 
is  so  much  divine. 

I  do  not  wish  to  treat  friendships  daintily,  but  with  roughest 
courage.  When  they  are  real,  they  are  not  glass  threads  or 
frostwork,  but  the  solidest  thing  we  know.  For  now,  after 
so  many  ages  of  experience,  what  do  we  know  of  nature, 
or  of  ourselves?  Not  one  step  has  man  taken  toward  the 
solution  of  the  problem  of  his  destiny.  In  one  condemnation 
of  folly  stand  the  whole  universe  of  men.  But  the  sweet 
sincerity  of  joy  and  peace,  which  I  draw  from  this  alliance 
with  my  brother^s  soul,  is  the  nut  itself,  whereof  all  nature 
and  all  thought  is  but  the  husk  and  shell.  Happy  is  the  house 
that  shelters  a  friend !  It  might  well  be  built,  like  a  festal 
bower  or  arch,  to  entertain  him  a  single  day.  Happier,  if 
he  know  the  solemnity  of  that  relation,  and  honor  its  law ! 
He  who  offers  himself  a  candidate  for  that  covenant  comes 
up,  like  an  Olympian,  to  the  great  games,  where  the  first-r 
born  of  the  world  are  the  competitors.  He  proposes  himself 
for  contests  where  Time,  Want,  Danger,  are  in  the  hsts,  and 
he  alone  is  victor  who  has  truth  enough  in  his  constitution 
to  preserve  the  deUcacy  of  his  beauty  from  the  wear  and  tear 
of  all  these.  The  gifts  of  fortune  may  be  present  or  absent, 
but  all  the  speed  in  that  contest  depends  on  intrinsic  nobleness, 
and  the  contempt  of  trifles.  There  are  two  elements  that 
go  to  the  composition  of  friendship,  each  so  sovereign  that 
I  can  detect  no  superiority  in  either,  no  reason  why  either 
should  be  first  named.  One  is  Truth.  A  friend  is  a  person 
with  whom  I  may  be  sincere.  Before  him  I  may  think  aloud » 
I  am  arrived  at  last  in  the  presence  of  a  man  so  real  and  equal, 
that  I  may  drop  even  those  undermost  garments  of  dissimula- 
tion, courtesy,  and  second  thought,  which  men  never  put  off, 
and  may  deal  with  him  with  the  simphcity  and  wholeness 
with  which  one  chemical  atom  meets  another.  Sincerity 
is  the  luxury  allowed,  like  diadems  and  authority,  only  to 
the  highest  rank,  that  being  permitted  to  speak  truth,  as 
having  none  above  it  to  court  or  conform  unto.  Every  man 
alone  is  sincere.  At  the  entrance  of  a  second  person,  hy- 
pocrisy begins.  We  parry  and  fend  the  approach  of  our 
fellow-nian  by  compliments,  by  gossip,  by  amusements,  by 
affairs.  We  cover  up  our  thought  from  him  under  a  hundred 
folds.  I  knew  a  man,  who,  under  a  certain  religious  frenzy, 
cast  off  this  drapery,  and,  omitting  all  comphment  and  com- 


FRIENDSHIP  127 

monplace,  spoke  to  the  conscience  of  every  person  he  en- 
countered, and  that  with  great  insight  and  beauty.  At  first 
he  was  resisted,  and  all  men  agreed  he  was  mad.  But  persist- 
ing, as  indeed  he  could  not  help  doing,  for  some  time  in  this 
course,  he  attained  to  the  advantage  of  bringing  every  man 
of  his  acquaintance  into  true  relations  with  him.  No  man 
would  think  of  speaking  falsely  with  him,  or  of  putting  him 
off  with  any  chat  of  markets  or  reading-rooms.  But  every 
man  was  constrained  by  so  much  sincerity  to  the  Uke  plain- 
dealing,  and  what  love  of  nature,  what  poetry,  what  symbol 
of  truth  he  had,  he  did  certainly  show  him.  But  to  most  of  us 
society  shows  not  its  face  and  eye,  but  its  side  and  its  back. 
To  stand  in  true  relations  with  men  in  a  false  age  is  worth  a 
fit  of  insanity,  is  it  not?  We  can  seldom  go  erect.  Almost 
every  man  we  meet  requires  some  civility,  —  requires  to  be 
humored ;  he  has  some  fame,  some  talent,  some  whim  of 
rehgion  or  philanthropy^  in  his  head,  that  is  not  to  be  ques- 
tioned, and  which  spoils  all  conversation  with  him.  But 
a  friend  is  a  sane  man  who  exercises  not  my  ingenuity,  but 
me.  My  friend  gives  me  entertainment  without  requiring 
any  stipulation  on  my  part.  A  friend,  therefore,  is  a  sort 
of  paradox  in  nature.  I  who  alone  am,  I  who  see  nothing 
in  nature  whose  existence  I  can  affirm  with  equal  evidence 
to  my  own,  behold  now  the  semblance  of  my  being,  in  all  its 
height,  variety,  and  curiosity,  reiterated  in  a  foreign  form ; 
so  that  a  friend  may  w^ell  be  reckoned  the  masterpiece  of 
nature. 

The  other  element  of  friendship  is  tenderness.  We  are 
holden  to  men  by  every  sort  of  tie,  by  blood,  by  pride,  by 
fear,  by  hope,  by  lucre,  by  lust,  by  hate,  by  admiration,  by 
every  circumstance,  and  badge  and  trifle,  but  we  can  scarce 
believe  that  so  much  character  can  subsist  in  another  as  to 
draw  us  by  love.  Can  another  be  so  blessed,  and  we  so  pure, 
that  we  can  offer  him  tenderness?  When  a  man  becomes 
dear  to  me,  I  have  touched  the  goal  of  fortune.  I  find  very 
little  written  directly  to  the  heart  of  this  matter  in  books. 
And  yet  I  have  one  text  which  I  cannot  choose  but  remember. 
My  author  says:  ^'I  offer  myself  faintly  and  bluntly  to 
those  whose  I  effectually  am,  and  tender  myself  least  to  him 
to  whom  I  am  the  most  devoted. ''  I  wish  that  friendship 
should  have  feet,  as  well  as  eyes  and  eloquence.  It  must 
plant  itself  on  the  ground,  before  it  vaults  over  the  moon. 


n 


128  FRIENDSHIP 

I  wish  it  to  be  a  little  of  a  citizen,  before  it  is  quite  a  cherub. 
We  chide  the  citizen  because  he  makes  love  a  commodity. 
It  is  an  exchange  of  gifts,  of  useful  loans ;  it  is  good  neigh- 
borhood; it  watches  with  the  sick;  it  holds  the  pall  at 
the  funeral ;  and  quite  loses  sight  of  the  dehcacies  and  nobility 
of  the  relation.  But  though  we  cannot  find  the  god  under 
this  disguise  of  a  sutler,  yet,  on  the  other  hand,  we  cannot 
forgive  the  poet  if  he  spins  his  thread  too  fine,  and  does  not 
substantiate  his  romance  by  the  municipal  virtues  of  justice, 
punctuaUty,  fidelity,  and  pity.  I  hate  the  prostitution  of 
the  name  of  friendship  to  signify  modish  and  worldly  alliances. 
I  much  prefer  the  company  of  ploughboys  and  tin-pedlers, 
to  the  silken  and  perfumed  amity  which  celebrates  its  days 
of  encounter  by  a  frivolous  display,  by  rides  in  a  curricle,  and 
dinners  at  the  best  taverns.  The  end  of  friendship  is  a 
commerce  the  most  strict  and  homely  that  can  be  joined; 
more  strict  than  any  of  which  we  have  experience.  It  is  for 
aid  and  comfort  through  all  the  relations  and  passages  of 
life  and  death.  It  is  fit  for  serene  days,  and  graceful  gifts, 
and  country  rambles,  but  also  for  rough  roads  and  hard  fare, 
shipwreck,  poverty,  and  persecution.  It  keeps  company 
with  the  sallies  of  the  wit  and  the  trances  of  rehgion.  We  are 
to  dignify  to  each  other  the  daily  needs  and  offices  of  man's 
life,  and  embellish  it  by  courage,  wisdom,  and  unity.  It 
should  never  fall  into  something  usual  and  settled,  but  should 
be  alert  and  inventive,  and  add  rhyme  and  reason  to  what 
was  drudgery. 

Friendship  may  be  said  to  require  natures  so  rare  and 
costly,  each  so  well  tempered  and  so  happily  adapted,  and 
withal  so  circumstanced  (for  even  in  that  particular,  a  poet 
says,  love  demands  that  the  parties  be  altogether  paired), 
that  its  satisfaction  can  very  seldom  be  assured.  It  cannot 
subsist  in  its  perfection,  say  some  of  those  who  are  learned 
in  this  warm  lore  of  the  heart,  betwixt  more  than  two. 
I  am  not  quite  so  strict  in  my  terms,  perhaps  because  I  have 
never  known  so  high  a  fellowship  as  others.  I  please  my 
imagination  more  with  a  circle  of  godUke  men  and  women 
variously  related  to  each  other,  and  between  whom  subsists 
a  lofty  intelligence.  But  I  find  this  law  of  one  to  one  peremp- 
tory for  conversation,  which  is  the  practice  and  consummation 
of  friendship.  Do  not  mix  waters  too  much.  The  best  mix 
as  ill  as  good  and  bad.     You  shall  have  very  useful  and  cheer- 


FRIENDSHIP  129 

ing  discourse  at  several  times  with  two  several  men,  but  let 
all  three  of  you  come  together,  and  you  shall  not  have  one 
new  and  hearty  word.  Two  may  talk  and  one  may  hear, 
but  three  cannot  take  part  in  a  conversation  of  the  most 
sincere  and  searching  sort.  In  good  company,  there  is 
never  such  discourse  between  two,  across  the  table,  as  takes 
place  when  you  leave  them  alone.  In  good  company,  the 
individuals  merge  their  egotism  into  a  social  soul  exactly 
coextensive  with  the  several  consciousnesses  there  present. 
No  partialities  of  friend  to  friend,  no  fondnesses  of  brother 
to  sister,  of  wife  to  husband,  are  there  pertinent,  but  quite 
otherwise.  Only  he  may  then  speak  who  can  sail  on  the 
common  thought  of  the  party,  and  not  poorly  limited  to  his 
own.  Now  this  convention,  which  good  sense  demands, 
destroys  the  high  freedom  of  great  conversation,  which  requires 
an  absolute  running  of  two  souls  into  one. 

No  two  men  but,  being  left  alone  with  each  other,  enter 
into  simpler  relations.  Yet  it  is  affinity  that  determines 
which  two  shall  converse.  Unrelated  men  give  Uttle  joy 
to  each  other ;  will  never  suspect  the  latent  powers  of  each. 
We  talk  sometimes  of  a  great  talent  for  conversation,  as  if 
it  were  a  permanent  propert.y  in  some  individuals.  Conver- 
sation is  an  evanescent  relation,  —  no  more.  A  man  is 
reputed  to  have  thought  and  eloquence;  he  cannot,  for  all 
that,  say  a  word  to  his  cousin  or  his  uncle.  They  accuse  his 
silence  with  as  much  reason  as  they  would  blame  the  in- 
significance of  a  dial  in  the  shade.  In  the  sim  it  will  mark 
the  hour.  Among  those  who  enjoy  his  thought,  he  will 
regain  his  tongue. 

Friendship  requires  that  rare  mean  betwixt  likeness  and 
unlikeness,  that  piques  each  with  the  presence  of  power  and 
of  consent  in  the  other  party.  Let  me  be  alone  to  the  end  of 
the  world,  rather  than  that  my  friend  should  overstep,  by 
a  word  or  a  look,  his  real  sympathy.  I  am  equally  balked 
by  antagonism  and  by  compliance.  Let  him  not  cease  an 
instant  to  be  himself.  The  only  joy  I  have  in  his  being  mine, 
is  that  the  not  mine  is  mine.  I  hate,  where  I  looked  for  a 
manly  furtherance,  or  at  least  a  manly  resistance,  to  find  a 
mush  of  concession.  Better  be  a  nettle  in  the  side  of  your 
friend  than  his  echo.  The  condition  which  high  friendship 
demands  is  ability  to  do  without  it.  That  high  office  requires 
great  and  sublime  parts.     There  must  be  very  two,  before 


130  FRIENDSHIP 

there  can  be  very  one.  Let  it  be  an  alliance  of  two  large, 
formidable  natures  mutually  beheld,  mutually  feared,  before 
yet  they  recognize  the  deep  identity  which  beneath  these 
disparities  unites  them. 

He  only  is  fit  for  this  society  who  is  magnanimous;  who 
is  sure  that  greatness  and  goodness  are  always  economy; 
'  who  is  not  swiit  to  intermeddle  with  his  fortunes.  Let 
him  not  intermeddle  with  this.  Leave  to  the  diamond  its 
ages  to  grow,  nor  expect  to  accelerate  the  births  of  the  eternal. 
Friendship  demands  a  rehgious  treatment.  We  talk  of 
choosing  our  friends,  but  friends  are  self -elected.  Reverence 
is  a  great  part  of  it.  Treat  your  friend  as  a  spectacle.  Of 
course  he  has  merits  that  are  not  yours,  and  that  you  cannot 
honor,  if  you  must  needs  hold  him  close  to  your  person. 
Stand  aside ;  give  these  merits  room ;  let  them  mount  and 
expand.  Are  you  the  friend  of  your  friend's  buttons,  or  of 
his  thought  ?  To  a  great  heart  he  will  still  be  a  stranger  in  a 
thousand  particulars,  that  he  may  come  near  in  the  holiest 
ground.  Leave  it  to  the  girls  and  boys  to  regard  a  friend  as 
property,  and  to  suck  a  short  and  all-confounding  pleasure, 
instead  of  the  noblest  benefit. 

Let  us  buy  our  entrance  to  this  guild  by  a  long  probation. 
Wh}^  should  we  desecrate  noble  and  beautiful  souls  by 
intruding  on  them?  Why  insist  on  rash  personal  relations 
with  3^our  friend?  Why  go  to  his  house,  and  know  his 
mother  and  brother  and  sisters?  Why  be  visited  by  him 
at  your  o\^ti?  Are  these  things  material  to  our  covenant? 
Leave  this  touching  and  clawing.  Let  him  be  to  me  a  spirit. 
A  message,  a  thought,  a  sincerity,  a  glance  from  him,  I  want, 
but  not  news,  nor  pottage.  I  can  get  politics,  and  chat,  and 
neighborl}^  conveniences  from  cheaper  companions.  Should 
not  the  society  of  my  friend  be  to  me  poetic,  pure,  universal, 
and  great  as  nature  itself?  Ought  I  to  feel  that  our  tie  is 
profane  in  comparison  with  yonder  bar  of  cloud  that  sleeps 
on  the  horizon,  or  that  clump  of  waving  grass  that  di\ddes 
the  brook?  Let  us  not  vilify,  but  raise  it  to  that  standard. 
That  great,  defying  eye,  that  scornful  beauty  of  his  mien 
and  action,  do  not  pique  yourself  on  reducing,  but  rather 
fortif}^  and  enhance.  Worship  his  superiorities;  wish  him 
not  less  by  a  thought,  but  hoard  and  tell  them  all.  Guard 
him  as  thy  counterpart.  Let  him  be  to  thee  forever  a  sort 
of  beautiful  enemy,  untamable,  devoutly  revered,  and  not 


FRIENDSHIP  131 

a  trivial  conveniency  to  be  soon  outgrown  and  cast  aside. 
The  hues  of  the  opal,  the  light  of  the  diamond,  are  not  to  be 
seen,  if  the  eye  is  too  near.  To  my  friend  I  write  a  letter, 
and  from  him  I  receive  a  letter.  That  seems  to  you  a  little. 
It  suffices  me.  It  is  a  spiritual  gift  worthy  of  him  to  give, 
and  of  me  to  receive.  It  profanes  nobody.  In  these  warm 
lines  the  heart  will  trust  itself,  as  it  will  not  to  the  tongue, 
and  pour  out  the  prophecy  of  a  godlier  existence  than  all 
the  annals  of  heroism  have  yet  made  good. 

Respect  so  far  the  holy  laws  of  this  fellowship  as  not  to 
prejudice  its  perfect  flower  by  your  impatience  for  its  opening. 
We  must  be  our  own  before  we  can  be  another's.  There 
is  at  least  this  satisfaction  in  crime,  according  to  the  Latin 
proverb :  you  can  speak  to  your  accomplice  on  even  terms. 
Crimen  quos  inquinat,  cequat.  To  those  whom  we  admire 
and  love,  at  first  we  cannot.  Yet  the  least  defect  of  self- 
possession  vitiates,  in  my  judgment,  the  entire  relation. 
There  can  never  be  deep  peace  between  two  spirits,  never 
mutual  respect,  until,  in  their  dialogue,  each  stands  for  the 
whole  world. 

What  is  so  great  as  friendship,  let  us  carry  with  what 
grandeur  of  spirit  we  can.  Let  us  be  silent,  —  so  we  may 
hear  the  whisper  of  the  gods.  Let  us  not  interfere.  Who 
set  you  to  cast  about  what  you  should  say  to  the  select 
souls,  or  how  to  say  anything  to  such?  No  matter  how 
ingenious,  no  matter  how  graceful  and  bland.  There  are 
innumerable  degrees  of  folly  and  wisdom,  and  for  you  to 
say  aught  is  to  be  frivolous.  Wait,  and  thy  heart  shall 
speak.  Wait  until  the  necessary  and  everlasting  over- 
powers you,  until  day  and  night  avail  themselves  of  your 
lips.  The  only  reward  of  virtue  is  virtue;  the  only  way 
to  have  a  friend  is  to  be  one.  You  shall  not  come  nearer 
a  man  by  getting  into  his  house.  If  unlike,  his  soul  only 
flees  the  faster  from  you,  and  you  shall  never  catch  a  true 
'  glance  of  his  eye.  We  see  the  noble  afar  off,  and  they  repel 
us;  why  should  we  intrude?  Late, — very  late,  —  we 
perceive  that  no  arrangements,  no  introductions,  no  con- 
suetudes or  habits  of  society,  would  be  of  any  avail  to  establish 
us  in  such  relations  with  them  as  we  desire,  —  but  solely 
the  uprise  of  nature  in  us  to  the  same  degree  it  is  in  them ; 
then  shall  we  meet  as  water  with  water ;  and  if  we  should 
not  meet  them  then,  we  shall  not  want  them,  for  we  are  al- 


132  FRIENDSHIP 


H 


ready  they.  In  the  last  analysis,  love  is  only  the  reflection 
of  a  man's  own  worthiness  from  other  men.  Men  have 
sometimes  exchanged  names  with  their  friends,  as  if  they 
would  signify  that  in  their  friend  each  loved  his  own  soul. 

The  higher  the  style  we  demand  of  friendship,  of  course 
the  less  easy  to  establish  it  with  flesh  and  blood.  We  walk 
alone  in  the  world.  Friends,  such  as  we  desire,  are  dreams 
and  fables.  But  a  sublime  hope  cheers  ever  the  faithful 
heart,  that  elsewhere,  in  other  regions  of  the  universal  power, 
souls  are  now  acting,  enduring,  and  daring,  which  can  love 
us,  and  which  we  can  love.  We  may  congratulate  ourselves 
that  the  period  of  nonage,  of  follies,  of  blunders,  and  of 
shame  is  passed  in  solitude,  and  when  we  are  finished  men, 
we  shall  grasp  heroic  hands  in  heroic  hands.  Only  be  ad- 
monished by  what  you  already  see,  not  to  strike  leagues  of 
friendship  with  cheap  persons,  where  no  friendship  can  be. 
Our  impatience  betrays  us  into  rash  and  foolish  alliances 
which  no  God  attends.  By  persisting  in  your  path,  though 
you  forfeit  the  little  you  gain  the  great.  You  demonstrate 
yourself,  so  as  to  put  yourself  out  of  the  reach  of  false  re- 
lations, and  you  draw  to  you  the  first-born  of  the  world,  — 
those  rare  pilgrims  whereof  only  one  or  two  wander  in  nature 
at  once,  and  before  whom  the  vulgar  great  show  as  spectres 
and  shadows  merely. 

It  is  foolish  to  be  afraid  of  making  our  ties  too  spiritual, 
asif  so  we  could  lose  any  genuine  love.  TVTiatever  correction 
of  our  popular  views  we  make  from  insight,  nature  will  be 
sure  to  bear  us  out  in,  and  though  it  seem  to  rob  us  of  some 
joy,  will  repay  us  with  a  greater.  Let  us  feel,  if  we  will, 
the  absolute  insulation  of  man.  We  are  sure  that  we  have 
all  in  us.  We  go  to  Europe,  or  we  pursue  persons,  or  we 
read  books,  in  the  instinctive  faith  that  these  will  call  it  out 
and  reveal  us  to  ourselves.  Beggars  all.  The  persons  are 
such  as  we ;  the  Europe  an  old  faded  garment  of  dead  persons ; 
the  books  their  ghosts.  Let  us  drop  this  idolatry.  Let  us 
give  over  this  mendicancy.  Let  us  even  bid  our  dearest 
friends  farewell,  and  defy  them,  saying,  ^Who  are  you? 
Unhand  me  :  I  will  be  dependent  no  more.'  Ah !  seest  thou 
not,  0  brother,  that  thus  we  part  only  to  meet  again  on  a 
higher  platform,  and  only  be  more  each  other's,  because 
we  are  more  our  own  ?  A  friend  is  Janus-faced :  he  looks  to 
the  past  and  the  future.     He  is  the  child  of  all  my  foregoing 


FRIENDSHIP  133 

hours,  the  prophet  of  those  to  come,  and  the  harbinger  of 
a  greater  friend, 

I  do  then  with  my  friends  as  I  do  with  my  books.  I 
would  have  them  where  I  can  find  them,  but  I  seldom  use 
them.  We  must  have  society  on  our  own  terms,  and  admit 
or  exclude  it  on  the  slightest  cause.  I  cannot  afford  to 
speak  much  with  my  friend.  If  he  is  great,  he  makes  me  so 
great  that  I  cannot  descend  to  converse.  In  the  great  days, 
presentments  hover  before  me  in  the  firmament.  I  ought 
then  to  dedicate  myself  to  them.  I  go  in  that  I  may  seize 
them,  I  go  out  that  I  may  seize  them.  I  fear  only  that  I  may 
lose  them  receding  into  the  sky  in  which  now  they  are  only 
a  patch  of  brighter  light.  Then,  though  I  prize  my  friends, 
I  cannot  afford  to  talk  with  them  and  study  their  visions, 
lest  I  lose  my  own.  It  would  indeed  give  me  a  certain  house- 
hold joy  to  quit  this  lofty  seeking,  this  spiritual  astronomy, 
or  search  of  stars,  and  come  down  to  warm  sympathies  with 
you  ;  but  then  I  know  well  I  shall  mourn  always  the  vanishing 
of  my  mighty  gods.  It  is  true,  next  week  I  shall  have  languid 
moods,  when  I  can  well  afford  to  occupy  myself  with  foreign 
objects ;  then  I  shall  regret  the  lost  literature  of  your  mind, 
and  wish  you  were  by  my  side  again.  But  if  you  come, 
perhaps  you  will  fill  my  mind  only  with  new  visions,  not  with 
yourself  but  with  your  lustres,  and  I  shall  not  be  able  any 
more  than  now  to  converse  with  you.  So  I  will  owe  to  my 
friends  this  evanescent  intercourse.  I  will  receive  from 
them,  not  what  they  have,  but  what  they  are.  They  shall 
give  me  that  which  properly  the^^  cannot  give,  but  which 
emanates  from  them.  But  they  shall  not  hold  me  by  any 
relations  less  subtle  and  pure.  We  will  meet  as  though 
we  met  not,  and  part  as  though  we  parted  not. 

It  has  seemed  to  me  lately  more  possible  than  I  knew,  to 
carry  a  friendship  greatly,  on  one  side,  without  due  cor- 
respondence on  the  other.  Why  should  I  cumber  myself  with 
regrets  that  the  receiver  is  not  capacious  ?  It  never  troubles 
the  sun  that  some  of  his  rays  fall  wide  and  vain  into  ungrate- 
ful space,  and  only  a  small  part  on  the  reflecting  planet. 
Let  your  greatness  educate  the  crude  and  cold  companion. 
If  he  is  unequal,  he  will  presently  pass  away;  but  thou  art 
enlarged  by  thy  own  shining,  and,  no  longer  a  mate  for  frogs 
and  worms,  dost  soar  and  burn  with  the  gods  of  the  empyrean. 
It  is  thought  a  disgrace  to  love  unrequited.     But  the  great 


134  FRIENDSHIP 

will  see  that  true  love  cannot  be  unrequited.  True  love 
transcends  the  unworthy  object,  and  dwells  and  broods  on 
the  eternal,  and  when  the  poor  interposed  mask  crumbles, 
it  is  not  sad,  but  feels  rid  of  so  much  earth,  and  feels  its 
independency  the  surer.  Yet  these  things  may  hardly  be 
said  without  a  sort  of  treachery  to  the  relation.  The  essence 
of  friendship  is  entireness,  a  total  magnanimity  and  trust. 
It  must  not  surmise  or  provide  for  infirmity.  It  treats  its 
object  as  a  god,  that  it  may  deify  both. 


HEROISM 

.  "Paradise  is  under  the  shadow  of  swords." 

—  Mahomet. 

Ruby  wine  is  drunk  by  knaves, 
Sugar  spends  to  fatten  slaves, 
Rose  and  vine-leaf  deck  buffoons ; 
Thunder-clouds  are  Jove's  festoons, 
Drooping  oft  in  wreaths  of  dread 
Lightning-knotted  round  his  head ; 
The  hero  is  not  fed  on  sweets, 
Daily  his  own  heart  he  eats ; 
Chambers  of  the  great  are  jails. 
And  head-winds  right  for  royal  sails. 

In  the  elder  English  dramatists,  and  mainly  in  the  plays 
of  Beaumont  and  Fletcher,  there  is  a  constant  recognition  of 
gentility,  as  if  a  noble  behavior  were  as  easily  marked  in  the 
society  of  their  age,  as  color  is  in  our  American  population. 
When  any  Rodrigo,  Pedro,  or  Valerio  enters,  though  he  be  a 
stranger,  the  duke  or  governor  exclaims.  This  is  a  gentleman, 

—  and  proffers  civilities  without  end ;  but  all  the  rest  are 
slag  and  refuse.  In  harmony  with  this  delight  in  personal 
advantages,  there  is  in  their  plays  a  certain  heroic  cast  of 
character  and  dialogue,  —  as  in  Bonduca,  Sophocles,  the  Mad 
Lover,  the  Double  Marriage,  —  wherein  the  speaker  is  so 
earnest  and  cordial,  and  on  such  deep  grounds  of  character, 
that  the  dialogue,  on  the  slightest  additional  incident  in  the 
plot,  rises  naturally  into  poetry.  Among  many  texts,  take 
the  following.     The  Roman  Martins  has  conquered  Athens, 

—  all  but  the  invincible  spirits  of  Sophocles,  the  Duke  of 
Athens,  and  Dorigen,  his  wife.  The  beauty  of  the  latter  in- 
flames Martius,  and  he  seeks  to  save  her  husband ;  but  Soph- 

135 


136  HEROISM  .     i 

ocles  will  not  ask  his  life,  although  assured  that  a  word  will 
save  him,  and  the  execution  of  both  proceeds. 

'^  Valerius.     Bid  thy  wife  farewell. 

Soph.     No,  I  will  take  no  leave.     My  Dorigen, 
Yonder,  above,  'bout  Ariadne's  crown,  .  _ 

My  spirit  shall  hover  for  thee.     Prithee,  haste. 

Dor.     Stay,  Sophocles,  —  with  this  tie  up  my  sight ; 
Let  not  soft  nature  so  transformed  be, 
And  lose  her  gentler  sexed  humanity. 
To  make  me  see  my  lord  bleed.     So,  't  is  well ; 
Never  one  object  underneath  the  sun 
Will  I  behold  before  my  Sophocles : 
Farewell ;  now  teach  the  Romans  how  to  die. 

Mar.     Dost  know  what  't  is  to  die? 

Soph.     Thou  dost  not,  Martins, 
And,  therefore,  not  what  't  is  to  live ;  to  die 
Is  to  begin  to  live.     It  is  to  end 
An  old,  stale,  weary  work,  and  to  commence 
A  newer  and  a  better.     'T  is  to  leave 
Deceitful  knaves  for  the  society 
Of  gods  and  goodness.     Thou  thyself  must  part 
At  last  from  all  thy  garlands,  pleasures,  triumphs, 
And  prove  thy  fortitude  what  then  't  will  do. 

Val.     But  art  not  grieved  nor  vexed  to  leave  thy  life  thus? 

Soph.     Why  should  I  grieve  or  vex  for  being  sent 
To  them  I  ever  loved  best?     Now  I'll  kneel, 
But  with  my  back  toward  thee ;  't  is  the  last  duty 
This  trunk  can  do  the  gods. 

Mar.     Strike,  strike,  Valerius, 
Or  Martins'  heart  wiU  leap  out  at  his  mouth : 
This  is  a  man,  a  woman !     Kiss  thy  lord, 
And  live  with  all  the  freedom  you  were  wont. 
O  love !  thou  doubly  hast  afflicted  me 
With  virtue  and  with  beauty.     Treacherous  heart, 
My  hand  shall  cast  thee  quick  into  my  urn, 
Ere  thou  transgress  this  knot  of  piety. 

Val.     What  ails  my  brother? 

Soph.     Martins,  O  Martins, 
Thou  now  hast  found  a  way  to  conquer  me. 

Dor.     O  star  of  Rome !  what  gratitude  can  speak 
Fit  words  to  follow  such  a  deed  as  this ! 

Mar.     This  admirable  duke,  Valerius, 
With  his  disdain  of  fortune  and  of  death, 
Captived  himseK,  has  captivated  me, 
And  though  my  arm  hath  ta'en  his  body  here, 
His  soul  hath  subjugated  Martins'  soul. 


HEROISM  137 

By  Romulus,  he  is  all  soul,  I  think ; 
He  hath  no  flesh,  and  spirit  cannot  be  gyved ; 
Then  we  have  vanquished  nothing ;  he  is  free, 
And  Martins  walks  now  in  captivity." 

I  do  not  readily  remember  any  poem,  play,  sermon,  novel, 
or  oration,  that  our  press  vents  in  the  last  few  years,  which 
goes  to  the  same  tune.  We  have  a  great  many  flutes  and 
flageolets,  but  not  often  the  sound  of  any  fife.  Yet,  Words- 
worth's ^'Laodamia,''  and  the  ode  of  ^'Dion,''  and  some  son- 
nets, have  a  certain  noble  music ;  and  Scott  will  sometimes 
draw  a  stroke  like  the  portrait  of  Lord  Evandale,  given  by 
Balfour  of  Burley.  Thomas  Carlyle,  with  his  natural  taste 
for  what  is  manly  and  daring  in  character,  has  suffered  no 
heroic  trait  in  his  favorites  to  drop  from  his  biographical  and 
historical  pictures.  Earlier,  Robert  Burns  has  given  us  a 
song  or  two.  In  the  Harleian  Miscellanies,  there  is  an  ac- 
count of  the  battle  of  Lutzen,  which  deserves  to  be  read. 
And  Simon  Ockley's  History  of  the  Saracens  recounts  the 
prodigies  of  individual  valor  with  admiration,  all  the  more 
evident  on  the  part  of  the  narrator,  that  he  seems  to  thuik 
that  his  place  in  Christian  Oxford  requires  of  him  some  proper 
protestations  of  abhorrence.  But,  if  we  explore  the  literature 
of  Heroism,  we  shall  quickly  come  to  Plutarch,  who  is  its 
Doctor  and  historian.  To  him  we  owe  the  Brasidas,  the 
Dion,  the  Epaminondas,  the  Scipio  of  old,  and  I  must  think 
we  are  more  deeply  indebted  to  him  than  to  all  the  ancient 
writers.  Each  of  his  ^'Lives''  is  a  rebuke  to  the  despondency 
and  cowardice  of  our  religious  and  political  theorists.  A  wild 
courage,  a  Stoicism  not  of  the  schools,  but  of  the  blood,  shines 
in  every  anecdote,  and  has  given  that  book  its  immense  fame. 

We  need  books  of  this  tart  cathartic  virtue,  more  than  books 
of  political  science,  or  of  private  economy.  Life  is  a  festival 
only  to  the  wise.  Seen  from  the  nook  and  chimney-side  of 
prudence,  it  wears  a  ragged  and  dangerous  front.  The  viola- 
tions of  the  laws  of  nature  by  our  predecessors  and  our  con- 
temporaries are  punished  in  us  also.  The  disease  and  deform- 
ity around  us  certify  the  infraction  of  natural,  intellectual,, 
and  moral  laws,  and  often  violation  on  violation  to  breed 
such  compound  misery.  A  lockjaw  that  bends  a  man's  head 
back  to  his  heels ;  hydrophobia,  that  makes  him  bark  at  his 
wife  and  babes;  insanity,  that  makes  him  eat  grass;  war, 
plague,  cholera,  famine,  indicate  a  certain  ferocity  in  nature, 


138  HEROISM 

which,  as  it  had  its  inlet  by  human  crime,  must  have  its  out- 
let by  human  suffering.  Unhappily,  no  man  exists  who  has 
not  in  his  own  person  become,  to  some  amount,  a  stockholder 
in  the  sin,  and  so  made  himself  liable  to  a  share  in  the  expia- 
tion. 

Our  culture,  therefore,  must  not  omit  the  arming  of  the 
man.  Let  him  hear  in  season,  that  he  is  born  into  the  state 
of  war,  and  that  the  commonwealth  and  his  own  well-being 
require  that  he  should  not  go  dancing  in  the  weeds  of  peace, 
but  warned,  self-collected,  and  neither  defying  nor  dreading 
the  thunder,  let  him  take  both  reputation  and  life  in  his  hand, 
and,  ^\ith  perfect  urbanity,  dare  the  gibbet  and  the  mob  by 
the  absolute  truth  of  his  speech,  and  the  rectitude  of  his  be- 
havior. 

Towards  all  this  external  evil,  the  man  within  the  breast 
assumes  a  warlike  attitude,  and  affirms  his  abiUty  to  cope 
single-handed  wdth  the  infinite  army  of  enemies.  To  this 
military  attitude  of  the  soul  we  give  the  name  of  Heroism. 
Its  rudest  form  is  the  contempt  for  safety  and  ease,  which 
makes  the  attractiveness  of  war.  It  is  a  self -trust  which 
sHghts  the  restraints  of  prudence,  in  the  plenitude  of  its  energy 
and  power  to  repair  the  harms  it  may  suffer.  The  hero  is  a 
mind  of  such  balance  that  no  disturbances  can  shake  his  will, 
but  pleasantly,  and,  as  it  were,  merrily,  he  advances  to  his 
ovm.  music,  ahke  in  frightful  alarms  and  in  the  tipsy  mirth 
of  universal  dissoluteness.  There  is  somewhat  not  philo- 
sophical in  heroism ;  there  is  somewhat  not  holy  in  it ;  it  seems 
not  to  know  that  other  souls  are  of  one  texture  with  it ;  it 
has  pride ;  it  is  the  extreme  of  indi^ddual  nature.  Neverthe- 
less, we  must  profoundly  revere  it.  There  is  somewhat  in 
great  actions,  which  does  not  allow  us  to  go  behind  them. 
Heroism  feels  and  never  reasons,  and  therefore  is  always  right ; 
and  although  a  different  breeding,  different  rehgion,  and 
greater  intellectual  acti\dty  would  have  modified  or  even  re- 
versed the  particular  action,  yet  for  the  hero  that  thing  he 
does  is  the  highest  deed,  and  is  not  open  to  the  censure  of 
philosophers  or  divines.  It  is  the  avowal  of  the  unschooled 
man,  that  he  finds  a  quaht}^  in  him  that  is  negligent  of  ex- 
pense, of  health,  of  hfe,  of  danger,  of  hatred,  of  reproach,  and 
knows  that  his  will  is  higher  and  more  excellent  than  all  actual 
and  all  possible  antagonists. 

Heroism  works  in  contradiction  to  the  voice  of  mankind, 


HEROISM  139 

and  in  contradiction,  for  a  time,  to  the  voice  of  the  great  and 
good.  Heroism  is  an  obedience  to  a  secret  impulse  of  an  in- 
dividuaPs  character.  Now  to  no  other  man  can  its  wisdom 
appear  as  it  does  to  him,  for  every  man  must  be  supposed  to 
see  a  Httle  farther  on  his  own  proper  path  than  any  one  else. 
Therefore,  just  and  wise  men  take  umbrage  at  his  act,  until 
after  some  little  time  be  past :  then  they  see  it  to  be  in  unison 
with  their  acts.  All  prudent  men  see  that  the  action  is  clean 
contrary  to  a  sensual  prosperity ;  for  every  heroic  act  measures 
itself  by  its  contempt  of  some  external  good.  But  it  finds  its 
own  success  at  last,  and  then  the  prudent  also  extol. 

Self-trust  is  the  essence  of  heroism.  It  is  the  state  of  the 
soul  at  war,  and  its  ultimate  objects  are  the  last  defiance  of 
falsehood  and  wrong,  and  the  power  to  bear  all  that  can  be 
inflicted  by  evil  agents.  It  speaks  the  truth,  and  it  is  just, 
generous,  hospitable,  temperate,  scornful  of  petty  calculations, 
and  scornful  of  being  scorned.  It  persists ;  it  is  of  an  un- 
daunted boldness,  and  of  a  fortitude  not  to  be  wearied  out. 
Its  jest  is  the  httleness  of  common  life.  That  false  prudence 
which  dotes  on  health  and  wealth  is  the  butt  and  merriment 
of  heroism.  Heroism,  like  Plotinus,  is  almost  ashamed  of  its 
body.  What  shall  it  say,  then,  to  the  sugar-plums  and  cat's- 
cradles,  to  the  toilet,  compliments,  quarrels,  cards,  and  cus- 
tard, which  rack  the  wit  of  all  society?  What  joys  has  kind 
nature  provided  for  us  dear  creatures!  There  seems  to  be 
no  interval  between  greatness  and  meanness.  When  the 
spirit  is  not  master  of  the  world,  then  it  is  its  dupe.  Yet  the 
little  man  takes  the  great  hoax  so  innocently,  works  in  it  so 
headlong  and  believing,  is  born  red,  and  dies  gray,  arranging 
his  toilet,  attending  on  his  own  health,  laying  traps  for  sweet 
food  and  strong  wine,  setting  his  heart  on  a  horse  or  a  rifle, 
made  happy  with  a  httle  gossip  or  a  little  praise,  that  the  great 
soul  cannot  choose  but  laugh  at  such  earnest  nonsense.  ^'In- 
deed, these  humble  considerations  make  me  out  of  love  with 
greatness.  What  a  disgrace  is  it  to  me  to  take  note  how  many 
pairs  of  silk  stockings  thou  hast,  namely,  these  and  those  that 
were  the  peach-colored  ones ;  or  to  bear  the  inventory  of  thy 
shirts,  as  one  for  superfluity,  and  one  other  for  use !'' 

Citizens,  thinking  after  the  laws  of  arithmetic,  consider  the 
inconvenience  of  receiving  strangers  at  their  fireside,  reckon 
narrowly  the  loss  of  time  and  the  unusual  display :  the  soul 
of  a  better  quality  thrusts  back  the  unseasonable  economy  into 


140  HEROISM 

the  vaults  of  life,  and  says,  I  mil  obey  the  God,  and  the  sacri- 
fice and  the  fire  he  will  provide.  Ibn  Hankal,  the  Arabian 
geographer,  describes  a  heroic  extreme  in  the  hospitahty  of 
Sogd,  in  Bukharia.  ^^When  I  was  in  Sogd,  I  saw  a  great 
building,  like  a  palace,  the  gates  of  which  were  open  and  fixed 
back  to  the  wall  with  large  nails.  I  asked  the  reason,  and 
was  told  that  the  house  had  not  been  shut,  night  or  day,  for 
a  hundred  years.  Strangers  may  present  themselves  at  any 
hour,  and  in  whatever  number ;  the  master  has  amply  pro- 
vided for  the  reception  of  the  men  and  their  animals,  and  is 
never  happier  than  when  they  tarry  for  some  time.  Nothing 
of  the  kind  have  I  seen  in  any  other  country. '^  The  mag- 
nanimous know  very  well  that  they  who  give  time,  or  money, 
or  shelter,  to  the  stranger,  —  so  it  be  done  for  love,  and  not 
for  ostentation,  —  do,  as  it  were,  put  God  under  obligation 
to  them,  so  perfect  are  the  compensations  of  the  universe. 
In  some  way  the  time  they  seem  to  lose  is  redeemed,  and  the 
pains  they  seem  to  take  remunerate  themselves.  These  men 
fan  the  flame  of  human  love,  and  raise  the  standard  of  civil 
virtue  among  mankind.  But  hospitahty  must  be  for  service, 
and  not  for  show,  or  it  pulls  down  the  host.  The  brave  soul 
rates  itself  too  high  to  value  itself  by  the  splendor  of  its  table 
and  draperies.  It  gives  what  it  hath,  and  all  it  hath,  but  its 
own  majesty  can  lend  a  better  grace  to  bannocks  and  fair 
water  than  belong  to  city  feasts. 

The  temperance  of  the  hero  proceeds  from  the  same  wish 
to  do  no  dishonor  to  the  worthiness  he  has.  But  he  loves  it 
for  its  elegancy,  not  for  its  austerity.  It  seems  not  worth 
his  while  to  be  solemn,  and  denounce  with  bitterness  flesh-eating 
or  wine-drinking,  the  use  of  tobacco,  or  opium,  or  tea,  or  silk, 
or  gold.  A  great  man  scarcely  knows  how  he  dines,  how  he 
dresses ;  but  without  railing  or  precision,  his  living  is  natural 
and  poetic.  John  Eliot,  the  Indian  Apostle,  drank  water, 
and  said  of  wine,  ^*It  is  a  noble,  generous  liquor,  and  we  should 
be  humbly  thankful  for  it,  but,  as  I  remember,  water  was 
made  before  it."  Better  still  is  the  temperance  of  King  David 
who  poured  out  on  the  ground  unto  the  Lord  the  water  which 
three  of  his  warriors  had  brought  him  to  drink,  at  the  peril 
of  their  lives. 

It  is  told  of  Brutus,  that  when  he  fell  on  his  sword,  after 
the  battle  of  Philippi,  he  quoted  a  line  of  Euripides,  "0  Vir- 
tue !    I  have  followed  thee  through  life,  and  I  find  thee  at 


HEROISM  141 

last  but  a  shade/'  I  doubt  not  the  hero  is  slandered  by  this; 
report.  The  heroic  soul  does  not  sell  its  justice  and  its  noble- 
ness. It  does  not  ask  to  dine  nicely,  and  to  sleep  warm.  The 
essence  of  greatness  is  the  perception  that  virtue  is  enough. 
Poverty  is  its  ornament.  It  does  not  need  plenty,  and  can 
very  well  abide  its  loss. 

But  that  which  takes  my  fancy  most,  in  the  heroic  class,, 
is  the  good-humor  and  hilarity  they  exhibit.  It  is  a  height 
to  which  common  duty  can  very  well  attain,  to  suffer  and  to- 
dare  with  solemnity.  But  these  rare  souls  set  opinion,  suc- 
cess, and  life  at  so  cheap  a  rate,  that  they  will  not  soothe  their 
enemies  by  petitions,  or  the  show  of  sorrow,  but  wear  their 
own  habitual  greatness.  Scipio,  charged  with  peculation, 
refuses  to  do  himself  so  great  a  disgrace  as  to  wait  for  justi- 
fication, though  he  had  the  scroll  of  his  accounts  in  his  hands^ 
but  tears  it  to  pieces  before  the  tribunes.  Socrates^s  con- 
demnation of  himself  to  be  maintained  in  all  honor  in  the 
Prytaneum,  during  his  life,  and  Sir  Thomas  Morels  playful- 
ness at  the  scaffold,  are  of  the  same  strain.  In  Beaumont 
and  Fletcher's  ^'Sea  Voyage/'  Juletta  tells  the  stout  captain 
and  his  company,  — 

^^  Jul.     Why,  slaves,  't  is  in  our  power  to  hang  ye. 
Master.  Very  likely, 

'T  is  in  our  powers,  then,  to  be  hanged,  and  scorn  ye.'^ 

These  replies  are  sound  and  whole.  Sport  is  the  bloom  and. 
glow  of  a  perfect  health.  The  great  will  not  condescend  to 
take  anything  seriously ;  all  must  be  as  gay  as  the  song  of  a 
canary,  though  it  were  the  building  of  citios,  or  the  eradica- 
tion of  old  and  foolish  churches  and  nations,  which  have  cum- 
bered the  earth  long  thousands  of  years.  Simple  hearts  put 
all  the  history  and  customs  of  this  world  behind  them,  and 
play  their  own  game  in  innocent  defiance  of  the  Blue-Laws  of 
the  world ;  and  such  would  appear,  could  we  see  the  human 
race  assembled  in  vision,  like  little  children  frolicking  together ; 
though,  to  the  eyes  of  mankind  at  large,  they  wear  a  stately 
and  solemn  garb  of  works  and  influences. 

The  interest  these  fine  stories  have  for  us,  the  power  of  a 
romance  over  the  boy  who  grasps  the  forbidden  book  under 
his  bench  at  school,  our  delight  in  the  hero,  is  the  main  fact 
to  our  purpose.  All  these  great  and  transcendent  properties 
are  ours.     If  we  dilate  in  beholding  the  Greek  energy,  the 


142  HEROISM 


same  ^ 


Roman  pride,  it  is  that  we  are  already  domesticating  the  same 
sentiment.  Let  us  find  room  for  this  great  guest  in  our  small 
houses.  The  first  step  of  worthiness  will  be  to  disabuse  us 
of  our  superstitious  associations  with  places  and  times,  with 
number  and  size .  Why  should  these  words ,  Athenian,  Roman,  m 
Asia,  and  England,  so  tingle  in  the  ear?  Where  the  heart  is,  fll 
there  the  muses,  there  the  gods  sojourn,  and  not  in  any  geog- 
raphy of  fame.  Massachusetts,  Connecticut  River,  and 
Eoston  Bay,  you  think  paltry  places,  and  the  ear  loves  names 
of  foreign  and  classic  topography.  But  here  we  are ;  and, 
if  we  will  tarry  a  little,  we  may  come  to  learn  that  here  is 
best.  See  to  it,  only,  that  thyself  is  here ;  —  and  art  and 
nature,  hope  and  fate,  friends,  angels,  and  the  Supreme  Being, 
shall  not  be  absent  from  the  chamber  where  thou  sittest. 
Epaminondas,  brave  and  affectionate,  does  not  seem  to  us  to 
need  Olympus  to  die  upon,  nor  the  Syrian  sunshine.  He  lies 
very  well  where  he  is.  The  Jerseys  were  honest  ground  enough 
for  Washington  to  tread,  and  London  streets  for  the  feet  of 
Milton.  A  great  man  makes  his  climate  genial  in  the  imagi- 
nation of  men,  and  its  air  the  beloved  element  of  all  delicate 
spirits.  That  country  is  the  fairest,  which  is  inhabited  by 
the  noblest  minds.  The  pictures  which  fill  the  imagination 
in  reading  the  actions  of  Pericles,  Xenophon,  Columbus,  Ba- 
yard, Sidney,  Hampden,  teach  us  how  needlessly  mean  our 
life  is,  that  we,  by  the  depth  of  our  living,  should  deck  it  with 
more  than  regal  or  national  splendor,  and  act  on  principles 
that  should  interest  man  and  nature  in  the  length  of  our  days. 
We  have  seen  or  heard  of  many  extraordinary  young  men, 
who  never  ripened,  or  whose  performance  in  actual  life  was 
not  extraordinary.  When  we  see  their  air  and  mien,  when 
we  hear  them  speak  of  society,  of  books,  of  religion,  we  admire 
their  superiority,  they  seem  to  throw  contempt  on  our  entire 
polity  and  social  state ;  theirs  is  the  tone  of  a  youthful  giant, 
who  is  sent  to  work  revolutions.  But  they  enter  an  active 
p^rofession,  and  the  forming  Colossus  shrinks  to  the  common 
size  of  man.  The  magic  they  used  was  the  ideal  tendencies, 
which  always  make  the  Actual  ridiculous;  but  the  tough 
world  had  its  revenge  the  moment  they  put  their  horses  of 
the  sun  to  plough  in  its  furrow.  They  found  no  example  and 
no  companion,  and  their  heart  fainted.  What  then?  The 
lesson  they  gave  in  their  first  aspirations  is  yet  true ;  and  a 
better  valor  and  a  purer  truth  shall  one  day  organize  their 


HEROISM  143 

belief.  Or  why  should  a  woman  liken  herself  to  any  historical 
woman,  and  think,  because  Sappho,  or  Sevigne,  or  D&  Stael, 
or  the  cloistered  souls  who  have  had  genius  and  cultivation, 
do  not  satisfy  the  imagination  and  the  serene  Themis,  none 
can,  — certainly  not  she.  Why  not?  She  has  a  new  and 
unattempted  problem  to  solve,  perchance  that  of  the  happiest 
nature  that  ever  bloomed.  Let  the  maiden  with  erect  soul 
walk  serenely  on  her  way,  accept  the  hint  of  each  new  expe- 
rience, search  in  turn  all  the  objects  that  solicit  her  eye,  that 
she  may  learn  the  power  and  the  charm  of  her  new-born  being, 
which  is  the  kindling  of  a  new  dawn  in  the  recesses  of  space. 
The  fair  girl,  who  repels  interference  by  a  decided  and  proud 
choice  of  influences,  so  careless  of  pleasing,  so  wilful  and  lofty, 
inspires  every  beholder  with  somewhat  of  her  own  nobleness. 
The  silent  heart  encourages  her;  O  friend,  never  strike  sail 
to  a  fear !  Come  into  port  greatly,  or  sail  with  God  the  seas. 
Not  in  vain  you  live,  for  every  passing  eye  is  cheered  and  re- 
fined by  the  vision. 

The  characteristic  of  heroism  is  its  persistency.  All  men 
have  wandering  impulses,  fits,  and  starts  of  generosity.  But 
when  you  have  chosen  your  part,  abide  by  it,  and  do  not 
weakly  try  to  reconcile  yourself  with  the  world.  The  heroic 
cannot  be  the  common,  nor  the  common  the  heroic.  Yet 
we  have  the  weakness  to  expect  the  sympathy  of  people  in 
those  actions  whose  excellence  is  that  they  outrun  sympathy, 
and  appeal  to  a  tardy  justice.  If  you  would  serve  your 
brother,  because  it  is  fit  for  you  to  serve  him,  do  not  take  back 
your  words,  when  you  find  that  prudent  people  do  not  com- 
mend you.  Adhere  to  your  own  act,  and  congratulate  your- 
self if  you  have  done  something  strange  and  extravagant,  and 
broken  the  monotony  of  a  decorous  age.  It  was  a  high  coun- 
sel that  I  once  heard  given  to  a  young  person,  —  '^  Always 
do  what  you  are  afraid  to  do.'^  A  simple,  manly  character 
need  never  make  an  apology,  but  should  regard  its  past  action 
with  the  calmness  of  Phocion,  when  he  admitted  that  the 
event  of  the  battle  was  happy,  yet  did  not  regret  his  dissuasion 
from  the  battle. 

There  is  no  weakness  or  exposure  for  which  we  cannot  find 
consolation  in  the  thought,  —  that  is  a  part  of  my  constitu- 
tion, part  of  my  relation  and  office  to  my  fellow-creature. 
Has  nature  covenanted  with  me  that  I  should  never  appear 
to  disadvantage,  never  make  a  ridiculous  figure  ?     Let  us  be 


144  HEROISM 

generous  of  our  dignity,  as  well  as  of  our  money.  Greatness 
once  and  forever  has  done  with  opinion.  We  tell  our  char- 
ities, not  because  we  w4sh  to  be  praised  for  them,  not  because 
we  think  they  have  great  merit,  but  for  our  justification.  It  is 
a  capital  blunder ;  as  you  discover,  when  another  man  recites 
his  charities. 

To  speak  the  truth,  even  with  some  austerity,  to  live  with 
some  rigor  of  temperance,  or  some  extremes  of  generosity, 
seem  to  be  an  asceticism  which  common  good  nature  would 
appoint  to  those  who  are  at  ease  and  in  plenty,  in  sign  that 
they  feel  a  brotherhood  with  the  great  multitude  of  suffering 
men.  And  not  only  need  we  breathe  and  exercise  the  soul 
by  assuming  the  penalties  of  abstinence,  of  debt,  of  solitude, 
of  unpopularity,  but  it  behooves  the  wise  man  to  look  with 
8.  bold  eye  into  those  rarer  dangers  which  sometimes  invade 
men,  and  to  familiarize  himself  with  disgusting  forms  of  dis- 
ease, with  sounds  of  execration,  and  the  vision  of  violent 
death. 

Times  of  heroism  are  generally  times  of  terror,  but  the  day 
never  shines  in  which  this  element  may  not  work.  The  cir- 
cumstances of  man,  we  say,  are  historically  somewhat  better 
in  this  country,  and  at  this  hour,  than  perhaps  ever  before. 
More  freedom  exists  for  culture.  It  will  not  now  run  against 
an  axe  at  the  first  step  out  of  the  beaten  track  of  opinion.  But 
whoso  is  heroic  will  always  find  crises  to  try  this  edge.  Human 
Tirtue  demands  her  champions  and  martyrs,  and  the  trial 
of  persecution  always  proceeds.  It  is  but  the  other  day  that 
the  brave  Love  joy  gave  his  breast  to  the  bullets  of  a  mob, 
for  the  rights  of  free  speech  and  opinion,  and  died  when  it 
ivas  better  not  to  five. 

I  see  not  any  road  of  perfect  peace  which  a  man  can  walk, 
b)ut  after  the  counsel  of  his  own  bosom.  Let  him  quit  too 
much  association,  let  him  go  home  much,  and  stabhsh  himseK 
in  those  courses  he  approves.  The  unremitting  retention  of 
simple  and  high  sentiments  in  obscure  duties  is  hardening 
the  character  to  that  temper  which  will  work  with  honor, 
if  need  be,  in  the  tumult,  or  on  the  scaffold.  Whatever  out- 
rages have  happened  to  men  may  befall  a  man  again;  and 
very  easily  in  a  republic,  if  there  appear  any  signs  of  a  decay 
of  religion.  Coarse  slander,  fire,  tar  and  feathers,  and  the  gib- 
bet, the  youth  may  freely  bring  home  to  his  mind,  and  with 
what  sweetness  of  temper  he  can,  and  inquire  how  fast  he  can 


HEROISM  145 

fix  his  sense  of  duty,  braving  such  penalties,  whenever  it  may 
please  the  next  newspaper  and  a  sufficient  number  of  his 
neighbors  to  pronounce  his  opinions  incendiary. 

It  may  calm  the  apprehension  of  calamity  in  the  most  sus- 
ceptible heart  to  see  how  quick  a  bound  nature  has  set  to  the 
utmost  infliction  of  malice.  We  rapidly  approach  a  brink 
over  which  no  enemy  can  follow  us. 

"Let  them  rave: 
Thou  art  quiet  in  thy  grave/' 

In  the  gloom  of  our  ignorance  of  what  shall  be,  in  the  hour 
when  we  are  deaf  to  the  higher  voices,  who  does  not  envy  those 
who  have  seen  safely  to  an  end  their  manful  endeavor  ?  Who 
that  sees  the  meanness  of  our  politics,  but  inlj'^  congratulates 
Washington  that  he  is  long  already  wrapped  in  his  shroud, 
and  forever  safe ;  that  he  was  laid  sweet  in  his  grave,  the  hope 
of  humanity  not  yet  subjugated  in  him  ?  Who  does  not  some- 
times envy  the  good  and  brave,  who  are  no  more  to  suffer 
from  the  tumults  of  the  natural  world,  and  await  with  curious 
complacency  the  speedy  term  of  his  own  conversation  with 
finite  nature  ?  And  yet  the  love  that  will  be  annihilated  sooner 
than  be  treacherous  has  already  made  death  impossible, 
and  affirms  itself  no  mortal,  but  a  native  of  the  deeps  of  abso- 
lute and  inextinguishable  being. 


THE  OVER-SOUL 

*'But  souls  that  of  his  own  good  hfe  partake, 
He  loves  as  his  own  seK ;  dear  as  his  eye 
They  are  to  Himj  Hell  never  them  forsake  : 
When  they  shalPaie,  then  God  himself  shall  die : 
They  Hve,  they  Hve  in  blest  eternity." 

—  Henry  More. 

Space  is  ample,  east  and  west, 
But  two  cannot  go  abreast. 
Cannot  travel  in  it  two : 
Yonder  masterful  cuckoo 
Crowds  every  egg  out  of  the  nest. 
Quick  or  dead,  except  its  own ; 
A  spell  is  laid  on  sod  and  stone, 
Night  and  Dslj  were  tampered  with, 
Every  quality  and  pith 
Surcharged  and  sultry  with  a  power 
That  works  its  will  on  age  and  hour. 

There  is  a  difference  between  one  and  another  hour  of  life, 
in  their  authority  and  subsequent  effect.  Our  faith  comes  in 
moments ;  our  vice  is  habitual.  Yet  there  is  a  depth  in  those 
brief  moments  which  constrains  us  to  ascribe  more  reality  to 
them  than  all  other  experiences.  For  this  reason,  the  ar- 
gument which  is  alwaj^s  forthcoming  to  silence  those  who 
conceive  extraordinary  hopes  of  man,  namely,  the  appeal  to 
experience,  is  forever  invalid  and  vain.  We  give  up  the  past 
to  the  objector,  and  yet  we  hope.  He  must  explain  this  hope. 
We  grant  that  human  life  is  mean ;  but  how  did  we  find  out 
that  it  was  mean  ?  Wliat  is  the  ground  of  this  uneasiness  of 
ours;  of  this  old  discontent?  WTiat  is  the  universal  sense 
of  want  and  ignorance,  but  the  fine  innuendo  by  which  the 
soul  makes  its  enormous  claim?  Why  do  men  feel  that  the 
natural  history  of  man  has  never  been  written,  but  he  is  always 

146 


THE  OVER-SOUL  147 

leaving  behind  what  you  have  said  of  him,  and  it  becomes  old, 
and  books  of  metaphysics  worthless  ?  The  philosophy  of  six 
thousand  years  has  not  searched  the  chambers  and  magazines 
of  the  soul.  In  its  experiments  there  has  always  remained, 
in  the  last  analysis,  a  residuum  it  could  not  resolve.  Man 
is  a  stream  whose  source  is  hidden.  Our  being  is  descending 
into  us  from  we  know  not  whence.  The  most  exact  calculator 
has  no  prescience  that  somewhat  incalculable  may  not  balk 
the  very  next  moment.  I  am  constrained  every  moment  to 
acknowledge  a  higher  origin  for  events  than  the  will  I  call 
mine. 

As  with  events,  so  is  it  with  thoughts.  When  I  watch  that 
flowing  river,  which,  out  of  regions  I  see  not,  pours  for  a  sea- 
son its  streams  into  me,  I  see  that  I  am  a  pensioner ;  not  a 
cause,  but  a  surprised  spectator  of  this  ethereal  water ;  that 
I  desire  and  look  up,  and  put  myself  in  the  attitude  of  recep- 
tion, but  from  some  alien  energy  the  visions  come. 

The  Supreme  Critic  on  the  errors  of  the  past  and  the  present, 
and  the  only  prophet  of  that  which  must  be,  is  that  great 
nature  in  which  we  rest,  as  the  earth  lies  in  the  soft  arms  of 
the  atmosphere ;  that  Unity,  that  Over-soul,  within  which 
every  man's  particular  being  is  contained  and  made  one  with 
all  other ;  that  common  heart,  of  which  all  sincere  conversa- 
tion is  the  worship,  to  which  all  right  action  is  submission ; 
that  overpowering  reality  which  confutes  our  tricks  and  talents, 
and  constrains  every  one  to  pass  for  what  he  is,  and  to  speak 
from  his  character,  and  not  from  his  tongue,  and  which  ever- 
more tends  to  pass  into  our  thought  and  hand,  and  become 
wisdom,  and  virtue,  and  power,  and  beauty.  We  live  in  suc- 
cession, in  division,  in  parts,  in  particles.  Meantime  within 
man  is  the  soul  of  the  whole ;  the  wise  silence ;  the  universal 
beauty,  to  which  every  part  and  particle  is  equally  related ; 
the  eternal  One.  And  this  deep  power  in  which  we  exist,  and 
whose  beatitude  is  all  accessible  to  us,  is  not  only  self-suffic- 
ing and  perfect  in  every  hour,  but  the  act  of  seeing  and  the 
thing  seen,  the  seer  and  the  spectacle,  the  subject  and  the  ob- 
ject, are  one.  We  see  the  world  piece  by  piece,  as  the  sun,  the 
moon,  the  animal,  the  tree;  but  the  whole,  of  which  these 
are  the  shining  parts,  is  the  soul.  Only  by  the  vision  of  that 
Wisdom  can  the  horoscope  of  the  ages  be  read,  and  by  falling 
back  on  our  better  thoughts,  by  yielding  to  the  spirit  of 
prophecy  which  is  innate  in  every  man,  we  can  know  what  it 


148  THE  OVER-SOUL 

saith.  Every  man's  words,  who  speaks  from  that  life,  must 
sound  vain  to  those  who  do  not  dwell  in  the  same  thought  on 
their  o^ti  part.  I  dare  not  speak  for  it.  My  words  do  not 
carry  its  august  sense ;  they  fall  short  and  cold.  Only  itself 
can  inspire  whom  it  will,  and  behold !  their  speech  shall  be 
l}Tical,  and  sweet,  and  universal  as  the  rising  of  the  wind. 
Yet  I  desire,  even  by  profane  words,  if  I  may  not  use  sacred, 
to  indicate  the  heaven  of  this  deity,  and  to  report  what  hints 
I  have  collected  of  the  transcendent  simpUcity  and  energy  of 
the  Highest  Law. 

If  we  consider  what  happens  in  conversation,  in  reveries, 
in  remorse,  in  times  of  passion,  in  surprises,  in  the  instruc- 
tions of  dreams,  wherein  often  we  see  ourselves  in  masquerade, 
—  the  droll  disguises  only  magnif>dng  and  enhancing  a  real 
element,  and  forcing  it  on  our  distinct  notice,  —  we  shall 
catch  many  hints  that  Tvill  broaden  and  lighten  into  knowledge 
of  the  secret  of- nature.  All  goes  to  show  that  the  soul  in  man 
is  not  an  organ,  but  animates  and  exercises  all  the  organs ;  is 
not  a  function  Hke  the  power  of  memory,  of  calculation,  of 
comparison,  but  uses  these  as  hands  and  feet ;  is  not  a  faculty, 
but  a  hght ;  is  not  the  intellect  or  the  wi]l,  but  the  master  of 
the  intellect  and  the  ^411;  is  the  background  of  our  being, 
in  which  they  He,  —  an  immensity  not  possessed  and  that 
cannot  be  possessed.  From  within  or  from  behind,  a  light 
shines  through  us  upon  things,  and  makes  us  aware  that  we 
are  nothing,  but  the  Hght  is  aU.  A  man  is  the  fagade  of  a  tem- 
ple wherein  all  Tvdsdom  and  all  good  abide.  What  we  com- 
monly call  man,  the  eating,  drinking,  planting,  counting  man, 
does  not,  as  we  know  him,  represent  himself,  but  misrepresents 
himself.  Him  we  do  not  respect,  but  the  soul,  whose  organ 
he  is,  would  he  let  it  appear  through  his  action,  would  make 
our  knees  bend.  When  it  breathes  through  his  inteUect,  it 
is  genius  ;  when  it  breathes  through  his  mU,  it  is  virtue  ;  when 
it  flows  through  his  affection,  it  is  love.  And  the  bHndness 
of  the  intellect  begins,  when  it  would  be  something  of  itself. 
The  weakness  of  the  wi]l  begins,  when  the  indi\ddual  would 
be  something  of  himself.  AU  reform  aims,  in  some  one  par- 
ticular, to  let  the  soul  havte  its  way  through  us ;  iq  other  words, 
to  engage  us  to  obey. 

Of  this  pure  nature  every  man  is  at  some  time  sensible. 
Language  cannot  paint  it  Tvnth  his  colors.  It  is  too  subtile. 
It  is  undefinable,  unmeasurable,  but  we  know  that  it  pervades 


THE  OVER-SOUL  149 

and  contains  us.  We  know  that  all  spiritual  being  is  in  man, 
A  wise  old  proverb  says,  ^^God  comes  to  see  us  without  beir^ ; 
that  is,  as  there  is  no  screen  or  ceihng  between  our  heads  and 
the  infinite  heavens,  so  is  there  no  bar  or  wall  in  the  soul  where 
man,  the  effect,  ceases,  and  God,  the  cause,  begins.  The 
walls  are  taken  away.  We  He  open  on  one  side  to  the  deeps 
of  spiritual  nature,  to  the  attributes  of  God.  Justice  we  see 
and  know,  Love,  Freedom,  Power.  These  natures  no  man 
ever  got  above,  but  they  tower  over  us,  and  most  in  the  mo- 
ment when  our  interests  tempt  us  to  wound  them.  j 

The  sovereignty  of  this  nature  whereof  we  speak  is  made 
known  by  its  independency  of  those  limitations  which  cir- 
cumscribe us  on  every  hand.  The  soul  circumscribes  all 
things.  As  I  have  said,  it  contradicts  all  experience.  In 
Hke  manner  it  aboHshes  time  and  space.  The  influence  of 
the  senses  has,  in  most  men,  overpowered  the  mind  to  that 
degree,  that  the  walls  of  time  and  space  have  come  to  look 
real  and  insurmountable ;  and  to  speak  with  levity  of  these 
limits  is,  in  the  world,  the  sign  of  insanity.  Yet  time  and 
space  are  but  inverse  measures  of  the  force  of  the  soul.  The 
spirit  sports  with  time,  — 

'^Can  crowd  eternity  into  an  hour, 
Or  stretch  an  hour  to  eternity.'' 

We  are  often  made  to  feel  that  there  is  another  youth  and 
age  than  that  which  is  measured  from  the  year  of  our  natural 
birth.  Some  thoughts  always  find  us  young  and  keep  us  so. 
Such  a  thought  is  the  love  of  the  universal  and  eternal  beauty. 
Every  man  parts  from  that  contemplation  with  the  feeling 
that  it  rather  belongs  to  ages  than  to  mortal  life.  The  least 
activity  of  the  intellectual  powers  redeems  us  in  a  degree  from 
the  conditions  of  time.  In  sickness,  in  languor,  give  us  a  strain 
of  poetry,  or  a  profound  sentence,  and  we  are  refreshed ;  or 
produce  a  volume  of  Plato,  or  Shakspeare,  or  remind  us  of 
their  names,  and  instantly  we  come  into  a  feeling  of  longevity. 
See  how  the  deep,  divine  thought  reduces  centuries,  and  mil- 
lenniums, and  makes  itself  present  through  all  ages.  Is  the 
teaching  of  Christ  less  effective  now  than  it  was  when  first 
his  mouth  was  opened?  The  emphasis  of  facts  and  person 
in  my  thought  has  nothing  to  do  with  time.  And  so,  always, 
the  souFs  scale  is  one ;  the  scale  of  the  senses  and  the  under- 
standing is  another.     Before  the  revelations  of  the  soul,  Time, 


150  THE  OVER-SOUL 

Space,  and  Nature  shrink  away.  In  common  speech,  we  refer 
all  things  to  time,  as  we  habitually  refer  the  immensely  sun- 
•dired  stars  to  one  concave  sphere.  And  so  we  say  that  the 
Judgment  is  distant  or  near,  that  the  Millennium  approaches, 
that  a  day  of  certain  political,  moral,  social  reforms  is  at  hand, 
and  the  like,  when  we  mean,  that,  in  the  nature  of  things, 
one  of  the  facts  we  contemplate  is  external  and  fugitive,  and 
the  other  is  permanent  and  connate  with  the  soul.  The  things 
we  now  esteem  fixed,  shall,  one  by  one,  detach  themselves, 
like  ripe  fruit,  from  our  experience  and  fall.  The  wind  shall 
blow  them  none  knows  whither.  The  landscape,  the  figures, 
Boston,  London,  are  facts  as  fugitive  as  any  institution  past, 
or  any  whiff  of  mist  or  smoke,  and  so  is  society,  and  so  is  the 
world.  The  soul  looketh  steadily  forwards,  creating  a  world 
before  her,  leaving  worlds  behind  her.  She  has  no  dates, 
nor  rites,  nor  persons,  nor  specialties,  nor  men.  The  soul 
knows  only  the  soul ;  the  web  of  events  is  the  flowing  robe 
in  which  she  is  clothed. 

After  its  own  law  and  not  by  arithmetic  is  the  rate  of  its 
progress  to  be  computed.  The  soul's  advances  are  not  made 
by  gradation,  such  as  can  be  represented  by  motion  in  a  straight 
line ;  but  rather  by  ascension  of  state,  such  as  can  be  repre- 
sented by  metamorphosis,  —  from  the  egg  to  the  worm,  from 
the  worm  to  the  fly.  The  growths  of  genius  are  of  a  certain 
total  character,  that  does  not  advance  the  elect  individual 
first  over  John,  then  Adam,  then  Richard,  and  give  to  each 
the  pain  of  discovered  inferiority,  but  by  every  throe  of 
growth  the  man  expands  there  where  he  works,  passing,  at 
each  pulsation,  classes,  populations,  of  men.  With  each 
divine  impulse  the  mind  rends  the  thin  rinds  of  the  visible 
and  finite,  and  comes  out  into  eternity,  and  inspires  and  ex- 
pires its  air.  It  converses  with  truths  that  have  always  been 
spoken  in  the  world,  and  becomes  conscious  of  a  closer  sym- 
pathy with  Zeno  and  Arrian,  than  with  persons  in  the  house. 

This  is  the  law  of  moral  and  of  mental  gain.     The  simple 
rise  as  by  specific  levity,  not  into  a  particular  virtue,  but  into 
the  region  of  all  the  virtues.     They  are  in  the  spirit  which  ii 
contains  them  all.     The  soul  requires  purity,  but  purity  is  •] 
not  it ;  requires  justice,  but  justice  is  not  that ;  requires  benef- 
icence, but  is  somewhat  better;  so  that  there  is  a  kind  of 
descent  and  accommodation  felt  when  we  leave  speaking  of  jj 
moral  nature,  to  urge  a  virtue  which  it  enjoins.    To  the  well-    i 


1 


THE  OVER-SOUL  151 

born  child,  all  the  virtues  are  natural,  and  not  painfully  ac- 
quired. Speak  to  his  heart,  and  the  man  becomes  suddenly 
virtuous. 

Within  the  same  sentiment  is  the  germ  of  intellectual  growth, 
which  obeys  the  same  law.  Those  who  are  capable  of  humil- 
ity, of  justice,  of  love,  of  aspiration,  stand  already  on  a  plat- 
form that  commands  the  sciences  and  arts,  speech  and  poetry, 
action  and  grace.  For  whoso  dwells  in  this  moral  beatitude 
already  anticipates  those  special  powers  which  men  prize  so 
highly.  The  lover  has  no  talent,  no  skill,  which  passes  for 
quite  nothing  with  his  enamored  maiden,  however  little  she 
may  possess  of  related  faculty ;  and  the  heart  which  abandons 
itself  to  the  Supreme  Mind  fuids  itself  related  to  all  its  works, 
and  will  travel  a  royal  road  to  particular  knowledges  and 
powers.  In  ascending  to  this  primary  and  aboriginal  senti- 
ment, we  have  come  from  our  remote  station  on  the  circum- 
ference instantaneously  to  the  centre  of  the  world,  where,  as 
in  the  closet  of  God,  we  see  causes,  and  anticipate  the  universe, 
which  is  but  a  slow  effect. 

One  mode  of  the  divine  teaching  is  the  incarnation  of  the 
spirit  in  a  form,  —  in  forms,  like  my  own.  I  live  in  society ; 
with  persons  who  answer  to  thoughts  in  my  own  mind,  or 
express  a  certain  obedience  to  the  great  instincts  to  which  I 
live.  I  see  its  presence  to  them.  I  am  certified  of  a  common 
nature ;  and  these  other  souls,  these  separated  selves,  draw 
me  as  nothing  else  can.  They  stir  in  me  the  new  emotions 
we  call  passion;  of  love,  hatred,  fear,  admiration,  pity; 
thence  come  conversation,  competition,  persuasion,  cities, 
and  war.  Persons  are  supplementary  to  the  primary  teaching 
of  the  soul.  In  youth  we  are  mad  for  persons.  Childhood 
and  youth  see  all  the  world  in  them.  But  the  larger  expe- 
rience of  man  discovers  the  identical  nature  appearing  through 
them  all.  Persons  themselves  acquaint  us  with  the  im- 
personal. In  all  conversation  between  two  persons,  tacit 
reference  is  made,  as  to  a  third  party,  to  a  common  na- 
ture. That  third  party  or  common  nature  is  not  social ;  it 
is  impersonal;  is  God.  And  so  in  groups  where  debate 
is  earnest,  and  especially  on  high  questions,  the  company 
become  aware  that  the  thought  rises  to  an  equal  level  in 
all  bosoms,  —  that  all  have  a  spiritual  property  in  what 
was  said,  as  well  as  the  sayer.  They  all  become  wiser  than 
they  were.     It  arches  over  them  like  a  temple,  this  unity  of 


152  THE  0\^R-SOUL 

thought,  in  which  every  heart  beats  with  nobler  sense  of  power 
and  duty,  and  thinks  and  acts  with  unusual  solemnity.  All 
are  conscious  of  attaining  to  a  higher  self-possession.  There 
is  a  certain  wisdom  of  humanity  which  is  common  to  the 
greatest  men  with  the  lowest,  and  which  our  ordinary  educa- 
tion often  labors  to  silence  and  obstruct.  The  mind  is  one, 
and  the  best  minds,  who  love  truth  for  its  own  sake,  think 
much  less  of  property  in  truth.  They  accept  it  thankfully 
€yeryT\^here,  and  do  not  label  or  stamp  it  with  any  man's 
name,  for  it  is  theirs  long  beforehand,  and  from  eternity. 
The  learned  and  the  studious  of  thought  have  no  monopoly 
of  wisdom.  Their  violence  of  direction  in  some  degree  dis- 
qualifies them  to  think  truly.  We  owe  many  valuable  ob- 
servations to  people  who  are  not  very  acute  or  profound,  and 
w^ho  sa}^  the  thing  without  effort,  which  we  want  and  have 
long  been  hunting  in  vain.  The  action  of  the  soul  is  oftener 
in  that  which  is  felt  and  left  unsaid,  than  in  that  which  is  said 
in  any  conversation.  It  broods  over  every  society,  and  they 
unconsciously  seek  for  it  in  each  other.  We  know  better 
than  we  do.  We  do  not  yet  possess  ourselves,  and  we  know 
at  the  same  time  that  we  are  much  more.  I  feel  the  same 
truth  how  often  in  my  trivial  conversation  with  my  neigh- 
bors, that  somewhat  higher  in  each  overlooks  this  by-play, 
and  Jove  nods  to  Jove  from  behind  each  of  us. 

Men  descend  to  meet.  In  their  habitual  and  mean  service 
to  the  world,  for  which  they  forsake  their  native  nobleness, 
they  resemble  those  Arabian  sheiks,  who  dwell  in  mean  houses, 
and  affect  an  external  poverty,  to  escape  the  rapacity  of  the 
Pacha,  and  reserve  all  their  display  of  wealth  for  their  in- 
terior and  guarded  retirements. 

As  it  is  present  in  all  persons,  so  it  is  in  every  period  of  life. 
It  is  adult  already  in  the  infant  man.  In  my  dealing  with 
my  child,  my  Latin  and  Greek,  m}^  accomplishm.ents  and  my 
money,  stead  me  nothing ;  but  as  much  soul  as  I  have  avails. 
If  I  am  wilful,  he  sets  his  will  against  mine,  one  for  one,  and 
leaves  me,  if  I  please,  the  degradation  of  beating  him  by  my 
superiority  of  strength.  But  if  I  renounce  my  will,  and  act 
for  the  soul,  setting  that  up  as  umpire  between  us  two,  out  of 
his  young  eyes  looks  the  same  soul;  he  reveres  and  loves 
with  me. 

The  soul  is  the  perceiver  and  revealer  of  truth.  We  know 
truth  when  we  see  it,  let  sceptic  and  scoffer  say  what  they 


THE  OVER-SOUL  153 

choose.  Foolish  people  ask  you,  when  you  have  spoken  what 
they  do  not  wish  to  hear,  ^How  do  you  know  it  is  truth,  and 
not  an  error  of  your  own?'  We  know  truth  when  we  see  it, 
from  opinion,  as  we  know  when  we  are  awake  that  we  are 
awake.  It  was  a  grand  sentence  of  Emanuel  Swedenborg, 
which  would  alone  indicate  the  greatness  of  that  man's  per- 
ception^ —  ^^  It  is  no  proof  of  a  man's  understanding  to  be  able 
to  confirm  whatever  he  pleases ;  but  to  be  able  to  discern  that 
what  is  true  is  true,  and  that  what  is  false  is  false,  this  is 
the  mark  and  character  of  intelligence."  In  the  book  I  read 
the  good  thought  returns  to  me,  as  every  truth  will,  the  image 
of  the  whole  soul.  To  the  bad  thought  which  I  find  in  it, 
the  same  soul  becomes  a  discerning,  separating  sword,  and 
lops  it  away.  We  are  wiser  than  we  know.  If  we  will  not 
interfere  with  our  thought,  but  will  act  entirely,  or  see  how 
the  thing  stands  in  God,  we  know  the  particular  thing,  and 
ever3^hing,  and  every  man.  For  the  Maker  of  all  things  and 
all  persons  stands  behind  us,  and  casts  his  dread  omniscience 
through  us  over  things. 

But  beyond  this  recognition  of  its  own  in  particular  pas- 
sages of  the  individual's  experience,  it  also  reveals  truth.  And 
here  we  should  seek  to  reinforce  ourselves  by  its  very  presence, 
and  to  speak  with  a  worthier,  loftier  strain  of  that  advent. 
For  the  soul's  communication  of  truth  is  the  highest  event 
in  nature,  since  it  then  does  not  give  somewhat  from  itself, 
but  it  givies  itself,  or  passes  into  and  becomes  that  man  whom 
it  enlightens ;  or,  in  proportion  to  that  truth  he  receives,  it 
takes  him  to  itself. 

We  distinguish  the  announcements  of  the  soul,  its  mani- 
festations of  its  own  nature,  by  the  term  Revelation.  These 
are  always  attended  by  the  emotion  of  the  sublime.  For 
this  communication  is  an  influx  of  the  Divine  mind  into  our 
mind.  It  is  an  ebb  of  the  individual  rivulet  before  the  flowing 
surges  of  the  sea  of  life.  Every  distinct  apprehension  of  this 
central  commandment  agitates  men  with  awe  and  delight. 
A  thrill  passes  through  all  men  at  the  reception  of  new  truth, 
or  at  the  performance  of  a  great  action,  which  comes  out  of 
the  heart  of  nature.  In  these  commimications,  the  power 
to  see  is  not  separated  from  the  will  to  do,  but  the  insight  pro- 
ceeds from  obedience,  and  the  obedience  proceeds  from  a 
joyful  perception.  Every  moment  when  the  individual  feels 
himseK  invaded  by  it  is  memorable.    By  the  necessity  of  our 


154  THE  OVER-SOUL 

constitution,  a  certain  enthusiasm  attends  the  individuaPs 
consciousness  of  that  Divine  presence.  The  character  and 
duration  of  this  enthusiasm  varies  with  the  state  of  the  in- 
dividual, from  an  ecstasy  and  trance  and  prophetic  inspira- 
tion, —  which  is  its  rarer  appearance,  —  to  the  faintest  glow 
of  virtuous  emotion,  in  which  form  it  warms,  like  our  house- 
hold fires,  all  the  families  and  associations  of  men,  and  makes 
society  possible.  A  certain  tendency  to  insanity  has  always 
attended  the  opening  of  the  rehgious  sense  in  men,  as  if  they 
had  been  '^ blasted  with  excess  of  light."  The  trances  of 
Socrates,  the  ''union"  of  Plotinus,  the  vision  of  Porphyry, 
the  conversion  of  Paul,  the  aurora  of  Behmen,  the  convul- 
sions of  George  Fox  and  his  Quakers,  the  illumination  of 
Swedenborg,  are  of  this  kind.  What  was  in  the  case  of  these 
remarkable  persons  a  ravishment  has,  in  innumerable  in- 
stances in  common  Hfe,  been  exhibited  in  less  striking  manner. 
Everywhere  the  history  of  religion  betrays  a  tendency  to  en- 
thusiasm. The  rapture  of  the  Moravian  and  Quietist;  the 
opening  of  the  internal  sense  of  the  Word,  in  the  language  of 
the  New  Jerusalem  Church;  the  revival  of  the  Calvinistic 
churches ;  the  experiences  of  the  Methodists,  are  varying  forms 
of  that  shudder  of  awe  and  delight  with  which  the  individual 
soul  always  mingles  with  the  universal  soul. 

The  nature  of  these  revelations  is  the  same ;  they  are  per- 
ceptions of  the  absolute  law.  They  are  solutions  of  the  souFs 
own  questions.  They  do  not  answer  the  questions  which  the 
understanding  asks.  The  soul  answers  never  by  words,  but 
by  the  thing  itself  that  is  inquired  after. 

Revelation  is  the  disclosure  of  the  soul.  The  popular 
notion  of  a  revelation  is,  that  it  is  a  telling  of  fortunes.  In 
past  oracles  of  the  soul,  the  understanding  seeks  to  find  answers 
to  sensual  questions,  and  undertakes  to  tell  from  God  how 
long  men  shall  exist,  what  their  hands  shall  do,  and  who  shall 
be  their  company,  adding  names,  and  dates,  and  places.  But 
we  must  pick  no  locks.  We  must  check  this  low  curiosity. 
An  answer  in  words  is  delusive  ;  it  is  really  no  answer  to  the 
questions  you  ask.  Do  not  require  a  description  of  the  coun- 
tries towards  which  you  sail.  The  description  does  not  des- 
cribe them  to  you,  and  to-morrow  you  arrive  there,  and  know 
them  by  inhabiting  them.  Men  ask  concerning  the  immor- 
tality of  the  soul,  the  employments  of  heaven,  the  state  of 
the  sinner,  and  so  forth.     They  even  dream  that  Jesus  has 


THE  OVER-SOUL  155 

left  replies  to  precisely  these  interrogatories.  Never  a  mo- 
ment did  that  sublime  spirit  speak  in  their  patois.  To  truth, 
justice,  love,  the  attributes  of  the  soul,  the  idea  of  immutable- 
ness  is  essentially  associated.  Jesus,  living  in  these  moral 
sentiments,  heedless  of  sensual  fortunes,  heeding  only  the 
manifestations  of  these,  never  made  the  separation  of  the 
idea  of  duration  from  the  essence  of  these  attributes,  nor 
uttered  a  syllable  concerning  the  duration  of  the  soul.  It 
was  left  to  his  disciples  to  sever  duration  from  the  moral  ele- 
ments, and  to  teach  the  immortality  of  the  soul  as  a  doctrine, 
and  maintain  it  by  evidences.  The  moment  the  doctrine  of 
the  immortality  is  separately  taught,  man  is  already  fallen. 
In  the  flowing  of  love,  in  the  adoration  of  humiUty,  there  is. 
no  question  of  continuance.  No  inspired  man  ever  asks  this 
question,  or  condescends  to  these  evidences.  For  the  soul 
is  true  to  itself,  and  the  man  in  whom  it  is  shed  abroad  cannot 
wander  from  the  present,  which  is  infinite,  to  a  future  which 
would  be  finite. 

These  questions  which  we  lust  to  ask  about  the  future  .are 
a  confession  of  sin.  God  has  no  answer  for  them.  No  answer 
in  words  can  reply  to  a  question  of  things.  It  is  not  in 
an  arbitrary  ^^  decree  of  God,^'  but  in  the  nature  of  man,  that 
a  veil  shuts  down  on  the  facts  of  to-morrow ;  for  the  soul  will 
not  have  us  read  any  other  cipher  than  that  of  cause  and  effect. 
By  this  veil,  which  curtains  events,  it  instructs  the  children 
of  men  to  live  in  to-day.  The  only  mode  of  obtaining  an 
answer  to  these  questions  of  the  senses  is  to  forego  all  low 
curiosity,  and,  accepting  the  tide  of  being  which  floats  us  into 
the  secret  of  nature,  work  and  live,  work  and  live,  and  all  un- 
awares the  advancing  soul  has  built  and  forged  for  itseK  a  new 
condition,  and  the  question  and  the  answer  are  one.  ^ 

By  the  same  fire,  vital,  consecrating,  celestial,  which  burns 
until  it  shall  dissolve  all  things  into  the  waves  and  surges  of  an 
ocean  of  light,  we  see  and  know  each  other,  and  what  spirit 
each  is  of.  Who  can  tell  the  grounds  of  his  knowledge  of 
the  character  of  the  several  individuals  in  his  circle  of  friends  ? 
No  man.  Yet  their  acts  and  words  do  not  disappoint  him.. 
In  that  man,  though  he  knew  no  ill  of  him,  he  put  no  trust. 
In  that  other,  though  they  had  seldom  met,  authentic  signs; 
had  yet  passed,  to  signify  that  he  might  be  trusted  as  one 
who  had  an  interest  in  his  own  character.  We  know  each 
other  very  well,  —  which  of  us  has  been  just  to  himseK,  and 


156  THE   OVER-SOUL 

whether  that  which  we  teach  or  behold  is  only  an  aspiration, 
or  is  our  honest  effort  also. 

We  are  all  discerners  of  spirits.  That  diagnosis  lies  aloft 
:in  our  life  or  unconscious  power.     The  intercourse  of  society 

—  its  trade,  its  religion,  its  friendships,  its  quarrels  —  is  one 
wide,  judicial  investigation  of  character.  In  full  court,  or  in 
small  committee,  or  confronted  face  to  face,  accuser  and  ac- 
cused, men  offer  themselves  to  be  judged.  Against  their 
will  they  exhibit  those  decisive  trifles  by  which  character  is 
read.  But  who  judges?  and  what?  Not  our  understand- 
ing. We  do  not  read  them  by  learning  or  craft.  No  ;  the 
wisdom  of  the  wise  man  consists  herein,  that  he  does  not 
judge  them ;  he  lets  them  judge  themselves,  and  merely  reads 
;and  records  their  own  verdict. 

By  virtue  of  tliis  inevitable  nature,  private  will  is  over- 
powered, and,  maugre  our  efforts  or  our  imperfections,  your 
genius  will  speak  from  you,  and  mine  from  me.  That  which 
we  are,  we  shall  teach,  not  voluntarily,  but  involuntarily. 
Thoughts  come  into  our  minds  by  avenues  which  we  never 
left  open,  and  thoughts  go  out  of  our  minds  through  avenues 
w^hich  we  never  voluntarily  opened.  Character  teaches  over 
our  head.  The  infallible  index  of  true  progress  is  found  in  the 
tone  the  man  takes.  Neither  his  age,  nor  his  breeding,  nor 
company,  nor  books,  nor  actions,  nor  talents,  nor  all  together, 
can  hinder  him  from  being  deferential  to  a  higher  spirit  than 
his  own.  If  he  have  not  found  his  home  in  God,  his  manners, 
his  forms  of  speech,  the  turn  of  his  sentences,  the  build,  shall 
I  say,  of  all  his  opinions,  will  involuntarily  confess  it,  let  him 
brave  it  out  how  he  will.  If  he  have  found  his  centre,  the 
Deity  will  shine  through  him,  through  all  the  disguises  of 
ignorance,  of  ungenial  temperament,  of  unfavorable  circum- 
stance. The  tone  of  seeking  is  one,  and  the  tone  of  having 
is  another. 

The  great  distinction  between  teachers  sacred  or  hterary, 

—  between  poets  like  Herbert,  and  poets  like  Pope,  —  be- 
tween philosophers  Hke  Spinoza,  Kant,  and  Coleridge,  and 
philosophers  like  Locke,  Paley,  Mackintosh,  and  Stew- 
art, —  between  men  of  the  world,  who  are  reckoned  accom- 
plished talkers,  and  here  and  there  a  fervent  mystic,  prophe- 
sying, half  insane  under  the  infinitude  of  his  thought,  —  is, 
that  one  class  speak  from  within^  or  from  experience,  as  par- 
ties and  possessors  of  the  fact ;  and  the  other  class,  from  with- 


THE  OVER-SOUL  I57 

out,  as  spectators  merely,  or  perhaps  as  acquainted  with  the 
fact  on  the  evidence  of  third  persons.  It  is  of  no  use  to  preach 
to  me  from  without.  I  can  do  that  too  easily  myself.  Jesus 
speaks  always  from  within,  and  in  a  degree  that  transcends 
all  others.  In  that  is  the  miracle.  I  believe  beforehand  that 
it  ought  so  to  be.  All  men  stand  continually  in  the  expecta- 
tion of  the  appearance  of  such  a  teacher.  But  if  a  man  do 
not  speak  from  within  the  veil,  where  the  word  is  one  with 
that  it  tells  of,  let  him  lowly  confess  it. 

The  same  Omniscience  flows  into  the  intellect,  and  makes 
what  we  call  genius.  Much  of  the  wisdom  of  the  world  is 
not  wisdom,  and  the  most  illuminated  class  of  men  are  no 
doubt  superior  to  literary  fame,  and  are  not  writers.  Among 
the  multitude  of  scholars  and  authors,  we  feel  no  hallowing 
presence ;  we  are  sensible  of  a  knack  and  skill  rather  than  of 
mspiration ;  they  have  a  light,  and  know  not  whence  it  comes, 
and  call  it  their  own ;  their  talent  is  some  exaggerated  faculty' 
some  overgrown  member,  so  that  their  strength  is  a  disease! 
In  these  instances  the  intellectual  gifts  do  not  make  the  im- 
pression of  virtue,  but  almost  of  vice ;  and  we  feel  that  a  man^s 
talents  stand  in  the  way  of  his  advancement  in  truth.  But 
genius  is  religious.  It  is  a  larger  imbibing  of  the  common 
heart.  It  is  not  anomalous,  but  more  like,  and  not  less  like 
other  men.  There  is,  in  all  great  poets,  a  wisdom  of  humanity 
which  IS  superior  to  any  talents  they  exercise.  The  author, 
the  wit,  the  partisan,  the  fine  gentleman,  does  not  take  place 
of  the  man.  Humanity  shines  in  Homer,  in  Chaucer,  in 
Spenser,  in  Shakspeare,  in  Milton.  They  are  content  with 
truth.  They  use  the  positive  degree.  They  seem  frigid 
and  phlegmatic  to  those  who  have  been  spiced  with  the  fran- 
tic passion  and  violent  coloring  of  inferior,  but  popular  writers. 
For  they  are  poets  by  the  free  course  which  they  allow  to  the 
informing  soul,  which  through  their  eyes  beholds  again,  and" 
blesses  the  things  which  it  hath  made.  The  soul  is  superior 
to  its  knowledge ;  wiser  than  any  of  its  works.  The  great 
poet  makes  us  feel  our  own  wealth,  and  then  we  think  less  of 
his  compositions.  His  best  communication  to  our  mind  is  to 
teach  us  to  despise  all  he  has  done.  Shakspeare  carries  us 
to  such  a  lofty  strain  of  intelligent  activity,  as  to  suggest  a 
wealth  which  beggars  his  own ;  and  we  then  feel  that  the 
splendid  works  which  he  has  created,  and  which  in  other 
hours  we  extol  as  a  sort  of  self-existent  poetry,  take  no  stronger 


158  THE  OVER-SOUL 

hold  of  real  nature  than  the  shadow  of  a  passing  traveller  on 
the  rock.  The  inspiration  which  uttered  itself  in  Hamlet  and 
Lear  could  utter  things  as  good  from  day  to  day,  forever.  Why, 
then,  should  I  make  account  of  Hamlet  and  Lear,  as  if  we  had 
not  the  soul  from  which  they  fell  as  syllables  from  tn.:.  l^ongue  ? 

This  energy  does  not  descend  into  individual  life  on  any 
other  condition  than  entire  possession.  It  comes  to  the  lowly 
and  simple;  it  comes  to  whomsoever  will  put  off  what  is 
foreign  and  proud ;  it  comes  as  insight !  it  comes  as  serenity 
and  grandeur.  When  we  see  those  whom  it  inhabits,  we  are 
apprised  of  new  degrees  of  greatness.  From  that  inspiration 
the  man  comes  back  with  a  changed  tone.  He  does  not  talk 
with  men  with  an  eye.  to  their  opinion.  He  tries  them.  It 
requires  of  us  to  be  plain  and  true.  The  vain  traveller  at- 
tempts to  embellish  his  life  by  quoting  my  lord,  and  the  prince, 
and  the  countess,  who  thus  said  or  did  to  him.  The  ambi- 
tious vulgar  show  you  their  spoons,  and  brooches,  and  rings, 
and  preserve  their  cards  and  compliments.  The  more  cul- 
tivated, in  their  account  of  their  own  experience,  cull  out  the 
pleasing,  poetic  circumstance,  —  the  visit  to  Rome,  the  man 
of  genius  they  saw,  the  brilliant  friend  they  know ;  still  fur- 
ther on,  perhaps,  the  gorgeous  landscape,  the  mountain  lights, 
the  mountain  thoughts,  they  enjoyed  yesterday,  —  and  so 
seek  to  throw  a  romantic  color  over  their  life.  But  the  soul 
that  ascends  to  worship  the  great  God  is  plain  and  true ;  has 
no  rose-color,  no  fine  friends,  no  chivalry,  no  adventures ;  does 
not  want  admiration ;  dwells  in  the  hour  that  now  is,  in  the 
earnest  experience  of  the  common  day,  —  by  reason  of  the 
present  moment  and  the  mere  trifle  having  become  porous 
to  thought,  and  bibulous  of  the  sea  of  light. 

Converse  with  a  mind  that  is  grandly  simple,  and  litera- 
ture looks  like  word-catching.  The  simplest  utterances  are 
worthiest  to  be  written,  yet  are  they  so  cheap,  and  so  things 
of  course,  that,  in  the  infinite  riches  of  the  soul,  it  is  like  gather- 
ing a  few  pebbles  off  the  ground,  or  bottling  a  little  air  in  a 
phial,  when  the  whole  earth  and  the  whole  atmosphere  are 
ours.  Nothing  can  pass  there,  or  make  you  one  of  the  circle, 
but  the  casting  aside  your  trappings,  and  dealing  man  to  man 
in  naked  truth,  plain  confession,  and  omniscient  affirmation. 

Souls  such  as  these  treat  you  as  gods  would ;  walk  as  gods 
in  the  earth,  accepting  without  any  admiration  your  wit,  your 
bounty,  your  virtue  even,  —  say  rather  your  act  of  duty,  for 


THE  OVER-SOUL  159 

your  virtue  they  own  as  their  proper  blood,  royal  as  them- 
selves, and  over-royal,  and  the  father  of  the  gods.  But  what 
rebuke  their  plain  fraternal  bearing  casts  on  the  mutual  flat- 
tery with  which  authors  solace  each  other  and  wound  them- 
selves !  These  flatter  not.  I  do  not  wonder  that  these  men 
go  to  see  Cromwell,  and  Christina,  and  Charles  the  Second, 
and  James  the  First,  and  the  Grand  Turk.  For  they  are,  in 
their  own  elevation,  the  fellows  of  kings,  and  must  feel  the 
servile  tone  of  conversation  in  the  world.  They  must  always 
be  a  godsend  to  princes,  for  they  confront  them,  a  king  to  a 
king,  without  ducking  or  concession,  and  give  a  high  nature 
the  refreshment  and  satisfaction  of  resistance,  of  plain  human- 
ity, of  even  companionship,  and  of  new  ideas.  They  leave 
them  wiser  and  superior  men.  Souls  like  these  make  us  feel 
that  sincerity  is  more  excellent  than  flattery.  Deal  so  plainly 
with  man  and  woman,  as  to  constrain  the  utmost  sincerity, 
and  destroy  all  hope  of  trifling  with  you.  It  is  the  highest 
compliment  you  can  pay.  Their  '^highest  praising,'^  said 
Milton,  ^^is  not  flattery,  and  their  plainest  advice  is  a  kind 
of  praising.'^ 

Ineffable  is  the  union  of  man  and  God  in  every  act  of  the 
soul.  The  simplest  person,  who  in  his  integrity  worships  God, 
becomes  God :  yet  for  ever  and  ever  the  influx  of  this  better 
and  universal  self  is  new  and  unsearchable.  It  inspires  awe 
and  astonishment.  How  dear,  how  soothing  to  man,  arises 
the  idea  of  God,  peopling  the  lonely  place,  effacing  the  scars 
of  our  mistakes  and  disappointments !  When  we  have  broken 
our  god  of  tradition,  and  ceased  from  our  god  of  rhetoric,  then 
may  God  fire  the  heart  with  his  presence.  It  is  the  doubling 
of  the  heart  itself,  nay,  the  infinite  enlargement  of  the  heart 
with  a  power  of  growth  to  a  new  infinity  on  every  side.  It 
inspires  in  man  an  infallible  trust.  He  has  not  the  conviction, 
but  the  sight,  that  the  best  is  the  true,  and  may  in  that  thought 
easily  dismiss  all  particular  uncertainties  and  fears,  and  ad- 
journ to  the  sure  revelation  of  time,  the  solution  of  his  private 
riddles.  He  is  sure  that  his  welfare  is  dear  to  the  heart  of 
being.  In  the  presence  of  law  to  his  mind,  he  is  overflowed 
with  a  reliance  so  universal,  that  it  sweeps  away  all  cherished 
hopes  and  the  most  stable  projects  of  mortal  condition  in  its 
flood.  He  believes  that  he  cannot  escape  from  his  good.  The 
things  that  are  really  for  thee  gravitate  to  thee.  You  are 
running  to  seek  your  friend.     Let  your  feet  run,  but  your 


160  THE   OVER-SOUL 

mind  need  not.  If  you  do  not  find  him,  will  you  not  acquiesce 
that  it  is  best  you  should  not  find  him  ?  for  there  is  a  power, 
which,  as  it  is  in  you,  is  in  him  also,  and  could  therefore  very 
well  bring  you  together,  if  it  were  for  the  best.  You  are  pre- 
paring with  eagerness  to  go  and  render  a  service  to  which  your 
talent  and  your  taste  invite  you,  the  love  of  men  and  the 
hope  of  fame.  Has  it  not  occurred  to  you,  that  you  have  no 
right  to  go  unless  you  are  equally  willing  to  be  prevented  from 
going?  O,  believe,  as  thou  livest,  that  every  sound  that  is 
spoken  over  the  round  world,  which  thou  oughtest  to  hear, 
will  vibrate  on  thine  ear !  Every  proverb,  every  book,  every 
byword  that  belongs  to  thee  for  aid  or  comfort,  shall  surely 
come  home  through  open  or  winding  passages.  Every  friend 
whom  not  thy  fantastic  will,  but  the  great  and  tender  heart 
in  thee  craveth,  shall  lock  thee  in  his  embrace.  And  this, 
because  the  heart  in  thee  is  the  heart  of  all ;  not  a  valve,  not 
a  wall,  not  an  intersection  is  there  anywhere  in  nature,  but 
one  blood  rolls  uninterruptedly  an  endless  circulation  through 
all  men,  as  the  water  of  the  globe  is  all  one  sea,  and,  truly 
seen,  its  tide  is  one. 

Let  maA,  then,  learn  the  revelation  of  all  nature  and  all 
thought  to  his  heart;  this,  namely,  that  the  Highest  dwells 
with  him;  that  the  sources  of  nature  are  in  his  own  mind, 
if  the  sentiment  of  duty  is  there.  But  if  he  would  know  what 
the  great  God  speaketh,  he  must  ^  go  into  his  closet  and  shut 
the  door,'  as  Jesus  said.  God  will  not  make  himself  manifest 
to  cowards.  He  must  greatly  listen  to  himself,  withdrawing 
himself  from  all  the  accents  of  other  men's  devotion.  Even 
their  prayers  are  hurtful  to  him,  until  he  have  made  his  own. 
Our  religion  vulgarly  stands  on  numbers  of  believers.  When- 
ever the  appeal  is  made  —  no  matter  how  indirectly  —  to 
numbers,  proclamation  is  then  and  there  made,  that  religion 
is  not.  He  that  finds  God  a  sweet,  enveloping  thought  to  him 
never  counts  his  company.  When  I  sit  in  that  presence,  who 
shall  dare  to  come  in?  When  I  rest  in  perfect  humility,  when 
I  burn  with  pure  love,  what  can  Calvin  or  Swedenborg  say? 

It  makes  no  difference  whether  the  appeal  is  to  numbers 
or  to  one.  The  faith  that  stands  on  authority  is  not  faith. 
The  reliance  on  authority  measures  the  decline  of  religion, 
the  withdrawal  of  the  soul.  The  position  men  have  given 
to  Jesus,  now  for  many  centuries  of  history,  is  a  position 
of  authority.     It  characterizes  themselves.     It  cannot  alter 


II 


THE   OVER-SOUL  161 

the  eternal  facts.  Great  is  the  soul,  and  plain.  It  is  no 
flatterer,  it  is  no  follower ;  it  never  appeals  from  itself.  It 
believes  in  itself.  Before  the  immense  possibilities  of  man, 
all  mere  experience,  all  past  biography,  however  spotless 
and  sainted,  shrinks  away.  Before  that  heaven  which  our 
presentiments  foreshow  us,  we  cannot  easily  praise  any  form 
of  life  we  have  seen  or  read  of.  We  not  only  affirm  that  we 
have  few  great  men,  but,  absolutely  speaking,  that  we  have 
none ;  that  we  have  no  history,  no  record  of  any  character 
or  mode  of  living,  that  entirely  contents  us.  The  saints 
and  demigods  whom  history  worships  we  are  constrained  to- 
accept  with  a  grain  of  allowance.  Though  in  our  lonely 
hours  we  draw  a  new  strength  out  of  their  memory,  yet, 
pressed  on  our  attention,  as  they  are  by  the  thoughtless 
and  customary,  they  fatigue  and  invade.  The  soul  gives- 
itself,  alone,  original,  and  pure,  to  the  Lonely,  Original,  and. 
Pure,  who,  on  that  condition,  gladly  inhabits,  leads,  and 
speaks  through  it.  Then  is  it  glad,  young,  and  nimble. 
It  is  not  wise,  but  it  sees  through  all  things.  It  is  not 
called  religious,  but  it  is  innocent.  It  calls  the  light  its; 
own,  and  feels  that  the  grass  grows  and  the  stone  falls  by  a. 
law  inferior  to,  and  dependent  on,  its  nature.  Behold,  it  saith,. 
I  am  born  into  the  great,  the  universal  mind,  I,  the  imper- 
fect, adore  my  own  Perfect.  I  am  somehow  receptive  of  the 
great  soul,  and  thereby  I  do  overlook  the  sun  and  the  stars^ 
and  feel  them  to  be  the  fair  accidents  and  effects  which  change 
and  pass.  More  and  more  the  surges  of  everlasting  nature 
enter  into  me,  and  I  become  public  and  human  in  my  regards 
and  actions.  So  come  I  to  live  in  thoughts,  and  act  with 
energies,  which  are  immortal.  Thus  revering  the  soul,  and 
learning,  as  the  ancient  said,  that  "its  beauty  is  immense/' 
man  will  come  to  see  that  the  world  is  the  perennial  miracle 
which  the  soul  worketh,  and  be  less  astonished  at  particular 
wonders ;  he  will  learn  that  there  is  no  profane  history ;  that 
all  history  is  sacred;  that  the  universe  is  represented  in  an 
atom,  in  a  moment  of  time.  He  will  weave  no  longer  a  spotted 
life  of  shreds  and  patches,  but  he  v/ill  live  with  a  divine  unity. 
He  will  cease  from  what  is  base  and  frivolous  in  his  life,  and. 
be  content  with  all  places  and  with  any  service  he  can  render. 
He  will  calmly  front  the  morrow  in  the  negligency  of  that 
trust  which  carries  God  with  it,  and  so  hath  already  the  wholes 
future  in  the  bottom  of  the  heart. 


CHARACTER 

The  sun  set ;  but  set  not  his  hope : 
Stars  rose ;  his  faith  was  earHer  up  : 
JFixed  on  the  enormous  galaxy, 
Deeper  and  older  seemed  his  eye : 
And  matched  his  sufferance  sublime 
The  taciturnity  of  time. 
He  spoke,  and  words  more  soft  than  rain 
Brought  the  Age  of  Gold  again ; 
His  action  won  such  reverence  sweet, 
As  hid  all  measure  of  the  feat. 

Work  of  his  hand 

He  nor  commends  nor  grieves : 

Pleads  for  itself  the  fact ; 

As  unrepenting  Nature  leaves 

Her  every  act. 

I  have  read  that  those  who  listened  to  Lord  Chatham 
felt  that  there  was  something  finer  in  the  man  than  anything 
which  he  said.  It  has  been  complained  of  our  brilliant 
English  historian  of  the  French  Revolution,  that  when  he  has 
told  all  his  facts  about  Mirabeau,  they  do  not  justify  his  esti- 
mate of  his  genius.  The  Gracchi,  Agis,  Cleomenes,  and  others 
of  Plutarch's  heroes,  do  not  in  the  record  of  facts  equal  their 
own  fame.  Sir  Philip  Sidney,  the  Earl  of  Essex,  Sir  Walter 
Raleigh,  are  men  of  great  figure,  and  of  few  deeds.  We  cannot 
find  the  smallest  part  of  the  personal  weight  of  Washington  in 
the  narrative  of  his  exploits.  The  authority  of  the  name 
of  Schiller  is  too  great  for  his  books.  This  inequality  of  the 
reputation  to  the  works  or  the  anecdotes  is  not  accounted 
for  by  saying  that  the  reverberation  is  longer  than  the 
thunder-clap;  but  somewhat  resided  in  these  men  which 
begot  an  expectation  that  outran  all  their  performance. 
The  largest  part  of  their  power  was  latent.     This  is  that 

162 


CHARACTER  163 

which  we  call  Character,  —  a  reserved  force  which  acts 
directly  by  presence,  and  without  means.  It  is  conceived 
of  as  a  certain  undemonstrable  force,  a  FamiHar  or  Genius, 
by  whose  impulses  the  man  is  guided,  but  whose  counsels  he 
cannot  impart ;  which  is  company  for  him,  so  that  such  men 
are  often  solitary,  or  if  they  chance  to  be  social,  do  not  need 
society,  but  can  entertain  themselves  very  well  alone.  The 
purest  literary  talent  appears  at  one  time  great,  at  another 
time  small,  but  character  is  of  a  stellar  and  undiminishable 
greatness.  What  others  effect  by  talent  or  by  eloquence^ 
this  man  accomplishes  by  some  magnetism.  ^^Half  his 
strength  he  put  not  forth.''  His  victories  are  by  demonstra- 
tion of  superiority,  and  not  by  crossing  of  bayonets.  He 
conquers,  because  his  arrival  alters  the  face  of  affairs. 
'  '^O  lole !  how  did  you  know  that  Hercules  was  a  god?'^ 
'^Because,''  answered  lole,  ^'I  was  content  the  moment  my 
eyes  fell  on  him.  When  I  beheld  Theseus,  I  desired  that 
I  might  see  him  offer  battle,  or  at  least  guide  his  horses  in 
the  chariot-race ;  but  Hercules  did  not  wait  for  a  contest ;  he 
conquered  whether  he  stood  or  walked,  or  sat,  or  whatever 
thing  he  did.''  '  Man,  ordinarily  a  pendant  to  events,  only 
half  attached,  and  that  awkwardly,  to  the  world  he  lives  in, 
in  these  examples  appears  to  share  the  life  of  things,  and 
to  be  an  expression  of  the  same  laws  which  control  the  tides 
and  the  sun,  numbers  and  quantities. 

But  to  use  a  more  modest  illustration,  and  nearer  home, 
I  observe  that  in  our  political  elections,  where  this  element, 
if  it  appears  at  all,  can  only  occur  in  its  coarsest  form,  we 
sufficiently  understand  its  incomparable  rate.  The  people 
know  that  they  need  in  their  representative  much  more  than 
talent,  namely,  the  power  to  make  his  talent  trusted.  They 
cannot  come  at  their  ends  by  sending  to  Congress  a  learned, 
acute,  and  fluent  speaker,  if  he  be  not  one  who,  before  he  was 
appointed  by  the  people  to  represent  them,  was  appointed  by 
Almighty  God  to  stand  for  a  fact,  —  invincibl}^  persuaded 
of  that  fact  in  himself,  —  so  that  the  most  confident  and  the 
most  violent  persons  learn  that  here  is  resistance  on  which 
both  impudence  and  terror  are  wasted,  namely,  faith  in 
a  fact.  The  men  who  carry  their  points  do  not  need  to  inquire 
of  their  constituents  what  they  should  say,  but  are  them- 
selves the  country  which  they  represent :  nowhere  are  its 
emotions  or  opinions  so  instant  and  true  as  in  them;    no- 


164  CHARACTER 

where  so  pure  from  a  selfish  infusion.  The  constituency 
-at  home  hearkens  to  their  words,  watches  the  color  of  their 
cheek,  and  therein,  as  in  a  glass,  dresses  its  own.  Our  public 
assemblies  are  pretty  good  tests  of  manly  force.  Our  frank 
countrymen  of  the  West  and  South  have  a  taste  for  character, 
and  like  to  know  whether  the  New-Englander  is  a  substantial  • 
:man,  or  whether  the  hand  can  pass  through  him. 

The  same  motive  force  appears  in  trade.  There  are 
geniuses  in  trade,  as  well  as  in  war,  or  the  state,  or  letters ; 
and  the  reason  why  this  or  that  man  is  fortunate,  is  not  to 
be  told.  It  lies  in  the  man  :  that  is  all  anybody  can  tell  you 
about  it.  See  him,  and  you  will  know  as  easily  why  he 
succeeds,  as,  if  you  see  Napoleon,  you  would  comprehend  his 
fortune.  In  the  new  objects  we  recognize  the  old  game,  the 
habit  of  fronting  the  fact,  and  not  dealing  with  it  at  second- 
hand, through  the  perceptions  of  somebody  else.  Nature 
seems  to  authorize  trade,  as  soon  as  you  see  the  natural 
merchant,  who  appears  not  so  much  a  private  agent,  as  her 
factor  and  Minister  of  Commerce.  His  natural  probity 
combines  with  his  insight  into  the  fabric  of  society,  to  put  him 
above  tricks,  and  he  communicates  to  all  his  own  faith,  that 
contracts  are  of  no  private  interpretation.  The  habit  of 
his  mind  is  a  reference  to  standards  of  natural  equity  and 
pubhc  advantage ;  and  he  inspires  respect,  and  the  wish  to 
deal  with  him,  both  for  the  quiet  spirit  of  honor  which  attends 
Mm,  and  for  the  intellectual  pastime  which  the  spectacle 
of  so  much  ability  affords.  This  immensely  stretched  trade, 
which  makes  the  capes  of  the  Southern  Ocean  his  wharves, 
and  the  Atlantic  Sea  his  familiar  port,  centres  in  his  brain 
only ;  and  nobody  in  the  universe  can  make  his  place  good. 
In  his  parlor,  I  see  very  v/ell  that  he  has  been  at  hard  work 
this  morning,  with  that  knitted  brow,  and  that  settled 
humor,  which  all  his  desire  to  be  courteous  cannot  shake 
off.  I  see  plainly  how  many  firm  acts  have  been  done  ;  how 
many  valiant  noes  have  this  day  been  spoken,  when  others 
would  have  uttered  ruinous  Tjeas.  I  see,  with  the  pride  of 
art,  and  skill  of  masterly  arithmetic  and  power  of  remote 
combination,  the  consciousness  of  being  an  agent  and  play- 
fellow of  the  original  laws  of  the  world.  He  too  believes 
that  none  can  supply  him,  and  that  a  man  must  be  bom 
to  trade,  or  he  cannot  learn  it. 

This  virtue  draws  the  mind  more,  when  it  appears  in 


CHARACTER  165 

sction  to  ends  not  so  mixed.  It  works  with  most  energy 
in  the  smallest  companies  and  in  private  relations.  In  all 
cases,  it  is  an  extraordinary  and  incomputable  agent.  The 
excess  of  physical  strength  is  paralyzed  by  it.  Higher 
natures  overpower  lower  ones  by  affecting  them  with  a 
certain  sleep.  The  faculties  are  locked  up,  and  offer  no 
resistance.  Perhaps  that  is  the  universal  law.  When 
the  high  cannot  bring  up  the  low  to  itself,  it  benumbs  it,  as 
man  charms  down  the  resistance  of  the  lower  animals.  Men 
exert  on  each  other  a  similar  occult  power.  How  often  has 
the  influence  of  a  true  master  realized  all  the  tales  of  magic ! 
A  river  of  command  seemed  to  run  down  from  his  eyes  into 
all  those  who  beheld  him,  a  torrent  of  strong  sad  light,  like 
an  Ohio  or  Danube,  which  pervaded  them  with  his  thoughts, 
and  colored  all  events  with  the  hue  of  his  mind.  ^^What 
means  did  you  employ? '^  was  the  question  asked  of  the  wife 
of  Concini,  in  regard  to  her  treatment  of  Mary  of  Medici; 
and  the  answer  was,  '^Only  that  influence  which  every 
strong  mind  has  over  a  weak  one.^'  Cannot  Caesar  in  irons 
shuffle  off  the  irons,  and  transfer  them  to  the  person  of  Hippo 
or  Thraso  the  turnkey?  Is  an  iron  handcuff  so  immutable 
a  bond  ?  Suppose  a  slaver  on  the  coast  of  Guinea  should  take 
on  board  a  gang  of  negroes,  which  should  contain  persons  of 
the  stamp  of  Toussaint  rOuverture :  or,  let  us  fancy  under 
these  swarthy  masks  he  has  a  gang  of  Washingtons  in  chains. 
When  they  arrive  at  Cuba,  will  the  relative  order  of  the 
ship's  company  be  the  same?  Is  there  nothing  but  rope 
and  iron?  Is  there  no  love,  no  reverence?  Is  there  never 
a  glimpse  of  right  in  a  poor  slave-captain's  mind ;  and  cannot 
these  be  supposed  available  to  break,  or  elude,  or  in  any 
manner  overmatch,  the  tension  of  an  inch  or  two  of  iron 
ring? 

This  is  a  natural  power,  like  light  and  heat,  and  all  nature 
co-operates  with  it.  The  reason  why  we  feel  one  man's 
presence,  and  do  not  feel  another's,  is  as  simple  as  gravity. 
Truth  is  the  summit  of  being;  justice  is  the  apphcation  of 
it  to  affairs.  All  individual  natures  stand  in  a  scale,  accord- 
ing to  the  purity  of  this  element  in  them.  The  will  of  the 
pure  runs  down  from  them  into  other  natures,  as  water  runs 
down  from  a  higher  into  a  lower  vessel.  This  natural  force 
is  no  more  to  be  withstood,  than  any  other  natural  force. 
We  can  drive  a  stone  upward  for  a  moment  into  the  air,  but 


166  CHARACTER 

it  is  yet  true  that  all  stones  will  forever  fall ;  and  whatever 
instances  can  be  quoted  of  unpimished  theft,  or  of  a  lie  which 
somebody  credited,  justice  must  prevail,  and  it  is  the  privilege 
of  truth  to  make  itself  beheved.-  Character  is  this  moral 
order  seen  through  the  medium  of  an  individual  nature. 
An .  individual  is  an  encloser.  Time  and  space,  Hberty  and 
necessity,  truth  and  thought,  are  left  at  large  no  longer. 
Now,  the  universe  is  a  close  or  pound.  All  things  exist  in 
the  man  tinged  with  the  manners  of  his  soul.  With  what 
quahty  is  in  him,  he  infuses  all  nature  that  he  can  reach; 
nor  does  he  tend  to  lose  himself  in  vastness,  but,  at  how  long 
a  curve  soever,  all  his  regards  return  into  his  own  good  at 
last.  He  animates  all  he  can,  and  he  sees  only  what  he  ani- 
mates. He  encloses  the  world,  as  the  patriot  does  his  country 
as  a  material  basis  for  his  character,  and  a  theatre  for  action. 
A  healthy  soul  stands  united  with  the  Just  and  the  True, 
as  the  magnet  arranges  itseK  with  the  pole,  so  that  he  stands 
to  all  beholders  like  a  transparent  object  betwixt  them  and 
the  sun,  and  whoso  journeys  towards  the  sun  journeys 
towards  that  person.  He  is  thus  the  medium  of  the  highest 
influence  to  all  who  are  not  on  the  same  level.  Thus,  men 
of  character  are  the  conscience  of  the  society  to  which  they 
belong. 

The  natural  measure  of  this  power  is  the  resistance  of 
circumstances.  Impure  men  consider  life  as  it  is  reflected 
in  opinions,  events,  and  persons.  They  cannot  see  the  action, 
until  it  is  done.  Yet  its  moral  element  pre-existed  in  the 
actor,  and  its  quality  as  right  or  wrong,  it  was  easy  to  pre- 
dict. Everything  in  nature  is  bipolar,  or  has  a  positive  and 
negative  pole.  There  is  a  male  and  a  female,  a  spirit  and 
a  fact,  a  north  and  a  south.  Spirit  is  the  positive,  the  event 
is  the  negative.  Will  is  the  north,  action  the  south  pole. 
Character  may  be  ranked  as  having  its  natural  place  in  the 
north.  It  shares  the  magnetic  currents  of  the  system.  The 
feeble  souls  are  drawn  to  the  south  or  negative  pole.  They 
look  at  the  profit  or  hurt  of  the  action.  They  never  behold 
a  principle  until  it  is  lodged  in  a  person.  They  do  not  wish 
to  be  lovely,  but  to  be  loved.  Men  of  character  like  to  hear 
of  their  faults :  the  other  class  do  not  like  to  hear  of  faults ; 
they  worship  events;  secure  to  them  a  fact,  a  connection, 
a  certain  chain  of  circumstances,  and  they  will  ask  no  more. 
The  hero  sees  that  the  event  is  ancillary :  it  must  follow  him. 


CHARACTER  167 

A  given  order  of  events  has  no  power  to  secure  to  him  the 
satisfaction  which  the  imagination  attaches  to  it;  the  soul 
of  goodness  escapes  from  any  set  of  circumstances,  whilst 
prosperity  belongs  to  a  certain  mind,  and  will  introduce  that 
power  and  victory  which  is  its  natural  fruit,  into  any  order 
of  events.  No  change  of  circumstances  can  repair  a  de- 
fect of  character.  We  boast  our  emancipation  from  many 
superstitions ;  but  if  we  have  broken  any  idols,  it  is  through 
a  transfer  of  the  idolatry.  What  have  I  gained,  that  I  no 
longer  immolate  a  bull  to  Jove,  or  to  Neptune,  or  a  mouse 
to  Hecate;  that  I  do  not  tremble  before  the  Eumenides,  or 
the  Catholic  Purgatory,  or  the  Calvinistic  Judgment-day, 
—  if  I  quake  at  opinion,  the  public  opinion,  as  we  call  it ;  or 
at  the  threat  of  assault,  or  contumely,  or  bad  neighbors, 
or  poverty,  or  mutilation,  or  at  the  rumor  of  revolution,  or 
of  murder?  If  I  quake,  what  matters  it  what  I  quake  at? 
Our  proper  vice  takes  form  in  one  or  another  shape,  according 
to  the  sex,  age,  or  temperament  of  the  person,  and,  if  we  are 
capable  of  fear,  will  readily  find  terrors.  The  covet ousness 
or  the  malignity  which  saddens  me,  when.  I  ascribe  it  to 
society,  is  my  own.  I  am  always  environed  by  myself. 
On  the  other  part,  rectitude  is  a  perpetual  victory,  celebrated 
not  by  cries  of  joy,  but  by  serenity,  which  is  joy  fixed  or 
habitual.  It  is  disgraceful  to  fly  to  events  for  confirmation 
of  our  truth  and  worth.  The  capitalist  does  not  run  every 
hour  to  the  broker,  to  coin  his  advantages  into  current 
money  of  the  realm ;  he  is  satisfied  to  read  in  the  quotations 
of  the  market,  that  his  stocks  have  risen.  The  same  trans- 
port which  the  occurrence  of  the  best  events  in  the  best  order 
would  occasion  me,  I  must  learn  to  taste  purer  in  the  percep- 
tion that  my  position  is  every  hour  meliorated,  and  does 
already  command  those  events  I  desire.  That  exultation 
is  only  to  be  checked  by  the  foresight  of  an  order  of  things 
so  excellent,  as  to  throw  all  our  prosperities  into  the  deepest 
shade. 

The  face  which  character  wears  to  me  is  self-sufficingness. 
I  revere  the  person  who  is  riches;  so  that  I  cannot  think 
of  him  as  alone,  or  poor,  or  exiled,  or  unhappy,  or  a  client, 
but  as  perpetual  patron,  benefactor,  and  beatified  man. 
Character  is  centrality,  the  impossibility  of  being  displaced 
or  overset,  A  man  should  give  us  a  sense  of  mass.  Society 
is  frivolous,  and  shreds  its  day  into  scraps,  its  conversation 


168  CHARACTER 

into  ceremonies  and  escapes.  But  if  I  go  to  see  an  ingenious 
man,  I  shall  think  myself  poorly  entertained  if  he  give  me 
nimble  pieces  of  benevolence  and  etiquette ;  rather  he  shall 
stand  stoutly  in  his  place,  and  let  me  apprehend,  if  it  were 
only  his  resistance ;  know  that  I  have  encountered  a  new  and 
positive  quality;  great  refreshment  for  both  of  us.  It  is 
much,  that  he  does  not  accept  the  conventional  opinions  and 
practices.  That  non-conformity  will  remain  a  goad  and 
remembrancer,  and  every  inquirer  will  have  to  dispose  of 
him,  in  the  first  place.  There  is  nothing  real  or  useful  that 
is  not  a  seat  of  war.  Our  houses  ring  with  laughter,  and 
personal  and  critical  gossip,  but  it  helps  little.  But  the  un- 
civil, unavailable  man,  who  is  a  problem  and  a  threat  to 
society,  whom  it  cannot  let  pass  in  silence,  but  must  either 
worship  or  hate,  —  and  to  whom  all  parties  feel  related,  botK 
the  leaders  of  opinion,  and  the  obscure  and  eccentric, —  he 
helps;  he  puts  America  and  Europe  in  the  wrong,  and 
destroys  the  scepticism  which  says,  ^man  is  a  doll,  let  us  eat 
and  drink,  ^t  is  the  best  we  can  do,'  by  illuminating  the  untried 
and  unknown.  Acquiescence  in  the  establishment,  and 
appeal  to  the  public,  indicate  infirm  faith,  heads  which  are 
not  clear,  and  which  must  see  a  house  built,  before  they  can 
comprehend  the  plan  of  it.  The  wise  man  not  only  leaves 
out  of  his  thought  the  many,  but  leaves  out  the  few.  Foun- 
tains, the  self-moved,  the  absorbed,  the  commander  because 
he  is  commanded,  the  assured,  the  primary,  —  they  are  good ; 
for  these  announce  the  instant  presence  of  supreme  power. 

Our  action  should  rest  mathematically  on  our  substance. 
In  nature,  there  are  no  false  valuations.  A  pound  of  water 
in  the  ocean-tempest  has  no  more  gravity  than  in  a  mid- 
summer pond.  All  things  work  exactly  according  to  their 
quality,  and  according  to  their  quantity;  attempt  nothing 
they  cannot  do,  except  man  only.  He  has  pretension:  he 
wishes  and  attempts  things  beyond  his  force.  I  read  in  a 
book  of  English  memoirs,  ^^Mr.  Fox  (afterwards  Lord  Hol- 
land) said,  he  must  have  the  Treasury ;  he  had  served  up  to 
it,  and  would  have  it.''  Xenophon  and  his  Ten  Thousand 
were  quite  equal  to  what  they  attempted,  and  did  it:  so 
equal,  that  it  was  not  suspected  to  be  a  grand  and  inimitable 
exploit.  Yet  there  stands  that  fact  unrepeated,  a  high- 
water  mark  in  military  history.  Many  have  attempted  it 
since,  and  not  been  equal  to  it.     It  is  only  on  reality,  that  any 


CHARACTER  16^ 

power  of  action  can  be  based.  No  institution  will  be  better 
than  the  institutor.  I  knew  an  amiable  and  accomplished 
person  who  undertook  a  practical  reform,  yet  I  was  never 
able  to  And  in  him  the  enterprise  of  love  he  took  in  hand. 
He  adopted  it  by  ear  and  by  the  understanding  from  the 
books  he  had  been  reading.  All  his  action  was  tentative, 
a  piece  of  the  city  carried  out  into  the  fields,  and  was  the  city 
still,  and  no  new  fact,  and  could  not  inspire  enthusiasm. 
Had  there  been  something  latent  in  the  man,  a  terrible 
undemonstrated  genius  agitating  and  embarrassing  his 
demeanor,  we  had  watched  for  its  advent.  It  is  not  enougk 
that  the  intellect  should  see  the  evils,  and  their  remedy. 
We  shall  still  postpone  our  existence,  not  take  the  ground  ta 
which  we  are  entitled,  whilst  it  is  only  a  thought,  and  not 
a  spirit  that  incites  us.     We  have  not  yet  served  up  to  it. 

These  are  properties  of  life,  and  another  trait  is  the  notice 
of  incessant  growth.  Men  should  be  intelligent  and  earnest. 
They  must  also  make  us  feel,  that  they  have  a  controlling; 
happy  future,  opening  before  them,  whose  early  twilights, 
already  kindle  in  the  passing  hour.  The  hero  is  miscon- 
ceived and  misreported :  he  cannot  therefore  wait  to  unravel 
any  man's  blunders :  he  is  again  on  his  road,  adding  new 
powers  and  honors  to  his  domain,  and  new  claims  on  your 
heart,  which  will  bankrupt  you,  if  you  have  loitered  about 
the  old  things,  and  have  not  kept  your  relation  to  him,  by 
adding  to  your  wealth.  New  actions  are  the  only  apologies 
and  explanations  of  old  ones,  which  the  noble  can  bear  to 
offer  or  to  receive.  If  your  friend  has  displeased  you,  you 
sTiall  not  sit  down  to  consider  it,  for  he  has  already  lost  all 
m.emory  of  the  passage,  and  has  doubled  his  power  to  serve 
you,  and,  ere  you  can  rise  up  again,  will  burden  you  with 
blessings. 

We  have  no  pleasure  in  thinking  of  a  benevolence  that 
is  only  measured  by  its  works.  Love  is  inexhaustible,  and 
if  its  estate  is  wasted,  its  granary  emptied,  still  cheers  and 
enriches,  and  the  man,  though  he  sleep,  seems  to  purify  the 
air,  and  his  house  to  adorn  the  landscape  and  strengthen  the 
laws.  People  always  recognize  this  difference.  We  know 
who  is  benevolent,  by  quite  other  means  than  the  amount  of 
subscription  to  soup-societies.  It  is  only  low  merits  that 
can  be  enumerated.  Fear,  when  your  friends  say  to  you 
what  you  have  done  well,  and  say  it  through ;  but  when  they 


170  CHARACTER 


stand  with  uncertain  timid  looks  of  respect  and  half-dislike, 
and  must  suspend  their  judgment  for  years  to  come,  you 
may  begin  to  hope.  Those  who  live  to  the  future  must  al- 
ways appear  selfish  to  those  who  hve  to  the  present.  There- 
fore it  was  droll  in  the  good  Riemer,  who  has  written  memoirs 
of  Goethe,  to  make  out  a  Ust  of  his  donations  and  good  deeds, 
as,  so  many  hundred  thalers  given  to  Stilling,  to  Hegel,  to 
Tischbein :  a  lucrative  place  found  for  Professor  Voss,  a  post 
under  the  Grand  Duke  for  Herder,  a  pension  for  Meyer, 
two  professors  recommended  to  foreign  universities,  etc., 
etc.  The  longest  list  of  specifications  of  benefit  would  look 
very  short.  A  man  is  a  poor  creature,  if  he  is  to  be  measured 
so.  For,  all  these,  of  course,  are  exceptions;  and  the  rule 
and  hodiernal  life  of  a  good  man  is  benefaction.  The  true 
charity  of  Goethe  is  to  be  inferred  from  the  account  he  gave 
Dr.  Eckermann,  of  the  way  in  which  he  had  spent  his  fortune-. 
^^Each  bon-mot  of  mine  has  cost  a  purse  of  gold.  Half  a 
miUion  of  my  own  money,  the  fortune  I  inherited,  my  salary, 
and  the  large  income  derived  from  my  writings  for  fifty  years 
back,  have  been  expended  to  instruct  me  in  what  I  know  now. 
I  have  besides  seen,''  etc. 

I  own  it  is  but  poor  chat  and  gossip  to  go  to  enumerate 
traits  of  this  simple  and  rapid  power,  and  we  are  painting 
the  lightning  with  charcoal ;  but  in  these  long  nights  and 
vacations,  I  like  to  console  myself  so.  Notliing  but  itself 
can  copy  it.  A  word  warm  from  the  heart  enriches  me. 
I  surrender  at  discretion.  How  death-cold  is  literary  genius 
before  this  fire  of  life  !  These  are  the  touches  that  reanimate 
my  heavy  soul,  and  give  it  eyes  to  pierce  the  dark  of  nature. 
I  find,  where  I  thought  myself  poor,  there  was  I  most  rich. 
Thence  comes  a  new  intellectual  exultation,  to  be  again 
rebuked  by  some  new  exhibition  of  character.  Strange 
alternation  of  attraction  and  repulsion !  Character  re- 
pudiates intellect,  yet  excites  it ;  and  character  passes  into 
thought,  is  pubhshed  so,  and  then  is  ashamed  before  new 
flashes  of  moral  worth. 

Character  is  nature  in  the  highest  form.  It  is  of  no  use 
to  ape  it,  or  to  contend  with  it.  Somewhat  is  possible  of 
resistance,  and  of  persistence,  and  of  creation,  to  this  power, 
which  will  foil  all  emulation. 

This  masterpiece  is  best  where  no  hands  but  Nature's 
have  been  laid  on  it.     Care  is  taken  that  the  greatly  destined 


« 


CHARACTER  171 

shall  slip  up  into  life  in  the  shade,  with  no  thousand-eyed 
Athens  to  watch  and  blazon  every  new  thought,  every  blush- 
ing emotion  of  young  genius.  Two  persons  lately  —  very 
young  children  of  the  most  high  God  —  have  given  me 
occasion  for  thought.  When  I  explored  the  source  of  their 
sanctity,  and  charm  for  the  imagination,  it  seemed  as  if  each 
answered,  ^^From  my  nonconformity:  I  never  hstened  to 
your  people's  law,  or  to  what  they  call  their  gospel,  and 
wasted  my  time.  I  was  content  with  the  simple  rural 
poverty  of  my  own ;  hence  this  sweetness :  my  work  never 
reminds  you  of  that ;  —  is  pure  of  that.''  And  nature 
advertises  me  in  such  persons,  that,  in  democratic  America, 
she  will  not  be  democratized.  How  cloistered  and  con- 
stitutionally sequestered  from  the  market  and  from  scandal ! 
It  was  only  this  morning,  that  I  sent  away  some  wild  flowers 
of  these  wood-gods.  They  are  a  relief  from  literature,  — 
these  fresh  draughts  from  the  sources  of  thought  and  senti- 
ment ;  as  we  read,  in  an  age  of  polish  and  criticism,  the  first 
hnes  of  written  prose  and  verse  of  a  nation.  How  captivating 
is  their  devotion  to  their  favorite  books,  whether  ^Eschylus, 
Dante,  Shakspeare,  or  Scott,  as  feeling  that  they  have  a  stake 
in  that  book  :  who  touches  that,  touches  them ;  and  especially 
the  total  solitude  of  the  critic,  the  Patmos  of  thought  from 
which  he  writes,  in  unconsciousness  of  any  eyes  that  shall 
ever  read  this  writing.  Could  they  dream  on  still,  as  angels, 
and  not  wake  to  comparisons,  and  to  be  flattered!  Yet 
some  natures  are  too  good  to  be  spoiled  by  praise,  and  wher- 
ever the  vein  of  thought  reaches  down  into  the  profound, 
there  is  no  danger  from  vanity.  Solemn  friends  will  warn 
them  of  the  danger  of  the  head's  being  turned  by  the  flourish 
of  trumpets,  but  they  can  afford  to  smile.  I  remember  the 
indignation  of  an  eloquent  Methodist  at  the  kind  admonitions 
of  a  Doctor  of  Divinity,  ^^My  friend,  a  man  can  neither  be 
praised  nor  insulted."  But  forgive  the  counsels;  they  are 
very  natural.  I  remember  the  thought  which  occurred  to 
me  when  some  ingenious  and  spiritual  foreigners  came  to 
America,  was.  Have  you  been  victimized  in  being  brought 
hither?  —  or,  prior  to  that,  answer  me  this,  'Are  you 
victimizable  V 

As  I  have  said.  Nature  keeps  these  sovereignties  in  her  own 
hands,  and  however  pertly  our  sermons  and  disciplines  would 
divide  some  share  of  credit,  and  teach  that  the  laws  fashion 


172  CHARACTER 

the  citizen,  she  goes  her  own  gait,  and  puts  the  wisest  in 
the  wrong.  She  makes  very  hght  of  gospels  and  prophets, 
as  one  who  has  a  great  many  more  to  produce,  and  no  excess 
of  time  to  spare  on  any  one.  There  is  a  class  of  men,  in- 
dividuals of  which  appear  at  long  intervals,  so  eminently 
endowed  with  insight  and  virtue,  that  they  have  been  unani- 
mously saluted  as  divine,  and  who  seem  to  be  an  accumulation 
of  that  power  we  consider.  Divine  persons  are  character 
born,  or,  to  borrow  a  phrase  from  Napoleon,  they  are  victory 
organized.  They  are  usually  received  with  ill-will,  because 
they  are  new,  and  because  they  set  a  bound  to  the  exag- 
geration that  has  been  made  of  the  personahty  of  the  last 
divine  person.  Nature  never  rhymes  her  children,  nor 
makes  two  men  alike.  When  we  see  a  great  man,  we  fancy 
a  resemblance  to  some  historical  person,  and  predict  the 
sequel  of  his  character  and  fortune,  a  result  which  he  is  sure 
to  disappoint.  None  will  ever  solve  the  problem  of  his 
character  according  to  our  prejudice,  but  only  in  his  own  high 
unprecedented  way.  Character  wants  room;  must  not  be 
crowded  on  by  persons,  nor  be  judged  from  ghmpses  got  in 
the  press  of  affairs  or  on  few  occasions.  It  needs  perspective, 
as  a  great  building.  It  may  not,  probably  does  not,  form 
relations  rapidly ;  and  we  should  not  require  rash  explanation, 
either  on  the  popular  ethics,  or  on  our  own,  of  its  action. 

I  look  on  Sculpture  as  history.  I  do  not  think  the  ApoUo 
and  the  Jove  impossible  in  flesh  and  blood.  Every  trait 
which  the  artist  recorded  in  stone,  he  had  seen  in  life,  and 
better  than  his  copy.  We  have  seen  many  counterfeits, 
but  we  are  born  behevers  in  great  men.  How  easily  we  read 
in  old  books,  when  men  were  few,  of  the  smallest  action  of 
the  patriarchs.  We  require  that  a  man  should  be  so  large 
and  columnar  in  the  landscape,  that  it  should  deserve  to  be 
recorded,  that  he  arose,  and  girded  up  his  loins,  and  departed 
to  such  a  place.  The  most  credible  pictures  are  those  of 
majestic  men  who  prevailed  at  their  entrance,  and  convinced 
the  senses;  as  happened  to  the  Eastern  magian  who  was 
sent  to  test  the  merits  of  Zertusht  or  Zoroaster.  When  the 
Yunani  sage  arrived  at  Balkh,  the  Persians  tell  us,  Gushtasp 
appointed  a  day  on  which  the  Mobeds  of  every  country  should 
assemble,  and  a  golden  chair  was  placed  for  the  Yunani 
sage.  Then  the  beloved  of  Yezdam,  the  prophet  Zertusht, 
advanced  into  the  midst  of  the  assembly.    The  Yunani  sage. 


CHARACTER  173 

on  seeing  that  chief,  said,  '^This  form  and  this  gait  cannot 
lie,  and  nothing  but  truth  can  proceed  from  them/^  Plato 
said,  it  was  impossible  not  to  believe  in  the  children  of  the 
gods,  *' though  they  should  speak  without  probable  or  neces- 
sary arguments/'  I  should  think  myself  very  unhappy  in 
my  associates,  if  I  could  not  credit  the  best  things  in  history. 
"John  Bradshaw,''  says  Milton,  "appears  like  a  consul,  from 
whom  the  fasces  are  not  to  depart  with  the  year ;  so  that 
not  on  the  tribunal  only,  but  throughout  his  life,  you  would 
regard  him  as  sitting  in  judgment  upon  kings/'  I  find  it 
more  creditable,  since  it  is  anterior  information,  that  one 
man  should  know  heaven^  as  the  Chinese  say,  than  that  so 
many  men  should  know  the  world.  "The  virtuous  prince 
confronts  the  gods,  without  any  misgiving.  He  waits  a 
hundred  ages  tiU  a  sage  comes,  and  does  not  doubt.  He  who 
confronts  the  gods  without  any  misgiving,  knows  heaven; 
he  who  waits  a  hundred  ages  until  a  sage  comes,  without 
doubting,  knows  men.  Hence  the  virtuous  prince  moves, 
and  for  ages  shows  empire  the  way.''  But  there  is  no  need 
to  seek  remote  examples.  He  is  a  dull  observer  whose 
experience  has  not  taught  him  the  reality  and  force  of  magic, 
as  well  as  of  chemistry.  The  coldest  precision  cannot  go 
abroad  without  encountering  inexplicable  influences.  One 
man  fastens  an  eye  on  him,  and  the  graves  of  the  memory 
render  up  their  dead ;  the  secrets  that  make  him  wretched 
either  to  keep  or  to  betray  must  be  yielded ;  another,  and  he 
cannot  speak,  and  the  bones  of  his  body  seem  to  lose  their 
cartilages;  the  entrance  of  a  friend  adds  grace,  boldness, 
and  eloquence  to  him;  and  there  are  persons  he  cannot 
choose  but  remember,  who  gave  a  transcendent  expansion 
to  his  thought,  and  kindled  another  life  in  his  bosom. 

What  is  so  excellent  as  strict  relations  of  amity,  when  they 
spring  from  this  deep  root?  The  sufficient  reply  to  the 
sceptic,  who  doubts  the  power  and  the  furniture  of  man,  is 
in  that  possibility  of  joyful  intercourse  with  persons,  which 
makes  the  faith  and  practice  of  all  reasonable  men.  I  know 
nothing  which  life  has  to  offer  so  satisfying  as  the  profound 
good  understanding,  which  can  subsist,  after  much  exchange 
of  good  offices,  between  two  virtuous  men,  each  of  whom 
is  sure  of  himself,  and  sure  of  his  friend.  It  is  a  happiness 
which  postpones  all  other  gratifications,  and  makes  politics 
and  commerce,  and  churches,  cheap.     For,  when  men  shall 


174  CHARACTER 

meet  as  they  ought,  each  a  benefactor,  a  shower  of  stars, 
clothed  with  thoughts,  with  deeds,  wdth  accomphshments, 
it  should  be  the  festival  of  nature  which  all  things  announce. 
Of  such  friendship,  love  in  the  sexes  is  the  first  symbol,  as 
all  other  things  are  s^nnbols  of  love.  Those  relations  to 
the  best  men,  which,  at  one  time,  we  reckoned  the  romances 
of  youth,  become,  in  the  progress  of  the  character,  the  most 
solid  enjoyment. 

,  If  it  were  possible  to  live  in  right  relations  with  men !  —  if 
we  could^  abstain  from  asking  anything  of  them,  from  asking 
their  praise,  or  help,  or  pity,  and  content  us  with  compelling 
them  through  the  virtue  of  the  eldest  laws !  Could  we  not 
deal  with  a  few  persons,  —  with  one  person,  —  after  the 
.unwritten  statutes,  and  make  an  experiment  of  their  efficacy  ? 
Gould  we  not  pa}^  our  friend  the  compliment  of  truth,  of 
silence,  of  forbearing?  Need  we  be  so  eager  to  seek  him? 
If  we  are  related,  we  shall  meet.  It  was  a  tradition  of  the 
ancient  world  that  no  metamorphosis  could  hide  a  god  from 
a  god ;  and  there  is  a  Greek  verse  which  runs, 


^^The  Gods  are  to  each  other  not  unknown." 

Friends  also  follow  the  laws  of  divine  necessity ;  they  gravi- 
tate to  each  other,  and  cannot  otherwise; 


When  each  the  other  shall  avoid, 
Shall  each  by  each  be  most  enjoyed. 


i 


Their  relation  is  not  made,  but  allowed.  The  gods  must 
seat  themselves  without  seneschal  in  our  Olympus,  and  as 
they  can  install  themselves  by  seniority  divine.  Society 
is  spoiled,  if  pains  are  taken,  if  the  associates  are  brought 
a  mile  to  meet.  And  if  it  be  not  society,  it  is  a  mischievous, 
low,  degrading  jangle,  though  made  up  of  the  best.  All  the 
greatness  of  each  is  kept  back,  and  every  foible  in  painful 
activity,  as  if  the  Olympians  should  meet  to  exchange  snuff- 
boxes. 

Life  goes  headlong.  We  chase  some  flying  scheme,  or  we 
are  hunted  by  some  fear  or  command  behind  us.  But  if 
suddenly  we  encounter  a  friend,  we  pause ;  our  heat  and  hurry 
look  foolish  enough ;  now  pause,  now  possession,  is  required, 
and  the  power  to  swell  the  moment  from  the  resources  of 
the  heart.     The  moment  is  all,  in  all  noble  relations. 


CHARACTER  175 

A  divine  person  is  the  prophecy  of  the  mind ;    a  friend  is 
the  hope  of  the  heart.     Our  beatitude  waits  for  the  fulfilment 
of  these  two  in  one.     The  ages  are  opening  this  moral  force. 
All  force  is  the  shadow  or  symbol  of  that.     Poetry  is  joyful 
and  strong,  as  it  draws  its  inspiration  thence.     Men  write 
their  names  on  the  world,  as  they  are  filled  with  this.     History 
has  been  mean  ;  our  nations  have  been  mobs ;  we  have  never 
seen  a  man :  that  divine  form  we  do  not  yet  know,  but  only 
the  dream  and  prophecy  of  such  :  we  do  not  know  the  majestic 
manners  which  belong  to  him,  which  appease  and  exalt  the 
beholder.     We  shall  one  day  see  that  the  most  private  is 
the  most  public  energy,  that  quality  atones  for  quantity, 
and  grandeur   of   character  acts  in  the  dark,  and  succors 
them  who  never  saw  it.     What  greatness  has  yet  appeared, 
is  beginnings  and  encouragements  to  us  in  this  direction^ 
The  history  of  those  gods  and  saints  which  the  world  has. 
written,  and  then  worshipped,  are  documents  of  character.. 
The  ages  have  exulted  in  the  manners  of  a  youth  who  owed 
nothing  to  fortune,  and  who  was  hanged  at  the  Tyburn  of 
his  nation,  who,  by  the  pure  quality  of  his  nature,  shed  an 
epic  splendor  around  the  facts  of  his  death,  which  has  trans- 
figured every  particular  into  an  universal  symbol  for  the  eyes- 
of  mankind.     This  great  defeat  is  hitherto  our  highest  fact.- 
But  the  mind  requires  a  victory  to  the  senses,  a  force  of 
character  which  will  convert  judge,  jury,  soldier,  and  king; 
which  will  rule  animal  and  mineral  virtues,  and  blend  with 
the  courses  of  sap,  of  rivers,  of  winds,  of  stars,  and  of  moral 
agents. 

If  we  cannot  attain  at  a  bound  to  these  grandeurs,  at  least, 
let  us  do  them  homage.  In  society,  high  advantages  are 
set  down  to  the  possessor,  as  disadvantages.  It  requires 
the  more  wariness  in  our  private  estimates.  I  do  not  forgive 
in  my  friends  the  failure  to  know  a  fine  character,  and  to 
entertain  it  with  thankful  hospitality.  When,  at  last,  that 
which  we  have  always  longed  for,  is  arrived,  and  shines  on  us 
with  glad  rays  out  of  that  far  celestial  land,  then  to  be  coarse, 
then  to  be  critical,  and  treat  such  a  visitant  with  the  jabber 
and  suspicion  of  the  streets,  argues  a  vulgarity  that  seems 
to  shut  the  doors  of  heaven.  This  is  confusion,  this  the  right 
insanity,  when  the  soul  no  longer  knows  its  own,  nor  where 
its  allegiance,  its  religion,  are  due.  Is  there  any  religion 
but  this,  to  know,  that,  wherever  in  the  wide  desert  of  being, 


176  CHARACTER 


i< 


the  holy  sentiment  we  cherish  has  opened  into  a  flower,  it 
blooms  for  me  ?  if  none  sees  it,  I  see  it ;  I  am  aware,  if  I  alone, 
of  the  greatness  of  the  fact.     Whilst  it  blooms,  I  will  keep  - 
sabbath  or  holy  time,  and  suspend  my  gloom,  and  my  folly  I 
and  jokes.     Nature  is  indulged  by  the  presence  of  this  guest.  " 
There  are  many  eyes  that  can  detect  and  honor  the  prudent  and 
household  virtues ;   there  are  many  that  can  discern  Genius  ■ 
■on  his  starry  track,  though  the  mob  is  incapable :  but  when  ^ 
that  love  which  is  all-suffering,  all-abstaining,  all-aspiring, 
which  has  vowed  to  itself,  that  it  will  be  a  wretch  and  also 
a  fool  in  this  world,  sooner  than  soil  its  white  hands  by  any 
compliances,  comes  into  our  streets  and  houses,  —  only  the 
pure  and  aspiring  can  know  its  face,  and  the  only  compli- 
ment they  can  pay  it,  is  to  own  it. 


MANNERS 

''How  near  to  good  is  what  is  fair ! 
Which  we  no  sooner  see, 
But  with  the  hnes  and  outward  air 
Our  senses  taken  be. 

*' Again  yourselves  compose, 
And  now  put  all  the  aptness  on 
Of  Figure,  that  Proportion 

Or  Color  can  disclose ; 
That  if  those  silent  arts  were  lost, 
Design  and  Picture,  they  might  boast 

From  you  a  newer  ground. 
Instructed  by  the  heightening  sense 
Of  dignity  and  reverence 

In  their  true  motions  found." 

—  Ben  Jonson. 

Half  the  world,  it  is  said,  knows  not  how  the  other  half 
live.  Our  Exploring  Expedition  saw  the  Feejee-Islanders 
getting  their  dinner  off  human  bones ;  and  they  are  said  to 
eat  their  own  wives  and  children.  The  husbandry  of  the 
modern  inhabitants  of  Gournou  (west  of  old  Thebes)  is  philo- 
sophical to  a  fault.  To  set  up  their  housekeeping,  nothing  is 
requisite  but  two  or  three  earthen  pots,  a  stone  to  grind  meal, 
and  a  mat  which  is  the  bed.  The  house,  namely,  a  tomb,  is 
ready  without  rent  or  taxes.  No  rain  can  pass  through  the 
roof  and  there  is  no  door,  for  there  is  no  want  of  one,  as  there 
is  nothing  to  lose.  If  the  house  do  not  please  them,  they 
walk  out  and  enter  another,  as  there  are  several  hundreds  at 
their  command.  ''It  is  somewhat  singular,^'  adds  Belzoni, 
to  whom  we  owe  this  account,  'Ho  talk  of  happiness  among 
people  who  live  in  sepulchres,  among  the  corpses  and  rags  of 
an  ancient  nation  which  they  know  nothing  of.''     In  the  deserts 

177 


178  MANNERS 

of  Borgoo,  the  rock-Tibboos  still  dwell  in  caves,  like  cliff- 
swallows,  and  the  language  of  these  negroes  is  compared  by 
their  neighbors  to  the  shrieking  of  bats,  and  to  the  whistling 
of  birds.  Again,  the  Bornoos  have  no  proper  names;  indi- 
viduals are  called  after  their  height,  thickness,  or  other  acci- 
dental quality,  and  have  nicknames  merely.  But  the  salt, 
the  dates,  the  ivory,  and  the  gold,  for  which  these  horrible 
regions  are  visited,  find  their  way  into  countries,  where  the 
purchaser  and  consumer  can  hardly  be  ranked  in  one  race 
with  these  cannibals  and  man-stealers ;  countries  where  man 
serves  himself  with  metals,  wood,  stone,  glass,  gum,  cotton, 
silk,  and  wool ;  honors  himself  with  architecture  ;  wTites  laws, 
and  contrives  to  execute  tliis  will  through  the  hands  of  many 
nations ;  and,  especially,  establishes  a  select  society,  running 
through  all  the  countries  of  intelligent  men,  a  self-constituted 
aristocracy,  or  fraternity  of  the  best,  which,  wdthout  wTitten 
law  or  exact  usage  of  any  kind,  perpetuates  itself,  colonizes 
every  new-planted  island,  and  adopts  and  makes  its  own 
whatever  personal  beauty  or  extraordinary  native  endow- 
ment anywhere  appears. 

.  What  fact  more  conspicuous  in  modern  history,  than  the 
creation  of  the  gentlem^an?  Chivalr}^  is  that,  and  loyalty  is 
that,  and,  in  English  literature,  half  the  drama,  and  all  the 
novels,  from  Sir  Philip  Sidney  to  Sir  Walter  Scott,  paint  this 
figure.  The  w^ord  gentleman,  which  like  the  word  Christian^ 
must  hereafter  characterize  the  present  and  the  few  preceding 
centuries,  by  the  importance  attached  to  it,  is  a  homage  to 
personal  and  incommunicable  properties.  Frivolous  and  fan- 
tastic additions  have  got  associated  with  the  name,  but  the 
steady  interest  of  mankind  in  it  must  be  attributed  to  the 
valuable  properties  which  it  designates.  An  element  which 
unites  all  the  most  forcible  persons  of  every  country ;  makes 
them  intelligible  and  agreeable  to  each  other,  and  is  somewhat 
so  precise,  that  it  is  at  once  felt  if  an  indi^'idual  lack  the  ma- 
sonic sign,  cannot  be  an}^  casual  product,  but  must  be  an  av- 
erage result  of  the  character  and  faculties  universally  found 
in  men.  It  seems  a  certain  permanent  average;  as  the  at- 
mosphere is  a  permanent  composition,  whilst  so  many  gases 
are  combined  only  to  be  decompounded.  Comme  ilfaut,  is  the 
Frenchman's  description  of  good  society,  as  we  must  be.  It 
is  a  spontaneous  fruit  of  talents  and  feelings  of  precisely  that 
class  who  have  most  vigor,  who  take  the  lead  in  the  world  of 


MANNERS  179 

this  hour,  and,  though  far  from  pure,  far  from  constituting 
the  gladdest  and  highest  tone  of  human  feeling,  is  as  good  as 
the  whole  society  permits  it  to  be.  It  is  made  of  the  spirit, 
more  than  of  the  talent  of  men,  and  is  a  compound  result, 
into  which  every  great  force  enters  as  an  ingredient,  namely, 
virtue,  wit,  beauty,  wealth,  and  power. 

There  is  something  equivocal  in  all  the  words  in  use  to  ex- 
press the  excellence  of  manners  and  social  cultivation,  because 
the  quantities  are  fluxional,  and  the  last  effect  is  assumed  by 
the  senses  as  the  cause.  The  word  gentleman  has  not  any 
correlative  abstract  to  express  the  quality.  Gentility  is  mean, 
and  gentilesse  is  obsolete.  But  we  must  keep  alive  in  the 
vernacular  the  distinction  between  fashion,  a  word  of  narrow 
and  often  sinister  meaning,  and  the  heroic  character  which 
the  gentleman  imports.  The  usual  words,  however,  mugt  be 
respected  :  they  will  be  found  to  contain  the  root  of  the  matter. 
The  point  of  distinction  in  all  this  class  of  names,  as  courtesy, 
chivalry,  fashion,  and  the  like,  is,  that  the  flower  and  fruit, 
not  the  grain  of  the  tree,  are  contemplated.  It  is  beauty 
which  is  the  aim  this  time,  and  not  worth.  The  result  is  now 
in  question,  although  our  words  intimate  well  enough  the 
popular  feeling,  that  the  appearance  supposes  a  substance. 
The  gentleman  is  a  man  of  truth,  lord  of  his  own  actions,  and 
expressing  that  lordship  in  his  behavior,  not  in  any  manner 
dependent  and  servile  either  on  persons,  or  opinions,  or  pos- 
sessions. Beyond  this  fact  of  truth  and  real  force,  the  word 
denotes  good-nature  or  benevolence  :  manhood  first,  and  then 
gentleness.  The  popular  notion  certainly  adds  a  condition 
of  ease  and  fortune ;  but  that  is  a  natural  result  of  personal 
force  and  love,  that  they  should  possess  and  dispense  the 
goods  of  the  world.  In  times  of  violence,  every  eminent  per- 
son must  fall  in  with  many  opportunities  to  approve  his  stout- 
ness and  worth;  therefore  every  man's  name  that  emerged 
at  all  from  the  mass  in  the  feudal  ages,  rattles  in  our  ear  like 
a  flourish  of  trumpets.  But  personal  force  never  goes  out  of 
fashion.  That  is  still  paramount  to-day,  and,  in  the  moving 
crowd  of  good  society,  the  men  of  valor  and  reality  are  known, 
and  rise  to  their  natural  place.  The  competition  is  trans- 
ferred from  war  to  politics  and  trade,  but  the  personal  force 
appears  readily  enough  in  these  new  arenas. 

Power  first,  or  no  leading  class.  In  politics  and  in  trade, 
bruisers  and  pirates  are  of  better  promise  than  talkers  and 


180  MANNERS 

clerks.     God  knows  that  all  sorts  of  gentlemen  knock  at  the 
door;     but  whenever  used  in  strictness,  and  with  any  em-1 
phasis,  the  name  will  be  found  to  point  at  original  energy.! 
It  describes  a  man  standing  in  his  own  right,  and  working! 
after  untaught  methods.     In  a  good  lord,  there  must  first! 
be  a  good  animal,  at  least  to  the  extent  of  yielding  the  incom- 
parable advantage  of  animal  spirits.     The  ruling  class  must 
have  more,  but  they  must  have  these,  giving  in  every  com- 
pany the  sense  of  power,  which  makes  things  easy  to  be  done  . 
which  daunt  the  wise.     The  society  of  the  energetic  class,  in  1 
their  friendly  and  festive  meetings,  is  full  of  courage,  and  of  1 
attempts,  which  intimidate  the  pale  scholar.     The  courage  I 
which  girls  exhibit  is  like  a  battle  of  Lundy's  Lane,  or  a  sea-* 
fight.     The  intellect  relies  on  memory  to  make  some  supplies 
to  face  these  extemporaneous  squadrons.     But  memory  is  a 
base  mendicant  with  basket  and  badge,  in  the  presence  of 
these  sudden  masters.     The  rulers  of  society  must  be  up  to 
the  work  of  the  world,  and  equal  to  their  versatile  office : 
men  of  the  right  Caesarian  pattern,  who  have  great  range  of 
affinity.     I  am  far  from  believing  the  timid  maxim  of  Lord 
Falkland  ('Hhat  for  ceremony  there  must  go  two  to  it;  since 
a  bold  fellow  will  go  through  the  cunningest  forms '0,  and  am 
of  opinion  that  the  gentleman  is  the  bold  fellow  whose  forms 
are  not  to  be  broken  through ;  and  only  that  plenteous  nature 
is  rightful  master,  which  is  the  complement  of  whatever  per- 
son it  converses  with.     My  gentleman  gives  the  law  where 
he  is;  he  will  out  pray  saints  in  chapel,  outgeneral  veterans 
in  the  field,  and  outshine  all  courtesy  in  the  hall.     He  is  good 
company  for  pirates,  and  good  with  academicians;  so  that 
it  is  useless  to  fortify  yourself  against  him ;  he  has  the  private 
entrance  to  all  minds,  and  I  could  as  easily  exclude  myself, 
as  him.     The  famous  gentlemen  of  Asia  and  Europe  have 
been  of  this  strong  type  :  Saladin,  Sapor,  the  Cid,  Julius  Cse- 
sar,  Scipio,  Alexander,  Pericles,  and  the  lordliest  personages. 
They  sat  very  carelessly  in  their  chairs,  and  were  too  excellent 
themselves,  to  value  any  condition  at  a  high  rate. 

A  plentiful  fortune  is  reckoned  necessary,  in  the  popular 
judgment,  to  the  completion  of  this  man  of  the  world ;  and 
it  is  a  material  deputy  which  walks  through  the  dance  which 
the  first  has  led.  Money  is  not  essential,  but  this  wide  affinity 
is,  which  transcends  the  habits  of  clique  and  caste,  and  makes 
itself  felt  by  men  of  all  classes.     If  the  aristocrat  is  only  valid 


MANNERS  181 

in  fashionable  circles,  and  not  with  truckmen,  he  will  never  be 
a  leader  in  fashion  ;  and  if  the  man  of  the  people  cannot  speak 
on  equal  terms  with  the  gentleman,  so  that  the  gentleman 
shall  perceive  that  he  is  already  really  of  his  own  order,  he 
is  not  to  be  feared.  Diogenes,  Socrates,  and  Epaminondas 
are  gentlemen  of  the  best  blood,  who  have  chosen  the  condi- 
tion of  poverty,  when  that  of  wealth  was  equally  open  to 
them.  I  use  these  old  names,  but  the  men  I  speak  of  are 
my  contemporaries.  Fortune  will  not  supply  to  every  gen- 
eration one  of  these  well-appointed  knights,  but  every  collec- 
tion of  men  furnishes  some  example  of  the  class;  and  the 
politics  of  this  country,  and  the  trade  of  every  town,  are  con- 
trolled by  these  hardy  and  irresponsible  doers,  who  have  in- 
vention to  take  the  lead,  and  a  broad  sympathy  which  puts 
them  in  fellowship  with  crowds,  and  makes  their  action  pop- 
ular. 

The  manners  of  this  class  are  observed  and  caught  with 
devotion  by  men  of  taste.  The  association  of  these  masters 
with  each  other,  and  with  men  intelligent  of  their  merits,  is 
mutually  agreeable  and  stimulating.  The  good  forms,  the 
happiest  expressions  of  each,  are  repeated  and  adopted.  By 
swift  consent,  everything  superfluous  is  dropped,  everything 
graceful  is  renewed.  Fine  manners  show  themselves  formi- 
dable to  the  uncultivated  man.  They  are  a  subtler  science 
of  defence  to  parry  and  intimidate  ;  but  once  matched  by  the 
skill  of  the  other  party,  they  drop  the  point  of  the  sword,  — 
points  and  fences  disappear,  and  the  youth  finds  himself  in  a 
more  transparent  atmosphere,  wherein  life  is  a  less  trouble- 
some game,  and  not  a  misunderstanding  rises  between  the 
players.  Manners  aim  to  facilitate  life,  to  get  rid  of  impedi- 
;ments,  and  bring  the  man  pure  to  energize.  They  aid  our 
dealing  and  conversation,  as  a  railway  aids  travelling,  by 
getting  rid  of  all  avoidable  obstructions  of  the  road,  and  leav- 
ing nothing  to  be  conquered  but  pure  space.  These  forms 
very  soon  become  fixed,  and  a  fine  sense  of  propriety  is  cul- 
tivated with  the  more  heed,  that  it  becomes  a  badge  of  social 
and  civil  distinctions.  Thus  grows  up  Fashion,  an  equivocal 
semblance,  the  most  puissant,  the  most  fantastic  and  frivolous, 
the  most  feared  and  followed,  and  which  morals  and  violence 
assault  in  vain. 

There  exists  a  strict  relation  between  the  class  of  power 
and  the  exclusive  and  polished  circles.     The  last  are  always 


182  MANNERS 

filled  or  filling  from  the  first.  The  strong  men  usually  give 
some  allowance  even  to  the  petulances  of  fashion,  for  that 
affinity  they  find  in  it.  Napoleon,  child  of  the  revolution, 
destroyer  of  the  old  noblesse,  never  ceased  to  court  the  Fau- 
bourg St.  Germain  :  doubtless  with  the  feehng,  that  fashion  is 
a  homage  to  men  of  his  stamp.  Fashion,  though  in  a  strange 
way,  represents  all  manly  \drtue.  It  is  \drtue  gone  to  seed : 
it  is  a  kind  of  posthumous  honor.  It  does  not  often  caress  the 
great,  but  the  children  of  the  great ;  it  is  a  hall  of  the  Past. 
It  usually  sets  its  face  against  the  great  of  this  hour.  Great 
men  are  not  commonly  in  its  halls :  they  are  absent  in  the 
field :  they  are  working,  not  triumphing.  Fashion  is  made 
up  of  their  children;  of  those  who,  through  the  value  and 
virtue  of  somebody,  haA^e  acquired  lustre  to  their  name,  marks 
of  distinction,  means'  of  cultivation  and  generosit}^,  and,  in 
their  physical  organization,  a  certain  health  and  excellence, 
which  secure  to  them,  if  not  the  highest  power  to  work,  yet 
high  power  to  enjoy.  The  class  of  power,  the  working  heroes, 
the  Cortez,  the  Nelson,  the  Napoleon,  see  that  this  is  the  fes- 
tivity and  permanent  celebration  of  such  as  they ;  that  fashion 
is  funded  talent ;  is  Mexico,  Marengo,  and  Trafalgar  beaten 
out  thin ;  that  the  brilliant  names  of  fashion  run  back  to  just 
such  busy  names  as  their  own,  fifty  or  sixty  years  ago.  They 
are  the  sowers,  their  sons  shall  be  the  reapers,  and  their  sons, 
in  the  ordinary  course  of  things,  must  ^deld  the  possession 
of  the  harvest  to  new  competitors  with  keener  eyes  and  stronger 
frames.  The  city  is  recruited  from  the  country.  In  the 
year  1805,  it  is  said,  every  legitimate  monarch  in  Europe  was 
imbecile.  The  city  would  have  died  out,  rotted,  and  exploded, 
long  ago,  but  that  it  was  reinforced  from  the  fields.  It  is 
only  country  which  came  to  town  day  before  j^esterday; 
that  is  city  and  court  to-day. 

Aristocracy  and  fashion  are  certain  inevitable  results.  These 
mutual  selections  are  indestructible.  If  they  provoke  anger 
in  the  least  favored  class,  and  the  excluded  majority  revenge 
themselves  on  the  excluding  minority,  by  the  strong  hand, 
and  kill  them,  at  once  a  new  class  finds  itself  at  the  top,  as 
certainly  as  cream  rises  in  a  bowl  of  millv :  and  if  the  people 
should  destroy  class  after  class,  until  two  men  only  were  left, 
one  of  these  would  be  the  leader,  and  would  be  involuntarily 
served  and  copied  by  the  other.  You  may  keep  this  minority 
out  of  sight  and  out  of  mind,  but  it  is  tenacious  of  life,  and  is 


MANNERS  183 

one  of  the  estates  of  the  realm.  I  am  the  more  struck  with 
this  tenacity,  when  I  see  its  work.  It  respects  the  adminis- 
tration of  such  unimportant  matters,  that  we  should  not  look 
for  any  durability  in  its  rule.  We  sometimes  meet  men  under 
some  strong  moral  influence,  as,  a  patriotic,  a  Uterary,  a 
religious  movement,  and  feel  that  the  moral  sentiment  rules 
man  and  nature.  We  think  all  other  distinctions  and  ties 
will  be  sHght  and  fugitive,  this  of  caste  or  fashion,  for  example ; 
yet  come  from  year  to  year,  and  see  how  permanent  that  is,, 
in  this  Boston  or  New  York  life  of  man,  where,  too,  it  has 
not  the  least  countenance  from  the  law  of  the  land.  Not  in 
Egypt  or  in  India  a  firmer  or  more  impassable  hue.  Here' 
are  associations  whose  ties  go  over,  and  under,  and  through ' 
it,  a  meeting  of  merchants,  a  military  corps,  a  college  class, 
a  fire-club,  a  professional  association,  a  political,  a  religious 
convention ;  —  the  persons  seem  to  draw  inseparably  near ; 
yet,  that  assembly  once  dispersed,  its  members  will  not  in 
the  year  meet  again.  Each  returns  to  his  degree  in  the  scale 
of  good  society,  porcelain  remains  porcelain,  and  earthen, 
earthen.  The  objects  of  fashion  may  be  frivolous,  or  fashion 
may  be  objectless,  but  the  nature  of  this  union  and  selection 
can  be  neither  frivolous  nor  accidental.  Each  man^s  rank 
in  that  perfect  graduation  depends  on  some  symmetry  in 
his  structure,  or  some  agreement  in  his  structure  to  the  sym- 
metry of  society.  Its  doors  unbar  instantaneously  to  a  natural 
claim  of  their  own  kind.  A  natural  gentleman  finds  his  way 
in,  and  will  keep  the  oldest  patrician  out,  who  has  lost  his 
intrinsic  rank.  Fashion  understands  itself;  good-breeding 
and  personal  superiority  of  whatever  country  readily  frater- 
nize with  those  of  every  other.  The  chiefs  of  savage  tribes 
have  distinguished  themselves  in  London  and  Paris,  by  the- 
purity  of  their  tournure.  i, 

To  say  what  good  of  fashion  we  can,  —  it  rests  on  reality, 
and  hates  nothing  so  much  as  pretenders ;  —  to  exclude  and 
mystify  pretenders,  and  send  them  into  everlasting  ^Coven- 
try,' is  its  delight.  We  contemn,  in  turn,  every  other  gift 
of  men  of  the  world  ;  but  the  habit  even  in  little  and  the  least 
matters,  of  not  appeahng  to  any  but  our  own  sense  of  pro- 
priety, constitutes  the  foundation  of  all  chivalry.  There  is 
almost  no  kind  of  self-rehance,  so  it  be  sane  and  proportioned, 
which  fashion  does  not  occasionally  adopt,  and  give  it  the 
freedom  of  its  saloons.     A  sainted  soul  is  always  elegant,  and, 


184  MANNERS 

if  it  will,  passes  unchallenged  into  the  most  guarded  ring. 
But  so  will  Jock  the  teamster  pass,  in  some  crisis  that  brings 
him  thither,  and  find  favor,  as  long  as  his  head  is  not  giddy 
with  the  new  circumstance,  and  the  iron  shoes  do  not  wish 
to  dance  in  waltzes  and  cotillons.  For  there  is  nothing  settled 
in  manners,  but  the  laws  of  behavior  yield  to  the  energy  of 
the  individual.  The  maiden  at  her  first  ball,  the  countryman 
at  a  city  dinner,  believes  that  there  is  a  ritual  according  to 
which  every  act  and  compliment  must  be  performed,  or  the 
failing  party  must  be  cast  out  of  this  presence.  Later,  they 
learn  that  good  sense  and  character  make  their  own  forms 
every  moment,  and  speak  or  abstain,  take  wine  or  refuse  it, 
'  stay  or  go,  sit  in  a  chair  or  sprawl  with  children  on  the  floor, 
or  stand  on  their  head,  or  what  else  soever,  in  a  new  and  ab- 
original way;  and  that  strong  will  is  always  in  fashion,  let 
who  will  be  unfashionable.  All  that  fashion  demands  is 
composure,  and  seK-content.  A  circle  of  men  perfectly  well- 
bred  would  be  a  company  of  sensible  persons,  in  which  every 
man's  native  manners  and  character  appeared.  If  the  fash- 
ionist  have  not  this  quality,  he  is  nothing.  We  are  such  lovers 
of  self-reliance,  that  we  excuse  in  a  man  many  sins,  if  he  will 
show  us  a  complete  satisfaction  in  his  position,  which  asks 
no  leave  to  be,  of  mine,  or  any  man's  good  opinion.  But  any 
deference  to  some  eminent  man  or  woman  of  the  world  for- 
feits all  privilege  of  nobility.  He  is  an  underling;  I  have 
nothing  to  do  with  him  ;  I  will  speak  with  his  master.  A  man 
should  not  go  where  he  cannot  carry  his  whole  sphere  or  society 
with  him,  —  not  bodily,  the  whole  circle  of  his  friends,  but 
atmospherically.  He  should  preserve  in  a  new  company  the 
same  attitude  of  mind  and  reality  of  relation,  which  his  daily 
associates  draw  him  to,  else  he  is  shorn  of  his  best  beams,  and 
will  be  an  orphan  in  the  merriest  club.  '^If  you  could  see 
Vich  Ian  Vohr  with  his  tail  on !  —  "  But  Vich  Ian  Vohr.  must 
always  carry  his  belongings  in  some  fashion,  if  not  added  as 
honor,  then  severed  as  disgrace. 

There  will  always  be  in  society  certain  persons  who  are 
mercuries  of  its  approbation,  and  whose  glance  will  at  any 
time  determine  for  the  curious  their  standing  in  the  world. 
These  are  the  chamberlains  of  the  lesser  gods.  Accept  their 
coldness  as  an  omen  of  grace  with  the  loftier  deities,  and  allow 
them  all  their  privilege.  They  are  clear  in  their  office,  nor 
could  they  be  thus  formidable,  wdthout  their  own  merits. 


MANNERS  185 

But  do  not  measure  the  importance  of  this  class  by  their  pre- 
tension, or  imagine  that  a  fop  can  be  the  dispenser  of  honor 
and  shame.  They  pass  also  at  their  just  rate ;  for  how  can 
they  otherwise,  in  circles  which  exist  as  a  sort  of  herald^s  office 
for  the  sifting  of  character? 

As  the  first  thing  man  requires  of  man  is  reality,  so,  that 
appears  in  all  the  forms  of  society.  We  pointedly,  and  by 
name,  introduce  the  parties  to  each  other.  Know  you  before 
all  heaven  and  earth,  that  this  is  Andrew,  and  this  is  Gregory ; 
they  look  each  other  in  the  eye  ;  they  grasp  each  other's  hand, 
to  identify  and  signalize  each  other.  It  is  a  great  satisfaction. 
A  gentleman  never  dodges  ;  his  eyes  look  straight  forward,  and 
he  assures  the  other  party,  first  of  all,  that  he  has  been  met. 
For  what  is  it  that  we  seek,  in  so  many  visits  and  hospitalities  ? 
Is  it  your  draperies,  pictures,  and  decorations?  Or,  do  we 
not  insatiably  ask.  Was  a  man  in  the  house?  I  may  easily 
go  into  a  great  household  where  there  is  much  substance,  ex- 
cellent pro\^sion  for  comfort,  luxury,  and  taste,  and  yet  not 
encounter  there  any  Amphitryon,  who  shall  subordinate  these 
appendages.  I  may  go  into  a  cottage,  and  find  a  farmer  who 
feels  that  he  is  the  man  I  have  come  to  see,  and  fronts  me  ac- 
cordingly. It  was  therefore  a  very  natural  point  of  old  feudal 
etiquette,  that  a  gentleman  who  received  a  visit,  though  it 
were  of  his  sovereign,  should  not  leave  his  roof,  but  should 
wait  his  arrival  at  the  door  of  his  house.  No  house,  though 
it  were  the  Tuileries,  or  the  Escurial,  is  good  for  anything 
without  a  master.  And  yet  we  are  not  often  gratified  by  this 
hospitality.  Everybody  we  know  surrounds  himself  with 
a  fine  house,  fine  books,  conservatory,  gardens,  equipage,  and 
all  manner  of  toys,  as  screens  to  interpose  between  himself 
and  his  guest.  Does  it  not  seem  as  if  man  was  of  a  very  sly, 
elusive  nature,  and  dreaded  nothing  so  much  as  a  full  rencon- 
tre front  to  front  with  his  fellow  ?  It  were  unmerciful,  I  know, 
quite  to  abolish  the  use  of  these  screens,  which  are  of  eminent 
convenience,  whether  the  guest  is  too  great,  or  too  little.  We 
call  together  many  friends  who  keep  each  other  in  play,  or, 
by  luxuries  and  ornaments  we  amuse  the  young  people,  and 
guard  our  retirement.  Or  if,  perchance,  a  searching  realist 
comes  to  our  gate,  before  whose  eye  we  have  no  care  to  stand, 
then  again  we  run  to  our  curtain,  and  hide  ourselves  as  Adam 
at  the  voice  of  the  Lord  God  in  the  garden.  Cardinal  Caprara, 
the  Pope's  legate  at  Paris,  defended  himself  from  the  glances 


186  MANNERS 

of  Napoleon,  by  an  immense  pair  of  green  spectacles.  Na- 
poleon remarked  them,  and  speedily  managed  to  rally  them 
off;  and  yet,  Napoleon,  in  his  turn,  was  not  great  enough, 
with  eight  hundred  thousand  troops  at  his  back,  to  face  a  pair 
'  of  freeborn  eyes,  but  fenced  himself  with  etiquette,  and  within 
triple  barriers  of  reserve;  and,  as  all  the  world  knows  from 
Madame  de  Stael,  was  wont,  when  he  found  himself  observed, 
to  discharge  his  face  of  all  expression.  But  emperors  and 
rich  men  are  by  no  means  the  most  skilful  masters  of  good 
manners.  No  rent-roll  nor  army-list  can  dignify  skulking 
and  dissimulation;  and  the  first  point  of  courtesy  must  al- 
ways be  truth,  as  really  all  the  forms  of  good-breeding  point 
that  way. 

I  have  just  been  reading,  in  Mr.  Hazlitt^s  translation, 
Montaigne's  account  of  his  journey  into  Italy,  and  am  struck 
with  nothing  more  agreeably  than  the  self-respecting  fashions 
of  the  time.  His  arrival  in  each  place,  the  arrival  of  a  gentle- 
man of  France,  is  an  event  of  some  consequence.  Wherever 
he  goes,  he  pays  a  visit  to  whatever  prince  or  gentleman  of  note 
resides  upon  his  road,  as  a  dtity  to  himself  and  to  civilization. 
When  he  leaves  any  house  in  which  he  has  lodged  for  a  few 
weeks,  he  causes  his  arms  to  be  painted  and  hung  up  as  a  per- 
petual sign  to  the  house,  as  was  the  custom  of  gentlemen. 

The  compliment  of  this  graceftil  self-respect,  and  that  of 
all  the  points  of  good-breeding  I  most  require  and  insist  upon, 
is  deference.  I  like  that  every  chair  should  be  a  throne,  and 
hold  a  king.  I  prefer  a  tendency  to  stateliness,  to  an  excess 
of  fellowship.  Let  the  incommunicable  objects  of  nature  and 
the  metaphysical  isolation  of  man  teach  us  independence. 
Let  us  not  be  too  much  acquainted.  I  would  have  a  man 
enter  his  house  through  a  hall  filled  with  heroic  and  sacred 
sculptures,  that  he  might  not  want  the  hint  of  tranquillity 
and  self-poise.  We  should  meet  each  morning  as  from  foreign 
countries,  and  spending  the  day  together,  should  depart  at 
night,  as  into  foreign  countries.  In  all  things  I  would  have 
the  island  of  a  man  inviolate.  Let  us  sit  apart  as  the  gods, 
talking  from  peak  to  peak  all  around  Olympus.  No  degree 
of  affection  need  invade  this  religion.  This  is  m5a"rh  and 
rosemary  to  keep  the  other  sweet.  Lovers  should  guard  their 
strangeness.  If  they  forgive  too  much,  all  slides  into  con- 
fusion and  meanness.  It  is  easy  to  push  this  deference  to  a 
Chinese  etiquette ;  but  coolness  and  absence  of  heat  and  haste 


MANNERS  187 

indicate  fine  qualities.  A  gentleman  makes  no  noise  :  a  lady 
is  serene.  Proportionate  is  our  disgust  at  those  invaders 
who  fill  a  studious  house  with  blast  and  running,  to  secure 
some  paltry  convenience.  Not  less  I  dislike  a  low  sympathy 
of  each  with  his  neighbor's  needs.  Must  we  have  a  good 
understanding  with  one  another's  palates?  as  foolish  people 
who  have  lived  long  together  know  when  each  wants  salt  or 
sugar.  I  pray  my  companion,  if  he  wishes  for  bread,  to  ask 
me  for  bread,  and  if  he  wishes  for  sassafras  or  arsenic,  to  ask 
me  for  them,  and  not  to  hold  out  his  plate  as  if  I  knew  already. 
Every  natural  function  can  be  dignified  by  deliberation  and 
privacy.  Let  us  leave  hurry  to  slaves.  The  compliments 
and  ceremonies  of  our  breeding  should  recall,  however  re- 
motely, the  grandeur  of  our  destiny. 

The  flower  of  courtesy  does  not  very  well  bide  handling, 
but  if  we  dare  to  open  another  leaf,  and  explore  what  parts 
go  to  its  conformation,  we  shall  find  also  an  intellectual  quality. 
To  the  leaders  of  men,  the  brain  as  well  as  the  flesh  and  the 
heart  must  furnish  a  proportion.  Defect  in  manners  is  usually 
the  defect  of  fine  perceptions.  Men  are  too  coarsely  made  for 
the  delicacy  of  beautiful  carriage  and  customs.  It  is  not 
quite  sufficient  to  good-breeding,  a  union  of  kindness  and  in- 
dependence. We  imperatively  require  a  perception  of,  and 
a  homage  to,  be/auty  in  our  companions.  Other  virtues  are 
in  request  in  the  field  and  work-yard,  but  a  certain  degree  of 
taste  is  not  to  be  spared  in  those  we  sit  with.  I  could  better 
eat  with  one  who  did  not  respect  the  truth  or  the  laws,  than 
with  a  sloven  and  unpresentable  person.  Moral  qualities 
rule  the  world,  but  at  short  distances  the  senses  are  despotic. 
The  same  discrimination  of  fit  and  fair  runs  out,  if  with  less 
rigor,  into  all  parts  of  life.  The  average  spirit  of  the  energetic 
class  is  good  sense,  acting  under  certain  limitations  and  to 
certain  ends.  It  entertains  every  natural  gift.  Social  in  its 
nature,  it  respects  everything  which  tends  to  unite  men.  It 
delights  in  measure.  The  love  of  beauty  is  mainly  the  love 
of  measure  or  proportion.  The  person  who  screams,  or  uses 
the  superlative  degree,  or  converses  with  heat,  is  quickly  left 
alone.  If  you  wish  to  be  loved,  love  measure.  You  must 
have  genius,  or  a  prodigious  usefulness,  if  you  will  hide  the 
want  of  measure.  This  perception  comes  in  to  polish  and 
perfect  the  parts  of  the  social  instrument.  Society  will  par- 
don much  to  genius  and  special  gifts,  but,  being  in  its  nature 


188  MANNERS 

a  convention,  it  loves  what  is  conventional,  or  what  belongs 
to  coming  together.  That  makes  the  good  and  bad  of  man- 
ners, namely,  what  helps  or  hinders  fellowship.  For,  fashion 
is  not  good  sense  absolute,  but  relative ;  not  good  sense  pri- 
vate, but  good  sense  entertaining  company.  It  hates  corners 
and  sharp  points  of  character,  hates  quarrelsome,  egotistical, 
solitary,  and  gloom}^  people ;  hates  whatever  can  interfere 
with  total  blending  of  parties ;  whilst  it  values  all  peculiar- 
ities as  in  the  highest  degree  refreshing,  which  can  consist 
with  good  fellowship.  And  besides  the  general  infusion  of 
wit  to  heighten  civility,  the  direct  splendor  of  intellectual 
power  is  ever  welcome  in  fine  society  as  the  costliest  addi- 
tion to  its  rule  and  its  credit. 

The  dry  light  must  shine  in  to  adorn  our  festival,  but  it 
must  be  tempered  and  shaded,  or  that  will  also  offend.  Ac- 
curacy is  essential  to  beauty,  and  quick  perceptions  to  polite- 
ness, but  not  too  quick  perceptions.  One  may  be  too  punc- 
tual and  too  precise.  He  must  leave  the  omniscience  of 
business  at  the  door,  when  he  comes  into  the  palace  of  beauty. 
Society  loves  Creole  natures,  and  sleepy,  languishing  manners, 
so  that  they  cover  sense,  grace,  and  good-will :  the  air  of 
drowsy  strength,  which  disarms  criticism ;  perhaps,  because 
such  a  person  seems  to  reserve  himself  for  the  best  of  the  game, 
and  not  spend  himself  on  surfaces;  an  ignoring  eye,  which 
does  not  see  the  annoyances,  shifts,  and  inconveniences,  that 
cloud  the  brow"  and  smother  the  voice  of  the  sensitive. 

Therefore,  beside  personal  force  and  so  much  perception 
as  constitutes  unerring  taste,  society  demands  in  its  patrician 
cl^ss  another  element  already  intimated,  which  it  significantly 
terms  good-nature,  expressing  all  degrees  of  generosity,  from 
the  lowest  willingness  and  faculty  to  oblige,  up  to  the  heights 
of  magnanimity  and  love.  Insight  we  must  have,  or  we  shall 
run  against  one  another,  and  miss  the  way  to  our  food ;  but 
intellect  is  selfish  and  barren.  The  secret  of  success  in  society 
is  a  certain  heartiness  and  sympathy.  A  man  who  is  not 
happy  in  the  company,  cannot  find  any  word  in  his  memory 
that  will  fit  the  occasion.  All  his  information  is  a  little  im- 
pertinent. A  man  who  is  happy  there,  finds  in  every  turn 
of  the  conversation  equally  lucky  occasions  for  the  introduc- 
tion of  that  which  he  has  to  say.  The  favorites  of  society, 
and  what  it  calls  whole  souls,  are  able  men,  and  of  more  spirit 
than   wit,  who  have   no   uncomfortable  egotism,  but  who 


MANNERS  189 

exactly  fill  the  hour  and  the  company,  contented  and  content- 
ing, at  a  marriage  or  a  funeral,  a  ball  or  a  jury,  a  water-party 
or  a  shooting-match.  England,  which  is  rich  in  gentlemen, 
furnished,  in  the  beginning  of  the  present  century,  a  good 
model  of  that  genius  which  the  world  loves,  in  Mr.  Fox,  who 
added  to  his  great  abilities  the  most  social  disposition,  and 
real  love  of  men.  Parliamentary  history  has  few  better  pas- 
sages than  the  debate,  in  which  Burke  and  Fox  separated  in 
the  House  of  Commons;  when  Fox  urged  on  his  old  friend 
the  claims  of  old  friendship  with  such  tenderness,  that  the 
house  was  moved  to  tears.  Another  anecdote  is  so  close  to 
my  matter,  that  I  must  hazard  the  story.  A  tradesman  who 
had  long  dunned  him  for  a  note  of  three  hundred  guineas, 
found  him  one  day  counting  gold,  and  demanded  payment. 
^^No,'^  said  Fox,  "I  owe  this  money  to  Sheridan :  it  is  a  debt 
of  honor :  if  an  accident  should  happen  to  me,  he  has  nothing 
to  show.^'  ^'Then,'^  said  the  creditor,  ^^I  change  my  debt 
into  a  debt  of  honor,''  and  tore  the  note  in  pieces.  Fox  thanked 
the  man  for  his  confidence,  and  paid  him,  saying,  ^'  his  debt 
was  of  older  standing,  and  Sheridan  must  wait.''  Lover  of 
liberty,  friend  of  the  Hindoo,  friend  of  the  African  slave,  he 
possessed  a  great  personal  popularity ;  and  Napoleon  said 
of  him  on  the  occasion  of  his  visit  to  Paris,  in  1805,  ^'Mr. 
Fox  will  always  hold  the  first  place  in  an  assembly  at  the 
Tuileries." 

We  may  easily  seem  ridiculous  in  our  eulogy  of  courtesy, 
whenever  we  insist  on  benevolence  as  its  foundation.  The 
painted  phantasm  Fashion  rises  to  cast  a  species  of  derision 
on  what  we  say.  But  1  will  neither  be  driven  from  some 
allowance  to  Fashion  as  a  symbolic  institution,  nor  from  the 
belief  that  love  is  the  basis  of  courtesy.  We  must  obtain 
that,  if  we  can ;  but  by  all  means  we  must  affirm  this.  Life 
owes  much  of  its  spirit  to  these  sharp  contrasts.  Fashion 
which  affects  to  be  honor,  is  often,  in  all  men's  experience, 
only  a  ball-room  code.  Yet,  so  long  as  it  is  the  highest  circle, 
in  the  imagination  of  the  best  heads  on  the  planet,  there  is 
something  necessary  and  excellent  in  it ;  for  it  is  not  to  be 
supposed  that  men  have  agreed  to  be  the  dupes  of  anything 
preposterous ;  and  the  respect  which  these  mysteries  inspire 
in  the  most  rude  and  sylvan  characters,  and  the  curiosity 
with  which  details  of  high  life  are  read,  betray  the  universal- 
ity of  the  love  of  cultivated  manners.     I  know  that  a  comic 


190  MANNERS 

disparity  would  be  felt,  if  we  should  enter  the  acknowledged 
'^ first  circles,"  and  apply  these  terrific  standards  of  justice, 
beauty,  and  benefit  to  the  individuals  actually  found  there. 
Monarchs  and  heroes,  sages  and  lovers,  these  gallants  are 
not.  Fashion  has  many  classes  and  many  rules  of  probation 
and  admission;  and  not  the  best  alone.  There  is  not  only 
the  right  of  conquest,  which  genius  pretends,  —  the  individual, 
demonstrating  his  natural  aristocracy  best  of  the  best ;  — 
but  less  claims  will  pass  for  the  time  ;  for  Fashion  loves  Uons, 
and  points,  like  Circe,  to  her  horned  company.  This  gentle- 
man is  this  afternoon  arrived  from  Denmark;  and  that  is 
my  Lord  Ride,  who  came  yesterday  from  Bagdat ;  here  is 
Captain  Friese,  from  Cape  Tumagain ;  and  Captain  Sjmames, 
from  the  interior  of  the  earth;  and  Monsieur  Jovaire,  who 
came  down  this  morning  in  a  balloon ;  Mr.  Hobnail,  the  re- 
former ;  and  Reverend  Jul  Bat,  who  has  converted  the  whole 
torrid  zone  in  his  Sunday  School ;  and  Signor  Torre  del  Greco, 
who  extinguished  Vesuvius  by  pouring  into  it  the  Bay  of 
Naples ;  Spahi,  the  Persian  ambassador ;  and  Tul  Wil  Shan, 
the  exiled  nabob  of  Nepaul,  whose  saddle  is  the  new  moon.  — 
But  these  are  monsters  of  one  day,  and  to-morrow  will  be 
dismissed  to  their  holes  and  dens ;  for,  in  these  rooms,  every 
chair  is  waited  for.  The  artist,  the  scholar,  and  in  general, 
the  clerisy,  win  their  way  up  into  these  places,  and  get  repre- 
sented here,  somewhat  on  this  footing  of  conquest.  Another 
mode  is  to  pass  through  all  the  degrees,  spending  a  year  and 
a  day  in  St.  Michael's  Square,  being  steeped  in  Cologne- 
water,  and  perfumed,  and  dined,  and  introduced,  and  properly 
grounded  in  all  the  biography,  and  politics,  and  anecdotes 
of  the  boudoirs. 

Yet  these  fineries  may  have  grace  and  wit.  Let  there  be 
grotesque  sculpture  about  the  gates  and  offices  of  temples. 
Let  the  creed  and  commandments  even  have  the  saucy  hom- 
age of  parody.  The  forms  of  politeness  universally  express 
benevolence  in  superlative  degrees.  What  if  they  are  in  the 
mouths  of  selfish  men,  and  used  as  means  of  selfishness? 
What  if  the  false  gentleman  almost  bows  the  true  out  of  the 
world?  What  if  the  false  gentleman  contrives  so  to  address 
his  companion,  as  civilly  to  exclude  all  others  from  his  dis- 
course, and  also  to  make  them  feel  excluded?  Real  service 
will  not  lose  its  nobleness.  All  generosity  is  not  merely  French 
and  sentimental;  nor  is  it  to  be  concealed,  that  living  blood 


MANNERS  191 

and  a  passion  of  kindness  does  at  last  distinguish  God's  gentle- 
man from  Fashion^s.  The  epitaph  of  Sir  Jenkin  Grout  is  not 
wholly  unintelligible  to  the  present  age.  '^Here  lies  Sir  Jen- 
kin  Grout,  who  loved  his  friend,  and  persuaded  his  enemy : 
what  his  mouth  ate,  his  hand  paid  for:  what  his  servants 
robbed,  he  restored :  if  a  woman  gave  him  pleasure,  he  sup- 
ported her  in  pain :  he  never  forgot  his  children :  and  whoso 
touched  his  finger,  drew  after  it  his  whole  body/^  Even  the 
line  of  heroes  is  not  utterly  extinct.  There  is  still  ever  some 
admirable  person  in  plain  clothes,  standing  on  the  wharf, 
who  jumps  in  to  rescue  a  drowning  man ;  there  is  still  some 
absurd  inventor  of  charities ;  some  guide  and  comforter  of 
runaway  slaves ;  some  friend  of  Poland ;  some  Philhellene ; 
some  fanatic  who  plants  shade  trees  for  the  second  and  third 
generation,  and  orchards  when  he  is  grown  old;  some  well- 
concealed  piety ;  some  just  man  happy  in  an  ill-fame ;  some 
youth  ashamed  of  the  favors  of  fortune,  and  impatiently  cast- 
ing them  on  other  shoulders.  And  these  are  the  centres  of 
society,  on  which  it  returns  for  fresh  impulses.  These  are 
the  creators  of  Fashion,  which  is  an  attempt  to  organize  beauty 
of  behavior.  The  beautiful  and  the  generous  are,  in  the  theory, 
the  doctors  and  apostles  of  this  church :  Scipio,  and  the  Cid, 
and  Sir  Philip  Sidney,  and  Washington,  and  every  pure  and 
vahant  heart,  who  worshipped  Beauty  by  word  and  by  deed. 
The  persons  who  constitute  the  natural  aristocracy,  are  not 
found  in  the  actual  aristocracy,  or,  only  on  its  edge ;  as  the 
chemical  energy  of  the  spectrum  is  found  to  be  greatest  just 
outside  of  the  spectrum.  Yet  that  is  the  infirmity  of  the 
seneschals,  who  do  not  know  their  sovereign,  when  he  appears. 
The  theory  of  society  supposes  the  existence  and  sovereignty 
of  these.  It  divines  afar  off  their  coming.  It  says  with  the 
elder  gods,  — 

^'As  Heaven  and  Earth  are  fairer  far 
Than  Chaos  and  blank  Darkness,  though  once  chiefs ; 
And  as  we  show  beyond  that  Heaven  and  Earth, 
In  form  and  shape  compact  and  beautiful ; 
So,  on  our  heels  a  fresh  perfection  treads ; 
A  power,  more  strong  in  beauty,  born  of  us, 
And  fated  to  exoell  us,  as  we  pass 
In  glory  that  old  Darkness  : 

-for,  't  is  the  eternal  law, 

That  first  in  beauty  shall  be  first  in  might. '^ 


192  MANNERS 


thereB' 


Therefore,  within  the  ethnical  circle  of  good  society, 
is  a  narrower  and  higher  circle,  concentration  of  its  light,  and 
flower  of  courtesy,  to  which  there  is  always  a  tacit  appeal 
of  pride  and  reference,  as  to  its  inner  and  imperial  court,  thdH| 
parliament  of  love  and  chivalry.  And  this  is  constituted" 
of  those  persons  in  whom  heroic  dispositions  are  native,  with 
the  love  of  beauty,  the  delight  in  society,  and  the  power  to 
embellish  the  passing  day.  If  the  individuals  who  compose 
the  purest  circles  of  aristocracy  in  Europe,  the  guarded  blood 
of  centuries,  should  pass  in  review,  in  such  manner  as  that 
we  could,  at  leisure  and  critically  inspect  their  behavior,  we 
might  find  no  gentleman,  and  no  lady ;  for,  although  excellent 
specimens  of  courtesy  and  high-breeding  would  gratify  us  in 
the  assemblage,  in  the  particulars  we  should  detect  offence. 
Because,  elegance  comes  of  no  breeding,  but  of  birth.  There 
must  be  romance  of  character,  or  the  most  fastidious  exclu- 
sion of  impertinences  will  not  avail.  It  must  be  genius  which 
takes  that  direction :  it  must  be  not  courteous,  but  courtesy. 
High  behavior  is  as  rare  in  fiction  as  it  is  in  fact.  Scott  is 
praised  for  the  fidelity  with  which  he  painted  the  demeanor 
and  conversation  of  the  superior  classes.  Certainly,  kings 
and  queens,  nobles,  and  great  ladies,  had  some  right  to  com- 
plain of  the  absurdity  that  had  been  put  in  their  mouths, 
before  the  days  of  Waverley;  but  neither  does  Scott's  dia- 
logue bear  criticism.  His  lords  brave  each  other  in  smart 
epigrammatic  speeches,  but  the  dialogue  is  in  costume,  and 
does  not  please  on  the  second  reading :  it  is  not  warm  with 
life.  In  Shakspeare  alone,  the  speakers  do  not  strut  and 
bridle,  the  dialogue  is  easily  great,  and  he  adds  to  so  many 
titles  that  of  being  the  best-bred  man  in  England,  and  in 
Christendom.  Once  or  twice  in  a  lifetime  we  are  permitted 
to  enjoy  the  charm  of  noble  manners,  in  the  presence  of  a 
man  or  woman  who  have  no  bar  in  their  nature,  but  whose 
character  emanates  freely  in  their  word  and  gesture.  A 
beautiful  form  is  better  than  a  beautiful  face;  a  beautiful 
behavior  is  better  than  a  beautiful  form :  it  gives  a  higher 
pleasure  than  statues  or  pictures ;  it  is  the  finest  of  the  fine 
arts.  A  man  is  but  a  little  thing  in  the  midst  of  the  objects 
of  nature,  yet,  by  the  moral  quality  radiating  from  his  coun- 
tenance, he  may  abolish  all  considerations  of  magnitude, 
and  in  his  manners  equal  the  majesty  of- the  world.  I  have 
seen  an  individual,  whose  manners,  though  wholly  within 


MANNERS  193 

the  conventions  of  elegant  society,  were  never -learned  there, 
but  were  original  and  commanding,  and  held  out  protection 
and  prosperity ;  one  who  did  not  need  the  aid  of  a  court-suit, 
but  carried  the  holiday  in  his  eye ;  who  exhilarated  the  fancy 
by  flinging  wide  the  doors  of  new  modes  of  existence ;  who 
shook  off  the  captivity  of  etiquette,  with  happy,  spirited 
bearing,  good-natured  and  free  as  Robin  Hood;  yet  with 
the  port  of  an  emperor,  —  if  need  be,  calm,  serious,  and  fit 
to  stand  the  gaze  of  millions. 

The  open  air  and  the  fields,  the  street  and  public  chambers, 
are  the  places  where  Man  executes  his  will ;  let  him  yield  or 
divide  the  sceptre  at  the  door  of  the  house.  Woman,  with 
her  instinct  of  behavior,  instantly  detects  in  man  a  love  of 
trifles,  any  coldness  or  imbecility,  or,  in  short,  any  want  of 
that  large,  flowing,  and  magnanimous  deportment,  which  is 
indispensable  as  an  exterior  in  the  hall.  Our  American  in- 
stitutions have  been  friendly  to  her,  and  at  this  moment,  I 
esteem  it  a  chief  felicity  of  this  country,  that  it  excels  in  women. 
A  certain  awkward  consciousness  of  inferiority  in  the  men, 
may  give  rise  to  the  new  chivalry  in  behalf  of  Woman's  Rights. 
Certainly,  let  her  be  as  much  better  placed  in  the  laws  and 
in  social  forms,  as  the  most  zealous  reformer  can  ask,  but  I 
confide  so  entirely  in  her  inspiring  and  musical  nature,  that 
I  believe  only  herself  can  show  us  how  she  shall  be  served. 
The  wonderful  generosity  of  her  sentiments  raises  her  at  times 
into  heroical  and  godlike  regions,  and  verifies  the  pictures  of 
Minerva,  Juno,  or  Polymnia ;  and,  by  the  firmness  with  which 
she  treads  her  upward  path,  she  convinces  the  coarsest  cal- 
culators that  another  road  exists,  than  that  which  their  feet 
know.  But  besides  those  who  make  good  in  our  imagination 
the  place  of  muses  and  of  Delphic  Sibyls,  are  there  not  women 
who  fill  our  vase  with  wine  and  roses  to  the  brim,  so  that  the 
wine  runs  over  and  fills  the  house  with  perfume ;  who  inspire 
us  with  courtesy;  who  unloose  our  tongues,  and  we  speak; 
who  anoint  our  eyes,  and  we  see?  We  say  things  we  never 
thought  to  have  said ;  for  once,  our  walls  of  habitual  reserve 
vanished,  and  left  us  at  large ;  we  were  children  playing  with 
children  in  a  wide  field  of  flowers.  Steep  us,  we  cried,  in  these 
influences,  for  days,  for  weeks,  and  we  shall  be  sunny  poets, 
and  will  write  out  in  many-colored  words  the  romance  that 
you  are.  Was  it  Hafiz  or  Firdousi  who  said  of  his  Per- 
sian Lilla,  She  was  an  elemental  force,  and  astonished  me 


194  MANNERS 

by  her  amount  of  life,  when  I  saw  her  day  after  day  radiating, 
every  instant,  redundant  joy  and  grace  on  all  around  her. 
She  was  a  solvent  powerful  to  reconcile  all  heterogeneous 
persons  into  one  society :  like  air  or  water,  an  element  of 
such  a  great  range  of  affinities,  that  it  combines  readily  with 
a  thousand  substances.  Where  she  is  present,  all  others  will 
be  more  than  they  are  wont.  She  was  a  unit  and  whole,  so 
that  whatsoever  she  did  became  her.  She  had  too  much 
sympathy  and  desire  to  please,  than  that  you  could  say,  her 
manners  were  marked  with  dignity,  yet  no  princess  could 
surpass  her  clear  and  erect  demeanor  on  each  occasion.  She 
did  not  study  the  Persian  grammar,  nor  the  books  of  the 
seven  poets,  but  all  the  poems  of  the  seven  seemed  to  be  writ- 
ten upon  her.  For,  though  the  bias  of  her  nature  was  not 
to  thought,  but  to  sjmipathy,  yet  was  she  so  perfect  in  her 
own  nature,  as  to  meet  intellectual  persons  by  the  fulness  of 
her  heart,  warming  them  by  her  sentiments;  believing,  as 
she  did,  that  by  dealing  nobly  with  all,  all  would  show  them- 
selves noble. 

I  know  that  this  Byzantine  pile  of  chivalry  or  Fashion, 
which  seems  so  fair  and  picturesque  to  those  who  look  at 
the  contemporary  facts  for  science  or  for  entertainment,  is 
not  equally  pleasant  to  all  spectators.  The  constitution 
of  our  society  makes  it  a  giant's  castle  to  the  ambitious  youth 
who  have  not  found  their  names  enrolled  in  its  Golden  Book, 
and  whom  it  has  excluded  from  its  coveted  honors  and  priv- 
ileges. They  have  yet  to  learn  that  its  seeming  grandeur  is 
shadowy  and  relative :  it  is  great  by  their  allowance :  its 
proudest  gates  will  fly  open  at  the  approach  of  their  courage 
and  virtue.  For  the  present  distress,  however,  of  those  who 
are  predisposed  to  suffer  from  the  t}Tannies  of  this  caprice, 
there  are  easy  remedies.  To  remove  your  residence  a  couple 
of  miles,  or  at  most  four,  will  commonly  relieve  the  most 
extreme  susceptibility.  For,  the  advantages  which  fashion 
values  are  plants  which  thrive  in  very  confined  localities, 
in  a  few  streets,  namely.  Out  of  this  precinct,  they  go  for 
nothing ;  are  of  no  use  in  the  farm,  in  the  forest,  in  the  market, 
in  war,  in  the  nuptial  society,  in  the  literary  or  scientific  circle, 
at  sea,  in  friendship,  in  the  heaven  of  thought  or  virtue. 

But  we  have  lingered  long  enough  in  these  painted  courts. 
The  worth  of  the  thing  signified  must  vindicate  our  taste 
for  the  emblem.     Everything  that  is  called  fashion  and  cour- 


MANNERS  195 

tesy  humbles  itself  before  the  cause  and  fountain  of  honor, 
creator  of  titles  and  dignities,  namely,  the  heart  of  love.  This 
is  the  royal  blood,  this  the  fire,  which,  in  all  countries  and 
contingencies,  will  work  after  its  kind,  and  conquer  and  ex- 
pand all  that  approaches  it.  This  gives  new  meanings  to 
every  fact.  This  impoverishes  the  rich,  suffering  no  gran- 
deur but  its  own.  What  is  rich?  Are  you  rich  enough  to 
help  anybody?  to  succor  the  unfashionable  and  the  eccen- 
tric ;  rich  enough  to  make  the  Canadian  in  his  wagon,  the 
itinerant  with  his  consul's  paper  which  commends  him  ''To 
the  charitable,''  the  swarthy  Italian  with  his  few  broken 
words  of  English,  the  lame  pauper  hunted  by  overseers  from 
town  to  town,  even  the  poor  insane  or  besotted  wreck  of  man 
or  woman,  feel  the  noble  exception  of  your  presence  and  your 
house,  from  the  general  bleakness  and  stoniness;  to  make 
such  feel  that  they  were  greeted  with  a  voice  which  made 
them  both  remember  and  hope?  What  is  vulgar,  but  to 
refuse  the  claim  on  acute  and  conclusive  reasons?  What  is 
gentle,  but  to  allow  it,  and  give  their  heart  and  yours  one 
holiday  from  the  national  caution?  Without  the  rich  heart, 
wealth  is  an  ugly  beggar.  The  king  of  Schiraz  could  not 
afford  to  be  so  bountiful  as  the  poor  Osman  who  dwelt  at 
his  gate.  Osman  had  a  humanity  so  broad  and  deep,  that 
although  his  speech  was  so  bold  and  free  with  the  Koran,  as 
to  disgust  all  the  dervishes,  yet  was  there  never  a  poor  out- 
cast, eccentric,  or  insane  man,  some  fool  who  had  cut  off  his 
beard,  or  who  had  been  mutilated  under  a  vow,  or  had  a  pet 
madness  in  his  brain,  but  fled  at  once  to  him,  — that  great 
heart  lay  there  so  sunny  and  hospitable  in  the  centre  of  the 
country, — that  it  seemed  as  if  the  instinct  of  all  sufferers 
drew  them  to  his  side.  And  the. madness  which  he  harbored, 
he  did  not  share.  Is  not  this  to  be  rich?  this  only  to  be 
rightly  rich? 

But  I  shall  hear  without  pain,  that  I  play  the  courtier  very 
ill,  and  talk  of  that  which  I  do  not  well  understand.  It  is 
easy  to  see,  that  what  is  called  by  distinction  society  and 
fashion,  has  good  laws  as  well  as  bad,  has  much  that  is  neces- 
sary, antl  much  that  is  absurd.  Too  good  for  banning,  and 
too  bad  for  blessing,  it  reminds  us  of  a  tradition  of  the  pagan 
mythology,  in  any  attempt  to  settle  its  character.  'I  over- 
heard Jove,  one  day,'  said  Silenus,  'talking  of  destroying  the 
earth ;  he  said,  it  had  failed  ;  they  were  all  rogues  and  vixens, 


198  MANNERS 

who  went  from  bad  to  worse,  as  fast  as  the  days  succeeded 
€ach  other.  Minerva  said,  she  hoped  not ;  they  were  only 
ridiculous  little  creatures,  with  this  odd  circumstance,  that 
they  had  a  blur,  or  indeterminate  aspect,  seen  far  or  seen 
near ;  if  you  called  them  bad,  they  would  appear  so ;  if  you 
called  them  good,  they  would  appear  so ;  and  there  was  no 
one  person  or  action  among  them,  which  would  not  puzzle 
her  owl,  much  more  all  Olympus,  to  know  whether  it  was 
fundamentally  bad  or  good.' 


POLITICS 

Gold  and  iron  are  good 

To  buy  iron  and  gold ; 

All  earth's  fleece  and  food 

For  their  like  are  sold. 

Hinted  Merlin  wise, 

Proved  Napoleon  great,  — 

Nor  kind  nor  coinage  buys 

Aught  above  its  rate. 

Fear,  Craft,  and  Avarice 

Cannot  rear  a  State. 

Out  of  dust  to  build 

What  is  more  than  dust,  — 

Walls  Amphion  piled 

Phoebus  stablish  must. 

When  the  Muses  nine 

With  the  Virtues  meet. 

Find  to  their  design 
^  An  Atlantic  seat, 

By  green  orchard  boughs 
>  Fended  from  the  heat, 

Where  the  statesman  ploughs 

Furrow  for  the  wheat ; 

When  the  Church  is  social  worth. 

When  the  state-house  is  the  hearth, 

Then  the  perfect  State  is  come. 

The  republican  at  home. 

In  dealing  with  the  State,  we  ought  to  remember  that  its 
institutions  are  not  aboriginal,  though  they  existed  before 
we  were  born:  that  they  are  not  superior  to  the  citizen: 
that  every  one  of  them  was  once  the  act  of  a  single  man : 
every  law  and  usage  was  a  man^s  expedient  to  meet  a  par- 
ticular case  :  that  they  all  are  imitable,  all  alterable  ;  we  may 
make  as  good ;  we  may  make  better.     Society  is  an  illusion 

197 


198  POLITICS 

to  the  young  citizen.  It  lies  before  him  in  rigid  repose,  with 
certain  names,  men,  and  institutions,  rooted  like  oak-trees  to 
the  centre,  round  which  all  arrange  themselves  the  best  they 
can.  But  the  old  statesman  knows  that  society  is  fluid; 
there  are  no  such  roots  and  centres;  but  any  particle  may 
suddenly  become  the  centre  of  the  movement,  and  compel 
the  system  to  gyrate  round  it,  as  every  man  of  strong  will, 
like  Pisistratus,  or  Cromwell,  does  for  a  time,  and  every  man 
of  truth,  Hke  Plato,  or  Paul,  does  forever.  But  pohtics  rest 
on  necessary  foundations,  and  cannot  be  treated  with  levity. 
Republics  abound  in  young  civilians,  who  believe  that  the 
laws  make  the  city,  that  grave  modifications  of  the  policy 
and  modes  of  living,  and  emplojTxients  of  the  population, 
that  commerce,  education,  and  rehgion,  may  be  voted  in  or 
out ;  and  that  any  measure,  though  it  were  absurd,  may  be 
imposed  on  a  people,  if  only  you  can  get  sufficient  voices  to 
make  it  a  law.  But  the  wise  know  that  foolish  legislation 
is  a  rope  of  sand,  which  perishes  in  the  twisting;  that  the 
State  must  follow,  and  not  lead,  the  character  and  progress 
of  the  citizen;  the  strongest  usurper  is  quickly  got  rid  of; 
and  they  only  who  build  on  Ideas,  build  for  eternity;  and 
that  the  form  of  government  which  prevails,  is  the  expression 
of  what  cultivation  exists  in  the  population  which  permits 
it.  The  law  is  only  a  memorandum.  We  are  superstitious, 
and  esteem  the  statute  somewhat :  so  much  life  as  it  has  in 
the  character  of  living  men,  is  its  force.  The  statute  stands 
there  to  say,  yesterday  we  agreed  so  and  so,  but  how  feel  ye 
this  article  to-day?  Our  statute  is  a  currency,  which  we 
stamp  with  our  o^m  portrait :  it  soon  becomes  unrecog- 
nizable, and  in  process  of  time  will  return  to  the  mint.  Na- 
ture is  not  democratic,  nor  limited-monarchical,  but  despotic, 
and  will  not  be  fooled  or  abated  of  any  jot  of  her  authority, 
by  the  pert  est  of  her  sons ;  and  as  fast  as  the  public  mind  is 
opened  to  more  intelligence,  the  code  is  seen  to  be  brute  and 
stammering.  It  speaks  not  articulately,  and  must  be  made 
to.  Meantime  the  education  of  the  general  mind  never 
stops.  The  reveries  of  the  true  and  simple  are  prophetic. 
What  the  tender  poetic  youth  dreams,  and  prays,  and  paints 
to-day,  but  shuns  the  ridicule  of  saying  aloud,  shall  pres- 
ently be  the  resolutions  of  public  bodies,  then  shall  be  carried 
as  grievance  and  bill  of  rights  through  conflict  and  war,  and 
then  shall  be  triumphant  law  and  estabUshment  for  a  hundred 


POLITICS  199 

years,  until  it  gives  place,  in  turn,  to  new  prayers  and  pic- 
tures. The  history  of  the  State  sketches  in  coarse  outline  the 
progress  of  thought,  and  follows  at  a  distance  the  delicacy 
of  culture  and  of  aspiration. 

The  theory  of  politics,  which  has  possessed  the  mind  of 
men,  and  which  they  have  expressed  the  best  they  could  in 
their  laws  and  in  their  revolutions,  considers  persons  and 
property  as  the  two  objects  for  whose  protection  government 
exists.  Of  persons,  all  have  equal  rights,  in  virtue  of  being 
identical  in  nature.  This  interest,  of  course,  with  its  whole 
power  demands  a  democracy.  Whilst  the  rights  of  all  as 
persons  are  equal,  in  virtue  of  their  access  to  reason,  their 
rights  in  property  are  very  unequal.  One  man  owns  his 
clothes,  and  another  owns  a  county.  This  accident,  depend- 
ing, primarily,  on  the  skill  and  virtue  of  the  parties,  of  which 
there  is  every  degree,  and  secondarily,  on  patrimony,  falls 
unequally,  and  its  rights,  of  course,  are  unequal.  Personal 
rights,  universally  the  same,  demand  a  government  framed 
on  the  ratio  of  the  census :  property  demands  a  government 
framed  on  the  ratio  of  owners  and  of  owning.  Laban,  who 
has  flocks  and  herds,  wishes  them  looked  after  by  an  officei 
on  the  frontiers,  lest  the  Midianites  shall  drive  them  off,  and 
pays  a  tax  to  that  end.  Jacob  has  no  flocks  or  herds,  and  no 
fear  of  the  Midianites,  and  pays  no  tax  to  the  officer.  It 
seemed  fit  that  Laban  and  Jacob  should  have  equal  rights 
to  elect  the  officer  who  is  to  defend  their  persons,  but  that 
Laban,  and  not  Jacob,  should  elect  the  officer  who  is  to  guard 
the  sheep  and  cattle.  And,  if  question  arise  whether  addi- 
tional officers  or  watch-towers  should  be  provided,  must  not 
Laban  and  Isaac,  and  those  who  must  sell  part  of  their  herds 
to  buy  protection  for  the  rest,  judge  better  of  this,  and  with 
more  right,  than  Jacob,  who,  because  he  is  a  youth  and  a 
traveller,  eats  their  bread  and  not  his  own? 

In  the  earliest  society  the  proprietors  made  their  own 
wealth,  and  so  long  as  it  comes  to  the  owners  in  the  direct 
way,  no  other  opinion  would  arise  in  any  equitable  com- 
munity, than  that  property  should  make  the  law  for  property, 
and  persons  the  law  for  persons. 

But  property  passes  through  donation  or  inheritance  to 
those  who  do  not  create  it.  Gift,  in  one  case,  makes  it  as 
really  the  new  owner's,  as  labor  made  it  the  first  owner's : 
in  the  other  case,  of  patrimony,  the  law  makes  an  ownership, 


200  POLITICS 

which  will  be  valid  in  each  man's  view  according  to  the 
estimate  which  he  sets  on  the  public  tranquillity. 

It  was  not,  however,  found  easy  to  embody  the  readily 
admitted  principle,  that  property  should  make  law  for  prop- 
erty, and  persons  for  persons :  since  persons  and  property 
mixed  themselves  in  every  transaction.  At  last  it  seemed 
settled,  that  the  rightful  distinction  was,  that  the  proprietors 
should  have  more  elective  franchise  than  non-proprietors, 
on  the  Spartan  principle  of  ^'caUing  that  which  is  just,  equal ; 
not  that  which  is  equal,  just.'' 

That  principle  no  longer  looks  so  self-evident  as  it  appeared 
in  former  times,  partly,  because  doubts  have  arisen  whether 
too  much  weight  had  not  been  allowed  in  the  laws  to  prop- 
erty, and  such  a  structure  given  to  our  usages,  as  allowed  the 
rich  to  encroach  on  the  poor,  and  to  keep  them  poor;  but 
mainly,  because  there  is  an  instinctive  sense,  however  obscure 
and  yet  inarticulate,  that  the  whole  constitution  of  property, 
on  its  present  tenures,  is  injurious,  and  its  influence  on  per- 
sons deteriorating  and  degrading ;  that  truly,  the  only  interest 
for  the  consideration  of  the  State  is  persons;  that  property 
will  always  follow  persons;  that  the  highest  end  of  govern- 
ment is  the  culture  of  men :  and  if  men  can  be  educated,  the 
institutions  will  share  their  improvement,  and  the  moral, 
sentiment  will  write  the  law  of  the  land. 

If  it  be  not  easy  to  settle  the  equity  of  this  question,  th( 
peril  is  less  when  we  take  note  of  our  natui-al  defences.  We 
are  kept  by  better  guards  than  the  vigilance  of  such  magis-. 
t rates  as  we  commonly  elect.  Society  always  consists,  in 
greatest  part,  of  young  and  foolish  persons.  The  old,  who 
have  seen  through  the  hypocrisy  of  courts  and  statesmen, 
die,  and  leave  no  wisdom  to  their  sons.  They  believe  their 
own  newspaper,  as  their  fathers  did  at  their  age.  With  such 
an  ignorant  and  deceivable  majority.  States  would  soon  run 
to  ruin,  but  that  there  are  limitations,  beyond  which  the 
folly  and  ambition  of  governors  cannot  go.  Things  have 
their  laws,  as  well  as  men;  and  things  refuse  to  be  trifled 
with.  Property  will  be  protected.  Corn  will  not  grow, 
unless  it  is  planted  and  manured;  but  the  farmer  will  not 
plant  or  hoe  it,  unless  the  chances  are  a  hundred  to  one  that 
he  will  cut  and  harvest  it.  Under  any  forms,  persons  and 
property  must  and  will  have  their  just  sway.  The}''  exert 
their  power,  as  steadily  as  matter  its  attraction.     Cover  up  a 


]i 


41 


POLITICS  201 

pound  of  earth  never  so  cunningly,  divide  and  subdivide  it  ,*: 
melt  it  to  liquid,  convert  it  to  gas;  it  will  always  weigh  a. 
pound ;  it  will  always  attract  and  resist  other  matter,  by  the^ 
full  virtue  of  one  poimd  weight ;  —  and  the  attributes  of  a. 
person,  his  wit  and  his  moral  energy,  will  exercise,  under  any 
law  or  extinguishing  tyranny,  their  proper  force,  —  if  not 
overtly,  then  covertly;  if  not  for  the  law,  then  against  it; 
if  not  wholesomely,  then  poisonously;  with  right,  or  hy 
might. 

The  boundaries  of  personal  influence  it  is  impossible  to  fix,, 
as  persons  are  organs  of  moral  or  supernatural  force.  Under* 
the  dominion  of  an  idea,  which  possesses  the  minds  of  mul- 
titudes, as  civil  freedom,  or  the  religious  sentiment,  the 
powers  of  persons  are  no  longer  subjects  of  calculation.  A 
nation  of  men  unanimously  bent  on  freedom,  or  conquest,, 
can  easily  confound  the  arithmetic  of  statists,  and  achieve 
extravagant  actions,  out  of  all  proportion  to  their  means ;  as,. 
the  Greeks,  the  Saracens,  the  Swiss,  the  Americans,  and  the 
French  have  done. 

In  like  manner,  to  every  particle  of  property  belongs  its: 
own  attraction.  A  cent  is  the  representative  of  a  certain 
quantity  of  corn  or  other  commodity.  Its  value  is  in  tha 
necessities  of  the  animal  man.  It  is  so  much  v/armth,  so 
much  bread,  so  much  water,  so  much  land.  The  law  may 
do  what  it  will  with  the  owner  of  property,  its  just  power 
will  still  attach  to  the  cent.  The  law  may  in  a  mad  freak  say, 
that  all  shall  have  power  except  the  owners  of  property; 
they  shall  have  no  vote.  Nevertheless,  by  a  higher  law,  the 
property  will,  year  after  year,  write  every  statute  that  re- 
spects property.  The  non-proprietor  will  be  the  scribe  of 
the  proprietor.  What  the  owners  wish  to  do,  the  whole 
power  of  property  will  do,  either  through  the  law,  or  else  in 
defiance  of  it.  Of  course,  I  speak  of  all  the  property,  not 
merely  of  the  great  estates.  When  the  rich  are  outvoted,  as: 
frequently  happens,  it  is  the  joint  treasury  of  the  poor  which 
exceeds  their  accumulations.  Every  man  owns  something, 
if  it  is  only  a  cow,  or  a  wheelbarrow,  or  his  arms,  and  so  has 
that  property  to  dispose  of. 

The  same  necessity  which  secures  the  rights  of  person  and 
property  against  the  malignity  or  folly  of  the  magistrate^ 
determines  the  form  and  methods  of  governing,  which  are 
proper  to  each  nation,  and  to  its  habit  of  thought,  and  no- 


202  POLITICS 

wise  transferable  to  other  states  of  society.  In  this  country, 
we  are  very  vain  of  our  political  institutions,  which  are 
singular  in  this,  that  they  sprung,  within  the  memory  of  liv- 
ing men,  from  the  character  and  condition  of  the  people,  which 
they  still  express  with  sufficient  fidelity,  —  and  we  osten- 
tatiously prefer  them  to  any  other  in  history.  They  are  not 
better,  but  only  fitter  for  us.  We  may  be  wise  in  asserting 
the  advantage  in  modern  times  of  the  democratic  form,  but 
to  other  states  of  society,  in  which  religion  consecrated  the 
monarchical,  that  and  not  this  was  expedient.  Democracy 
is  better  for  us,  because  the  religious  sentiment  of  the  present 
time  accords  better  with  it.  Born  democrats,  we  are  nowise 
qualified  to  judge  of  monarchy,  which,  to  our  fathers  living 
in  the  monarchical  idea,  was  also  relatively  right.  But  our 
institutions,  though  in  coincidence  with  the  spirit  of  the  age, 
have  not  any  exemption  from  the  practical  defects  which  have 
discredited  other  forms.  Every  actual  State  is  corrupt. 
Good  men  must  not  obey  the  laws  too  well.  What  satire  on 
government  can  equal  the  severity  of  censure  conveyed  in 
the  word  politic,  which  now  for  ages  has  signified  cunning, 
intimating  that  the  State  is  a  trick  ? 

The  same  benign  necessity  and  the  same  practical  abuse 
appear  in  the  parties  into  which  each  State  divides  itself,  of 
opponents  and  defenders  of  the  administration  of  the  govern- 
ment. Parties  are  also  founded  on  instincts,  and  have  better 
guides  to  their  own  humble  aims  than  the  sagacity  of  their 
leaders.  They  have  nothing  perverse  in  their  origin,  but 
rudely  mark  some  real  and  lasting  relation.'  We  might  as 
wisely  reprove  the  east-wind,  or  the  frost,  as  a  political  party, 
whose  members,  for  the  most  part,  could  give  no  account  of 
their  position,  but  stand  for  the  defence  of  those  interests  in 
which  they  find  themselves.  Our  quarrel  with  them  begins, 
when  they  quit  this  deep  natural  ground  at  the  bidding  of 
some  leader,  and,  obeying  personal  considerations,  throw 
themselves  into  the  maintenance  and  defence  of  points, 
nowise  belonging  to  their  system.  A  party  is  perpetually 
corrupted  by  personality.  Whilst  we  absolve  the  associa- 
tion from  dishonesty,  we  cannot  extend  the  same  charity  to 
their  leaders.  They  reap  the  rewards  of  the  docility  and 
zeal  of  the  masses  which  they  direct.  Ordinarily,  our  parties 
are  parties  of  circumstance,  and  not  of  principle ;  as,  the 
planting  interest  in  conflict  with  the  commercial ;  the  party 


POLITICS  203 

of  capitalists,  and  that  of  operatives ;  parties  which  are  iden- 
tical in  their  moral  character,  and  which  can  easily  change 
ground  with  each  other,  in  the  support  of  many  of  their 
measures.  Parties  of  principle,  as,  religious  sects,  or  the 
party  of  free-trade,  of  universal  suffrage,  of  abolition  of 
slavery,  of  abolition  of  capital  punishment,  degenerate  into 
personalities,  or  would  inspire  enthusiasm.  The  vice  of  our 
leading  parties  in  this  country  (which  may  be  cited  as  a  fair 
specimen  of  these  societies  of  opinion)  is,  that  they  do  not 
plant  themselves  on  the  deep  and  necessary  grounds  to  which 
they  are  respectively  entitled,  but  lash  themselves  to  fury 
in  the  carrying  of  some  local  and  momentary  measure,  nowise 
useful  to  the  commonwealth.  Of  the  two  great  parties, 
which,  at  this  hour,  almost  share  the  nation  between  them, 
I  should  say,  that,  one  has  the  best  cause,  and  the  other  con- 
tains the  best  men.  The  philosopher,  the  poet,  or  the  re- 
ligious man  will,  of  course,  wish  to  cast  his  vote  with  the 
democrat,  for  free  trade,  for  wide  suffrage,  for  the  abolition 
of  legal  cruelties  in  the  penal  code,  and  for  facilitating  in  every 
manner  the  access  of  the  young  and  the  poor  to  the  sources 
of  wealth  and  power.  But  he  can  rarely  accept  the  persons 
whom  the  so-called  popular  party  propose  to  him  as  repre- 
sentatives of  these  liberalities.  They  have  not  at  heart  the 
ends  which  give  to  the  name  of  democracy  what  hope  and 
virtue  are  in  it.  The  spirit  of  our  American  radicalism  is 
destructive  and  aimless;  it  is  not  loving;  it  has  no  ulterior 
and  divine  ends;  but  is  destructive  only  out  of  hatred  and 
selfishness.  On  the  other  side,  the  conservative  party,  com- 
posed of  the  most  moderate,  able,  and  cultivated  part  of  the 
population,  is  timid,  and  merely  defensive  of  property.  It 
vindicates  no  right,  it  aspires  to  no  real  good,  it  brands  no 
crime,  it  proposes  no  generous  policy,  it  does  not  build  nor 
write,  nor  cherish  the  arts,  nor  foster  religion,  nor  establish 
schools,  nor  encourage  science,  nor  emancipate  the  slave,  nor 
befriend  the  poor,  or  the  Indian,  or  the  immigrant.  From 
neither  party,  when  in  power,  has  the  world  any  benefit  to 
expect  in  science,  art,  or  humanity,  at  all  commensurate  with 
the  resources  of  the  nation. 

I  do  not  for  these  defects  despair  of  our  republic.  We  are 
not  at  the  mercy  of  any  waves  of  chance.  In  the  strife  of 
ferocious  parties,  human  nature  always  finds  itself  cherished, 
as  the  children  of  the  convicts  at  Botany  Bay  are  found  to 


204  POLITICS 

have  as  healthy  a  moral  sentiment  as  other  children.  Citi- 
zens of  feudal  states  are  alarmed  at  our  democratic  institu- 
tions lapsing  into  anarchy ;  and  the  older  and  more  cautious 
among  ourselves  are  learning  from  Europeans  to  look  with 
some  terror  at  our  turbulent  freedom.  It  is  said  that  in  our 
license  of  construing  the  Constitution,  and  in  the  despotism 
of  public  opinion,  we  have  no  anchor;  and  one  foreign  ob- 
server thinks  he  has  found  the  safeguard  in  the  sanctity  of 
Marriage  among  us;  and  another  thinks  he  has  found  it  in 
our  Calvinism.  Fisher  Ames  expressed  the  popular  security 
more  wisely,  when  he  compared  a  monarchy  and  a  republic, 
saying,  ^Hhat  a  monarchy  is  a  merchantman,  which  sails  well, 
but  will  sometimes  strike  on  a  rock,  and  go  to  the  bottom ; 
whilst  a  republic  is  a  raft,  which  would  never  sink,  but  then 
your  feet  are  always  in  water.''  No  forms  can  have  any 
dangerous  importance,  whilst  we  are  befriended  by  the  laws 
of  things.  It  makes  no  difference  how  many  tons'  weight  of 
atmosphere  presses  on  our  heads,  so  long  as  the  same  pressure 
resists  it  within  the  lungs.  Augment  the  mass  a  thousand- 
fold, it  cannot  begin  to  crush  us,  as  long  as  reaction  is  equal 
to  action.  The  fact  of  two  poles,  of  two  forces,  centripetal 
and  centrifugal,  is  universal,  and  each  force  by  its  own  ac- 
tivity develops  the  other.  Wild  liberty  develops  iron  con- 
science. Want  of  liberty,  by  strengthening  law  and  decorum, 
stupefies  conscience.  ^Lynch-law'  prevails  only  where  there 
is  greater  hardihood  and  self-subsistency  in  the  leaders.  A 
mob  cannot  be  a  permanency;  everybody's  interest  requires 
that  it  should  not  exist,  and  only  justice  satisfies  all. 

We  must  trust  infinitely  to  the  beneficent  necessity  which 
shines  through  all  laws.  Human  nature  expresses  itself  in 
them  as  characteristically  as  in  statues,  or  songs,  or  railroads, 
and  an  abstract  of  the  codes  of  nations  would  be  a  transcript 
of  the  common  conscience.  Governments  have  their  origin 
in  the  moral  identity  of  men.  Reason  for  one  is  seen  to  be 
reason  for  another,  and  for  every  other.  There  is  a  middle 
measure  which  satisfies  all  parties,  be  they  never  so  many,  or 
so  resolute  for  their  own.  Every  man  finds  a  sanction  for 
his  simplest  claims  and  deeds  in  decisions  of  his  own  mind, 
which  he  calls  Truth  and  Holiness.  In  these  decisions  all 
the  citizens  find  a  perfect  agreement,  and  only  in  these ;  not 
in  what  is  good  to  eat,  good  to  wear,  good  use  of  time,  or  what 
amount  of  land,  or  of  public  aid,  each  is  entitled  to  claim. 


POLITICS  205 

This  truth  and  justice  men  presently  endeavor  to  make  appli- 
cation of,  to  the  measuring  of  land,  the  apportionment  of 
service,  the  protection  of  life  and  property.  Their  first, 
endeavors,  no  doubt,  are  very  awkward.  Yet  absolute  right 
is  the  first  governor;  or,  every  government  is  an  impure 
theocracy.  The  idea,  after  which  each  community  is  aiming 
to  make  and  mend  its  law,  is  the  will  of  the  wise  man.  The 
wise  man  it  cannot  find  in  nature,  and  it  makes  awkw^ard  but- 
earnest  efforts  to  secure  his  government  by  contrivance ;  as, 
by  causing  the  entire  people  to  give  their  voices  on  every 
measure ;  or,  by  a  double  choice  to  get  the  representation  of 
the  whole ;  or,  by  a  selection  of  the  best  citizens ;  or,  to  secure 
the  advantages  of  efficiency  and  internal  peace,  by  confiding 
the  government  to  one,  who  may  himself  select  his  agents.. 
All  forms  of  government  symbolize  an  immortal  government^ 
common  to  all  dynasties  and  independent  of  numbers,  per- 
fect where  two  men  exist,  perfect  where  there  is  only  one  man. 
Every  man's  nature  is  a  sufficient  advertisement  to  him 
of  the  character  of  his  fellows.  My  right  and  my  wrong  is. 
their  right  and  their  wrong.  Whilst  I  do  what  is  fit  for  me, 
and  abstain  from  what  is  unfit,  my  neighbor  and  I  shall 
often  agree  in  our  means,  and  work  together  for  a  time  to 
one  end„  But  whenever  I  find  my  dominion  over  myself  not. 
sufficient  for  me,  and  undertake  the  direction  of  him  also,  I 
overstep  the  truth,  and  come  into  false  relations  to  him.  I 
may  have  so  much  more  skill  or  strength  than  he,  that  he 
cannot  express  adequately  his  sense  of  wrong,  but  it  is  a  lie, 
and  hurts  like  a  lie  both  him  and  me.  Love  and  nature 
cannot  maintain  the  assumption :  it  must  be  executed  by  a 
practical  lie,  namely,  by  force.  This  undertaking  for  another 
is  the  blunder  which  stands  in  colossal  ugliness  in  the  govern- 
ments of  the  world.  It  is  the  same  thing  in  numbers,  as  in  a 
pair,  only  not  quite  so  intelligible.  I  can  see  well  enough  a. 
great  difference  between  my  setting  myseK  down  to  a  self- 
control,  and  my  going  to  make  somebody  else  act  after  my 
views :  but  when  a  quarter  of  the  human  race  assume  to  tell 
me  what  I  must  do,  I  may  be  too  much  disturbed  by  the  cir- 
cumstances to  see  so  clearly  the  absurdity  of  their  command. 
Therefore,  all  public  ends  look  vague  and  quixotic  beside 
private  ones.  For,  any  laws  but  those  which  men  make  for 
themselves  are  laughable.  If  I  put  myself  in  the  place  of  my 
child,  and  we  stand  in  one  thought,  and  see  that  things  are- 


206  POLITICS 

thus  or  thus,  that  perception  is  law  for  him  and  me.  We  are 
both  there,  both  act.  But  if,  without  carrying  him  into  the 
thought,  I  look  over  into  his  plot,  and,  guessing  how  it  is 
with  him,  ordain  this  or  that,  he  will  never  obey  me.  This 
is  the  history  of  governments,  —  one  man  does  something 
which  is  to  bind  another.  A  man  who  cannot  be  acquainted 
with  me  taxes  me ;  looking  from  afar  at  me,  ordains  that  a 
part  of  my  labor  shall  go  to  this  or  that  whimsical  end,  not  as 
I,  but  as  he,  happens  to  fancy.  Behold  the  consequence. 
Of  all  debts,  men  are  least  willing  to  pay  the  taxes.  What 
a  satire  is  this  on  government !  Everywhere  they  think  they 
get  their  money's  worth,  except  for  these. 

Hence,  the  less  government  we  have  the  better,  —  the 
fewer  laws,  and  the  less  confided  power.  The  antidote  to 
this  abuse  of  formal  government  is,  the  influence  of  private 
character,  the  growth  of  the  Individual;  the  appearance  of 
the  principal  to  supersede  the  proxy ;  the  appearance  of  the 
wise  man,  of  whom  the  existing  government  is,  it  must  be 
owned,  but  a  shabby  imitation.  That  which  all  things  tend 
to  educe,  which  freedom,  cultivation,  intercourse,  revolu- 
tions, go  to  form  and  dehver,  is  character ;  that  is  the  end  of 
nature,  to  reach  unto  this  coronation  of  her  king.  To  edu- 
cate the  wise  man,  the  State  exists ;  and  with  the  appearance 
of  the  wise  man,  the  State  expires.  The  appearance  of 
character  makes  the  State  unnecessary.  The  wise  man  is 
the  State.  He  needs  no  army,  fort,  or  nav}^,  —  he  loves  men 
too  well ;  no  bribe,  or  feast,  or  palace,  to  draw  friends  to  him ; 
no  vantage-ground,  no  favorable  circumstance.  He  needs  no 
library,  for  he  has  not  done  thinking ;  no  church,  for  he  is  a 
prophet ;  no  statute-book,  for  he  has  the  lawgiver ;  no  money, 
for  he  is  value ;  no  road,  for  he  is  at  home  where  he  is ;  no 
experience,  for  the  life  of  the  creator  shoots  through  him,  and 
looks  from  his  eyes.  He  has  no  personal  friends,  for  he  who 
has  the  spell  to  draw  the  prayer  and  piety  of  all  men  unto  him, 
needs  not  husband  and  educate  a  few,  to  share  with  him  a 
select  and  poetic  life.  His  relation  to  men  is  angelic  ;  his  mem- 
ory is  myrrh  to  them  ;  his  presence,  frankincense  and  flowers. 

We  think  our  civilization  near  its  meridian,  but  we  are  yet 
only  at  the  cock-crowing  and  the  morning  star.  In  our 
barbarous  society  the  influence  of  character  is  in  its  infancy. 
As  a  political  power,  as  the  rightful  lord  who  is  to  tumble  all 
rulers  from  their  chairs,  its  presence  is  hardly  yet  suspected. 


POLITICS  207 

Malthus  and  Ricardo  quite  omit  it ;  the  Annual  Register  is 
silent ;  in  the  Conversations^  Lexicon,  it  is  not  set  down ;  the 
President's  Message,  the  Queen's  Speech,  have  not  men- 
tioned  it ;  and  yet  it  is  never  nothing.  Every  thought  which 
genius  and  piety  throw  into  the  world,  alters  the  world.  The 
gladiators  in  the  lists  of  power  feel,  through  all  their  frocks  of 
force  and  simulation,  the  presence  of  worth.  I  think  the  very 
strife  of  trade  and  ambition  is  confession  of  this  divinity; 
and  successes  in  those  fields  are  the  poor  amends,  the  fig- 
leaf  with  which  the  shamed  soul  attempts  to  hide  its  naked- 
ness. I  find  the  like  unwilling  homage  in  all  quarters.  It  is 
because  we  know  how  much  is  due  from  us,  that  we  are 
impatient  to  show  some  petty  talent  as  a  substitute  for 
worth.  We  are  haunted  by  a  conscience  of  this  right  to 
grandeur  of  character,  and  are  false  to  it.  But  each  of  us 
has  some  talent,  can  do  somewhat  useful,  or  graceful,  or 
formidable,  or  amusing,  or  lucrative.  That  we  do,  as  an 
apology  to  others  and  to  ourselves,  for  not  reaching  the 
mark  of  a  good  and  equal  life.  But  it  does  not  satisfy  us^ 
whilst  we  thrust  it  on  the  notice  of  our  companions.  It  may 
throw  dust  in  their  eyes,  but  does  not  smooth  our  own  brow^ 
or  give  us  the  tranquillity  of  the  strong  when  we  walk  abroad. 
We  do  penance  as  we  go.  Our  talent  is  a  sort  of  expiation^ 
and  we  are  constrained  to  reflect  on  our  splendid  moment, 
with  a  certain  humiliation,  as  somewhat  too  fine,  and  not  as 
one  act  of  many  acts,  a  fair  expression  of  our  permanent 
energy.  Most  persons  of  ability  meet  in  society  with  a  kind 
of  tacit  appeal.  Each  seems  to  say,  'I  am  not  all  here.* 
Senators  and  presidents  have  climbed  so  high  with  pain 
'  enough,  not  because  they  think  the  place  specially  agreeable, 
but  as  an  apology  for  real  worth,  and  to  vindicate  their  man- 
hood in  our  eyes.  This  conspicuous  chair  is  their  compen- 
sation to  themselves  for  being  of  a  poor,  cold,  hard  nature. 
They  must  do  what  they  can.  Like  one  class  of  forest 
animals,  they  have  nothing  but  a  prehensile  tail :  climb  they 
must,  or  crawl.  If  a  man  found  himself  so  rich-natured  that 
he  could  enter  into  strict  relations  with  the  best  persons,  and 
make  life  serene  around  him  by  the  dignity  and  sweetness  of 
his  behavior,  could  he  afford  to  circumvent  the  favor  of  the 
caucus  and  the  press,  and  covet  relations  so  hollow  and 
pompous,  as  those  of  a  politician?  Surely  nobody  would 
be  a  charlatan,  who  could  afford  to  be  sincere. 


208  POLITICS 

The  tendencies  of  the  times  favor  the  idea  of  self-govern- 
ment, and  leave  the  individual,  for  all  code,  to  the  rewards 
and  penalties  of  liis  own  constitution,  which  work  with  more 
energy  than  we  believe,  whilst  we  depend  on  artificial  re- 
straints. The  movement  in  this  direction  has  been  very 
marked  in  modern  history.  Much  has  been  blind  and  dis- 
creditable, but  the  nature  of  the  revolution  is  not  affected 
by  the  vices  of  the  revolters ;  for  this  is  a  purely  moral  force. 
It  was  never  adopted  by  any  party  in  history,  neither  can  be. 
It  separates  the  individual  from  all  party,  and  unites  him, 
at  the  same  time,  to  the  race.  It  promises  a  recognition  of 
higher  rights  than  those  of  personal  freedom  or  the  security 
of  property.  A  man  has  a  right  to  be  employed,  to  be 
trusted,  to  be  loved,  to  be  revered.  The  power  of  love,  as 
the  basis  of  a  State,  has  never  been  tried.  We  must  not 
imagine  that  all  things  are  lapsing  into  confusion,  if  every 
tender  protestant  be  not  compelled  to  bear  his  part  in  cert.ain 
social  conventions ;  nor  doubt  that  roads  can  be  built,  letters 
carried,  and  the  fruit  of  labor  secured,  when  the  government 
of  force  is  at  an  end.  Are  our  methods  now  so  excellent  that 
all  competition  is  hopeless?  could  not  a  nation  of  friends 
even  devise  better  ways  ?  On  the  other  hand,  let  not  the  most 
conservative  and  timid  fear  anything  from  a  premature  sur- 
render of  the  bayonet,  and  the  system  of  force.  For,  accord- 
ing to  the  order  of  nature,  which  is  quite  superior  to  our  will, 
it  stands  thus :  there  will  always  be  a  government  of  force, 
where  men  are  selfish;  and  when  they  are  pure  enough  to 
abjure  the  code  of  force,  they  will  be  wise  enough  to  see  how 
these  public  ends  of  the  post-office,  of  the  highway,  of  com- 
merce, and  the  exchange  of  property,  of  museums  and  libraries, 
of  institutions  of  art  and  science,  can  be  answered. 

We  live  in  a  very  low  state  of  the  world,  and  pay  unmlling 
tribute  to  governments  founded  on  force.  There  is  not, 
among  the  most  rehgious  and  instructed  men  of  the  most 
rehgious  and  civil  nations,  a  reliance  on  the  moral  sentiment, 
and  a  sufficient  belief  in  the  unit}^  of  things,  to  persuade  them 
that  society  can  be  maintained  without  artificial  restraints, 
as  well  as  the  solar  system ;  or  that  the  private  citizen  might 
be  reasonable,  and  a  good  neighbor,  without  the  hint  of  a 
jail  or  a  confiscation.  What  is  strange,  too,  there  never  was 
in  any  man  sufficient  faith  in  the  power  of  rectitude,  to  in- 
spire him  with  the  broad  design  of  renovating  the  State  on 


POLITICS  209 

the  principle  of  right  and  love.  All  those  who  have  pre- 
tended this  design  have  been  partial  reformers,  and  have 
admitted  in  some  manner  the  supremacy  of  the  bad  State. 
I  do  not  call  to  mind  a  single  human  being  who  has  steadily 
denied  the  authority  of  the  laws,  on  the  simple  ground  of 
his  own  moral  nature.  Such  designs,  full  of  genius  and  full 
of  faith  as  they  are,  are  not  entertained  except  avowedly  as 
air-pictures.  If  the  individual  who  exhibits  them  dare  to 
think  them  practicable,  he  disgusts  scholars  and  churchmen ; 
and  men  of  talent,  and  women  of  superior  sentiments,  can- 
not hide  their  contempt.  Not  the  less  does  nature  continue 
to  fill  the  heart  of  youth  with  suggestions  of  this  enthusiasm, 
and  there  are  now  men,  —  if  indeed  I  can  speak  in  the  plural 
number,  —  more  exactly,  I  will  say,  I  have  just  been  con- 
versing with  one  man,  to  whom  no  weight  of  adverse  experi- 
ence will  make  it  for  a  moment  appear  impossible,  that 
thousands  of  human  beings  might  exercise  towards  each  other 
the  grandest  and  truest  sentiments,  as  well  as  a  knot  of 
friends,  or  a  pair  of  lovers.    , 


NEW  ENGLAND  REFORMERS 

A  Lecture  read  before  the  Society  in  Amory  Hall,  on 
Sunday,  March  3,  1844. 

In  the  suburb,  in  the  town, 
On  the  railway,  in  the  square. 
Came  a  beam  of  goodness  down 
Doubhng  dayhght  everywhere : 
Peace  now  each  for  malice  takes, 
Beauty  for  his  sinful  weeds ; 
For  the  angel  Hope  aye  makes 
Him  an  angel  whom  she  leads. 

,  Whoever  has  had  opportunity  of  acquaintance  with  society 
in  New  England,  during  the  last  twenty-five  years,  with 
those  middle  and  with  those  leading  sections  that  may  con- 
stitute any  just  representation  of  the  character  and  aim  of 
the  community,  will  have  been  struck  with  the  great  activity 
of  thought  and  experimenting.  His  attention  must  be 
commanded  by  the  signs  that  the  Church,  or  religious  party, 
is  falling  from  the  church  nominal,  and  is  appearing  in 
temperance  and  non-resistance  societies,  in  movements  of 
abolitionists  and  of  socialists,  and  in  very  significant  assem- 
blies, called  Sabbath  and  Bible  Conventions,  —  composed 
of  ultraists,  of  seekers,  of  all  the  soul  of  the  soldiery  of  dissent, 
and  meeting  to  call  in  question  the  authority  of  the  Sabbath, 
of  the  priesthood,  and  of  the  church.  In  these  movements, 
nothing  was  more  remarkable  than  the  discontent  they  begot 
in  the  movers.  The  spirit  of  protest  and  of  detachment 
drove  the  members  of  these  Conventions  to  bear  testimony 
against  the  church,  and  immediately  afterward,  to  declare 
their  discontent  with  these  Conventions,  their  independence 
of  their  colleagues,  and  their  impatience  of  the  methods 
whereby  they  were  working.  They  defied  each  other,  like 
a  congress  of  kings,  each  of  whom  had  a  realm  to  rule,  and 

210 


NEW  ENGLAND  REFORMERS  211 

a  way  of  his  own  that  made  concert  unprofitable.  What 
a  fertility  of  projects  for  the  salvation  of  the  world!  One 
apostle  thought  all  men  should  go  to  farming;  and  another, 
that  no  man  should  buy  or  sell ;  that  the  use  of  money  was 
the  cardinal  evil ;  another,  that  the  mischief  was  in  our  diet, 
that  we  eat  and  drink  damnation.  These  made  unleavened 
bread,  and  were  foes  to  the  death  to  fermentation.  It  was 
in  vain  urged  by  the  housewife,  that  God  made  yeast,  as  well 
as  dough,  and  loves  fermentation  just  as  dearly  as  he  loves 
vegetation;  that  fermentation  develops  the  saccharine  ele- 
ment in  the  grain,  and  makes  it  more  palatable  and  more 
digestible.  No ;  they  wish  the  pure  wheat,  and  will  die  but 
it  shall  not  ferment.  Stop,  dear  nature,  these  incessant 
advances  of  thine :  let  us  scotch  these  ever-rolling  wheels ! 
Others  attacked  the  system  of  agriculture,  the  use  of  animal 
manures  in  farming;  and  the  tyranny  of  man  over  brute 
nature ;  these  abuses  polluted  his  food.  The  ox  must  be 
^  taken  from  the  plough,  and  the  horse  from  the  cart,  the  hun- 
dred acres  of  the  farm  must  be  spaded,  and  the  man  must 
walk  wherever  boats  and  locomotives  will  not  carry  him. 
Even  the  insect  world  was  to  be  defended,  —  that  had  been 
too  long  neglected,  and  a  society  for  the  protection  of  ground- 
worms,  slugs,  and  mosquitoes  was  to  be  incorporated  without 
delay.  With  these  appeared  the  adepts  of  homoeopathy,  of 
hydropathy,  of  mesmerism,  of  phrenology,  and  their  won- 
derful theories  of  the  Christian  miracles!  Others  assailed 
particular  vocations,  as  that  of  the  lawyer,  that  of  the  mer- 
chant, of  the  manufacturer,  of  the  clergyman,  of  the  scholar. 
Others  attacked  the  institution  of  marriage,  as  the  fountain 
of  social  evils.  Others  devoted  themselves  to  the  worrying 
of  churches  and  meetings  for  public  worship ;  and  the  fertile 
forms  of  antinomianism  among  the  elder  puritans  seemed 
to  have  their  match  in  the  plenty  of  the  new  harvest  of  reform. 
With  this  din  of  opinion  and  debate,  there  was  a  keener 
scrutiny  of  institutions  and  domestic  life  than  any  we  had 
known,  there  was  sincere  protesting  against  existing  evils, 
and  there  were  changes  of  emplojnnent  dictated  by  conscience. 
No  doubt,  there  was  plentiful  vaporing,  and  cases  of  back- 
sliding might  occur.  But  in  each  of  these  movements 
emerged  a  good  result,  a  tendency  to  the  adoption  of  simpler 
methods,  and  an  assertion  of  the  sufficiency  of  the  private 
man.    Thus  it  was  directly  in  the  spirit  and  genius  of  the 


212  NEW  ENGLAND  REFORMERS 

age,  what  happened  in  one  instance,  when  a  church  censured 
and  threatened  to  excommunicate  one  of  its  members,  on 
account  of  the  somewhat  hostile  part  to  the  church,  which  his 
conscience  led  him  to  take  in  the  antislavery  business ;  the 
threatened  individual  immediately  excommunicated  the 
church  in  a  public  and  formal  process.  This  has  been  several 
times  repeated :  it  was  excellent  when  it  was  done  the  first 
time,  but,  of  course,  loses  all  value  when  it  is  copied.  Every 
project  in  the  history  of  reform,  no  matter  how  violent  and 
surprising,  is  good,  when  it  is  the  dictate  of  a  man's  genius 
and  constitution,  but  very  dull  and  suspicious  when  adopted 
from  another.  It  is  right  and  beautiful  in  any  man  to  say, 
*  I  will  take  this  coat,  or  this  book,  or  this  measure  of  corn  of 
yours,'  —  in  whom  we  see  the  act  to  be  original,  and  to  flow 
from  the  whole  spirit  and  faith  of  him ;  for  then  that  taking 
will  have  a  giving  as  free  and  divine  :  but  we  are  very  easily 
disposed  to  resist  the  same  generosity  of  speech,  when  we 
miss  originality  and  truth  to  character  in  it. 

There  was  in  all  the  practical  acti\dties  of  New  England, 
for  the  last  quarter  of  a  century,  a  gradual  withdrawal  of 
tender  consciences  from  the  social  organizations.  There 
is  observable  throughout,  the  contest  between  mechanical 
and  spiritual  methods,  but  with  a  steady  tendency  of  the 
thoughtful  and  virtuous  to  a  deeper  belief  and  reliance  on 
spiritual  facts. 

In  politics  for  example,  it  is  easy  to  see  the  progress  of 
dissent.  The  country  is  full  of  rebellion;  the  country  is 
full  of  kings.  Hands  off!  let  there  be  no  control  and  no 
interference  in  the  administration  of  the  affairs  of  this  king- 
dom of  me.  Hence  the  growth  of  the  doctrine  and  of  the 
party  of  Free  Trade,  and  the  willingness  to  try  that  experi- 
ment, in  the  face  of  what  appear  incontestable  facts.  I 
confess,  the  motto  of  the  Globe  newspaper  is  so  attractive 
to  me,  that  I  can  seldom  find  much  appetite  to  read  what 
is  below  it  in  its  columns,  ^^The  world  is  governed  too  much.'' 
So  the  country  is  frequently  affording  solitary  examples  of 
resistance  to  the  government,  solitary  nullifiers,  who  throw 
themselves  on  their  reserved  rights ;  nay,  who  have  reserved 
all  their  rights;  who  reply  to  the  assessor,  and  to  the  clerk 
of  court,  that  they  do  not  know  the  State,  and  embarrass 
the  courts  of  law,  by  non-juring,  and  the  commander-in- 
chief  of  the  militia,  by  non-resistance. 


NEW  ENGLAND  REFORMERS  213 

The  same  disposition  to  scrutiny  and  dissent  appeared  in 
civil,  festive,  neighborly,  and  domestic  society.  A  restless, 
prying,  conscientious  criticism  broke  out  in  unexpected 
quarters.  Who  gave  me  the  money  with  which  I  bought 
my  coat?  Why  should  professional  labor  and  that  of  the 
counting-house  be  paid  so  disproportionately  to  the  labor 
of  the  porter  and  woodsawyer?  This  whole  business  of 
Trade  gives  me  to  pause  and  think,  as  it  constitutes  false 
relations  between  men;  inasmuch  as  I  am  prone  to  count  ' 
myself  relieved  of  any  responsibility  to  behave  well  and  nobly  '. 
to  that  person  whom  I  pay  with  money,  whereas  if  I  had  not 
that  commodity,  I  should  be  put  on  my  good  behavior  in 
all  companies,  and  man  would  be  a  benefactor  to  man,  as 
being  himself  his  only  certificate  that  he  had  a  right  to  those 
aids  and  services  which  each  asked  of  the  other.  Am  I  not 
too  protected  a  person  ?  is  there  not  a  wide  disparity  between 
the  lot  of  me  and  the  lot  of  thee,  my  poor  brother,  my  poor 
sister?  Am  I  not  defrauded  of  my  best  culture  in  the  loss 
of  those  gymnastics  which  manual  labor  and  the  emergencies 
of  poverty  constitute;  I  find  nothing  healthful  or  exalting 
in  the  smooth  conventions  of  society ;  I  do  not  like  the  close 
air  of  saloons.  I  begin  to  suspect  myself  to  be  a  prisoner^ 
though  treated  with  all  this  courtesy  and  luxury.  I  pay 
a  destructive  tax  in  my  conformity. 

The  same  insatiable  criticism  may  be  traced  in  the  efforts 
for  the  reform  of  Education.  The  popular  education  has 
been  taxed  with  a  want  of  truth  and  nature.  It  was  com- 
plained that  an  education  to  things  was  not  given.  We  are 
students  of  words :  we  are  shut  up  in  schools,  and  colleges, 
and  recitation-rooms,  for  ten  or  fifteen  years,  and  come  out 
at  last  with  a  bag  of  wind,  a  memory  of  words,  and  do  not 
know  a  thing.  We  cannot  use  our  hands,  or  our  legs,  or  our 
eyes,  or  our  arms.  We  do  not  know  an  edible  root  in  the 
woods,  we  cannot  tell  our  course  by  the  stars,  nor  the  hour 
of  the  day  by  the  sun.  It  is  well  if  we  can  swim  and  skate. 
We  are  afraid  of  a  horse,  of  a  cow,  of  a  dog,  of  a  snake,  of 
a  spider.  The  Roman  rule  was  to  teach  a  boy  nothing  that 
he  could  not  learn  standing.  The  old  English  rule  was, 
'All  summer  in  the  field,  and  all  winter  in  the  study.'  And 
it  seems  as  if  a  man  should  learn  to  plant,  or  to  fish,  or  to 
hunt,  that  he  might  secure  his  subsistence  at  all  events,  and 
not  be  painful  to  his  friends  and  fellow-men.    The  lessons  of 


214  NEW  ENGLAND  REFORMERS 

science  should  be  experimental  also.  The  sight  of  the  planet 
through  a  telescope  is  worth  all  the  course  on  astronomy; 
the  shock  of  the  electric  spark  in  the  elbow  outvalues  all  the 
theories;  the  taste  of  the  nitrous  oxide,  the  firing  of  an 
artificial  volcano,  are  better  than  volumes  of  chemistry. 

One  of  the  traits  of  the  new  spirit  is  the  inquisition  it  fixed 
on  our  scholastic  devotion  to  the  dead  languages.  The 
ancient  languages,  with  great  beauty  of  structure,  contain 
w^onderful  remains  of  genius,  which  draw,  and  always  will 
draw,  certain  like  minded  men,  —  Greek  men,  and  Roman 
men,  in  all  countries,  to  their  study;  but  by  a  wonderful 
drowsiness  of  usage,  they  had  exacted  the  study  of  all  men. 
Once  (say  two  centuries  ago),  Latin  and  Greek  had  a  strict 
relation  to  all  the  science  and  culture  there  was  in  Europe, 
and  the  Mathematics  had  a  momentary  importance  at  some 
era  of  activity  in  ph^^sical  science.  These  things  become 
stereotyped  as  education,  as  the  manner  of  men  is.  But  the 
Good  Spirit  never  cared  for  the  colleges,  and  though  all  men 
and  boys  were  now  drilled  in  Latin,  Greek,  and  Mathematics, 
it  had  quite  left  these  shells  high  and  dry  on  the  beach,  and 
w^as  now  creating  and  feeding  other  matters  at  other  ends 
of  the  world.  But  in  a  hundred  high  schools  and  colleges,  this 
warfare  against  common-sense  still  goes  on.  Four,  or  six,  or 
ten  years,  the  pupil  is  parsing  Greek  and  Latin,  and  as  soon 
as  he  leaves  the  University,  as  it  is  ludicrously  styled,  he 
shuts  those  books  for  the  last  time.  Some  thousands  of 
young  men  are  graduated  at  our  colleges  in  this  country 
^  every  year,  and  the  persons  who,  at  forty  years,  still  read 
Greek,  can  all  be  counted  on  your  hand.  I  never  met  with 
ten.     Four  or  five  persons  I  have  seen  who  read  Plato. 

But  is  not  this  absurd,  that  the  whole  Hberal  talent  of 
this  country  should  be  directed  in  its  best  years  on  studies 
which  lead  to  nothing?  What  was  the  consequence?  Some 
intelligent  persons  said  or  thought :  ^  Is  that  Greek  and 
Latin  some  spell  to  conjure  with,  and  not  words  of  reason? 
If  the  physician,  the  lawyer,  the  divine,  never  use  it  to  come 
at  their  ends,  I  need  never  learn  it  to  come  at  mine.  Conjur- 
ing is  gone  out  of  fashion,  and  I  will  omit  this  conjugating, 
and  go  straight  to  affairs.'  So  they  jumped  the  Greek  and 
Latin,  and  read  law,  medicine,  or  sermons,  without  it.  To 
the  astonishment  of  all,  the  self-made  men  took  even  ground 
at  once  with  the  oldest  of  the  regular  graduates,  and  in  a  few 


NEW  ENGLAND  REFORMERS  215 

months  the  most  conservative  circles  of  Boston  and  New 
York  had  quite  forgotten  who  of  their  gownsmen  was  college- 
bred,  and  who  was  not. 

One  tendency  appears  alike  in  the  philosophical  speculation, 
and  in  the  rudest  democratical  movements,  through  all  the 
petulance  and  all  the  puerility,  the  wish,  namely,  to  cast 
aside  the  superfluous,  and  arrive  at  short  methods,  urged, 
as  I  suppose,  by  an  intuition  that  the  human  spirit  is  equal 
to  all  emergencies  alone,  and  that  man  is  more  often  injured 
than  helped  by  the  means  he  uses. 

I  conceive  this  gradual  casting  off  of  material  aids,  and 
the  indication  of  growing  trust  in  the  private,  seK-supplied 
powers  of  the  individual,  to  be  the  affirmative  principle  of 
the  recent  philosophy ;  and  that  it  is  feehng  its  own  profound 
truth,  and  is  reaching  forward  at  this  very  hour  to  the  happiest 
conclusions.  I  readily  concede  that  in  this,  as  in  every 
period  of  intellectual  activity,  there  has  been  a  noise  of  denial 
and  protest ;  much  was  to  be  resisted,  much  was  to  be  got 
rid  of  b}^  those  who  were  reared  in  the  old,  before  they  could 
begin  to  affirm  and  to  construct.  Many  a  reformer  perishes 
in  his  removal  of  rubbish,  —  and  that  makes  the  offensiveness 
of  the  class.  They  are  partial;  they  are  not  equal  to  the 
work  they  pretend.  They  lose  their  way ;  in  the  assault  on 
the  kingdom  of  darkness,  they  expend  all  their  energy  on 
some  accidental  evil,  and  lose  their  sanity  and  power  of 
benefit.  It  is  of  httle  moment  that  one  or  two,  or  twenty 
errors  of  our  social  system  be  corrected,  but  of  much  that 
the  man  be  in  his  senses. 

The  criticism  and  attack  on  institutions  which  we  have 
witnessed  has  made  one  thing  plain,  that  society  gains, 
nothing  whilst  a  man,  not  himseff  renovated,  attempts  tO' 
renovate  things  around  him :  he  has  become  tediously  good 
in  some  particular,  but  negligent  or  narrow  in  the  rest ;  and 
hypocrisy  and  vanity  are  often  the  disgusting  result. 

It  is  handsomer  to  remain  in  the  establishment  better  than 
the  estabUshment,  and  conduct  that  in  the  best  manner,  than 
to  make  a  sally  against  evil  by  some  single  improvement, 
without  supporting  it  by  a  total  regeneration.  Do  not  be 
so  vain  of  your  one  objection.  Do  you  think  there  is  only 
one  ?  Alas !  my  good  friend,  there  is  no  part  of  society  or  of 
life  better  than  any  other  part.  All  our  things  are  right  and 
wrong  together.     The  wave  of  evil  washes  all  our  institutions 


216  NEW  ENGLAND  REFORMERS 

alike.  Do  you  complain  of  our  Marriage?  Our  marriage 
is  no  worse  than  our  education,  our  diet,  our  trade,  our  social 
customs.  Do  you  complain  of  the  laws  of  Property?  It 
is  a  pedantry  to  give  such  importance  to  them.  Can  we  not 
play  the  game  of  life  with  these  counters  as  well  as  with 
those ;  in  the  institution  of  property,  as  well  as  out  of  it? 
Let  into  it  the  new  and  renewing  principle  of  love,  and  prop- 
erty will  be  universality.  No  one  gives  the  impression  of 
superiority  to  the  institution,  which  he  must  give  who  will 
reform  it.  It  makes  no  difference  what  you  say ;  3^ou  must 
make  me  feel  that  you  are  aloof  from  it ;  by  your  natural 
and  supernatural  advantages,  do  easily  see  to  the  end  of  it, 
—  do  see  how  man  can  do  without  it.  Now  all  men  are  on 
one  side.  No  man  deserves  to  be  heard  against  property. 
Only  Love,  only  an  idea,  is  against  property,  as  we  hold  it. 

I  cannot  afford  to  be  irritable  and  captious,  nor  to  waste 
all  my  time  in  attacks.  If  I  should  go  out  of  church  whenever 
I  hear  a  false  sentiment,  I  could  never  stay  there  five  minutes. 
But  why  come  out?  the  street  is  as  false  as  the  church,  and 
when  I  get  to  my  house,  or  to  my  manners,  or  to  my  speech, 
I  have  not  got  away  from  the  lie.  When  we  see  an  eager 
assailant  of  one  of  these  wrongs,  a  special  reformer,  we  feel 
like  asking  him.  What  right  have  you,  sir,  to  your  one  virtue  ? 
Is  virtue  piecemeal?  This  is  a  jewel  amidst  the  rags  of 
a  beggar. 

In  another  way  the  right  will  be  vindicated.  In  the  midst 
of  abuses,  in  the  heart  of  cities,  in  the  aisles  of  false  churches, 
alike  in  one  place  and  in  another,  —  wherever,  namely,  a  just 
and  heroic  soul  finds  itseff,  there  it  will  do  what  is  next  at 
hand,  and  by  the  new  quality  of  character  it  shall  put  forth, 
it  shall  abrogate  that  old  condition,  law,  or  school  in  which 
it  stands,  before  the  law  of  its  own  mind. 

If  partiality  was  one  fault  of  the  movement  party,  the 
other  defect  was  their  reliance  on  Association.  Doubts  such 
as  those  I  have  intimated  drove  many  good  persons  to  agitate 
the  questions  of  social  reform.  But  the  revolt  against  the 
spirit  of  commerce,  the  spirit  of  aristocracy,  and  the  inveterate 
abuses  of  cities,  did  not  appear  possible  to  individuals ;  and 
to  do  battle  against  numbers,  they  armed  themselves  with 
numbers,  and  against  concert,  they  relied  on  new  concert. 

Following,  or  advancing  beyond  the  ideas  of  St.  Simon, 
of  Fourier,  and  of  Owen,  three  communities  have  already 


NEW  ENGLAND   REFORMERS  217 

been  formed  in  Massachusetts  on  kindred  plans,  and  many 
more  in  the  country  at  large.  They  aim  to  give  every  member 
a  share  in  the  manual  labor,  to  give  an  equal  reward  to  labor 
and  to  talent,  and  to  unite  a  liberal  culture  with  an  education 
to  labor.  The  scheme  offers,  by  the  economies  of  associated 
labor  and  expense,  to  make  every  member  rich,  on  the  same 
amount  of  property,  that,  in  separate  families,  would  leave 
every  member  poor.  These  new  associations  are  composed 
of  men  and  women  of  superior  talents  and  sentiments ;  yet 
it  may  easily  be  questioned,  whether  such  a  community  will 
draw,  except  in  its  beginnings,  the  able  and  the  good  ; 
whether  those  who  have  energy  will  not  prefer  their  chance 
of  superiority  and  power  in  the  world,  to  the  humble  certain- 
ties of  the  association;  whether  such  a  retreat  does  not 
promise  to  become  an  asylum  to  those  who  have  tried  and 
failed,  rather  than  a  field  to  the  strong ;  and  whether  the  mem- 
bers will  not  necessarily  be  fractions  of  men,  because  each 
finds  that  he  cannot  enter  it,  without  some  compromise. 
Friendship  and  association  are  very  fine  things,  and  a  grand 
phalanx  of  the  best  of  the  human  race,  banded  for  some 
catholic  object :  yes,  excellent ;  but  remember  that  no 
society  can  ever  be  so  large  as  one  man.  He  in  his  friendship, 
in  his  natural  and  momentary  associations,  doubles  or 
multiplies  himself;  but  in  the  hour  in  which  he  mortgages 
himseK  to  two  or  ten  or  twenty,  he  dwarfs  himself  below  the 
stature  of  one. 

But  the  men  of  less  faith  could  not  thus  believe,  and  to  such, 
concert  appears  the  sole  specific  of  strength.  I  have  failed, 
and  you  have  failed,  but  perhaps  together  we  shall  not  fail. 
Our  housekeeping  is  not  satisfactory  to  us,  but  perhaps  a 
phalanx,  a  community,  might  be.  Many  of  us  have  differed 
in  opinion,  and  we  could  find  no  man  who  could  make  the 
truth  plain,  but  possibly  a  college  or  an  ecclesiastical  council 
might.  I  have  not  been  able  either  to  persuade  my  brother 
or  to  prevail  on  myself,  to  disuse  the  traffic  or  the  potation 
of  brandy,  but  perhaps  a  pledge  of  total  abstinence  might 
effectually  restrain  us.  The  candidate  my  party  votes  for 
is  not  to  be  trusted  with  a  dollar,  but  he  will  be  honest  in  the 
Senate,  for  we  can  bring  public  opinion  to  bear  on  him. 
Thus  concert  was  the  specific  in  all  cases.  But  concert 
is  neither  better  nor  worse,  neither  more  nor  less  potent, 
than  individual  force.     All  the  men  in  the  world  cannot  make 


218  NEW  ENGLAND  REFORMERS 

a  statue  walk  and  speak,  cannot  make  a  drop  of  blood,  or 
a  blade  of  grass,  any  more  than  one  man  can.  But  let  there 
be  one  man,  let  there  be  truth  in  two  men,  in  ten  men,  then 
is  concert  for  the  first  time  possible,  because  the  force  which 
moves  the  world  is  a  new  quahty,  and  can  never  be  furnished 
by  adding  whatever  quantities  of  a  different  kind.  What  is 
the  use  of  the  concert  of  the  false  and  the  disunited  ?  There 
can  be  no  concert  in  two,  where  there  is  no  concert  in  one. 
When  the  individual  is  not  individual^  but  is  dual ;  when  his 
thoughts  look  one  way,  and  his  actions  another;  when  his 
faith  is  traversed  by  his  habits ;  when  his  will,  enhghtened 
by  reason,  is  warped  by  his  sense ;  when  with  one  hand  he 
rows,  and  with  the  other  backs  water,  what  concert  can  be? 

I  do  not  wonder  at  the  interest  these  projects  inspire. 
The  world  is  awaking  to  the  idea  of  union,  and  these  experi- 
ments show  what  it  is  thinking  of.  It  is  and  will  be  magic. 
Men  will  Hve  and  communicate,  and  plough,  and  reap,  and 
govern,  as  by  added  ethereal  power,  when  once  they  are 
united ;  as  in  a  celebrated  experiment,  by  expiration  and 
respiration  exactly  together,  four  persons  lift  a  heavy 
man  from  the  ground  by  the  little  finger  only,  and  without 
sense  of  weight.  But  this  union  must  be  inward,  and  not 
one  of  covenants,  and  is  to  be  reached  by  a  reverse  of  the 
methods  they  use.  The  union  is  only  perfect,  when  all  the 
uniters  are  isolated.  It  is  the  union  of  friends  who  live  in 
different  streets  or  towns.  Each  man,  if  he  attempts  to 
join  himself  to  others,  is  on  all  sides  cramped  and  diminished 
of  his  proportion ;  and  the  stricter  the  union,  the  smaller 
and  the  more  pitiful  he  is.  But  leave  him  alone,  to  recognize 
in  every  hour  and  place  the  secret  soul,  he  will  go  up  and 
down  doing  the  works  of  a  true  member,  and,  to  the  astonish- 
ment of  all,  the  work  will  be  done  with  concert,  though  no 
man  spoke.  Government  will  be  adamantine  without  any 
governor.     The  union  must  be  ideal  in  actual  individualism. 

I  pass  to  the  indication  in  some  particulars  of  that  faith 
in  man,  which  the  heart  is  preaching  to  us  in  these  days,  and 
which  engages  the  more  regard,  from  the  consideration,  that 
the  speculations  of  one  generation  are  the  history  of  the  next 
following. 

In  alluding  just  now  to  our  system  of  education,  I  spoke 
of  the  deadness  of  its  details.  But  it  is  open  to  graver 
criticism  than  the  palsy  of  its  members :    it  is  a  system  of 


NEW  ENGLAND  REFORMERS  219 

despair.  The  disease  with  which  the  human  mind  now 
labors  is  want  of  faith.  Men  do  not  believe  in  a  power  of 
education.  We  do  not  think  we  can  speak  to  divine  senti- 
ments in  man,  and  we  do  not  try.  We  renounce  all  high  aims. 
We  believe  that  the  defects  of  so  many  perverse  and  so  many 
frivolous  people,  who  make  up  society,  are  organic,  and 
society  is  a  hospital  of  incurables.  A  man  of  good  sense  but 
of  little  faith,  whose  compassion  seemed  to  lead  him  to 
church  as  often  as  he  went  there,  said  to  me,  'Hhat  he  liked 
to  have  concerts,  and  fairs,  and  churches,  and  other  public 
amusements  go  on.'^  I  am  afraid  the  remark  is  too  honesty 
and  comes  from  the  same  origin  as  the  maxim  of  the  tyrant^ 
*'If  you  would  rule  the  world  quietly,  you  must  keep  it 
amused.'^  I  notice  too,  that  the  ground  on  which*  eminent 
public  servants  urge  the  claims  of  popular  education  is  fear : 
'This  country  is  filling  up  with  thousands  and  millions  of 
voters,  and  you  must  educate  them  to  keep  them  from  our 
throats.'  We  do  not  believe  that  any  education,  any  system 
of  philosophy,  any  influence  of  genius,  will  ever  give  depth 
of  insight  to  a  superficial  mind.  Having  settled  ourselves 
into  this  infidelity,  our  skill  is  expended  to  procure  allevia- 
tions, diversion,  opiates.  We  adorn  the  victim  with  manual 
skill,  his  tongue  with  languages,  his  body  with  inoffensive 
and  comely  manners.  So  have  we  cunningly  hid  the  tragedy 
of  limitation  and  inner  death  we  cannot  avert.  Is  it  strange 
that  society  should  be  devoured  by  a  secret  melancholy^ 
which  breaks  through  all  its  smiles,  and  all  its  gayety  and 
gam.es  ? 

But  even  one  step  further  our  infidelity  has  gone.  It 
appears  that  some  doubt  is  felt  by  good  and  wise  men, 
whether  really  the  happiness  and  probity  of  men  are  in-  ' 
creased  by  the  culture  of  the  mind  in  those  discipHnes  to 
which  we  give  the  name  of  education.  Unhappily,  too,  the 
doubt  comes  from  scholars,  from  persons  who  have  tried 
these  methods.  In  their  experience,  the  scholar  was  not 
raised  by  the  sacred  thoughts  amongst  which  he  dwelt,  but 
used  them  to  selfish  ends.  He  was  a  profane  person,  and 
became  a  showman,  turning  his  gifts  to  a  marketable  use, 
and  not  to  his  own  sustenance  and  growth.  It  was  found 
that  the  intellect  could  be  independently  developed,  that 
is,  in  separation  from  the  man,  as  any  single  organ  can 
be  invigorated,   and  the  result  was  monstrous.     A  canine 


^20  NEW  ENGLAND   REFORMERS 


^ 


appetite  for  knowledge  was  generated,  which  must  still 
be  fed,  but  was  never  satisfied,  and  this  knowledge  not  being 
directed  on  action,  never  took  the  character  of  substantial, 
humane  truth,  blessing  those  whom  it  entered.  It  gave  the 
scholar  certain  powers  of  expression,  the  power  of  speech, 
the  power  of  poetr^^,  of  literary  art,  but  it  did  not  bring  him 
to  peace,  or  to  beneficence. 

When  the  literary  class  betray  a  destitution  of  faith,  it 
is  not  strange  that  society  should  be  disheartened  and  sensual- 
ized by  unbelief.  What  remedy?  Life  must  be  lived  on 
a  higher  plane.  We  must  go  up  to  a  higher  platform,  to 
which  we  are  always  invited  to  ascend ;  there,  the  whole 
aspect  of  things  changes.  I  resist  the  scepticism  of  our 
education,  and  of  our  educated  men.  I  do  not  believe  that 
the  differences  of  opinion  and  character  in  men  are  organic. 
I  do  not  recognize,  beside  the  class  of  the  good  and  the  wise, 
a  permanent  class  of  sceptics,  or  a  class  of  conservatives, 
or  of  malignants,  or  of  materialists.  I  do  not  believe  in 
two  classes.  You  remember  the  story  of  the  poor  woman 
who  importuned  King  Philip  of  Macedon  to  grant  her  justice, 
which  Philip  refused:  the  woman  exclaimed,  ^'I  appeal' ' : 
the  king,  astonished,  asked  to  whom  she  appealed  :  the  woman 
replied,  ^^From  Philip  drunk  to  Philip  sober.''  The  text  will 
suit  me  very  well.  I  believe  not  in  two  classes  of  men,  but 
in  man  in  two  moods,  in  Philip  drunk  and  Philip  sober.  I 
think,  according  to  the  good-hearted  word  of  Plato,  '' Unwill- 
ingly the  soul  is  deprived  of  truth."  Iron  conservative,  miser, 
or  thief,  no  man  is,  but  by  a  supposed  necessity,  which  he 
tolerates  by  shortness  or  torpidity  of  sight.  The  soul  lets 
no  man  go  without  some  visitations  and  holydays  of  a  diviner 
presence.  It  would  be  easy  to  show,  by  a  narrow  scanning 
of  any  man's  biography,  that  we  are  not  so  wedded  to  our 
paltry  performances  of  every  kind,  but  that  every  man  has 
at  intervals  the  grace  to  scorn  his  performances,  in  comparing 
them  with  his  belief  of  what  he  should  do,  that  he  puts  him- 
self on  the  side  of  his  enemies,  listening  gladly  to  what  they 
say  of  him,  and  accusing  himself  of  the  same  things. 

What  is  it  men  love  in  Genius,  but  its  infinite  hope,  which 
•degrades  all  it  has  done?  Genius  counts  all  its  miracles 
poor  and  short.  Its  own  idea  it  never  executed.  The  Iliad, 
the  Hamlet,  the  Doric  column,  the  Roman  arch,  the  Gothic 
minster,  the   German   anthem,  when  they  are  ended,  the 


NEW  ENGLAND  REFORMERS  221 

master  casts  behind  him.  How  sinks  the  song  in  the  waves 
of  melody  which  the  universe  pours  over  his  soul !  Before 
that  gracious  Infinite,  out  of  which  he  drew  these  few  strokes, 
how  mean  they  look,  though  the  praises  of  the  world  attend 
them.  From  the  triumphs  of  his  art,  he  turns  with  desire 
to  this  greater  defeat.  Let  those  admire  who  will.  With 
silent  joy  he  sees  himself  to  be  capable  of  a  beauty  that  eclipses 
all  which  his  hands  have  done,  all  which  human  hands  have 
ever  done. 

Well,  we  are  all  the  children  of  genius,  the  children  of 
virtue,  —  and  feel  their  inspirations  in  our  happier  hours. 
Is  not  every  man  sometimes  a  radical  in  politics?  Men  are 
conservatives  when  they  are  least  vigorous,  or  when  they  are 
most  luxurious.  They  are  conservatives  after  dinner,  or 
before  taking  their  rest ;  when  they  are  sick  or  aged  :  in  the 
morning,  or  when  their  intellect  or  their  conscience  has  been 
aroused,  when  they  hear  music,  or  when  they  read  poetry, 
they  are  radicals.  In  the  circle  of  the  rankest  tories  that 
could  be  collected  in  England,  Old  or  New,  let  a  powerful  and 
stimulating  intellect,  a  man  of  great  heart  and  mind,  act  on 
them,  and  very  quickly  these  frozen  conservators  will  yield 
to  the  friendly  influence,  these  hopeless  will  begin  to  hope, 
these  haters  will  begin  to  love,  these  immovable  statues  will 
begin  to  spin  and  revolve.  I  cannot  help  recalling  the  fine 
•  anecdote  which  Warton  relates  of  Bishop  Berkeley,  when 
he  was  preparing  to  leave  England,  with  his  plan  of  planting 
the  gospel  among  the  American  savages.  "Lord  Bathurst 
told  me  that  the  members  of  the  Scriblerus  club,  being  met 
at  his  house  at  dinner,  they  agreed  to  rally  Berkeley,  who 
was  also  his  guest,  on  his  scheme  at  Bermudas.  Berkeley, 
having  listened  to  the  many  lively  things  they  had  to  say, 
begged  to  be  heard  in  his  turn,  and  displayed  his  plan  with 
such  an  astonishing  and  animating  force  of  eloquence  and 
enthusiasm,  that  they  were  struck  dujnb,  and,  after  some 
pause,  rose  up  all  together  with  earnestness,  exclaiming, 
'  Let  us  set  out  with  him  immediately.'  '^  Men  in  all  ways  are 
better  than  they  seem.  They  like  flattery  for  the  moment, 
but  they  know  the  truth  for  their  own.  It  is  a  foolish  cow- 
ardice which  keeps  us  from  trusting  them,  and  speaking  to 
them  rude  truth.  They  resent  your  honesty  for  an  instant, 
they  will  thank  you  for  it  always.  What  is  it  we  heartily 
wish  of  each  other  ?     Is  it  to  be  pleased  and  flattered  ?     No, 


222  NEW  ENGLAND   REFORMERS 

but  to  be  convicted  and  exposed,  to  be  shamed  out  of  our 
nonsense  of  all  kinds,  and  made  men  of,  instead  of  ghosts 
and  phantoms.  We  are  weary  of  gliding  ghostlike  through 
the  world,  which  is  itself  so  slight  and  unreal.  We  crave 
a  sense  of  reality,  though  it  come  in  strokes  of  pain.  I 
explain  so,  —  by  this  manlike  love  of  truth,  —  those  excesses 
and  errors  into  which  souls  of  great  vigor,  but  not  equal 
insight,  often  fall.  They  feel  the  poverty  at  the  bottom  of 
all  the  seeming  affluence  of  the  world.  They  know  the  speed 
with  which  they  come  straight  through  the  thin  masquerade, 
and  conceive  a  disgust  at  the  indigence  of  nature  :  Rousseau, 
Mirabeau,  Charles  Fox,  Napoleon,  Byron,  —  and  I  could 
easily  add  names  nearer  home,  of  raging  riders,  who  drive 
their  steeds  so  hard,  in  the  violence  of  living  to  forget  its 
illusion :  they  would  know  the  worst,  and  tread  the  floors 
of  hell.  The  heroes  of  ancient  and  modern  fame,  Cimon, 
Themistocles,  Alcibiades,  Alexander,  Caesar,  have  treated  life 
and  fortune  as  a  game  to  be  well  and  skilfully  played,  but 
the  stake  not  to  be  so  valued  but  that  any  time  it  could  be 
held  as  a  trifle  Ught  as  air,  and  thrown  up.  Caesar,  just  before 
the  battle  of  Pharsaha,  discourses  with  the  Egyptian  priest, 
concerning  the  fountains  of  the  Nile,  and  offers  to  quit  the 
army,  the  empire,  and  Cleopatra,  if  he  will  show  him  those 
mysterious  sources. 

The  same  magnanimity  shows  itself  in  our  social  relations, 
in  the  preference,  namely,  which  each  man  gives  to  the 
society  of  superiors  over  that  of  his  equals.  All  that  a  man 
has,  will  he  give  for  right  relations  with  his  mates.  All 
that  he  has,  will  he  give  for  an  erect  demeanor  in  every 
company  and  on  each  occasion.  He  aims  at  such  things 
as  his  neighbors  prize,  and  gives  his  days  and  nights,  tus 
talents  and  his  heart,  to  strike  a  good  stroke,  to  acquit  him- 
self in  all  men's  sight  as  a  man.  The  consideration  of  an 
eminent  citizen,  of  a.  noted  merchant,  of  a  man  of  mark  in 
his  profession;  naval  and  mihtary  honor,  a  general's  com- 
mission, a  marshal's  baton,  a  ducal  coronet,  the  laurel  of 
poets,  and,  anyhow  procured,  the  acknowledgment  of  eminent 
merit,  have  this  lustre  for  each  candidate,  that  they  enable 
him  to  walk  erect  and  unashamed,  in  the  presence  of  some 
persons,  before  whom  he  felt  himself  inferior.  Having 
raised  himself  to  this  rank,  having  established  his  equality 
with  class  after  class,  of  those  with  whom  he  would  Hve  well. 


NEW  ENGLAND  REFORMERS  223 

he  still  finds  certain  others,  before  whom  he  cannot  possess 
himself,  because  they  have  somewhat  fairer,  somewhat 
grander,  somewhat  purer,  which  extorts  homage  of  him. 
Is  his  ambition  pure  ?  then  will  his  laurels  and  his  possessions 
seem  worthless :  instead  of  avoiding  these  men  who  make 
his  fine  gold  dim,  he  will  cast  all  behind  him,  and  seek  their 
society  only,  woo  and  embrace  this  his  humihation  and 
mortification,  until  he  shall  know  why  his  eye  sinks,  his 
voice  is  husky,  and  his  brilliant  talents  are  paralyzed  in 
this  presence.  He  is  sure  that  the  soul  which  gives  the  lie 
to  all  things  will  tell  none.  His  constitution  will  not  mislead 
him.  If  it  cannot  carry  itself  as  it  ought,  high  and  un- 
matchable  in  the  presence  of  any  man,  if  the  secret  oracles 
whose  whisper  makes  the  sweetness  and  dignity  of.  his  life  do 
here  withdraw  and  accompany  him  no  longer,  it  is  tune  to 
undervalue  what  he  has  valued,  to  dispossess  himself  of  what 
he  has  acquired,  and  with  Csesar  to  take  in  his  hand  the  army, 
the  empire,  and  Cleopatra,  and  say,  ^^AU  these  will  I  relin- 
quish, if  you  will  show  me  the  fountains  of  the  Nile."  Dear 
to  us  are  those  who  love  us;  the  swift  moments  we  spend 
with  them  are  a  compensation  for  a  great  deal  of  misery; 
they  enlarge  our  life ;  —  but  dearer  are  those  who  reject  us 
as  unworthy,  for  they  add  another  hfe  :  they  build  a  heaven 
before  us,  whereof  we  had  not  dreamed,  and  thereby  supply 
to  us  new  powers  out  of  the  recesses  of  the  spirit,  and  urge 
us  to  new  and  unattempted  performances. 

As  every  man  at  heart  wishes  the  best  and  not  inferior 
society,  wishes  to  be  convicted  of  his  error,  and  to  come  to 
himself,  so  he  wishes  that  the  same  heahng  should  not  stop 
in  his  thought,  but  should  penetrate  his  will  or  active  power. 
The  selfish  man  suffers  more  from  liis  selfishness,  than  he 
from  whom  that  selfishness  withholds  some  important  bene- 
fit. What  he  most  wishes  is  to  be  lifted  to  some  higher 
platform,  that  he  may  see  beyond  his  present  fear  the  trans- 
alpine good,  so  that  his  fear,  his  coldness,  his  custom,  may 
be  broken  up  like  fragments  of  ice,  melted  and  carried  away 
in  the  great  stream  of  good- will.  Do  you  ask  my  aid?  I  also 
wish  to  be  benefactor.  I  wish  more  to  be  a  benefactor  and 
servant,  than  you  wish  to  be  served  by  me,  and  surely  the 
greatest  good  fortune  that  could  befall  me  is  precisely  to 
be  so  moved  by  you  that  I  should  say,  'Take  me  and  all 
mine,  and  use  me  and  mine  freely  to  your  ends ! '  for,  I  could 


224  NEW  ENGLAND  REFORMERS 

not  say  it,  otherwise  than  because  a  great  enlargement  had 
come  to  my  heart  and  mind,  which  made  me  superior  to  my 
fortunes.  Here  we  are  paralyzed  with  fear;  we  hold  on 
to  our  little  properties,  house  and  land,  office  and  money, 
for  the  bread  which  they  have  in  our  experience  yielded  us, 
although  we  confess,  that  our  being  does  not  flow  through 
them.  We  desire  to  be  made  great,  we  desire  to  be  touched 
with  that  fire  which  shall  command  this  ice  to  stream,  and 
make  our  existence  a  benefit.  If  therefore  we  start  ob- 
jections to  your  project,  O  friend  of  the  slave,  or  friend  of 
the  poor,  or  of  the  race,  understand  well,  that  it  is  because 
we  wish  to  drive  you  to  drive  us  into  your  measures.  We 
wish  to  hear  ourselves  confuted.  We  are  haunted  with  a 
belief  that  you  have  a  secret,  which  it  would  highUest  advan- 
tage us  to  learn,  and  we  would  force  you  to  impart  it  to  us, 
though  it  should  bring  us  to  prison,  or  to  worse  extremity. 

Nothing  shall  warp  me  from  the  belief,  that  every  man 
is  a  lover  of  truth.  There  is  no  pure  Ue,  no  pure  malignity 
in  nature.  The  entertainment  of  the  proposition  of  depravity 
is  the  last  profligacy  and  profanation.  There  is  no  scepticism, 
no  atheism,  but  that.  Could  it  be  received  into  conamon 
belief,  suicide  would  unpeople  the  planet.  It  has  had  a  name 
to  live  in  some  dogmatic  theology,  but  each  man^s  innocence 
and  his  real  liking  of  his  neighbor  have  kept  it  a  dead  letter. 
I  remember  standing  at  the  polls  one  day,  when  the  anger 
of  the  political  contest  gave  a  certain  grimness  to  the  faces 
of  the  independent  electors,  and  a  good  man  at  my  side 
looking  on  the  people,  remarked,  ^'I  am  satisfied  that  the 
largest  part  of  these  men,  on  either  side,  mean  to  vote  right.'' 
I  suppose,  considerate  observers  looking  at  the  masses  of 
men,  in  their  blameless,  and  in  their  equivocal  actions,  will 
assent,  that  in  spite  of  selfishness  and  frivolity,  the  general 
purpose  in  the  great  number  of  persons  is  fidelity.  The 
reason  why  any  one  refuses  his  assent  to  your  opinion,  or 
his  aid  to  your  benevolent  design,  is  in  you:  he  refuses  to 
accept  you  as  a  bringer  of  truth,  because,  though  you  think 
you  have  it,  he  feels  that  you  have  it  not.  You  have  not 
given  him  the  authentic  sign. 

If  it  were  worth  while  to  run  into  details  this  general 
doctrine  of  the  latent  but  ever-soliciting  Spirit,  it  would 
be  easy  to  adduce  illustration  in  particulars  of  a  man's 
equality  to  the  church,  of  his  equality  to  the  state,  and  of 


NEW  ENGLAND  REFORMERS  225 

his  equality  to  every  other  man.  It  is  yet  in  all  men^s. 
memory,  that,  a  few  years  ago,  the  liberal  churches  com- 
plained, that  the  Calvinistic  church  denied  to  them  the* 
name  of  Christian.  I  think  the  complaint  was  confession : 
a  rehgious  church  would  not  complain.  A  religious  man 
like  Behmen,  Fox,  or  Swedenborg  is  not  irritated  by  wanting 
the  sanction  of  the  church,  but  the  church  feels  the  accusatioa 
of  his  presence  and  belief. 

It  only  needs  that  a  just  man  should  walk  in  our  streets,,, 
to  make  it  appear  how  pitiful  and  inartificial  a  contrivance 
is  our  legislation.  The  man  whose  part  is  taken,  and  who 
does  not  wait  for  society  in  anything,  has  a  power  which, 
society  cannot  choose  but  feel.  The  familiar  experiment^ 
called  the  hydrostatic  paradox,  in  which  a  capillary  column 
of  water  balances  the  ocean,  is  a  symbol  of  the  relation  of 
one  man  to  the  whole  family  of  men.  The  wise  Dandamis, 
on  hearing  the  hves  of  Socrates,  Pythagoras,  and  Diogenes 
read,  '^judged  them  to  be  great  men  every  way,  excepting,, 
that  they  were  too  much  subjected  to  the  reverence  of  the 
laws,  which  to  second  and  authorize,  true  virtue  must  abate 
very  much  of  its  original  vigor.'' 

And  as  a  man  is  equal  to  the  church,  and  equal  to  the  state^ 
so  he  is  equal  to  every  other  man.  The  disparities  of  power 
in  men  are  superficial;  and  all  frank  and  searching  con- 
versation, in  which  a  man  lays  himself  open  to  his  brother,, 
apprises  each  of  their  radical  unity.  When  two  persons 
sit  and  converse  in  a  thoroughly  good  understanding,  the 
remark  is  sure  to  be  made.  See  how  we  have  disputed  about 
words !  Let  a  clear,  apprehensive  mind,  such  as  every  man 
knows  among  his  friends,  converse  with  the  most  command- 
ing poetic  genius,  I  think  it  would  appear  that  there  was  no 
inequahty  such  as  men  fancy  between  them ;  that  a  perfect 
understanding,  a  like  receiving,  a  like  perceiving,  abolished 
differences,  and  the  poet  would  confess,  that  his  creative 
imagination  gave  him  no  deep  advantage,  but  only  the 
superficial  one,  that  he  could  express  himself,  and  the  other- 
could  not ;  that  his  advantage  was  a  knack,  which  might, 
impose  on  indolent  men,  but  could  not  impose  on  lovers  of 
truth;  for  they  know  the  tax  of  talent,  or,  what  a  price 
of  greatness  the  power  of  expression  too  often  pays.  I 
believe  it  is  the  conviction  of  the  purest  men,  that  the  net 
amount  of  man  and  man  does  not  much  vary.     Each  is 


226  NEW  ENGLAND   REFORMERS 

incomparably  superior  to  his  companion  in  some  faculty. 
His  want  of  skill  in  other  directions  has  added  to  his  fitness 
for  his  own  work.  Each  seems  to  have  some  compensation 
yielded  to  him  by  his  infirmity,  and  every  hindrance  operates 
as  a  concentration  of  his  force. 

These  and  the  Hke  experiences  intimate,  that  man  stands 
in  strict  connection  with  a  higher  fact  never  yet  manifested. 
There  is  power  over  and  behind  us,  and  we  are  the  channels 
of  its  communications.  We  seek  to  say  thus  and  so,  and 
over  our  head  some  spirit  sits,  which  contradicts  what  we 
say.  We  would  persuade  our  fellow  to  this  or  that ;  another 
self  within  our  eyes  dissuades  him.  That  which  we  keep 
back,  this  reveals.  In  vain  we  compose  our  faces  and  our 
words;  it  holds  uncontrollable  communication  with  the 
enemy,  and  he  answers  ci\dlly  to  us,  but  believes  the  spirit. 
We  exclaim,  ^There's  a  traitor  in  the  house!'  but  at  last  it 
appears  that  he  is  the  true  man,  and  I  am  the  traitor.  This 
open  channel  to  the  highest  life  is  the  first  and  last  reality, 
so  subtle,  so  quiet,  yet  so  tenacious,  that  although  I  have 
never  expressed  the  truth,  and  although  I  have  never  heard 
the  expression  of  it  from  any  other,  I  know  that  the  whole 
truth  is  here  for  me.  What  if  I  cannot  answer  your  ques- 
tions? I  am  not  pained  that  I  cannot  frame  a  reply  to  the 
question.  What  is  the  operation  we  call  Providence?  There 
lies  the  unspoken  thing,  present,  omnipresent.  Every  time 
we  converse,  we  seek  to  translate  it  into  speech,  but  whether 
we  hit,  or  whether  we  miss,  we  have  the  fact.  Every  dis- 
course is  an  approximate  answer :  but  it  is  of  small  conse- 
quence, that  we  do  not  get  it  into  verbs  and  nouns,  whilst 
it  abides  for  contemplation  forever. 

If  the  auguries  of  the  prophes}dng  heart  shall  make  them- 
selves good  in  time,  the  man  who  shall  be  born,  whose  advent 
men  and  events  prepare  and  foreshow,  is  one  who  shall  enjoy 
his  connection  with  a  higher  life,  with  the  man  within  man  ; 
shall  destroy  distrust  by  his  trust,  shall  use  his  native  but 
forgotten  methods,  shall  not  take  counsel  of  flesh  and  blood, 
but  shall  rely  on  the  Law  alive  and  beautiful,  which  works 
over  our  heads  and  under  our  feet.  Pitiless,  it  avails  itself 
of  our  success,  when  we  obey  it,  and  of  our  ruin,  when  we 
contravene  it.  Men  are  all  secret  believers  in  it,  else,  the 
word  ^'justice"  would  have  no  meaning:  they  believe  that 
the  best  is  the  true;    that  right  is  done  at  last;    or  chaos 


NEW  ENGLAND  REFORMERS  227 

would  come.  It  rewards  actions  after  their  nature,  and 
not  after  the  design  of  the  agent.  'Work/  it  saith  to  man^ 
'in  every  hour,  paid  or  unpaid,  see  only  that  thou  work,  and 
thou  canst  not  escape  the  reward :  whether  thy  work  be 
fine  or  coarse,  planting  corn  or  writing  epics,  so  only  it  be 
honest  work,  done  to  thine  own  approbation,  it  shall  earn 
a  reward  to  the  senses  as  well  as  to  the  thought :  no  matter 
how  often  defeated,  you  are  born  to  victory.  The  reward  of 
a  thing  well  done  is  to  have  done  it.^ 

As  soon  as  a  man  is  wonted  to  look  beyond  surfaces,  and 
to  see  how  this  high  will  prevails  without  an  exception  or  an 
interval,  he  settles  himself  into  serenity.  He  can  already 
rely  on  the  laws  of  gravity,  that  every  stone  will  fall  where 
it  is  due ;  the  good  globe  is  faithful,  and  carries  us  securely 
through  the  celestial  spaces,  anxious  or  resigned :  we  need 
not  interfere  to  help  it  on,  and  he  will  learn,  one  day,  the 
mild  lesson  they  teach,  that  our  own  orbit  is  all  our  task, 
and  we  need  not  assist  the  administration  of  the  universe. 
Do  not  be  so  impatient  to  set  the  town  right  concerning  the 
unfounded  pretensions  and  the  false  reputation  of  certain^ 
men  of  standing.  They  are  laboring  harder  to  set  the  town 
right  concerning  themselves,  and  will  certainly  succeed. 
Suppress  for  a  few  days  your  criticism  on  the  insufficiency 
of  this  or  that  teacher  or  experimenter,  and  he  will  have 
demonstrated  his  insufficiency  to  all  men^s  eyes.  In  like 
manner,  let  a  man  fall  into  the  divine  circuits,  and  he  is 
enlarged.  Obedience  to  his  genius  is  the  only  liberating 
influence.  We  wish  to  escape  from  subjection,  and  a  sense 
of  inferiority,  —  and  we  make  self-denying  ordinances, 
we  drink  water,  we  eat  grass,  we  refuse  the  laws,  we  go  to 
jail ;  it  is  all  in  vain ;  only  by  obedience  to  his  genius,  only 
by  the  freest  activity  in  the  way  constitutional  to  him,  does 
an  angel  seem  to  arise  before  a  man,  and  lead  him  by  the 
hand  out  of  all  the  wards  of  the  prison. 

That  which  befits  us,  imbosomed  in  beauty  and  wonder 
as  we  are,  is  cheerfulness  and  courage,  and  the  endeavor  ta 
realize  our  aspirations.  The  life  of  man  is  the  true  romance, 
which,  when  it  is  valiantly  conducted,  will  yield  the  imagina- 
tion a  higher  joy  than  any  fiction.  All  around  us,  what 
powers  are  wrapped  up  under  the  coarse  mattings  of  custom, 
and  all  wonder  prevented.  It  is  so  wonderful  to  our  neurolo- 
gists that  a  man  can  see  without  his  eyes,  that  it  does  not 


228  NEW  ENGLAND  REFORMERS 

occur  to  them,  that  it  is  just  as  wonderful,  that  he  should 
•see  with  them;  and  that  is  ever  the  difference  between  the 
^se  and  the  unwise :  the  latter  wonders  at  what  is  unusual, 
the  wise  man  wonders  at  the  usual.  Shall  not  the  heart 
ivhich  has  received  so  much,  trust  the  Power  by  which  it 
lives?  May  it  not  quit  other  leadings,  and  listen  to  the 
•Soul  that  has  guided  it  so  gently,  and  taught  it  so  much, 
secure  that  the  future  will  be  worthy  of  the  past? 


SHAKSPEARE;    OR,   THE   POET 

FROM   ^^REPRESENTATIVE   MEN'' 

Great  men  are  more  distinguished  by  range  and  extent, 
than  by  originahty.  If  we  require  the  originaUty,  which 
consists  in  weaving,  hke  a  spider,  their  web  from  their  own 
bowels ;  in  finding  clay,  and  making  bricks,  and  building  the 
house;  no  great  men  are  original.  Nor  does  valuable  origi- 
nality consist  in  unlikeness  to  other  men.  The  hero  is  in  the 
press  of  knights,  and  the  thick  of  events ;  and,  seeing  what 
men  want,  and  sharing  their  desire,  he  adds  the  needful 
length  of  sight  and  of  arm,  to  come  at  the  desired  point. 
The  greatest  genius  is  the  most  indebted  man.  A  poet  is  no 
rattle-brain,  saying  what  comes  uppermost,  and,  because  he 
says  everything,  saying,  at  last,  something  good ;  but  a  heart 
in  unison  with  his  time  and  country.  There  is  nothing 
whimsical  and  fantastic  in  his  production,  but  sweet  and  sad, 
earnest,  freighted  with  the  weightiest  convictions,  and 
pointed  with  the  most  determined  aim  which  any  man  or 
class  knows  of  in  his  times. 

The  Genius  of  our  life  is  jealous  of  individuals,  and  wiU 
not  have  any  individual  great,  except  through  the  general. 
There  is  no  choice  to  genius.  A  great  man  does  not  wake  up 
on  some  fine  morning,  and  say,  *I  am  full  of  life,  I  will  go  to 
sea,  and  find  an  Antarctic  continent :  to-day  I  will  square 
the  circle:  I  will  ransack  botany,  and  find  a  new  food  for 
man :  I  have  a  new  architecture  in  my  mind  :  I  foresee  a  new 
mechanic  power ' :  no,  but  he  finds  himself  in  the  river  of  the 
thoughts  and  events,  forced  onward  by  the  ideas  and  neces- 
sities of  his  contemporaries.  He  stands  where  all  the  eyes 
of  men  look  one  way,  and  their  hands  all  point  in  the  direc- 
tion in  which  he  should  go.  The  church  has  reared  him 
amidst  rit^s  and  pomps,  and  he  carries  out  the  advice  which 

229 


230  SHAKSPEARE;   OR,   THE  POET 


her  music  gave  him,  and  builds  a  cathedral  needed  by  he: 
chants  and  processions.  He  finds  a  war  raging :  it  educates 
him,  by  trumpet,  in  barracks,  and  he  betters  the  instruction. 
He  finds  two  counties  groping  to  bring  coal,  or  flour,  or  fish, 
from  the  place  of  production  to  the  place  of  consumption, 
and  he  hits  on  a  railroad.  Every  master  has  found  his 
materials  collected,  and  his  power  lay  in  his  sympathy  with 
his  people,  and  in  his  love  of  the  materials  he  wrought  in. 
What  an  economy  of  power!  and  what  a  compensation  for 
the  shortness  of  life !  All  is'  done  to  his  hand.  The  world 
has  brought  him  thus  far  on  his  way.  The  hmnan  race  has 
gone  out  before  him,  sunk  the  hills,  filled  the  hollows,  and 
bridged  the  rivers.  Men,  nations,  poets,  artisans,  women, 
all  have  worked  for  him,  and  he  enters  into  their  labors. 
Choose  any  other  thing,  out  of  the  line  of  tendency,  out  of 
the  national  feeling  and  history,  and  he  would  have  all  to  do 
for  himself :  his  powers  would  be  expended  in  the  first  prep- 
arations. Great  genial  power,  one  would  almost  say,  consists 
in  not  being  original  at  all ;  in  being  altogether  receptive ;  in 
letting  the  world  do  all,  and  suffering  the  spirit  of  the  hour 
to  pass  unobstructed  through  the  mind. 

Shakspeare's  youth  fell  in  a  time  when  the  English  people 
were  importunate  for  dramatic  entertainments.  The  court 
took  offence  easily  at  political  allusions,  and  attempted  to 
suppress  them.  The  Puritans,  a  growing  and  energetic 
party,  and  the  religious  among  the  Anglican  church,  would 
suppress  them.  But  the  people  wanted  them.  Inn-yards, 
houses  without  roofs,  and  extemporaneous  enclosures  at 
country  fairs,  were  the  ready  theatres  of  strolhng  players. 
The  people  had  tasted  this  new  joy;  and,  as  we  could  not 
hope  to  suppress  newspapers  now,  —  no,  not  by  the  strongest 
party,  —  neither  then  could  king,  prelate,  or  puritan,  alone 
or  united,  suppress  an  organ,  which  was  ballad,  epic,  news- 
paper, caucus,  lecture.  Punch,  and  library,  at  the  same  time. 
Probably  king,  prelate,  and  puritan,  all  found  their  own 
account  in  it.  It  had  become,  by  all  causes,  a  national 
interest,  —  by  no  means  conspicuous,  so  that  some  great 
scholar  would  have  thought  of  treating  it  in  an  English 
history,  —  but  not  a  whit  less  considerable,  because  it  was 
cheap,  and  of  no  account,  like  a  baker's  shop.  The  best 
proof  of  its  vitality  is  the  crowd  of  writers  which  suddenly 
broke  into  this  field ;  Kyd,  Marlow,  Greene,  Jonson,  Chap- 


i 


SHAKSPEARE;   OR,   THE  POET  231 

man,  Dekker,  Webster,  Heywood,  Middleton,  Peele,  Ford, 
Massinger,  Beaumont  and  Fletcher. 

The  secure  possession,  by  the  stage,  of  the  pubhc  mind,  is 
of  the  first  importance  to  the  poet  who  works  for  it.  He 
loses  no  time  in  idle  experiments.  Here  is  audience  and 
expectation  prepared.  In  the  case  of  Shakspeare  there  is 
much  more.  At  the  time  when  he  left  Stratford,  and  went 
up  to  London,  a  great  body  of  stage-plays,  of  all  dates  and 
"writers,  existed  in  manuscript,  and  were  in  turn  produced 
on  the  boards.  Here  is  the  Tale  of  Troy,  which  the  audience 
-will  bear  hearing  some  part  of,  every  week;  the  Death  of 
JuHus  Csesar,  and  other  stories  out  of  Plutarch,  which  they 
never  tire  of ;  a  shelf  full  of  English  history,  from  the  chron- 
icles of  Brut  and  Arthur,  down  to  the  royal  Henries,  which 
men  hear  eagerly;  and  a  string  of  doleful  tragedies,  merry 
Itahan  tales,  and  Spanish  voyages,  which  all  the  London 
prentices  know.  All  the  mass  has  been  treated,  with  more 
or  less  skill,  by  every  playwright,  and  the  prompter  has  the 
soiled  and  tattered  manuscripts.  It  is  now  no  longer  pos- 
sible to  say  who  wrote  them  first.  They  have  been  the 
property  of  the  Theatre  so  long,  and  so  many  rising  geniuses 
have  enlarged  or  altered  them,  inserting  a  speech,  or  a  whole 
scene,^  or  adding  a  song,  that  no  man  can  any  longer  claim 
copyright  in  this  work  of  numbers.  Happily,  no  man  wishes 
to.  They  are  not  yet  desired  in  that  way.  We  have  few 
readers,  many  spectators  and  hearers.  They  had  best  lie 
where  they  are. 

Shakspeare,  in  common  with  his  comrades,  esteemed  the 
mass  of  old  pkys,  waste  stock,  in  which  any  experiment 
could  be  freely  tried.  Had  the  prestige  which  hedges  about 
a  modern  tragedy  existed,  nothing  could  have  been  done. 
The  rude  warm  blood  of  the  hving  England  circulated  in  the 
play,  as  in  street-ballads,  and  gave  body  which  he  wanted  to 
his  airy  and  majestic  fancy.  The  poet  needs  a  ground  in 
popular  tradition  on  which  he  may  work,  and  which,  again, 
may  restrain  his  art  within  the  due  temperance.  It  holds 
him  to  the  people,  supplies  a  foundation  for  his  edifice ;  and, 
m^  furnishing  so  much  work  done  to  his  hand,  leaves  him  at 
leisure,  and  in  full  strength  for  the  audacities  of  his  imagina- 
tion. In  short,  the  poet  owes  to  his  legend  what  sculpture 
owed  to  the  temple.  Sculpture  in  Egypt,  and  in  Greece, 
grew  up  in  subordination  to  architecture.     It  was  the  orna- 


232  SHAKSPEARE;   OR,   THE  POET 

ment  of  the  temple  wall:  at  first,  a  rude  relief  carved  on. 
pediments,  then  the  relief  became  bolder,  and  a  head  or  arm 
was  projected  from  the  wall,  the  groups  being  still  arranged 
with  reference  to  the  building,  which  serves  also  as  a  frame 
to  hold  the  figures ;  and  when,  at  last,  the  greatest  freedom  of 
style  and  treatment  was  reached,  the  prevaiHng  genius  of 
architecture  still  enforced  a  certain  calmness  and  continence 
in  the  statue.  As  soon  as  the  statue  was  begun  for  itself,  and 
with  no  reference  to  the  temple  or  palace,  the  art  began  to 
decline ;  freak,  extravagance,  and  exhibition  took  the  place 
of  the  old  temperance.  This  balance-wheel,  which  the  sculp- 
tor  found  in  architecture,  the  perilous  irritabihty  of  poetic 
talent  found  in  the  accumulated  dramatic  materials  to  which 
the  people  were  already  wonted,  and  which  had  a  certain 
excellence  which  no  single  genius,  however  extraordinary, 
could  hope  to  create.  .  Q^ 

In  point  ^f  fact,  it  appears  that  Shakspeare  did  owe  a'v^bts 
in  all  directions,  and  was  able  to  use  whatever  he  found ;  and 
the  amount  of  indebtedness  may  be  inferred  from  Malone's 
laborious  computations  in  regard  to  the  First,  Second,  and 
Third  Parts  of  Henry  VI.,  in  which  ^^out  of  6,043  fines,  1,771 
were  written  by  some  author  preceding  Shakspeare;  2,373 
by  him,  on  the  foundation  laid  by  his  predecessors ;  and  1,899 
were  entirely  his  own.''  And  the  proceeding  investigation 
hardly  leaves  a  single  drama  of  his  absolute  invention. 
Malone's  sentence  is  an  important  piece  of  external  history. 
In  Henry  VIIL,  I  think  I  see  plainly  the  cropping  out  of  the 
original  rock  on  which  his  own  finer  stratum  was  laid.  The 
first  play  was  written  by  a  superior,  thoughtful  man,  with  a 
vicious  ear.  I  can  mark  his  lines,  and  know  well  their 
cadence.  See  Wolsey's  soliloquy,  and  the  following  scene 
with  Cromwell,  where,  instead  of  the  metre  of  Shakspeare, 
whose  secret  is,  that  the  thought  constructs  the  tune,  so  that 
reading  for  the  sense  will  best  bring  out  the  rhythm,  here  the 
lines  are  constructed  on  a  given  tune,  and  the  verse  has  even 
a  trace  of  pulpit  eloquence.  But  the  play  contains,  through 
all  its  length,  unmistakable  traits  of  Shakspeare's  hand,  and 
some  passages,  as  the  account  of  the  coronation,  are  fike  auto- 
graphs. What  is  odd,  the  compUment  to  Queen  Elizabeth 
is  in  the  bad  rhythm. 

Shakspeare  knew  that  tradition  supplies  a  better  fable 
than  any  invention  can.     If  he  lost  any  credit  of  design,  he 


SHAKSPEARE;  OR,   THE  POET  233 

augmented  his  resources ;  and,  at  that  day,  our  petulant 
demand  for  originality  was  not  so  much  pressed.  There  was 
no  literature  for  the  million.  The  universal  reading,  the  cheap 
press,  were  unknown.  A  great  poet,  who  appears  in  illiterate 
times,  absorbs  into  his  sphere  all  the  hght  which  is  anywhere 
radiating.  Every  intellectual  jewel,  every  flower  of  senti« 
ment,  it  is  his  fine  office  to  bring  to  his  people ;  and  he  comes, 
to  value  his  memory  equally  with  his  invention.  He  is 
therefore  little  solicitous  whence  his  thoughts  have  been 
derived ;  whether  through  translation,  whether  through  tradi- 
tion, whether  by  travel  in  distant  countries,  whether  by 
inspiration ;  from  whatever  source,  they  are  equally  welcome 
to  his  uncritical  audience.  Nay,  he  borrows  very  near  home. 
Other  men  say  wise  things  as  well  as  he ;  only  they  say  a  good 
many  foolish  things,  and  do  not  know  when  they  have  spoken 
wisely.  He  knows  the  sparkle  of  the  true  stone,  and  puts 
it  in  high  place,  wherever  he  finds  it.  Such  is  the  happy 
position  of  Homer,  perhaps ;  of  Chaucer,  of  Saadi.  They  felt 
that  all  wit  was  their  wit.  And  they  are  librarians  and  his- 
toriographers, as  well  as  poets.  Each  romancer  was  heir  and 
dispenser  of  all  the  hundred  tales  of  the  world,  — 

^'Presenting  Thebes'  and  Pelops'  line. 
And  the  tale  of  Troy  divine." 

The  influence  of  Chaucer  is  conspicuous  in  all  our  eaii/ 
literature;  and,  more  recently,  not  only  Pope  and  Dryden 
have  been  beholden  to  him,  but,  in  the  whole  society  of 
English  writers,  a  large  unacknowledged  debt  is  easily  traced. 
One  is  charmed  with  the  opulence  which  feeds  so  many  pen- 
sioners. But  Chaucer  is  a  huge  borrower.  Chaucer,  it 
seems,  drew  continually,  through  Lydgate  and  Caxton,  from 
Guido  di  Colonna,  whose  Latin  romance  of  the  Trojan  war 
was  in  turn  a  compilation  from  Dares  Phrygius,  Ovid,  and 
Statins.  Then  Petrarch,  Boccaccio,  and  the  Provengal  poets 
are  his  benefactors :  the  Romaunt  of  the  Rose  is  only  judi- 
cious tra:nslation  from  William  of  Lorris  and  John  of  Meun : 
Troilus  and  Creseide,  from  Lollius  of  Urbino :  the  Cock  and 
the  Fox,  from  the  Lais  of  Marie :  The  House  of  Fame,  from 
the  French  or  Italian :  and  poor  Gower  he  uses  as  if  he  were 
only  a  brick-kiln  or  stone-quarry,  out  of  which  to  build  his 
^  house.  He  steals  by  this  apology,  —  that  what  he  takes  has 
no  worth  where  he  finds  it,  and  the  greatest  where  he  leaves  , 


234  SHAKSPEARE;   OR,   THE   POET 

it.  It  has  come  to  be  practically  a  sort  of  rule  in  literature, 
that  a  man,  having  once  shown  himself  capable  of  original 
writing,  is  entitled  thenceforth  to  steal  from  the  \^Titings  of 
others  at  discretion.  Thought  is  the  property  of  him  who  can 
entertain  it;,  and  of  him  who  can  adequately  place  it.  A 
certain  awkwardness  marks  the  use  of  borrowed  thoughts; 
but,  as  soon  as  we  have  learned  what  to  do  with  them,  they 
become  our  own. 

Thus  all  originality  is  relative.  Every  thinker  is  retro- 
spective. The  learned  member  of  the  Legislature,  at  West- 
minster, or  at  Washington,  speaks  and  votes  for  thousands. 
Show  us  the  constituency^,  and  the  now  invisible  channels  by 
which  the  senator  is  made  aware  of  their  wishes,  the  crowd  of 
practical  and  knowing  men,  who,  by  correspondence  or  con- 
versation, are  feeding  him  with  evidence,  anecdotes,  and 
estimates,  and  it  mil  bereave  his  fine  attitude  and  resistance 
of  something  of  their  impressiveness.  As  Sir  Robert  Peel 
and  Mr.  Webster  vote,  so  Locke  and  Rousseau  think  for 
thousands;  and  so  there  were  fountains  all  around  Homer, 
Menu,  Saadi,  or  jMilton,  from  which  they  drew;  friends, 
lovers,  books,  traditions,  proverbs,  —  all  perished,  —  which, 
if  seen,  would  go  to  reduce  the  wonder.  Did  the  bard  speak 
with  authority?  Did  he  feel  himself  overmatched  by  any 
companion?  The  appeal  is  to  the  consciousness  of  the 
writer.  Is  there  at  least  in  his  breast  a  Delphi  whereof  to 
ask  concerning  smy  thought  or  thing,  whether  it  be  veril}^  so, 
yea  or  nay?  and  to  have  answer,  and  to  reply  on  that?  All 
the  debts  which  such  a  man  could  contract  to  other  wit, 
w^ould  never  disturb  his  consciousness  of  originality :  for  the 
ministrations  of  books,  and  of  other  minds,  are  a  whiff  of 
smoke  to  that  most  private  reality  with  which  he  has  con- 
versed. 

It  is  easy  to  see  that  what  is  best  '\;\Titten  or  done  by  genius, 
in  the  world,  was  uq  man's  work,  but  came  by  wide  social 
labor,  when  a  thousand  wrought  like  one,  sharing  the  same 
impulse.  Our  English  Bible  is  a  wonderful  specimen  of  the 
strength  and  music  of  the  English  language.  But  it  was  not 
made  b}^  one  man,  or  at  one  time  ;  but  centuries  and  churches 
brought  it  to  perfection.  There  never  was  a  time  when  there 
was  not  some  translation  existing.  The  Liturgy,  admired 
for  its  energy  and  pathos,  is  an  anthology''  of  the  piety  of  ages 
and  nations,  a  translation  of  the  prayers  and  forms  of  the 


SHAKSPEARE;  OR,  THE  POET  235 

Catholic  church,  —  these  collected,  too,  in  long  periods,  from 
the  prayers  and  meditations  of  every  saint  and  sacred  ^vriter, 
all  over  the  world.  Grotius  makes  the  like  remark  in  respect 
to  the  Lord's  Prayer,  that  the  single  clauses  of  which  it  is 
composed  were  already  in  use,  in  the  time  of  Christ,  in  the 
rabbinical  forms.  He  picked  out  the  grains  of  gold.  The 
nervous  language  of  the  Common  Law,  the  impressive  forms 
of  our  courts,  and  the  precision  and  substantial  truth  of  the 
legal  distinctions,  are  the  contribution  of  all  the  sharp- 
sighted,  strong-minded  men  who  have  lived  in  the  countries 
where  these  laws  govern.  The  translation  of  Plutarch  gets 
its  excellence  by  being  translation  on  translation.  There 
never  was  a  time  when  there  was  none.  All  the  truly  idio- 
matic and  national  phrases  are  kept,  and  all  others  succes- 
sively picked  out,  and  thrown  away.  Something  like  the 
same  process  had  gone  on,  long  before,  with  the  originals  of 
these  books.  The  world  takes  liberties  wdth  w^orld-books. 
Vedas,  ^Esop's  Fables,  Pilpay,  Arabian  Nights,  Cid,  Iliad, 
Robin  Hood,  Scottish  Minstrelsy,  are  not  the  work  of  single 
men.  In  the  composition  of  such  works,  the  time  thinks,  the 
market  thinks,  the  mason,  the  carpenter,  the  merchant,  the 
farmer,  the  fop,  all  think  for  us.  Every  book  supplies  its 
time  with  one  good  word ;  every  municipal  law,  every  trade, 
every  folly  of  the  day,  and  the  generic  catholic  genius  who  is 
not  afraid  or  ashamed  to  owe  his  originality  to  the  originality 
of  all,  stands  with  the  next  age  as  the  recorder  and  embodi- 
ment of  his  own. 

We  have  to  thank  the  researches  of  antiquaries,  and  the 
Shakspeare  Society,  for  ascertaining  the  steps  of  the  English 
drama,  from  the  M^^steries  celebrated  in  churches  and  by 
churchmen,  and  the  final  detachment  from  the  church,  and 
the  completion  of  secular  plays,  from  Ferrex  and  Porrex,  and 
Gammer  Gurton's  Needle,  down  to  the  possession  of  the 
stage  by  the  very  pieces  which  Shakspeare  altered,  remodelled, 
and  finally  made  his  own.  Elated  with  success,  and  piqued  by 
the  growing  interest  of  the  problem,  they  have  left  no  book- 
stall unsearched,  no  chest  in  a  garret  unopened,  no  file  of  old 
yellow  accounts  to  decompose  in  damp  and  worms,  so  keen 
was  the  hope  to  discover  whether  the  boy  Shakspeare  poached 
or  not,  whether  he  held  horses  at  the  theatre  door,  whether 
he  kept  school,  and  why  he  left  in  his  will  only  his  second- 
best  bed  to  Ann  Hathaway,  his  wife. 


236  SHAKSPEARE;   OR,   THE  POET 

There  is  somewhat  touching  in  the  madness  with  which' 
the  passing  age  mischooses  the  object  on  which  all  candles 
shine,  and  all  eyes  are  turned  ;  the  care  with  which  it  registers 
every  trifle  touching  Queen  Elizabeth,  and  King  James,  and 
the  Essexes,  Leicesters,  Burleighs,  and  Buckinghams ;  and 
lets  pass  without  a  single  valuable  note  the  founder  of  another 
dynasty,  which  alone  will  cause  the  Tudor  dynasty  to  be 
remembered,  —  the  man  who  carries  the  Saxon  race  in  him 
by  the  inspiration  which  feeds  him,  and  on  whose  thoughts 
the  foremost  people  of  the  world  are  now  for  some  ages  to  be 
nourished,  and  minds  to  receive  this  and  not  another  bias. 
A  popular  player,  —  nobody  suspected  he  was  the  poet  of 
the  human  race ;  and  the  secret  was  kept  as  faithfully  from 
poets  and  intellectual  men,  -as  from  courtiers  and  frivolous 
people.  Bacon  who  took  the  inventory  of  the  human 
understanding  for  his  times,  never  mentioned  his  name. 
Ben  Jonson,  though  we  have  strained  his  few  words  of  regard 
and  panegyric,  had  no  suspicion  of  the  elastic  fame  whose 
first  vibrations  he  was  attempting.  He  no  doubt  thought 
the  praise  he  has  conceded  to  him  generous,  and  esteemed 
himself,  out  of  all  question,  the  better  poet  of  the  two.  : 

If  it  need  wit  to  know  wdt,  according  to  the  proverb,  ; 
Shakspeare^s  time  should  be  capable  of  recognizing  it.  Sir  j 
Henry  Wotton  w^as  born  four  years  after  Shakspeare,  and 
died  twenty-three  years  after  him ;  and  I  find,  among  his 
correspondents  and  acquaintances,  the  following  persons : 
Theodore  Beza,  Isaac  Casaubon,  Sir  Philip  Sidney,  Earl  of 
Essex,  Lord  Bacon,  Sir  Walter  Raleigh,  John  Milton,  Sir 
Henry  Vane,  Isaac  Walton,  Dr.  Donne,  Abraham  Cowley, 
Bellarmine,  Charles  Cotton,  John  Pym,  John  Hales,  Kepler, 
Vieta,  Albericus  Gentilis,  Paul  Sarpi,  Arminius;  with  all  of 
whom  exists  some  token  of  his  having  communicated,  without 
enumerating  many  others,  whom  doubtless  he  saw,  —  Shak- 
speare, Spenser,  Jonson,  Beaumont,  Massinger,  two  Herberts, 
Marlow,  Chapman,  and  the  rest.  Since  the  constellation  of 
great  men  who  appeared  in  Greece  in  the  time  of  Pericles, 
there  was  never  any  such  society;  yet  their  genius  failed' 
them  to  find  out  the  best  head  in  the  universe.  Our  poet's 
mask  was  impenetrable.  You  cannot  see  the  mountain  near. 
It  took  a  century  to  make  it  suspected;  and  not  until  two 
centuries  had  passed,  after  his  death,  did  any  criticism  which  j 
we  think  adequate  begin  to  appear.    It  was  not  possible  toj 


SHAKSPEARE;  OR,   THE  POET  237 

write  the  history  of  Shakspeare  till  now ;  for  he  is  the  father 
of  German  literature :  it  was  on  the  introduction  of  Shak- 
speare into  German,  by  Lessing,  and  the  translation  of  his 
works  by  Wieland  and  Schlegel,  that  the  rapid  burst  of 
German  literature  was  most  intimately  connected.  It  was 
not  until  the  nineteenth  century,  whose  speculative  genius 
is  a  sort  of  living  Hamlet,  that  the  tragedy  of  Hamlet  could 
find  such  wondering  readers.  Now,  literature,  philosophy, 
and  thought  are  Shakspearized.  His  mind  is  the  horizon 
beyond  which,  at  present,  we  do  not  see.  Our  ears  are 
educated  to  music  by  his  rhythm.  Coleridge  and  Goethe 
are  the  only  critics  who  have  expressed  our  convictions  with 
any  adequate  fidelity ;  but  there  is  in  all  cultivated  minds  a 
silent  appreciation  of  his  superlative  power  and  beauty, 
which,  like  Christianity,  qualifies  the  period. 

The  Shakspeare  Society  have  inquired  in  all  directions, 
advertised  the  missing  facts,  offered  money  for  any  infor- 
mation that  will  lead  to  proof;  and  with  what  result?  Be- 
side some  important  illustration  of  the  history  of  the  English 
stage,  to  which  I  have  adverted,  they  have  gleaned  a  few  facts 
touching  the  property,  and  dealings  in  regard  to  property,  of 
the  poet.  It  appears  that,  from  year  to  year,  he  owned  a 
larger  share  in  the  Blackfriars'  Theatre :  its  wardrobe  and 
other  appurtenances  were  his :  that  he  bought  an  estate  in 
his  native  village,  with  his  earnings,  as  writer  and  shareholder  ; 
that  he  lived  in  the  best  house  in  Stratford ;  was  intrusted  by 
his  neighbors  with  their  commissions  in  London,  as  of  bor- 
rowing money,  and  the  like ;  that  he  was  a  veritable  farmer. 
About  the  time  when  he  was  writing  Macbeth,  he  sues  Philip 
Rogers,  in  the  borough-court  of  Stratford,  for  thirty-five 
shillings,  ten  pence,  for  corn  delivered  to  him  at  different 
times ;  and,  in  all  respects,  appears  as  a  good  husband,  with 
no  reputation  for  eccentricity  or  excess.  He  was  a  good- 
natured  sort  of  man,  an  actor  and  shareholder  in  the  theatre^ 
not  in  any  striking  manner  distinguished  from  other  actors 
and  managers.  I  admit  the  importance  of  this  informa- 
tion. It  was  well  worth  the  pains  that  have  been  taken  to 
procure  it. 

^  But  whatever  scraps  of  information  concerning  his  condi- 
tion these  researches  may  have  rescued,  they  can  shed  no 
light  upon  that  infinite  invention  which  is  the  concealed 
magnet  of  his  attraction  for  us.    We  are  very  clumsy  writers 


238  SHAKSPEARE;   OR,   THE  POET 

of  history.  We  tell  the  chronicle  of  parentage,  birth,  birth- 
place, schooling,  schoolmates,  earning  of  money,  marriage, 
pubhcation  of  books,  celebrity,  death;  and  when  we  have 
come  to  an  end  of  this  gossip,  no  ray  of  relation  appears 
between  it  and  the  goddess-born ;  and  it  seems  as  if,  had  we 
dipped  at  random  into  the  ''Modern  Plutarch,''  and  read 
any  other  life  there,  it  would  have  fitted  the  poems  as  well. 
It  is  the  essence  of  poetry  to  spring,  like  the  rainbow  daughter 
of  Wonder,  from  the  invisible,  to  abolish  the  past,  and  refuse 
all  history.  Malone,  Warburton,  Dyce,  and  Collier  have 
wasted  their  oil.  The  famed  theatres,  Covent  Garden, 
Drury  Lane,  the  Park,  and  Tremont,  have  vainly  assisted. 
JBetterton,  Garrick,  Kemble,  Kean,  and  Macready  dedicate 
their  lives  to  this  genius ;  him  they  crown,  elucidate,  obey, 
hni  express.  The  genius  knows  them  not.  The  recitation 
begins;  one  golden  word  leaps  out  immortal  from  all  this 
painted  pedantry,  and  sweetly  torments  us  with  invitations 
to  its  own  inaccessible  homes.  I  remember,  I  went  once  to 
see  the  Hamlet  of  a  famed  performer,  the  pride  of  the  English 
stage ;  and  all  I  then  heard,  and  all  I  now  remember,  of  the 
tragedian,  was  that  in  which  the  tragedian  had  no  part; 
simply,  Hamlet's  question  to  the  ghost,  — 

''What  may  this  mean, 
That  thou,  dead  corse,  again  in  complete  steel 
Revisit'st  thus  the  glimpses  of  the  moon?" 

That  imagination  which  dilates  the  closet  he  writes  in  to  the 
world's  dimension,  crowds  it  with  agents  in  rank  and  order, 
as  quickly  reduces  the  big  reality  to  be  the  glimpses  of  the 
moon.  These  tricks  of  his  magic  spoil  for  us  the  illusions  of 
the  green-room.  Can  any  biography  shed  light  on  the  lo- 
calities into  which  the  Midsummer  Night's  Dream  admits 
me?  Did  Shakspeare  confide  to  any  notary  or  parish  re- 
corder, sacristan,  or  surrogate,  in  Stratford,  the  genesis  of 
that  delicate  creation?  The  forest  of  Arden,  the  nimble  air 
of  Scone  Castle,  the  moonlight  of  Portia's  villa,  ''the  antres 
vast  and  desarts  idle,"  of  Othello's  captivity,  — where  is  the 
third  cousin,  or  grand-nephew,  the  chancellor's  file  of  ac- 
counts, or  private  letter,  that  has  kept  one  word  of  those 
transcendent  secrets?  In  fine,  in  this  drama,  as  in  all  great 
works  of  art,  —  in  the  Cyclopsean  architecture  of  Egypt  and 
India;  in  the  Phidian  sculpture;  the  Gothic  minsters;  the 


SHAKSPEARE;  OR,   THE  POET  239 

Italian  painting;  the  Ballads  of  Spain  and  Scotland,  —  the 
Genius  draws  up  the  ladder  after  him,  when  the  creative  age 
goes  up  to  heaven,  and  gives  way  to  a  new  age,  which  sees 
the  works,  and  asks  in  vain  for  a  history. 

Shakspeare  is  the  only  biographer  of  Shakspeare;  and 
even  he  can  tell  nothing,  except  to  the  Shakspeare  in  us ;  that 
is,  to  our  most  apprehensive  and  sympathetic  hour.  He 
cannot  step  from  off  his  tripod,  and  give  us  anecdotes  of  his 
inspirations.  Read  the  antique  documents  extricated,  an- 
alyzed, and  compared  by  the  assiduous  Dyce  and  Collier; 
and  now  read  one  of  those  skyey  sentences,  — ;  aerolites,  — 
which  seem  to  have  fallen  out  of  heaven,  and  which,  not  your 
experience,  but  the  man  within  the  breast,  has  accepted  as 
words  of  fate ;  and  tell  me  if  they  match ;  if  the  former  ac- 
count in  any  manner  for  the  latter ;  or  which  gives  the  most 
historical  insight  into  the  man.  i 

Hence,  though  our  external  history  is  so  meagre,  yet,  with 
Shakspeare  for  biographer,  instead  of  Aubrey  and  Rowe,  we 
have  really  the  information  which  is  material,  that  which 
describes  character  and  fortune,  that  which,  if  we  were  about 
to  meet  the  man  and  deal  with  him,  would  most  import  us  to 
know.  We  have  his  recorded  convictions  on  those  questions 
which  knock  for  answer  at  every  heart,  —  on  life  and  deaths 
on  love,  on  wealth  and  poverty,  on  the  prizes  of  life,  and  the 
ways  whereby  we  come  at  them ;  on  the  characters  of  men,^ 
and  the  influences,  occult  and  open,  which  affect  their  for- 
tunes ;  and  on  those  mysterious  and  demoniacal  powers  which 
defy  our  science,  and  which  yet  interweave  their  malice  and 
their  gift  in  our  brightest  hours.  Who  ever  read  the  volume 
of  the  Sonnets,  without  finding  that  the  poet  had  there 
revealed,  under  masks  that  are  no  masks  to  the  intelligent, 
the  lore  of  friendship  and  of  love ;  the  confusion  of  sentiments 
in  the  most  susceptible,  and,  at  the  same  time,  the  most 
intellectual  of  men?  What  trait  of  his  private  mind  has  he 
hidden  in  his  dramas?  One  can  discern,  in  his  ample  pictures 
of  the  gentleman  and  the  king,  what  forms  and  humanities 
pleased  him ;  his  delight  in  troops  of  friends,  in  large  hospi- 
tality, in  cheerful  giving.  Let  Timon,  let  Warwick,  let 
Antonio  the  merchant,  answer  for  his  great  heart.  So  far 
from  Shakspeare's  being  the  least  known,  he  is  the  one  person, 
in  all  modern  history,  known  to  us.  What  point  of  morals, 
of  manners,  of  economy,  of  philosophy,  of  religion,  of  taste,  of 


-240  SHAKSPEARE;   OR,   THE   POET 

the  conduct  of  life,  has  he  not  settled?  What  mystery  has 
he  not  signified  his  knowledge  of?  What  office,  or  function, 
or  district  of  man^s  work,  has  he  not  remembered?  What 
king  has  he  not  taught  state,  as  Talma  taught  Napoleon? 
What  maiden  has  not  found  him  finer  than  her  delicacy? 
What  lover  has  he  not  outloved?  What  sage  has  he  not 
outseen?  What  gentleman  has  he  not  instructed  in  the 
rudeness  of  his  behavior  ? 

Some  able  and  appreciating  critics  think  no  criticism  on 
Shakspeare  valuable,  that  does  not  rest  purely  on  the  dra- 
matic merit ;  that  he  is  falsely  judged  as  poet  and  philosopher. 
I  think  as  highly  as  these  critics  of  his  dramatic  merit,  but 
still  think  it  secondary.  He  w^as  a  full  man,  who  liked  to 
talk;  a  brain  exhaling  thoughts  and  images,  which,  seeking 
vent,  found  the  drama  next  at  hand.  Had  he  been  less,  we 
should  have  had  to  consider  how  well  he  filled  his  place,  how 
good  a  dramatist  he  was,  —  and  he  is  the  best  in  the  world. 
But  it  turns  out,  that  what  he  has  to  say  is  of  that  weight  as 
to  withdraw  some  attention  from  the  vehicle ;  and  he  is  like 
some  saint  whose  history  is  to  be  rendered  into  all  languages, 
into  verse  and  prose,  into  songs  and  pictures,  and  cut  up  into 
proverbs ;  so  that  the  occasion  which  gave  the  saint^s  mean- 
ing the  form  of  a  conversation,  or  of  a  prayer,  or  of  a  code  of 
laws,  is  immaterial,  compared  with  the  universality  of  its 
application.  So  it  fares  with  the  wise  Shakspeare  and  his 
book  of  life.  He  wrote  the  airs  for  all  our  modern  music: 
he  wrote  the  text  of  modern  life  ;  the  text  of  manners  :  he  drew 
the  man  of  England  and  Europe;  the  father  of  the  man  in 
America :  he  drew  the  man,  and  described  the  day,  and  what 
is  done  in  it;  he  read  the  hearts  of  men  and  w^omen,  their 
probity,  and  their  second  thought,  and  wiles;  the  wiles  of 
innocence,  and  the  transitions  by  which  virtues  and  vices 
slide  into  their  contraries :  he  could  divide  the  mother^s 
part  from  the  father's  part  in  the  face  of  the  child,  or  draw 
the  fine  demarcations  of  freedom  and  of  fate :  he  knew  the 
laws  of  repression  which  make  the  police  of  nature :  and  all 
the  sweets  and  all  the  terrors  of  humaii  lot  lay  in  his  mind  as 
truly  but  as  softly  as  the  landscape  lies  on  the  eye.  And  the 
importance  of  this  wisdom  of  life  sinks  the  form,  as  of  Drama 
or  Epic,  out  of  notice.  'Tis  like  making  a  question  con- 
cerning the  paper  on  which  a  king's  message  is  written. 

Shakspeare  is  as  much  out  of  the  category  of  eminent 


P  SHAKSPEARE;  OR,   THE  POET  241 

authors,  as  he  is  out  of  the  crowd.  He  is  inconceivably  wise ; 
the  others,  conceivably.  A  good  reader  can,  in  a  sort,  nestle 
into  Plato's  brain,  and  think  from  thence ;  but  not  into 
Shakspeare's.  We  are  still  out  of  doors.  For  executive 
faculty,  for  creation,  Shakspeare  is  unique.  No  man  can 
imagine  it  better.  He  was  the  furthest  reach  of  subtlety 
compatible  with  an  individual  self,  —  the  subtlest  of  authors, 
and  only  just  within  the  possibihty  of  authorship.  With  this 
wisdom  of  life,  is  the  equal  endo^vment  of  imaginative  and  of 
lyric  power.  He  clothed  the  creatures  of  his  legend  with 
form  and  sentiments,  as  if  they  were  people  who  had  lived 
under  his  roof;  and  few  real  men  have  left  such  distinct 
characters  as  these  fictions.  And  they  spoke  in  language 
as  sweet  as  it  was  fit.  Yet  his  talents  never  seduced  him  into 
an  ostentation,  nor  did  he  harp  on  one  string.  An  omni- 
present humanity  co-ordinates  all  his  faculties.  Give  a  man 
of  talents  a  story  to  tell,  and  his  partiality  will  presently 
appear.  He  has  certain  observations,  opinions,  topics,  which 
have  some  accidental  prominence,  and  which  he  disposes  all 
to  exhibit.  He  crams  this  part,  and  starves  that  other  part, 
consulting  not  the  fitness  of  the  thing,  but  his  fitness  and 
strength.  But  Shakspeare  has  no  peculiarity,  no  impor- 
tunate topic ;  but  all  is  duly  given ;  no  veins,  no  curiosities ; 
no  cow-painter,  no  bird-fancier,  no  mannerist  is  he ;  he  has  no 
discoverable  egotism:  the  great  he  tells  greatly;  the  small, 
subordinately.  He  is  wise  without  emphasis  or  assertion; 
he  is  strong,  as  Nature  is  strong,  who  lifts  the  land  into  moun- 
tain slopes  without  effort,  and  by  the  same  rule  as  she  floats 
a  bubble  in  the  air,  and  likes  as  well  to  do  the  one  as  the 
other.  This  makes  that  equality  of  power  in  farce,  tragedy, 
narrative,  and  love-songs ;  a  merit  so  incessant,  that  each 
reader  is  incredulous  of  the  perception  of  other  readers. 

This  power  of  expression,  or  of  transferring  the  inmost 
truth  of  things  into  music  and  verse,  makes  him  the  type  of 
the  poet,  and  has  added  a  new  problem  to  metaphysics.  This 
is  that  which  throws  him  into  natural  history,  as  a  main 
production  of  the  globe,  and  as  announcing  new  eras  and 
ameliorations.  Things  were  mirrored  in  his  poetry  without 
loss  or  blur ;  he  could  paint  the  fine  with  precision,  the  great 
with  compass;  the  tragic  and  the  comic  indifferently,  and 
without  any  distortion  or  favor.  He  carried  his  powerful 
execution  into  minute  details,  to  a  hair  point ;  finishes  an  eye- 


242  SHAKSPEARE;   OR,   THE   POET 

lash  or  a  dimple  as  firmly  as  he  draws  a  mountain ;  and  yet 
these,  hke  nature's,  will  bear  the  scrutiny  of  the  solar  micro- 
scope. 

In  short,  he  is  the  chief  example  to  prove  that  more  or  less 
of  production,  more  or  fewer  pictures,  is  a  thing  indifferent. 
He  had  the  power  to  make  one  picture.  Daguerre  learned 
how  to  let  one  flower  etch  its  image  on  his  plate  of  iodine ; 
and  then  proceeds  at  leisure  to  etch  a  milhon.  There  are 
always  objects;  but  there  was  never  representation.  Here 
is  perfect  representation,  at  last ;  and  now  let  ^the  world  of 
figures  sit  for  their  portraits.  No  recipe  can  be  given  for  the 
making  of  a  Shakspeare ;  but  the  possibihty  of  the  translation 
of  things  into  song  is  demonstrated. 

His  lyric  power  hes  in  the  genius  of  the  piece.  The  sonnets, 
though  their  excellence  is  lost  in  the  splendor  of  the  dramas, 
are  as  inimitable  as  they ;  and  it  is  not  a  merit  of  Hues,  but  a 
total  merit  of  the  piece ;  like  the  tone  of  voice  of  some  incom- 
parable person,  so  is  this  a  speech  of  poetic  beings,  and  any 
clause  as  unproducible  now  as  a  whole  poem. 

Though  the  speeches  in  the  plays,  and  single  lines,  have  a 
beauty  which  tempts  the  ear  to  pause  on  them  for  their 
euphuism,  yet  the  sentence  is  so  loaded  with  meaning,  and  so 
linked  with  its  foregoers  and  followers,  that  the  logician  is 
satisfied.  His  means  are  as  admirable  as  his  ends ;  every 
subordinate  invention,  by  which  he  helps  himself  to  connect 
some  irreconcilable  opposites,  is  a  poem  too.  He  is  not 
reduced  to  dismount  and  walk,  because  his  horses  are  run- 
ning off  with  him  in  some  distant  direction :  he  always  rides. 

The  finest  poetry  was  first  experience  :  but  the  thought  has 
suffered  a  transformation  since  it  was  an  experience.  Culti- 
vated men  often  attain  a  good  degree  of  skill  in  writing 
verses;  but  it  is  easy  to  read,  through  their  poems,  their 
personal  history :  any  one  acquainted  with  parties  can  name 
every  figure  :  this  is  Andrew,  and  that  is  Rachel.  The  sense 
thus  remains  prosaic.  It  is  a  caterpillar  with  wings,  and  not 
yet  a  butterfly.  In  the  poet's  mind,  the  fact  has  gone  quite 
over  into  the  new  element  of  thought,  and  has  lost  all  that  is 
exuvial.  This  generosity  abides  with  Shakspeare.  We  say, 
from  the  truth  and  closeness  of  his  pictures,  that  he  knows 
the  lesson  by  heart.     Yet  there  is  not  a  trace  of  egotism. 

One  more  royal  trait  properly  belongs  to  the  poet.  I  mean 
his  cheerfulness,  without  which  no  man  can  be  a  poet,  —  for 


SHAKSPEARE;   OR,   THE  POET  243 

beauty  is  his  aim.  He  loves  virtue,  not  for  its  obligation, 
but  for  its  grace  :  he  deUghts  in  the  world,  in  man,  in  woman, 
for  the  lovely  hght  that  sparkles  from  them.  Beauty,  the 
spirit  of  joy  and  hilarity,  he  sheds  over  the  universe.  Epi- 
curus relates,  that  poetry  hath  such  charms  that  a  lover 
might  forsake  his  mistress  to  partake  of  them.  And  the 
true  bards  have  been  noted  for  their  firm  and  cheerful  temper. 
Homer  hes  in  sunshine ;  Chaucer  is  glad  and  erect ;  and  Saadi 
says,  ^^It  was  rumored  abroad  that  I  was  penitent ;  but  what 
had  I  to  do  with  repentance?^'  Not  less  sovereign  and 
cheerful,  —  much  more  sovereign  and  cheerful,  is  the  tone  of 
Shakspeare.  His  name  suggests  joy  and  emancipation  to 
the  heart  of  men.  If  he  should  appear  in  any  company  of 
human  souls,  who  would  not  march  in  his  troop  ?  He  touches 
nothing  that  does  not  borrow  health  and  longevity  from  his 
festal  styb. 

And  now,  how  stands  the  account  of  man  with  this  bard 
and  benefactor,  when  in  solitude,  shutting  our  ears  to  the 
reverberations  of  his  fame,  we  seek  to  strike  the  balance? 
Sohtude  has  austere  lessons;  it  can  teach  us  to  spare  both 
heroes  and  poets;  and  it  weighs  Shakspeare  also,  and  finds 
him  to  share  the  haKness  and  imperfection  of  humanity. 

Shakspeare,  Homer,  Dante,  Chaucer,  saw  the  splendor  of 
meaning  that  plays  over  the  visible  world ;  knew  that  a  tree 
had  another  use  than  for  apples,  and  corn  another  than  for 
meal,  and  the  ball  of  the  earth,  than  for  tillage  and  roads : 
that  these  things  bore  a  second  and  finer  harvest  to  the  mind, 
being  emblems  of  its  thoughts,  and  conveying  in  all  their 
natural  history  a  certain  mute  commentary  on  human  life. 
Shakspeare  employed  them  as  colors  to  compose  his  picture. 
He  rested  in  their  beauty;  and  never  took  the  step  which 
seemed  inevitable  to  such  genius,  namely,  to  explore  the 
virtue  which  resides  in  these  symbols,  and  imparts  this  power, 
—  what  is  that  which  they  themselves  say  ?  He  converted 
the  elements,  which  waited  on  his  command,  into  entertain- 
ments. He  was  master  of  the  revels  to  mankind.  Is  it  not 
as  if  one  should  have,  through  majestic  powers  of  science,  the 
comets  given  into  his  hand,  or  the  planets  and  their  moons, 
and  should  draw  them  from  their  orbits  to  glare  with  the 
municipal  fire-works  on  a  holiday  night,  and  advertise  in  all 
towns,  '^very  superior  pyrotechny  this  evening!''     Are  the 


244  SHAKSPEARE;   OR,   THE  POET 

agents  of  nature,  and  the  power  to  understand  them,  worth 
no  more  than  a  street  serenade,  or  the  breath  of  a  cigar?  One 
remembers  again  the  trumpet-text  in  the  Koran,  —  ^^The 
heavens  and  the  earth,  and  all  that  is  between  them,  think 
ye  we  have  created  them  in  jest?''  As  long  as  the  question 
is  of  talent  and  mental  power,  the  world  of  men  has  not  his 
equal  to  show.  But  when  the  question  is  to  life,  and  its 
materials,  and  its  auxiliaries,  how  does  he  profit  me?  What 
does  it  signify?  It  is  but  a  Twelfth  Night,  or  Midsummer 
Night's  Dream,  or  a  Winter  Evening's  Tale :  what  signifies 
another  picture  more  or  less?  The  Egyptian  verdict  of  the 
Shakspeare  Societies  comes  to  mind,  that  he  was  a  jovial 
actor  and  manager.  I  cannot  marry  this  fact  to  his  verse. 
Other  admirable  men  have  led  fives  in  some  sort  of  keeping 
with  their  thought ;  but  this  man,  in  wide  contrast.  Had  he 
been  less,  had  he  reached  only  the  common  measure  of  great 
authors,  of  Bacon,  Milton,  Tasso,  Cervantes,  we  might  leave 
the  fact  in  the  twilight  of  human  fate :  but,  that  this  man  of 
men,  he  who  gave  to  the  science  of  mind  a  new  and  larger 
subject  than  had  ever  existed,  and  planted  the  standard  of 
humanity  some,  furlongs  forward  into  Chaos, — that  he 
should  not  be  wise  for  himself,  —  it  must  even  go  into  the 
world's  history,  that  the  best  poet  led  an  obscure  and  pro- 
fane life,  using  his  genius  for  the  public  amusement. 

Well,  other  men,  priest  and  prophet,  Israelite,  German,  and  j 
Swede,  beheld  the  same  objects  :  they  also  saw  through  them 
that  which  was   contained.     And  to  what   purpose?     The 
beauty  straightway  vanished ;   they  read   commandments, 
all-excluding  mountainous  duty ;  an  obligation,  a  sadness,  as 
of  piled  mountains,  fell  on  them,  and  life  became  ghastly,  J 
joyless,  a  pilgrim's  progress,  a  probation,  beleaguered  round  J 
with  doleful  histories  of  Adam's  fall  and  curse,  behind  us;| 
with  doomsdays  and  purgatorial  and  penal  fires  before  us; I 
and  the  heart  of  the  seer  and  the  heart  of  the  listener  sank! 
in  them. 

It  must  be  conceded  that  these  are  half -views  of  half -men.  ^ 
The  world  still  wants  its  poet-priest,  a  reconciler,  who  shall' 
not  trifle  with  Shakspeare  the  player,  nor  shall  grope  in  graves 
with  Swedenborg  the  mourner ;  but  who  shall  see,  speak,  and 
act,  with  equal  inspiration.  For  knowledge  will  brighten  the 
sunshine ;  right  is  more  beautiful  than  private  affection ;  and 
love  is  compatible  with  universal  wisdom. 


NAPOLEON;    OR,   THE   MAN  OF   THE 
WORLD 

FROM   ^*  REPRESENTATIVE   MEN'^ 

Among  the  eminent  persons  of  the  nineteenth  century, 
Bonaparte  is  far  the  best  known,  and  the  most  powerful; 
and  owes  his  predominance  to  the  fidehty  with  which  he  ex- 
presses the  tone  of  thought*  and  behef ,  the  aims  of  the  masses 
of  active  and  cultivated  men.  It  is  Swedenborg^s  thecry, 
that  every  organ  is  made  up  of  homogeneous  particles ;  or, 
as  it  is  sometimes  expressed,  every  whole  is  made  of  similars ; 
that  is,  the  lungs  are  composed  of  infinitely  small  lyngs ;  the 
liver,  of  infinitely  small  livers ;  the  kidney,  of  little  kidneys, 
etc.  Following  this  analogy,  if  any  man  is  found  to  carry 
with  him  the  power  and  affections  of  vast  numbers,  if  Na- 
poleon is  France,  if  Napoleon  is  Europe,  it  is  because  the 
people  whom  he  sways  are  little  Napoleons. 

In  our  society,  there  is  a  standing  antagonism  between  the 
conservative  and  the  democratic  classes ;  between  those  who 
have  made  their  fortunes,  and  the  young  and  the  poor  who 
have  fortunes  to  make ;  between  the  interests  of  dead  labor  — 
that  is,  the  labor  of  hands  long  ago  still  in  the  grave,  which 
labor  is  now  entombed  in  money  stocks,  or  in  land  and  build- 
ings owned  by  idle  capitalists  —  and  the  interests  of  living 
labor,  which  seeks  to  possess  itself  of  land,  and  buildings,  and 
money  stocks.  The  first  class  is  timid,  selfish,  illiberal,  hating 
innovation,  and  continually  losing  numbers  by  death.  The 
second  class  is  selfish  also,  encroaching,  bold,  self-relying,  al- 
ways outnumbering  the  other,  and  recruiting  its  numbers 
every  hour  by  births.  It  desires  to  keep  open  every  avenue 
to  the  competition  of  all,  and  to  multiply  avenues ;  —  the 
class  of  business  men  in  America,  in  England,  in  France,  and 
throughout  Europe ;  the  class  of  industry  and  skill.  Napo- 
leon is  its  representative.     The  instinct  of  active,  brave,  able 

245 


246  NAPOLEON;  OR,  THE  MAN  OF  THE  WORLD 

men,  throughout  the  middle  class  everywhere,  has  pointed  out 
Napoleon  as  the  incarnate  Democrat.  He  had  their  virtues 
and  their  vices ;  above  all,  he  had  their  spirit  or  aim.  That 
tendency  is  material,  pointing  at  a  sensual  success,  and  em- 
ploying the  richest  and  most  various  means  to  that  end ;  con- 
versant with  mechanical  powers,  highly  intellectual,  widely 
and  accurately  learned  and  skilful,  but  subordinating  all  in- 
tellectual and  spiritual  forces  into  means  to  a  material  suc- 
cess. To  be  the  rich  man  is  the  end.  ^'God  has  granted," 
says  the  Koran,  ^Ho  ev^ery  people  a  prophet  in  its  own  tongue.'^ 
Paris,  and  London,  and  New  York,  the  spirit  of  commerce,  of 
mone}^,  and  material  power,  were  also  to  have  their  prophet ; 
and  Bonaparte  was  qualified  and  sent. 

,  Every  one  of  the  million  readers  of  anecdotes,  or  memoirs, 
or  lives  of  Napoleon,  dehghts  in  the  page,  because  he  studies 
in  it  his  own  history.  Napoleon  is  thoroughly  modern,  and, 
at  the  highest  point  of  his  fortunes,  has  the  very  spirit  of  the 
newspapers.  He  is  no  saint, — to  use  his  own  word,  ^^no 
capuchin,''  and  he  is  no  hero,  in  the  high  sense.  The  man  in 
the  stre^  finds  in  him  the  qualities  and  powers  of  other  men 
in  the  street.  He  finds  him,  like  himself,  by  birth  a  citizen, 
who,  by  very  intelligible  merits,  arrived  at  such  a  command- 
ing position,  that  he  could  indulge  all  those  tastes  which  the 
common  man  possesses,  but  is  obliged  to  conceal  and  deny : 
good  society,  good  books,  fast  travelling,  dress,  dinners,  ser- 
vants without  number,  personal  weight,  the  execution  of 
his  ideas,  the  standing  in  the  attitude  of  a  benefactor  to  all 
persons  about  him,  the  refined  enjoyments  of  pictures,  statues, 
music,  palaces,  and  conventional  honors,  —  precisely  what 
is  agreeable  to  the  heart  of  every  man  in  the  nineteenth  cen- 
tury, —  this  powerful  man  possessed. 

It  is  true  that  a  man  of  Napoleon's  truth  of  adaptation  to 
the  mind  of  the  masses  around  him,  becomes  not  merely  rep- 
resentative, but  actually  a  monopolizer  and  usurper  of  other 
minds.  Thus  Mirabeau  plagiarized  every  good  thought, 
every  good  word,  that  was  spoken  in  France.  Dumont  re- 
lates, that  he  sat  in  the  gallery  of  the  Convention,  and  heard 
Mirabeau  make  a  speech.  It  struck  Dumont  that  he  could 
fit  it  with  a  peroration,  which  he  wrote  in  pencil  immediately, 
and  showed  it  to  Lord  Elgin,  who  sat  by  him.  Lord  Elgin 
approved  it,  and  Dumont,  in  the  evening,  showed  it  to  Mira- 
beau.    Mirabeau  read  it,  pronounced  it  admirable,  and  de- 


NAPOLEON;   OR,  THE   MAN  OF  THE  WORLD     247 

clared  he  would  incorporate  it  into  his  harangue  to-morrow, 
to  the  Assembly.  ''It  is  impossible,'^  said  Dumont,  ''as, 
unfortunately,  I  have  shown  it  to  Lord  Elgin.''  "If  you 
have  shown  it  to  Lord  Elgin,  and  to  fifty  persons  beside,  I 
shall  still  speak  it  to-morrow":  and  he  did  speak  it,  with 
much  effect,  at  the  next  day's  session.  For  Mirabeau,  with 
his  overpowering  personality,  felt  that  these  things,  which 
his  presence  inspired,  were-  as  much  his  own  as  if  he  had  said 
them,  and  that  his  adoption  of  them  gave  them  their  weight.. 
Much  more  absolute  and  centralizing  was  the  successor  to 
Mirabeau's  popularity,  and  to  much  more  than  his  predom- 
inance in  France.  Indeed,  a  man  of  Napoleon's  stamp  al- ' 
most  ceases  to  have  a  private  speech  and  opinion.  He  is  so 
largely  receptive,  and  is  so  placed,  that  he  comes  to  be 
a  bureau  for  all  the  intelligence,  wit,  and  power,  of  the  age 
and  country.  He  gains  the  battle ;  he  makes  the  code ;  he 
makes  the  system  of  weights  and  measures;  he  levels  the 
Alps ;  he  builds  the  road.  All  distinguished  engineers^ 
savans,  statists,  report  to  him:  so,  likewise,  do  all  good 
heads  in  every  kind :  he  adopts  the  best  measures,  sets  his 
stamp  on  them,  and  not  tkese  alone,  but  on  every  happy  and 
memorable  expression.  Every  sentence  spoken  by  Napoleon, ' 
and  every  line  of  his  writing,  deserves  reading,  as  it  is  the 
sense  of  France. 

Bonaparte  was  the  idol  of  common  men,  because  he  had  in 
transcendent  degree  the  qualities  and  powers  of  common 
men.  There  is  a  certain  satisfaction  in  coming  down  to  the 
lowest  ground  of  politics,  for  we  get  rid  of  cant  and  hypocrisy. 
Bonaparte  wrought,  in  common  with  that  great  class  he  rep- 
resented, for  power  and  wealth,  —  but  Bonaparte,  specially, 
without  any  scruple  as  to  the  means.  All  the  sentiments 
which  embarrass  men's  pursuit  of  these  objects,  he  set  aside. 
The  sentiments  were  for  women  and  children.  Fontanes, 
in  1804,  expressed  Napoleon's  own  sense,  when,  in  behalf  of 
the  Senate,  he  addressed  him,  —  "Sire,  the  desire  of  perfec- 
tion is  the  worst  disease  that  ever  afflicted  the  human  mind." 
The  advocates  of  liberty,  and  of  progress,  are  "ideologists"; 
—  a  word  of  contempt  often  in  his  mouth;  —  "Necker  is  an 
ideologist"  :  "Lafayette  is  an  ideologist." 

An  Italian  proverb,  too  well  known,  declares  that,  "if  you 
would  succeed,  you  must  not  be  too  good."  It  is  an  advan- 
tage, within  certain  hmits,  to  have  renounced  the  dominion 


248    NAPOLEON;   OR,  THE   MAN  OF  THE  WORLD 

of  the  sentiments  of  piety,  gratitude,  and  generosity ;  since, 
what  was  an  impassable  bar  to  us,  and  still  is  to  others,  be- 
comes a  convenient  weapon  for  our  purposes  ;  just  as  the  river 
which  was  a  formidable  barrier,  T\dnter  transforms  into  the 
smoothest  of  roads. 

Napoleon  renounced,  once  for  all,  sentiments  and  affec- 
tions, and  would  help  himself  with  his  hands  and  his  head. 
With  him  is  no  miracle,  and  no  magic.  He  is  a  worker  in 
brass,  in  iron,  in  wood,  in  earth,  in  roads,  in  buildings,  in 
money,  and  in  troops,  and  a  very  consistent  and  wise  master- 
workman.  He  is  never  weak  and  literary,  but  acts  with  the 
sohdity  and  precision  of  natural  agents.  He  has  not  lost  his 
native  sense  and  sympathy  wdth  things.  Men  give  way  be- 
fore such  a  man,  as  before  natural  events.  To  be  sure,  there 
are  men  enough  who  are  immersed  in  things,  as  farmers, 
smiths,  sailors,  and  mechanics  generally ;  and  we  know  how 
real  and  solid  such  men  appear  in  the  presence  of  scholars 
and  grammarians :  but  these  men  ordinarily  lack  the  power 
of  arrangement,  and  are  like  hands  without  a  head.  But 
Bonaparte  superadded  to  this  mineral  and  animal  force,  in- 
sight and  generalization,  so  that  men  saw  in  him  combined 
the  natural  and  the  intellectual  power,  as  if  the  sea  and  land 
had  taken  flesh  and  begun  to  cipher.  Therefore  the  land  and 
sea  seem  to  presuppose  him.  He  came  unto  his  own  and  they 
received  him.  This  ciphering  operative  knows  what  he  is 
working  with,  and  what  is  the  product.  He  knew  the  prop- 
erties of  gold  and  iron,  of  wheels  and  ships,  of  troops  and 
diplomatists,  and  required  that  each  should  do  after  its  kind. 

The  art  of  war  was  the  game  in  which  he  exerted  his  arith- 
metic. It  consisted,  according  to  him,  in  having  always  more 
forces  than  the  enemy,  on  the  point  where  the  enemy  is  at- 
tacked, or  where  he  attacks ;  and  his  whole  talent  is  strained 
by  endless  manoeuvre  and  evolution,  to  march  always  on  the 
enemy  at  an  angle,  and  destroy  his  forces  in  detail.  It  is 
obvious  that  a  very  small  force,  skilfully  and  rapidly  man- 
oeuvring, so  as  always  to  bring  two  men  against  one  at  the 
point  of  engagement,  will  be  an  overmatch  for  a  much  larger 
body  of  men. 

The  times,  his  constitution,  and  his  early  circumstances, 
combined  to  develop  this  pattern  democrat.  He  had  the 
virtues  of  his  class,  and  the  conditions  for  their  activity. 
That  common-sense,  which  no  sooner  respects  any  end,  than 


NAPOLEON;   OR,  THE   MAN  OF  THE  WORLD     249 

it  finds  the  means  to  effect  it ;  the  dehght  in  the  use  of  means ; 
in  the  choice,  simpHfication,  and  combining  of  means ;  the 
directness  and  thoroughness  of  his  work;  the  prudence  with 
which  all  was  seen,  and  the  energy  with  which  all  was  done, 
make  him  the  natural  organ  and  head  of  what  I  may  almost 
call,  from  its  extent,  the  modern  party. 

Nature  must  have  far  the  greatest  share  in  every  success, 
and  so  in  his.  Such  a  man  was  wanted,  and  such  a  man  was 
born ;  a  man  of  stone  and  iron,  capable  of  sitting  on  horse- 
back sixteen  or  seventeen  hours,  of  going  many  days  together 
without  rest  or  food,  except  by  snatches,  and  with  the  speed 
and  spring  of  a  tiger  in  action;  a  man  not  embarrassed  by 
any  scruples;  compact,  instant,  selfish,  prudent,  and  of  a 
perception  which  did  not  suffer  itself  to  be  balked  or  misled 
by  any  pretences  of  others,  or  any  superstition,  or  any  heat 
or  hast 3  of  his  own.  ^^  My  hand  of  iron,'^  he  said,  ^'was  not 
at  the  extremity  of  my  arm :  it  was  immediately  connected 
with  my  head."  He  respected  the  power  of  nature  and  for- 
tune, and  ascribed  to  it  his  superiority,  instead  of  valuing 
himself,  like  inferior  men,  on  his  opinionativeness,  and  wag- 
ing war  with  nature.  His  favorite  rhetoric  lay  in  allusion 
to  his  star;  and  he  pleased  himself,  as  well  as  the  people, 
when  he  styled  himself  the  '^ Child  of  Destiny."  '^They 
charge  me,"  he  said,  ^'with  the  commission  of  great  crimes : 
men  of  my  stamp  do  not  commit  crimes.  Nothing  has  been 
more  simple  than  my  elevation :  ^t  is  in  vain  to  ascribe  it  to 
intrigue  or  crime  :  it  was  owing  to  the  peculiarity  of  the  times, 
and  to  my  reputation  of  having  fought  well  against  the  en- 
emies of  my  country.  I  have  always  marched  with  the  opin- 
ion of  great-  masses,  and  with  events.  Of  what  use,  then, 
would  crimes  be  to  me  ?  "  Again  he  said,  speaking  of  his  son  : 
'^My  son  cannot  replace  me:  I  could  not  replace  myself. 
I  am  the  creature  of  circumstances." 

He  had  a  directness  of  action  never  before  combined  with 
so  much  comprehension.  He  is  a  realist  terrific  to  all  talkers, 
and  confused  truth-obscuring  persons.  He  sees  where  the 
matter  hinges,  throws  himself  on  the  precise  point  of  resist- 
ance, and  slights  all  other  considerations.  He  is  strong  in 
the  right  manner,  namely,  by  insight.  He  never  blundered 
into  victory,  but  won  his  battles  in  his  head,  before  he  won 
them  on  the  field.  His  principal  means  are  in  himself.  He 
asks  counsel  of  no  other.     In  1796,  he  writes  to  the  Direc- 


250     NAPOLEON;   OR,  THE  MAN   OF  THE  WORLD 

tory:  ^'I  have  conducted  the  campaign  without  consulting 
any  one.  I  should  have  done  no  good,  if  I  had  been  under  the 
necessity  of  conforming  to  the  notions  of  another  person.  I 
have  gained  some  advantages  over  superior  forces,  and  when 
totally  destitute  of  everything,  because,  in  the  persuasion 
that  your  confidence  was  reposed  in  me,  my  actions  were  as 
prompt  as  my  thoughts.^' 

History  is  full,  down  to  this  day,  of  the  imbecility  of  kings 
and  governors.  They  are  a  class  of  persons  much  to  be  pitied, 
for  they  know  not  what  they  should  do.  The  weavers  strike 
for  bread ;  and  the  king  and  his  ministers,  not  knowing  what 
to  do,  meet  them  with  bayonets.  But  Napoleon  understood 
his  business.  Here  was  a  man  who,  in  each  moment  and 
emergency,  knew  what  to  do  next.  It  is  an  immense  comfort 
and  refreshment  to  the  spirits,  not  only  of  kings,  but  of  citi- 
zens. Few  men  have  any  next ;  they  live  from  hand  to  mouth 
without  plan,  and  are  ever  at  the  end  of  their  line,  and,  after 
each  action,  wait  for  an  impulse  from  abroad.  Napoleon 
had  been  the  first  man  of  the  world,  if  his  ends  had  been 
purely  public.  As  he  is,  he  inspires  confidence  and  vigor 
by  the  extraordinary  unity  of  his  action.  He  is  firm,  sure, 
self-denying,  self-postponing,  sacrificing  everything  to  his 
aim,  —  money,  troops,  generals,  and  his  own  safety  also,  to 
his  aim ;  not  misled,  like  common  adventurers,  by  the  splen- 
dor of  his  own  means .  ^  ^  Incidents  ought  not  to  govern  policy, ' ' 
he  said,  ''but  policy,  incidents. ^^  ''To  be  hurried  away  by 
every  event,  is  to  have  no  political  system  at  all.^'  His  vic- 
tories were  only  so  many  doors,  and  he  never  for  a  moment 
lost  sight  of  his  way  onward,  in  the  dazzle  and  uproar  of  the 
present  circumstance.  He  knew  what  to  do,  and  he  flew  to 
his  mark.  He  would  shorten  a  straight  line  to  come  at  hi3 
object.  Horrible  anecdotes  may,  no  doubt,  be  collected 
from  his  history,  of  the  price  at  which  he  bought  his  successes ; 
but  he  must  not  therefore  be  set  down  as  cruel ;  but  only  as 
one  who  knew  no  impediment  to  his  will ;  not  bloodthirsty, 
not  cruel,  —  but  woe  to  what  thing  or  person  stood  in  his 
way !  Not  bloodthirsty,  but  not  sparing  of  blood,  —  and 
pitiless.  He  saw  only  the  object :  the  obstacle  must  give 
way.  "Sire,  General  Clarke  cannot  combine  with  General 
Junot,  for  the  dreadful  fire  of  the  Austrian  battery.^'  — 
"Let  him  carry  the  battery."  —  "Sire,  every  regiment  that 
approaches   the    heavy  artillery  is    sacrificed:     Sire,  what 


NAPOLEON;  OR,  THE  MAN  OF  THE  WORLD    251 

orders?''  —  ^^ Forward,  forward !''  Seruzier,  a  colonel  of 
artillery,  gives,  in  his  Military  Memoirs,  the  following  sketch 
of  a  scene  after  the  battle  of  Austerlitz :  ''At  the  moment 
in  which  the  Russian  army  was  making  its  retreat,  painfully, 
but  in  good  order,  on  the  ice  of  the  lake,  the  Emperor  Napo- 
leon came  riding  at  full  speed  toward  the  artillery.  'You 
are  losing  time,'  he  cried;  'fire  upon  those  masses;  they 
must  be  ingulfed :  fire  upon  the  ice ! '  The  order  remained 
unexecuted  for  ten  minutes.  In  vain  several  officers  and 
myself  were  placed  on  the  slope  of  a  hill  to  produce  the  effect : 
their  balls  and  mine  rolled  upon  the  ice,  without  breaking 
it  up.  Seeing  that,  I  tried  a  simple  method  of  elevating  light 
howitzers.  The  almost  perpendicular  fall  of  the  heavy  pro- 
jectiles produced  the  desired  effect.  My  method  was  im- 
mediately followed  by  the  adjoining  batteries,  and  in  less 
than  no  time  we  buried''  some  "thousands  of  Russians  and 
Austrians  under  the  waters  of  the  lake." 

In  the  plenitude  of  his  resources,  every  obstacle  seemed  to 
vanish.  "There  shall  be  no  Alps,"  he  said;  and  he  built 
his  perfect  roads,  climbing  by  graded  galleries  their  steepest 
precipices,  until  Italy  was  as  open  to  Paris  as  any  town  in 
France.  He  laid  his  bones  to,  and  wrought  for  his  crown. 
Having  decided  what  was  to  be  done,  he  did  that  with  might 
and  main.*  He  put  out  all  his  strength.  He  risked  everything, 
and  spared  nothing,  neither  ammunition,  nor  money,  nor 
troops,  nor  generals,  nor  himself. 

We  like  to  see  everything  do  its  office  after  its  kind,  whether 
it  be  a  milch-cow  or  a  rattlesnake;  and,  if  fighting  be  the 
best  mode  of  adjusting  national  differences  (as  large  major- 
ities of  men  seem  to  agree),  certainly  Bonaparte  was  right  in 
making  it  thorough.  "The  grand  principle  of  war,"  he  said, 
"was,  that  an  army  ought  always  to  be  ready,  by  day  and 
by  night,  and  at  all  hours,  to  make  all  the  resistance  it  is  ca- 
pable of  making."  He  never  economized  his  ammunition,  but, 
on  a  hostile  position,  rained  a  torrent  of  iron,  —  shells,  balls, 
grape-shot,  —  to  annihilate  all  defence.  On  any  point  pf 
resistance,  he  concentrated  squadron  on  squadron  in  over- 
whelming numbers,  until  it  was  svv^ept  out  of  existence.  To 
a  regiment  of  horse-chasseurs  at  Lobenstein,  two  days  before 
the  battle  of  Jena,  Napoleon  said:  "My  lads,  you  must  not 
fear  death;  when  soldiers  brave  death,  they  drive  him  into 
the  enemy's  ranks."     In  the  fury  of  assault,  he  no  more  spared 


252     NAPOLEON;   OR,  THE  MAN  OF  THE  WORLD 

himself.  He  went  to  the  edge  of  his  possibiHty.  It  is  plain 
that  in  Italy  he  did  what  he  could,  and  all  that  he  could.  He 
came,  several  times,  within  an  inch  of  ruin  ;  and  his  own  per- 
son was  all  but  lost.  He  was  flung  into  the  marsh  at  Areola. 
The  Austrians  were  between  him  and  his  troops,  in  the  melee, 
and  he  was  brought  off  with  desperate  efforts.  At  Lonato, 
and  at  other  places,  he  was  on  the  point  of  being  taken  pris- 
oner. He  fought  sixty  battles.  He  had  never  enough. 
Each  victory  was  a  new  weapon.  ^^My  power  would  fail, 
were  I  not  to  support  it  by  new  achievements.  Conquest 
has  made  m.e  what  I  am,  and  conquest  must  maintain  me.^' 
He  felt,  with  every  wise  man,  that  as  much  life  is  needed  for 
conservation,  as  for  creation.  We  are  always  in  peril,  always 
in  a  bad  plight,  just  on  the  edge  of  destruction,  and  only  to 
be  saved  by  invention  and  courage. 

This  vigor  was  guarded  and  tempered  by  the  coldest  pru- 
dence and  punctuality.  A  thunderbolt  in  the  attack,  he 
was  found  invulnerable  in  his  intrenchments.  His  very  at- 
tack was  never  the  inspiration  of  courage,  but  the  re&ult  of 
calculation.  His  idea  of  the  best  defence  consists  in  being 
still  the  attacking  party.  '*My  ambition,'^  he  says,  "was 
great,  but  was  of  a  cold  nature.^ ^  In  one  of  his  conversations 
with  Las  Cases,  he  remarked,  "As  to  moral  courage,  I  have 
rarely  met  with  the  two-o'clock-in-the-morning  kind  :  I  mean 
unprepared  courage,  that  which  is  necessarj^  on  an  unexpected 
occasion ;  and  which,  in  spite  of  the  most  unforeseen  events, 
leaves  full  freedom  of  judgment  and  decision'^ :  and  he  did 
not  hesitate  to  declare  that  he  was  himself  eminently  endowed 
with  this  "two-o'clock-in-the~morning  courage,  and  that  he 
had  met  with  few  persons  equal  to  himself  in  this  respect.'' 

Everything  depended  on  the  nicety  of  his  combinations, 
and  the  stars  were  not  more  punctual  than  his  arithmetic. 
His  personal  attention  descended  to  the  smallest  particulars. 
^^At  Montebello,  I  ordered  Kellermann  to  attack  with  eight 
hundred  horse,  and  with  these  he  separated  the  six  thousand 
Hungarian  grenadiers,  before  the  very  eyes  of  the  Austrian 
cavalry.  This  cavalry  was  half  a  league  off,  and  required  a 
quarter  of  an  hour  to  arrive  on  the  field  of  action ;  and  I  have 
observed,  that  it  is  always  these  quarters  of  an  hour  that  de- 
cide the  fate  of  a  battle.''  "Before  he  fought  a  battle,  Bona- 
parte thought  little  about  \^hat  he  should  do  in  case  of  success, 
but  a  great  deal  about  what  he  should  do  in  case  of  a  reverse 


NAPOLEON;   OR,  THE  MAN  OF  THE  WORLD     253 

of  fortune/^  The  same  prudence  and  good  sense  mark  all 
his  behavior.  His  instructions  to  his  secretary  at  the  Tuiler- 
ies  are  worth  remembering.  ^^  During  the  night,  enter  my 
chamber  as  seldom  as  possible.  Do  not  awake  me  when 
you  have  any  good  news  to  communicate ;  with  that  there 
is  no  hurry.  But  when  you  bring  bad  news,  rouse  me  in- 
stantly, for  then  there  is  not  a  moment  to  be  lost.'^  It  was 
a  whimsical  economy  of  the  same  kind  which  dictated  his 
practice,  when  general  in  Italy,  in  regard  to  his  burdensome 
correspondence.  He  directed  Bourrienne  to  leave  all  letters 
unopened  for  three  weeks,  and  then  observed  with  satisfac- 
tion how  large  a  part  of  the  correspondence  had  thus  disposed 
of  itseK,  and  no  longer  required  an  answer.  His  achievement 
of  business  was  immense,  and  enlarges  the  known  powers  of 
man.  There  have  been  many  working  kings,  from  Ulysses 
to  William  of  Orange,  but  none  who  accomplished  a  tithe  of 
this  man's  performance. 

To  these  gifts  of  nature,  Napoleon  added  the  advantage  of 
having  been  born  to  a  private  and  humble  fortune.  In  his 
later  days,  he  had  the  weakness  of  wishing  to  add  to  his  crowns 
and  badges  the  prescription  of  aristocracy;  but  he  knew  his 
debt  to  his  austere  education,  and  made  no  secret  of  his  con- 
tempt for  the  born  kings,  and  for  ^'the  hereditary  asses,'' 
as  he  coarsely  styled  the  Bourbons.  He  said  that,  '^in  their 
exile,  they  have  learned  nothing  and  forgot  nothing."  Bona- 
parte had  passed  through  all  the  degrees  of  military  service, 
but  also  was  citizen  before  he  was  emperor,  and  so  has  the 
key  to  citizenship.  His  remarks  and  estimates  discover  the 
information  and  justness  of  measurement  of  the  middle  class. 
Those  who  had  to  deal  with  him,  found  that  he  was  not  to 
be  imposed  upon,  but  could  cipher  as  well  as  another  man. 
This  appears  in  all  parts  of  his  Memoirs,  dictated  at  St.  Helena. 
When  the  expenses  of  the  empress,  of  his  household,  of  his 
palaces,  had  accumulated  great  debts,  Napoleon  examined 
the  bills  of  the  creditors  himself,  detected  overcharges  and 
errors,  and  reduced  the  claims  by  considerable  sums. 

His  grand  weapon,  namely,  the  millions  whom  he  directed, 
he  owed  to  the  representative  character  which  clothed  him. 
He  interests  us  as  he  stands  for  France  and  for  Europe ;  and 
he  exists  as  captain  and  king,  only  as  far  as  the  revolution, 
or  the  interest  of  the  industrious  masses,  found  an  organ  and 
a  leader  in  him.     In  the  social  interests,  he  knew  the  meaning 


254  NAPOLEON;  OR,  THE  MAN  OF  THE  WORLD 

and  value  of  labor,  and  threw  himseK  naturally  on  that  side. 
I  like  an  incident  mentioned  by  one  of  his  biographers  at 
St.  Helena.  ^'When  walking  with  Mrs.  Balcombe,  some 
servants,  carrying  heavy  boxes,  passed  by  on  the  road,  and 
Mrs.  Balcombe  desired  them,  in  rather  an  angry  tone,  to 
keep  back.  Napoleon  interfered,  saying,  'Respect  the  bur- 
den. Madam.  ^  ^'  In  the  time  of  the  empire,  he  directed 
attention  to  the  improvement  and  embellishment  of  the  mar- 
kets of  the  capital.  ''The  market-place,"  he  said,  "is  the 
Louvre  of  the  common  people."  The  principal  works  that 
have  survived  him  are  his  magnificent  roads.  He  filled  the 
troops  with  his  spirit,  and  a  sort  of  freedom  and  companion- 
ship grew  up  between  him  and  them,  which  the  forms  of  his 
court  never  permitted  between  the  officers  and  himself.  They 
performed,  under  his  eye,  that  which  no  others  could  do. 
The  best  document  of  his  relation  to  his  troops  is  the  order 
of  the  day  on  the  morning  of  the  battle  of  Austerlitz,  in  which 
Napoleon  promises  the  troops  that  he  will  keep  his  person 
out  of  reach  of  fire.  This  declaration,  which  is  the  reverse 
of  that  ordinarily  made  by  generals  and  sovereigns  on  the 
eve  of  a  battle,  sufficiently  explains  the  devotion  of  the  army 
to  their  leader. 

But  though  there  is  in  particulars  this  identity  between 
Napoleon  and  the  mass  of  the  people,  his  real  strength  lay 
in  their  conviction  that  he  was  their  representative  in  his 
genius  and  aims,  not  only  when  he  courted,  but  when  he  con- 
trolled, and  even  when  he  decimated  them  by  his  conscrip- 
tions. He  knew,  as  well  as  any  Jacobin  in  France,  how  to 
philosophize  on  liberty  and  equality ;  and,  when  allusion  was 
made  to  the  precious  blood  of  centuries,  which  was  spilled 
by  the  killing  of  the  Due  d'Enghien,  he  suggested,  "Neither 
is  my  blood  ditch-water."  The  people  felt  that  no  longer 
the  throne  was  occupied,  and  the  land  sucked  of  its  nourish- 
ment, by  a  small  class  of  legitimates,  secluded  from  all  com- 
munity with  the  children  of  the  soil,  and  holding  the  ideas 
and  superstitions  of  a  long-forgotten  state  of  society.  In- 
stead of  that  vampyre,  a  man  of  themselves  held,  in  the  Tuil- 
eries,  knowledge  and  ideas  like  their  own,  opening,  of  course, 
to  them  and  their  children,  all  places  of  power  and  trust. 
The  day  of  sleepy,  selfish  policy,  ever  narrowing  the  means 
and  opportunities  of  young  men,  was  ended,  and  a  day  of 
expansion  and  demand  was  come.     A  market  for  all  the 


^ 


NAPOLEON;   OR,  THE   MAN  OF  THE  WORLD    255 

powers  and  productions  of  man  was  opened  ;  brilliant  prizes 
glittered  in  the  eyes  of  youth  and  talent.  The  old,  iron- 
bound,  feudal  France  was  changed  into  a  young  Ohio  or  New 
York;  and  those  who  smarted  under  the  immediate  rigors 
of  the  new  monarch,  pardoned  them,  as  the  necessary  sever- 
ities of  the  military  system  which  had  driven  out  the  oppressor. 
And  even  when  the  majority  of  the  people  had  begun  to  ask, 
whether  they  had  really  gained  anything  under  the  exhaust- 
ing levies  of  men  and  money  of  the  new  master,  —  the  whole 
talent  of  the  countrj^,  in  every  rank  and  kindred,  took  his 
part,  and  defended  him  as  its  natural  patron.  In  1814,  when 
advised  to  rely  on  the  higher  classes,  Napoleon  said  to  those 
around  him:  ^^ Gentlemen,  in  the  situation  in  which  I  stand, 
my  only  nobility  is  the  rabble  of  the  Faubourgs.^' 

Napoleon  met  this  natural  expectation.  The  necessity 
of  his  position  required  a  hospitality  to  every  sort  of  talent, 
and  its  appointment  to  trusts ;  and  his  feeling  went  along 
with  this  policy.  Like  every  superior  person,  he  undoubtedly 
felt  a  desire  for  men  and  compeers,  and  a  wish  to  measure  his 
power  with  other  masters,  and  an  impatience  of  fools  and 
underlings.  In  Italy,  he  sought  for  men,  and  found  none. 
^'Good  God  !''  he  said,  ^'how  rare  men  are  !  There  are  eight- 
een millions  in  Italy,  and  I  have  with  difficulty  found  two, 
—  Dandolo  and  Melzi.'^  In  later  years,  with  larger  experience, 
his  respect  for  mankind  was  not  increased.  In  a  moment 
of  bitterness,  he  said,  to  one  of  his  oldest  friends:  ^'Men 
deserve  the  contempt  with  which  they  inspire  me.  I  have 
only  to  put  some  gold  lace  on  the  coat  of  my  virtuous  repub- 
licans, and  they  immediately  become  just  what  I  wish  them.'' 
This  impatience  at  levity  was,  however,  an  oblique  tribute  of 
respect  to  those  able  persons  who  commanded  his  regard, 
not  only  when  he  found  them  friends  and  coadjutors,  but 
also  when  they  resisted  his  will.  He  could  not  confound  Fox 
and  Pitt,  Carnot,  Lafayette,  and  Bernadotte, '  with  the  dan- 
glers of  his  court ;  and,  in  spite  of  the  detraction  which  his  sys- 
tematic egotism  dictated  towards  the  great  captains  who  con- 
quered with  and  for  him,  ample  acknowledgments  are  made 
by  him  to  Lannes,  Duroc,  Kleber,  Dessaix,  Massena,  Murat, 
Ney,  and  Augereau.  If  he  felt  himself  their  patron,  and  the 
founder  of  their  fortunes,  as  when  he  said,  ^^I  made  my  gen- 
erals out  of  mud,''  he  could  not  hide  his  satisfaction  in  receiv- 
ing from  them  a  seconding  and  support  commensurate  with 


256    NAPOLEON;   OR,  THE  MAN  OF  THE  WORLD 

the  grandeur  of  his  enterprise.  In  the  Russian  campaign, 
he  was  so  much  impressed  by  the  courage  and  resources  of 
Marshal  Ney,  that  he  said,  ^'I  have  two  hundfed  milUons  in 
my  coffers,  and  I  would  give  them  all  for  Ney/^  The  char- 
acters which  he  has  drawn  of  several  of  his  marshals  are  dis- 
criminating, and,  though  they  did  not  content  the  insatiable 
vanity  of  French  officers,  are,  no  doubt,  substantially  just. 
And,  in  fact,  every  species  of  merit  was  sought  and  advanced 
under  his  government.  ^^I  know,''  he  said,  ^Hhe  depth  and 
draught  of  water  of  every  one  of  my  generals.''  Natural 
power  was  sure  to  be  well  received  at  his  court.  Seventeen 
men,  in  his  time,  were  raised  from  common  soldiers  to  the 
rank  of  king,  marshal,  duke,  or  general;  and  the  crosses  of 
his  Legion  of  Honor  were  given  to  personal  valor,  and  not 
to  family  connection.  ^^When  soldiers  have  been  baptized 
in  the  fire  of  a  battle-field,  they  have  all  one  rank  in  my  eyes." 
When  a  natural  king  becomes  a  titular  king,  everybody 
is  pleased  and  satisfied.  The  Revolution  entitled  the  strong 
populace  of  the  Faubourg  St.  Antoine,  and  every  horse-boy 
and  powder-monkey  in  the  army,  to  look  on  Napoleon,  as 
flesh  of  his  flesh,  and  the  creature  of  his  party;  but  there 
is  something  in  the  success  of  grand  talent  which  enlists  a 
universal  sympathy.  For,  in  the  prevalence  of  sense  and 
spirit  over  stupidity  and  malversation,  all  reasonable  men 
have  an  interest ;  and,  as  intellectual  beings,  we  feel  the  air 
purified  by  the  electric  shock,  when  material  force  is  over- 
thrown by  intellectual  energies.  As  soon  as  we  are  removed 
out  of  the  reach  of  local  and  accidental  partialities,  man  feels 
that  Napoleon  fights  for  him;  these  are  honest  victories; 
this  strong  steam-engine  does  our  work.  Whatever  appeals 
to  the  imagination,  by  transcending  the  ordinary  limits  of 
human  ability,  wonderfully  encourages  and  liberates  us.  This 
capacious  head,  revolving  and  disposing  sovereignly  trains 
of  affairs,  and  animating  such  multitudes  of  agents ;  this  eye, 
which  looked  through  Europe ;  this  prompt  invention ;  this 
inexhaustible  resource ;  —  what  events  !  what  romantic  pic- 
tures !  what  strange  situations !  —  when  spying  the  Alps, 
by  a  sunset  in  the  Sicilian  sea ;  drawing  up  his  army  for  battle, 
in  sight  of  the  Pyramids,  and  saying  to  his  troops,  ^'From 
the  tops  of  those  pyramids,  forty  centuries  look  down  on 
you" ;  fording  the  Red  Sea;  wading  in  the  guK  of  the  Isth- 
mus of  Suez.     On  the  shore  of  Ptolemais,  gigantic  projects 


NAPOLEON;  OR,  THE  MAN  OF  THE  WORLD    257 

agitated  him.  '^Had  Acre  fallen,  I  should  have  changed  the 
face  of  the  world /^  His  army,  on  the  night  of  the  battle 
of  Austerlitz,  which  was  the  anniversary  of  his  inauguration 
as  Emperor,  presented  him  with  a  bouquet  of  forty  standards 
taken  in  the  fight.  Perhaps  it  is  a  little  puerile,  the  pleasure 
he  took  in  making  these  contrasts  glaring ;  as,  when  he  pleased 
himself  with  making  kings  wait  in  his  antechambers,  at  Tilsit, 
at  Paris,  and  at  Erfurt. 

We  cannot,  in  the  universal  imbecility,  indecision,  and  in- 
dolence of  men,  sufficiently  congratulate  ourselves  on  this 
strong  and  ready  actor,  who  took  occasion  by  the  beard,  and 
showed  us  how  much  may  be  accomplished  by  the  mere  force 
of  such  virtues  as  all  men  possess  in  less  degrees ;  namely,  by 
punctuality,  by  personal  attention,  by  courage,  and  thorough- 
ness. "The  Austrians,''  he  said,  ''do  not  know  the  value 
of  time.^'  I  should  cite  him,  in  his  earlier  years,  as  a  model 
of  prudence.  His  power  does  not  consist  in  any  wild  or  ex- 
travagant force ;  in  any  enthusiasm,  like  Mahomet's ;  or 
singular  power  of  persuasion ;  but  in  the  exercise  of  common- 
sense  on  each  emergency,  instead  of  abiding  by  rules  and  cus- 
toms. The  lesson  he  teaches  is  that  which  vigor  always 
teaches,  —  that  there  is  always  room  for  it.  To  what  heaps 
of  cowardly  doubts  is  not  that  man's  life  an  answer.  When 
he  appeared,  it  was  the  belief  of  all  military  men  that  there 
could  be  nothing  new  in  war ;  as  it  is  the  belief  of  men  to-day, 
that  nothing  new  can  be  undertaken  in  politics,  or  in  church, 
or  in  letters,  or  in  trade,  or  in  farming,  or  in  our  social  manners 
and  customs ;  and  as  it  is,  at  all  times,  the  belief  of  society 
that  the  world  is  used  up.  But  Bonaparte  knew  better  than 
society ;  and,  moreover,  knew  that  he  knew  better.  I  think 
all  men  know  better  than  they  do ;  know  that  the  institutions 
we  so  volubly  commend  are  go-carts  and  bawbles ;  but  they 
dare  not  trust  their  presentiments.  Bonaparte  relied  on 
his  own  sense,  and  did  not  care  a  bean  for  other  people's. 
The  world  treated  his  novelties  just  as  it  treats  everybody's 
novelties,  —  made  infinite  objection ;  mustered  all  the  im- 
pediments; but  he  snapped  his  finger  at  their  objections. 
"What  creates  great  difficulty,"  he  remarks,  "in  the  profes- 
sion of  the  land-commander,  is  the  necessity  of  feeding  so 
many  men  and  animals.  If  he  allows  himself  to  be  guided 
by  the  commissaries,  he  will  never  stir,  and  all  his  expeditions 
will  fail."     An  example  of  his  common-sense  is  what  he  says 


LD  I 


258    NAPOLEON;    OR,  THE  MAN  OF  THE  WORLD 

of  the  passage  of  the  Alps  in  winter,  which  all  writers,  one 
repeating  after  the  other,  had  described  as  impracticable. 
'^The  winter,"  says  Napoleon, ''is  not  the  most  unfavorable 
season  for  the  passage  of  lofty  mountains.  The  snow  is  then 
firm,  ^.he  weather  settled,  and  there  is  nothing  to  fear  from 
avalanches,  the  real  and  only  danger  to  be  apprehended  in 
the  Alps.  On  those  high  mountains,  there  are  often  very 
fine  days  in  December,  of  a  dry  cold,  with  extreme  calmness 
in  the  air.''  Read  his  account,  too,  of  the  way  in  which  battles 
are  gained.  ''In  all  battles,  a  moment  occurs,  when  the 
bravest  troops,  after  having  made  the  greatest  efforts,  feel 
inclined  to  run.  That  terror  proceeds  from  a  want  of  con- 
fidence in  their  own  courage ;  and  it  only  requires  a  slight  1 
opportunity,  a  pretence,  to  restore  confidence  to  them.  The  i 
art  is  to  give  rise  to  the  opportunity,  and  to  invent  the  pre- 
tence. At  Areola,  I  won  the  battle  with  twenty-five  horse- 
men. I  seized  that  moment  of  lassitude,  gave  every  man  a 
trumpet,  and  gained  the  day  with  this  handful.  You  see 
that  two  armies  are  two  bodies  which  meet,  and  endeavor 
to  frighten  each  other :  a  moment  of  panic  occurs,  and  that 
moment  must  be  turned  to  advantage.  When  a  man  has 
been  present  in  many  actions,  he  distinguishes  that  moment 
without  difficulty :  it  is  as  easy  as  casting  up  an  addition.'' 

This  deputy  of  the  nineteenth  century  added  to  his  gifts  I 
a  capacity  for  speculation  on  general  topics.     He  delighted  f 
in  running  through  the  range  of  practical,  of  literary,  and  of 
abstract  questions.     His  opinion  is  always  original,  and  to 
the  purpose.     On  the  voyage  to  Egypt,  he  liked,  after  dinner,  | 
to  fix  on  three  or  four  persons  to  support  a  proposition,  and  « 
as  many  to  oppose  it.     He  gave  a  subject,  and  the  discus- 
sions turned  on  questions  of  religion,  the  different  kinds  of 
governm^ent,  and  the  art  of  war.     One  day,  he  asked,  whether 
the  planets  were  inhabited?     On  another,  what  was  the  age 
of  the  world  ?     Then  he  proposed  to  consider  the  probability 
of  the  destruction  of  the  globe,  either  by  water  or  by  fire : 
at  another  time,  the  truth  or  fallacy  of  presentiments,  and 
the  interpretation  of  dreams.     He  was  very  fond  of  talking 
of  religion.     In  1806,  he  conversed  with  Fournier,  Bishop  of 
Montpellier,  on  matters  of  theology.     There  were  two  points  I 
on  which  they  could  not  agree,  viz.,  that  of  hell,  and  that  of  I 
salvation  out  of  the  pale  of  the  church.     The  Emperor  told 
Josephine,  that  he  disputed  like  a  devil  on  these  two  points, 


NAPOLEON;  OR,  THE  MAN  OF  THE  WORLD    259 

on  which  the  Bishop  was  inexorable.  To  the  philosophers 
he  readily  yielded  all  that  was  proved  against  religion  as  the 
work  of  men  and  time  ;  but  he  would  not  hear  of  materialism. 
One  fine  night,  on  deck,  amid  a  clatter  of  materialism,  Bona- 
parte pointed  to  the  stars,  and  said,  i^You  may  talk  as  long 
as  you  please,  gentlemen,  but  who  made  all  that?''  He  de- 
lighted in  the  conversation  of  men  of  science,  particularly 
of  Monge  and  Berthollet ;  but  the  men  of  letters  he  slighted ; 
"they  were  manufacturers  of  phrases."  Of  medicine,  too, 
he  was  fond  of  talking,  and  with  those  of  its  practitioners 
whom  he  most  esteemed,  —  with  Corvisart  at  Paris,  and  with 
Antonomarchi  at  St.  Helena.  "Believe  me,''  he  said  to  the 
last,  "we  had  better  leave  off  all  these  remedies:  life  is  a 
fortress  which  neither  you  nor  I  know  anything  about.  Why 
throw  obstacles  in  the  way  of  its  defence?  Its  own  means 
are  superior  to  all  the  apparatus  of  your  laboratories.  Cor- 
visart candidly  agreed  with  me,  that  all  your  filthy  mixtures 
are  good  for  nothing.  Medicine  is  a  collection  of  uncertain 
prescriptions,  the  results  of  which  taken  collectively,  are 
more  fatal  than  useful  to  mankind.  Water,  air,  and  cleanli- 
ness are  the  chief  articles  in  my  pharmacopoeia." 

His  memoirs,  dictated  to  Count  Montholon  and  General 
Gourgaud,  at  St.  Helena,  have  great  value,  after  all  the  deduc- 
tion that,  it  seems,  is  to  be  made  from  them,  on  account  of  his 
known  disingenuousness.  He  has  the  good-nature  of  strength 
and  conscious  superiority.  I  admire  his  simple,  clear  narra- 
tive of  his  battles;  good  as  C2esar's;  his  good-natured  and 
sufficiently  respectful  account  of  Marshal  Wurmser  and  his 
other  antagonists,  and  his  own  equality  as  a  writer  to  his 
varying  subject.  The  most  agreeable  portion  is  the  Cam- 
paign in  Egypt. 

He  had  hours  of  thought  and  wisdom.  In  intervals  of 
leisure,  either  in  the  camp  or  the  palace.  Napoleon  appears 
as  a  man  of  genius,  directing  on  abstract  questions  the  native 
appetite  for  truth  and  the  impatience  of  words  he  was  wont 
to  show  in  war.  He  could  enjoy  every  play  of  invention,  a 
romance,  a  bon-mot,  as  well  as  a  stratagem  in  a  campaign. 
He  delighted  to  fascinate  Josephine  and  her  ladies,  in  a  dim- 
lighted  apartment,  by  the  terrors  of  a  fiction,  to  which  his 
voice  and  dramatic  power  lent  every  addition. 

I  call  Napoleon  the  agent  or  attorney  of  the  middle  class 
of  modern  society ;  of  the  throng  who  fill  the  markets,  shops, 


260    NAPOLEON;    OR,  THE  MAN  OF   THE  WORLD 

counting-houses,  manufactories,  ships,  of  the  modern  world, 
aiming  to  be  rich.  He  was  the  agitator,  the  destroyer  of 
prescription,  the  internal  improver,  the  liberal,  the  radical, 
the  inventor  of  means,  the  opener  of  doors  and  markets,  the 
subverter  of  monopoly  and  abiise.  Of  course,  the  rich  and 
aristocratic  did  not  like  him.  England,  the  centre  of  capi- 
tal, and  Rome  and  Austria,  centres  of  tradition  and  geneal- 
ogy, opposed  him.  The  consternation  of  the  dull  and  con- 
servative classes,  the  terror  of  the  foolish  old  men  and  old 
women  of  the  Roman  conclave,  —  who  in  their  despair  took 
hold  of  anything,  and  would  cling  to  red-hot  iron,  —  the 
vain  attempts  of  statists  to  amuse  and  deceive  him,  of  the  Em- 
peror of  Austria  to  bribe  him  ;  and  the  instinct  of  the  young, 
ardent,  and  active  men,  everywhere,  which  pointed  him  out 
as  the  giant  of  the  middle  class,  make  his  history  bright  and 
commanding.  He  had  the  virtues  of  the  masses  of  his  con- 
stituents :  he  had  also  their  vices.  I  am  sorry  that  the  brilliant 
picture  has  its  reverse.  But  that  is  the  fatal  quality  which 
we  discover  in  our  pursuit  of  wealth,  that  it  is  treacherous, 
and  is  bought  by  the  breaking  or  weakening  of  the  sentiments ; 
and  it  is  inevitable  that  we  should  find  the  same  fact  in  the 
history  of  this  champion,  who  proposed  to  himself  simply  a 
brilliant  career,  without  any  stipulation  or  scruple  concerning 
the  means. 

Bonaparte  was  singularly  destitute  of  generous  sentiments. 
The  highest-placed  individual  in  the  most  cultivated  age  and 
population  of  the  world,  —  he  has  not  the  merit  of  common 
truth  and  honesty.  He  is  unjust  to  his  generals ;  egotistic, 
and  monopolizing;  meanly  stealing  the  credit  of  their  great 
actions  from  Kellermann,  from  Bernadotte;  intriguing  to 
involve  his  faithful  Junot  in  hopeless  bankruptcy,  in  order 
to  drive  him  to  a  distance  from  Paris,  because  the  familiarity 
of  his  manners  offends  the  new  pride  of  his  throne.  He  is 
a  boundless  liar.  The  official  paper,  his  Moniteurs,  and  all 
his  bulletins,  are  proverbs  for  saying  what  he  wished  to  be 
believed ;  and  worse,  —  he  sat,  in  his  premature  old  age,  in 
his  lonely  island,  coldly  falsifying  facts,  and  dates,  and  char- 
acters, and  giving  to  history  a  theatrical  eclat.  Like  all 
Frenchmen,  he  has  a  passion  for  stage  effect.  Every  action 
that  breathes  of  generosity  is  poisoned  by  this  calculation. 
His  star,  his  love  of  glory,  his  doctrine  of  the  immortality 
of  the  soul,  are  all  French.     '^I  must  dazzle  and  astonish. 


NAPOLEON;  OR,  THE  MAN  OF  THE  WORLD    261 

c 

If  I  were  to  give  the  liberty  of  the  press,  my  power  could  not 
last  three  days/^  To  make  a  great  noise  is  his  favorite  de- 
sign. ^'A  great  reputation  is  a  great  noise;  the  more  there 
is  made,  the  farther  off  it  is  heard.  Laws,  institutions,  monu- 
ments, nations,  all  fall ;  but  the  noise  continues,  and  resounds 
in  after  ages.'^  His  doctrine  of  immortality  is  simply  fame. 
His  theory  of  influence  is  not  flattering.  ^^  There  are  two 
levers  for  moving  men,  —  interest  and  fear.  Love  is  a  silly 
infatuation,  depend  upon  it.  Friendship  is  but  a  name.  I 
love  nobody.  I  do  not  even  love  my  brothers :  perhaps 
Joseph,  a  little,  from  habit,  and  because  he  is  my  elder ;  and 
Duroc,  I  love  him  too ;  but  why  ?  —  because  his  character 
pleases  me  :  he  is  stern  and  resolute,  and,  I  believe,  the  fellow 
never  shed  a  tear.  For  my  part,  I  know  very  well  that  I 
have  no  true  friends.  As  long  as  I  continue  to  be  what  I  am, 
Tmay  have  as  many  pretended  friends  as  I  please.  Leave 
sensibility  to  women :  but  men  should  be  firm  in  heart  and 
purpose,  or  they  should  have  nothing  to  do  with  war  and 
government.^^  He  was  thoroughly  unscrupulous.  He  would 
steal,  slander,  assassinate,  drown,  and  poison,  as  his  interest 
dictated.  He  had  no  generosity;  but  mere  vulgar  hatred: 
he  was  intensely  selfish :  he  was  perfidious :  he  cheated  at 
cards:  he  was  a  prodigious  gossip,  and  opened  letters,  and 
delighted  in  his  infamous  police,  and  rubbed  his  hands  with 
joy  when  he  had  intercepted  some  morsel  of  intelligence  con- 
cerning the  men  and  women  about  him,  boasting  that  ^^he 
knew  everything'^;  and  interfered  with  the  cutting  the  dresses 
%  of  the  women ;  and  listened  after  the  hurrahs  and  the  com- 
pliments  of  the  street,  incognito.  His  manners  were  coarse. 
He  treated  women  with  low  familiarity.  He  had  the  habit 
of  pulling  their  ears,  and  pinching  their  cheeks,  when  he  was 
in  good-humor,  and  of  pulling  the  ears  and  whiskers  of  men, 
and  of  striking  and  horse-play  with  them,  to  his  last  days. 
It  does  not  appear  that  he  listened  at  keyholes,  or,  at  least, 
that  he  was  caught  at  it.  In  short,  when  you  have  penetrated 
through  all  the  circles  of  power  and  splendor,  you  were  not 
dealing  with  a  gentleman,  at  last ;  but  with  an  impostor  and 
a  rogue :  and  he  fully  deserves  the  epithet  of  Jupiter  Scapin^ 
or  a  sort  of  Scamp  Jupiter. 

In  describing  the  two  parties  into  which  modern  society 
divides   itself,  —  the   democrat   and   the   conservative,  —  I 


262    NAPOLEON;  OR,  THE  MAN  OF  THE  WORLD 

said,  Bonaparte  represents  the  democrat,  or  the  party  of 
men  of  business,  against  the  stationary  or  conservative  party. 
I  omitted  then  to  say,  what  is  material  to  the  statement, 
namely,  that  these  two  parties  differ  only  as  young  and  old. 
The  democrat  is  a  young  conservative;  the  conservative 
is  an  old  democrat.  The  aristocrat  is  the  democrat  ripe, 
and  gone  to  seed,  —  because  both  parties  stand  on  the  one 
ground  of  the  supreme  value  of  property,  which  one  endeavors 
to  get,  and  the  other  to  keep.  Bonaparte  may  be  said  to 
represent  the  whole  history  of  this  party,  its  youth  and  its 
age ;  yes,  and  with  poetic  justice,  its  fate,  in  his  own.  The 
counter-revolution,  the  counter-party,  still  waits  for  its  organ 
and  representative,  in  a  lover  and  a  man  of  truly  public  and 
universal  aims. 

Here  was  an  experiment,  under  the  most  favorable  condi- 
tions, of  the  powers  of  intellect  without  conscience.  Never 
was  such  a  leader  so  endowed,  and  so  weaponed ;  never  leader 
found  such  aids  and  followers.  And  what  was  the  result  of 
this  vast  talent  and  power,  of  these  immense  armies,  burned 
cities,  squandered*  treasures,  immolated  millions  of  men,  of 
this  demoralized  Europe?  It  came  to  no  result.  All  passed 
away,  like  the  smoke  of  his  artillery,  and  left  no  trace.  He 
left  France  smaller,  poorer,  feebler,  than  he  found  it;  and 
the  whole  contest  for  freedom  was  to  be  begun  again.  The 
attempt  was,  in  principle,  suicidal.  France  served  him  with 
life,  and  limb,  and  estate,  as  long  as  it  could  identify  its  in- 
terest with  him;  but  when  men  saw  that  after  victory  was 
another  war ;  after  the  destruction  of  armies,  new  conscrip- 
tions ;  and  they  who  had  toiled  so  desperately  were  never 
nearer  to  the  reward,  —  they  could  not  spend  what  they  had 
earned,  nor  repose  on  their  down-beds,  nor  strut  in  their  cha- 
teaux, —  they  deserted  him.  Men  found  that  his  absorbing 
egotism  was  deadly  to  all  other  men.  It  resembled  the  tor- 
pedo, which  inflicts  a  succession  of  shocks  on  any  one  who 
takes  hold  of  it,  producing  spasms  which  contract  the  muscles 
of  the  hand,  so  that  the  man  can  not  open  his  fingers ;  and 
the  animal  inflicts  new  and  more  violent  shocks,  until  he 
paralyzes  and  kills  his  victim.  So,  this  exorbitant  egotist 
narrowed,  impoverished,  and  absorbed  the  power  and  exis- 
tence of  those  who  served  him ;  and  the  universal  cry  of 
France,  and  of  Europe,  in  1814,  was,  ^^enough  of  him'': 
^^assez  de  Bonaparte.'' 


I 


NAPOLEON;   OR,   THE   MAN  OF  THE  WORLD    263 

It  was  not  Bonaparte ^s  fault.  He  did  all  that  in  him  lay, 
to  live  and  thrive  without  moral  principle.  It  was  the  na- 
ture of  things,  the  eternal  law  of  the  man  and  the  world,  which 
balked  and  ruined  him;  and  the  result,  in  a  million  experi- 
ments, will  be  the  same.  Every  experiment,  by  multitudes 
or  by  individuals,  that  has  a  sensual  and  selfish  aim,  will  fail. 
The  pacific  Fourier  will  be  as  inefficient  as  the  pernicious  Na- 
poleon. As  long  as  our  civilization  is  essentially  one  of  prop- 
erty, of  fences,  of  exclusiveness,  it  will  be  mocked  by  delusions. 
Our  riches  will  leave  us  sick ;  there  will  be  bitterness  in  our 
laughter;  and  our  wine  will  burn  our  mouth.  Only  that 
good  profits  which  we  can  taste  with  all  doors  open,  and 
which  serves  all  men. 


CHAPTERS   FROM   ^^ ENGLISH  TRAITS'' 

ABILITY 

The  Saxon  and  the  Northman  are  both  Scandinavians. 
History  does  not  allow  us  to  fix  the  limits  of  the  application, 
of  these  names  with  any  accuracy;   but  from  the  residence 
of  a  portion  of  these  people  in  France,  and  from  some  effect, 
of  that  powerful  soil  on  their  blood  and  manners,  the  Normanl 
has  come  popularly  to  represent  in  England  the  aristocra-' 
tic,  and  the  Saxon  the  democratic  principle.     And  though, 
I  doubt  not,  the  nobles  are  of  both  tribes,  and  the  workers 
of  both,  yet  we  are  forced  to  use  the  names  a  little  mythically, 
one  to  represent  the  worker,  and  the  other  the  enjoyer. 

The  island  was  a  prize  for  the  best  race.  Each  of  the 
dominant  races  tried  its  fortune  in  turn.  The  Phoenician, 
the  Celt,  and  the  Goth  had  already  got  in.  The  Roman 
came,  but  in  the  very  day  when  his  fortune  culminated. 
He  looked  in  the  eyes  of  a  new  people  that  was  to  supplant 
his  own.  He  disembarked  his  legions,  erected  his  camps 
and  towers,  —  presently  he  heard  bad  news  from  Italy,  and 
worse  and  worse,  every  year :  at  last,  he  made  a  handsome 
compliment  of  roads  and  walls,  and  departed.  But  the  Saxon 
seriously  settled  in  the  land,  builded,  tilled,  fished,  and  traded, 
with  German  truth  and  adhesiveness.  The  Dane  came,  and 
divided  with  him.  Last  of  all,  the  Norman,  or  French- 
Dane,  arrived,  and  formally  conquered,  harried,  and  ruled 
the  kingdom.  A  century  later,  it  came  out,  that  the  Saxon 
had  the  most  bottom  and  longevity,  had  managed  to  make 
the  victor  speak  the  language  and  accept  the  law  and  usage 
of  the  victim ;  forced  the  baron  to  dictate  Saxon  terms  to 
Norman  kings ;  and,  step  by  step,  got  all  the  essential 
securities  of  civil  Uberty  invented  and  confirmed.  The  genius 
of  the  race  and  the  genius  of  the  place  conspired  to  this  effect. 

264 


I 


CHAPTERS  FROM  /'ENGLISH  TRAITS'^      265 

The  island  is  lucrative  to  free  labor,  but  not  worth  possession 
on  other  terms.  The  race  was  so  intellectual,  that  a  feudal 
or  military  tenure  could  not  last  longer  than  the  war.  The 
power  of  the  Saxon-Danes,  so  thoroughly  beaten  in  the  war,, 
that  the  name  of  Enghsh  and  villein  were  synonymous,  yet 
so  vivacious  as  to  extort  charters  from  the  kings,  stood  on 
the  strong  personality  of  these  people.  Sense  and  economy 
must  rule  in  a  world  which  is  made  of  sense  and  economy, 
and  the  banker,  with  his  seven  per  cent,  drives  the  earl  out  of 
his  castle.  A  nobihty  of  soldiers  cannot  keep  down  a  com- 
monalty of  shrewd  scientific  persons.  What  signifies  a. 
pedigree  of  a  hundred  links,  against  a  cotton-spinner  with, 
steam  in  his  mill ;  or,  against  a  company  of  broad-shouldered 
Liverpool  merchants,  for  whom  Stephenson  and  Brunei  are 
contriving  locomotives  and  a  tubular  bridge? 

These  Saxons  are  the  hands  of  mankind.  They  have 
the  taste  for  toil,  a  distaste  for  pleasure  or  repose,  and  the 
telescopic  appreciation  of  distant  gain.  They  are  the 
wealth-makers,  —  and  by  dint  of  mental  faculty  which  has 
its  own  conditions.  The  Saxon  works  after  liking,  or,  only 
for  himself ;  and  to  set  him  at  work,  and  to  begin  to  draw 
his  monstrous  values  out  of  barren  Britain,  all  dishonor, 
fret,  and  barrier  must  be  removed,  and  then  his  energies 
begin  to  play. 

The  Scandinavian  fancied  himself  surrounded  by  Trolls, 
—  a  kind  of  goblin  men,  with  vast  power  of  work  and  skilful 
production,  —  divine  stevedores,  carpenters,  reapers,  smiths, 
and  masons,  swift  to  reward  every  kindness  done  them,  with, 
gifts  of  gold  and  silver.  In  all  English  history,  this  dream 
comes  to  pass.  Certain  Trolls  or  working  brains,  under  the 
names  of  Alfred,  Bede,  Caxton,  Bracton,  Camden,  Drake, 
Selden,  Dugdale,  Newton,  Gibbon,  Brindley,  Watt,  Wedg- 
wood, dwell  in  the  trollmounts  of  Britain,  and  turn  the 
sweat  of  their  face  to  power  and  renown. 

If  the  race  is  good,  so  is  the  place.  Nobody  landed  on 
this  spell-bound  island  with  impunity.  The  enchantments 
of  barren  shingle  and  rough  weather  transformed  every 
adventurer  into  a  laborer.  Each  vagabond  that  arrived 
bent  his  neck  to  the  yoke  of  gain,  or  found  the  air  too  tense 
for  him.  The  strong  survived,  the  weaker  went  to  the 
ground.  Even  the  pleasure-hunters  and  sots  of  England 
are  of  a  tougher  texture.    A  hard  temperament  had  been 


266     CHAPTERS  FROM  "ENGLISH  TRAITS' 


formed  by  Saxon  and  Saxon-Dane,  and  such  of  these  Frenc' 
or  Normans  as  could  reach  it,  were  naturalized  in  e very- 
sense. 

All  the  admirable  expedients  or  means  hit  upon  in  England 
must  be  looked  at  as  growths  or  irresistible  offshoots  of  the 
expanding  mind  of  the  race.  A  man  of  that  brain  thinks 
and  acts  thus;  and  his  neighbor,  being  afflicted  with  the 
same  kind  of  brain,  though  he  is  rich,  and  called  a  baron, 
or  a  duke,  thinks  the  same  thing,  and  is  ready  to  allow  the 
justice  of  the  thought  and  act  in  his  retainer  or  tenant, 
though  sorely  against  his  baronial  or  ducal  will. 

The  island  was  renowned  in  antiquity  for  its  breed  of 
mastiffs,  so  fierce,  that  w^hen  their  teeth  were  set,  you  must 
cut  their  heads  off  to  part  them.  The  man  was  like  his  dog; 
The  people  have  that  nervous  bihous  temperament,  which 
is  known  by  medical  men  to  resist  every  means  emplo^^ed 
to  make  its  possessor  subservient  to  the  will  of  others.  The 
English  game  is  main  force  to  main  force,  the  planting  of 
foot  to  foot,  fair  play  and  open  field,  —  a  rough  tug  without 
trick  or  dodging,  till  one  or  both  come  to  pieces.  King 
Ethelwald  spoke  the  language  of  his  race,  when  he  planted 
himseK  at  Wimborne,  and  said,  ^he  would  do  one  of  two 
things,  or  there  live,  or  there  lie.'  They  hate  craft  and 
subtlety.  They  neither  poison,  nor  waylay,  nor  assassinate ; 
and,  when  they  have  pounded  each  other  to  a  poultice,  they 
will  shake  hands  and  be  friends  for  the  remainder  of  their 
lives. 

You  shall  trace  these  Gothic  touches  at  school,  at  country 
fairs,  at  the  hustings,  and  in  parliament.  No  artifice,  no 
breach  of  truth  and  plain  dealing,  —  not  so  much  as  secret 
ballot,  is  suffered  in  the  island.  In  parhament,  the  tactics 
of  the  opposition  is  to  resist  every  step  of  the  government 
by  a  pitiless  attack ;  and  in  a  bargain,  no  prospect  of  advan- 
tage is  so  dear  to  the  merchant  as  the  thought  of  being 
tricked  is  mortifying. 

Sir  Kenelm  Digby,  a  courtier  of  Charles  and  James,  who 
won  the  sea-fight  of  Scanderoon,  was  a  model  Englishman 
in  his  day.  ''His  person  was  handsome  and  gigantic,  he  had 
so  graceful  elocution  and  noble  address,  that,  had  he  been 
dropt  out  of  the  clouds  in  any  part  of  the  world,  he  would 
have  made  himself  respected :  he  was  skilled  in  six  tongues, 
and  master  of  arts  and  arms.''     Sir  Kenelm  wrote  a  book, 


i^HAPTERS  FROM  ^^  ENGLISH  TRAITS  ^^      267 

''Of  Bodies  and  of  Souls/ ^  in  which  he  propounds,  that 
'^  syllogisms  do  breed  or  rather  are  all  the  variety  of  man's 
life.  They  are  the  steps  by  which  we  walk  in  all  our  busi- 
nesses. Man,  as  he  is  man,  doth  nothing  else  but  weave  such 
chains.  Whatsoever  he  doth,  swarving  from  this  work, 
he  doth  as  deficient  from  the  nature  of  man :  and,  if  he  do 
aught  beyond  this,  by  breaking  out  into  divers  sorts  of 
exterior  actions,  he  findeth,  nevertheless,  in  this  linked 
sequel  of  simple  discourses,  the  art,  the  cause,  the  rule,  the 
bounds,  and  the  model  of  it.'' 

There  spoke  the  genius  of  the  English  people.  There 
is  a  necessity  on  them  to  be  logical.  They  would  hardly 
greet  the  good  that  did  not  logically  fall,  —  as  if  it  excluded 
their  own  merit,  or  shook  their  understandings.  They  are 
jealous  of  minds  that  have  much  facility  of  association,  from 
an  instinctive  fear  that  the  seeing  many  relations  to  their 
thought  might  impair  this  serial  continuity  and  lucrative 
concentration.  They  are  impatient  of  genius,  or  of  minds 
addicted  to  contemplation,  and  cannot  conceal  their  con- 
tempt for  sallies  of  thought,  however  lawful,  whose  steps 
they  cannot  count  by  their  wonted  rule.  Neither  do  they 
reckon  better  a  syllogism  that  ends  in  syllogism.  For  they 
have  a  supreme  eye  to  facts,  and  theirs  is  a  logic  that  brings 
salt  to  soup,  hammer  to  nail,  oar  to  boat,  the  logic  of  cooks, 
carpenters,  and  chemists,  following  the  sequence  of  nature, 
and  one  on  which  words  make  no  impression.  Their  mind 
is  not  dazzled  by  its  own  means,  but  locked  and  bolted  to 
results.  They  love  men,  who,  like  Samuel  Johnson,  a  doctor 
in  the  schools,  would  jump  out  of  his  syllogism  the  instant 
his  major  proposition  was  in  danger,  to  save  that,  at  all 
hazards.  Their  practical  vision  is  spacious,  and  they  can 
hold  many  threads  without  entangling  them.  All  the  steps 
they  orderly  take ;  but  with  the  high  logic  of  never  confound- 
ing the  minor  and  major  proposition;  keeping  their  eye  on 
their  aim,  in  all  the  complicity  and  delay  incident  to  the 
several  series  of  means  they  employ.  There  is  room  in  their 
minds  for  this  and  that,  —  a  science  of  degrees.  In  the 
courts,  the  independence  of  the  judges  and  the  loyalty  of  the 
suitors  are  equally  excellent.  In  Parliament,  they  have 
hit  on  that  capital  invention  of  freedom,  a  constitutional 
opposition.  And  when  courts  and  Parliament  are  both  deaf, 
the   plaintiff   is   not   silenced.     Calm,  patient,  his   weapon 


268     CHAPTERS   FROM   '' ENGLISH  TRAITS^' 

of  defence  from  year  to  year  is  the  obstinate  reproduction 
of  the  grievance,  with  calculations  and  estimates.  But, 
meantime,  he  is  drawing  numbers  and  money  to  his  opinion, 
resolved  that  if  all  remedy  fails,  right  of  revolution  is  at  the 
bottom  of  his  charter-box.  They  are  bound  to  see  their 
measure  carried,  and  stick  to  it  through  ages  of  defeat. 

Into  this  English  logic,  however,  an  infusion  of  justice, 
enters,  not  so  apparent  in  other  races,  —  a  belief  in  th< 
existence  of  two  sides,  and  the  resolution  to  see  fair  play 
There  is  on  every  question  an  appeal  from  the  assertion  of  the 
parties  to  the  proof  of  what  is  asserted.  They  kiss  the  dust 
before  a  fact.  Is  it  a  machine,  is  it  a  charter,  is  it  a  boxer 
in  the  ring,  is  it  a  candidate  on  the  hustings,  —  the  universe 
of  Englishmen  will  suspend  their  judgment  until  the  trial 
can  be  had.  They  are  not  to  be  led  by  a  phrase,  they  want 
a  working  plan,  a  working  machine,  a  working  constitution, 
and  will  sit  out  the  trial,  and  abide  by  the  issue,  and  reject 
all  preconceived  theories.  In  politics  they  put  blunt  ques- 
tions, which  must  be  answered;  who  is  to  pay  the  taxes? 
what  will  you  do  for  trade?  what  for  corn?  what  for  the 
spinner  ? 

This  singular  fairness  and  its  results  strike  the  French 
with  surprise.  Philip  de  Commines  says:  ''Now,  in  my 
opinion,  among  all  the  sovereignties  I  know  in  the  world, 
that  in  which  the  public  good  is  best  attended  to,  and  the 
least  violence  exercised  on  the  people,  is  that  of  England.^' 
Life  is  safe,  and  personal  rights ;  and  what  is  freedom,  without 
security?  whilst,  in  France,  'fraternity,^  'equality,'  and 
'indivisible  unity'  are  names  for  assassination.  Montes- 
quieu said:  "England  is  the  freest  country  in  the  world. 
If  a  man  in  England  had  as  many  enemies  as  hairs  on  his 
head,  no  harm  would  happen  to  him." 

Their  self-respect,  their  faith  in  causation,  and  their 
realistic  logic  or  coupling  of  means  to  ends,  have  given  them 
the  leadership  of  the  modern  world.  Montesquieu  said, 
"No  people  have  true  common-sense  but  those  who  are  born 
in  England.''  This  common-sense  is  a  perception  of  all  the 
conditions  of  our  earthly  existence,  of  laws  that  can  be  stated, 
and  of  laws  that  cannot  be  stated,  or  that  are  learned  only 
by  practice,  in  which  allowance  for  friction  is  made.  They 
are  impious  in  their  scepticism  of  theory,  and  in  high  depart- 
ments they  are  cramped  and  sterile.    But  the  unconditional 


i 


CHAPTERS  FROM   '^  ENGLISH  TRAITS'^     269 

surrender  to  facts,  and  the  choice  of  means  to  reach  their  ends, 
are  as  admirable  as  with  ants  and  bees. 

The  bias  of  the  nation  is  a  passion  for  utility.  They  love 
the  lever,  the  screw,  and  pulley,  the  Flanders  draught- 
horse,  the  waterfall,  wind-mills,  tide-mills;  the  sea  and 
the  wind  to  bear  their  freight-ships.  More  than  the  diamond! 
Koh-i-noor,  which  glitters  among  their  crown-jewels,  they 
prize  that  dull  pebble  which  is  wiser  than  a  man,  whose  poles 
turn  themselves  to  the  poles  of  the  world,  and  whose  axis 
is  parallel  to  the  axis  of  the  world.  Now,  their  toys  are- 
steam  and  galvanism.  They  are  heavy  at  the  fine  arts,, 
but  adroit  at  the  coarse;  not  good  in  jewelry  or  mosaics,, 
but  the  best  iron-masters,  colliers,  wool-combers,  and  tanners 
in  Europe.  They  apply  themselves  to  agriculture,  to  drain- 
ing, to  resisting  encroachments  of  sea,  wind,  travellings 
sands,  cold  and  wet  subsoil;  to  fishery,  to  manufacture  of 
indispensable  staples,  —  salt,  plumbago,  leather,  wool,  glass,, 
pottery,  and  brick,  —  to  bees  and  silk-worms ;  and  by  their- 
steady  combinations  they  succeed.  A  manufacturer  sits 
down  to  dinner  in  a  suit  of  clothes  which  was  wool  on  a 
sheep's  back  at  sunrise.  You  dine  with  a  gentleman  on 
venison,  pheasant,  quail,  pigeons,  poultry,  mushrooms,  and. 
pineapples,  all  the  growth  of  his  estate.  They  are  neat 
husbands  for  ordering  all  their  tools  pertaining  to  house^ 
and  field.  All  are  well  kept.  There  is  no  want  and  no^ 
waste.  They  study  use  and  fitness  in  their  building,  irr 
the  order  of  their  dwellings,  and  in  their  dress.  The  French- 
man invented  the  ruffle,  the  Englishman  added  the  shirt. 
The  Englishman  wears  a  sensible  coat  buttoned  to  the  chin, 
of  rough  but  solid  and  lasting  texture.  If  he  is  a  lord,  he 
dresses  a  little  worse  than  a  commoner.  They  have  diffused 
the  taste  for  plain  substantial  hats,  shoes,  and  coats  through 
Europe.  They  think  him  the  best  dressed  man,  whose 
dress  is  so  fit  for  his  use  that  you  cannot  notice  or  remember 
to  describe  it. 

They  secure  the  essentials  in  their  diet,  in  their  arts  and 
manufactures.  Every  article  of  cutlery  shows,  in  its  shape, 
thought  and  long  experience  of  workmen.  They  put  the 
expense  in  the  right  place,  as,  in  their  sea-steamers,  in  the 
solidity  of  the  machinery  and  the  strength  of  the  boat.  The 
admirable  equipment  of  their  arctic  ships  carries  London 
to  the  pole.     They  build  roads,  aqueducts,  warm  and  venti- 


270     CHAPTERS   FROM   ^'ENGLISH   TRAITS''     . 

late  houses.  And  they  have  impressed  their  directness  and 
practical  habit  on  modern  civilization. 

In  trade,  the  Englishman  believes  that  nobody  breaks  who 
ought  not  to  break ;  and,  that,  if  he  do  not  make  trade  every- 
thing, it  will  make  him  nothing;  and  acts  on  this  belief. 
The  spirit  of  s^^stem,  attention  to  details,  and  the  subordi- 
nation of  details,  or,  the  not  driving  things  too  finely  (which 
is  charged  on  the  Germans),  constitute  that  despatch  of 
business  which  makes  the  mercantile  power  of  England. 

In  war,  the  Englishman  looks  to  his  means.  He  is  of 
the  opinion  of  Ci^dlis,  his  German  ancestor,  whom  Tacitus 
reports  as  holding  ^Hhat  the  gods  are  on  the  side  of  the 
strongest'^;  —  a  sentence  which  Bonaparte  unconsciously 
translated,  when  he  said,  ^Hhat  he  had  noticed,  that  Pro^d- 
dence  always  favored  the  heaviest  battalion."  Their  mili- 
tary science  propounds  that  if  the  weight  of  the  advancing 
column  is  greater  than  that  of  the  resisting,  the  latter  is 
destroyed.  Therefore  Wellington,  when  he  came  to  the 
army  in  Spain,  had  every  man  weighed,  first  T\dth  accoutre- 
ments, and  then  without;  believing  that  the  force  of  an 
army  depended  on  the  weight  and  power  of  the  individual 
soldiers,  in  spite  of  cannon.  Lord  Palmerston  told  the 
House  of  Commons,  that  more  care  is  taken  of  the  health 
and  comfort  of  English  troops  than  of  any  other  troops  in 
the  world;  and  that  hence  the  English  can  put  more  men 
into  the  ranks,  on  the  day  of  action,  on  the  field  of  battle, 
than  any  other  army.  Before  the  bombardment  of  the 
Danish  forts  in  the  Baltic,  Nelson  spent  day  after  day, 
himself  in  the  boats,  on  the  exhausting  ser\'ice  of  sounding 
the  channel.  Clerk  of  Eldin's  celebrated  manceu\Te  of 
breaking  the  line  of  sea-battle,  and  Nelson's  feat  of  doubling , 
or  stationing  his  ships  one  on  the  outer  bow,  and  another  on 
the  outer  quarter  of  each  of  the  enemy's,  were  only  trans- 
lations into  naval  tactics  of  Bonaparte's  rule  of  concentration. 
Lord  Collingw^ood  was  accustomed  to  tell  his  men,  that,  if 
they  could  fire  three  well-directed  broadsides  in  five  minutes, 
no  vessel  could  resist  them;  and,  from  constant  practice, 
they  came  to  do  it  in  three  minutes  and  a  half. 

But  conscious  that  no  race  of  better  men  exists,  they  rely 
most  on  the  simplest  means ;  and  do  not  like  ponderous  and 
difficult  tactics,  but  delight  to  bring  the  affair  hand  to  hand, 
where  the  victory  lies  with  the  strength,  courage,  and  endurance 


CHAPTERS  FROM   ''ENGLISH   TRAITS''      271 

of  the  individual  combatants.  They  adopt  every  improve- 
ment in  rig,  in  motor,  in  weapons,  but  they  fundamentally 
believe  that  the  best  stratagem  in  naval  war  is  to  lay  your 
ship  close  alongside  of  the  enemy's  ship,  and  bring  all  your 
guns  to  bear  on  him,  until  you  or  he  go  to  the  bottom.  This 
is  the  old  fashion,  which  never  goes  out  of  fashion,  neither 
in  nor  out  of  England. 

It  is  not  usually  a  point  of  honor,  nor  a  religious  sentiment, 
and  never  any  whim  that  they  will  shed  their  blood  for ;  but 
usually  property,  and  right  measured  by  property,  that 
breeds  revolution.  They  have  no  Indian  taste  for  a  toma- 
hawk-dance, no  French  taste  for  a  badge  or  a  proclamation. 
The  Englishman  is  peaceably  minding  his  business  and  earn- 
ing his  day's  wages.  But  if  you  offer  to  lay  hand  on  his 
day's  wages,  on  his  cow,  or  his  right  in  common,  or  his  shop,, 
he  will  fight  to  the  Judgment.  Magna-charta,  jury-trial^ 
habeas-corpus,  star-chamber,  ship-money.  Popery,  Plymouth 
colony,  American  Revolution,  are  all  questions  involving 
a  yeoman's  right  to  his  dinner,  and,  except  as  touching  that^ 
would  not  have  lashed  the  British  nation  to  rage  and  revolt. 

Whilst  they  are  thus  instinct  with  a  spirit  of  order,  and  of 
calculation,  it  must  be  owned  they  are  capable  of  larger  views ; 
but  the  indulgence  is  expensive  to  them,  costs  great  crises^ 
or  accumulations  of  mental  power.  In  common,  the  horse 
works  best  with  blinders.  Nothing  is  more  in  the  line  of 
English  thought,  than  our  unvarnished  Connecticut  question,. 
''Pray,  sir,  how  do  you  get  your  living  when  you  are  at  home  ?  '^ 
The  questions  of  freedom,  of  taxation,  of  privilege,  are  money 
questions.  Heavy  fellows,  steeped  in  beer  and  fleshpots, 
they  are  hard  of  hearing  and  dim  of  sight.  Their  drowsy 
minds  need  to  be  flagellated  by  war  and  trade  and  politics 
and  persecution.  They  cannot  well  read  a  principle,  except 
by  the  light  of  fagots  and  of  burning  towns. 

Tacitus  says  of  the  Germans,  ''powerful  only  in  sudden 
efforts,  they  are  impatient  of  toil  and  labor."  This  highly 
destined  race,  if  it  had  not  somewhere  added  the  chamber 
of  patience  to  its  brain,  would  not  have  built  London.  I 
know  not  from  which  of  the  tribes  and  temperaments  that 
went  to  the  composition  of  the  people  this  tenacity  was 
supplied,  but  they  clinch  every  nail  they  drive.  They  have 
no  running  for  luck,  and  no  immoderate  speed.  They  spend 
largely  on  their  fabric,  and  await  the  slow  return.     Their 


I 


272     CHAPTERS   FROM   ^'ENGLISH  TRAITS ^^ 

leather  lies  tanning  seven  years  in  the  vat.  At  Rogers's 
mills,  in  Sheffield,  where  I  was  shown  the  process  of  making 
a  razor  and  a  penknife,  I  was  told  there  is  no  luck  in  making 
good  steel ;  that  they  make  no  mistakes,  every  blade  in  the 
hundred  and  in  the  thousand  is  good.  And  that  is  character- ■ 
istic  of  all  their  work,  —  no  more  is  attempted  than  is  done.  I 

When  Thor  and  his  companions  arrive  at  Utgard,  he  is 
told  that  ^^ nobody  is  permitted  to  remain  here,  unless  he 
understand  some  art,  and  excel  in  it  all  other  men.''  The 
same  question  is  still  put  to  the  posterity  of  Thor.  A  nation 
of  laborers,  every  man  is  trained  to  some  one  art  or  detail, 
and  aims  at  perfection  in  that :  not  content  unless  he  has 
something  in  which  he  thinks  he  surpasses  all  other  men. 
He  would  rather  not  do  anything  at  all,  than  not  do  it  well. 
I  suppose  no  people  have  such  thoroughness :  from  the 
highest  to  the  lowest,  every  man  meaning  to  be  master  of 
his  art. 

''To  show  capacity,"  a  Frenchman  described  as  the  end 
of  a  speech  in  debate:  ''no,"  said  an  Englishman,  "but  to 
set  your  shoulder  at  the  wheel,  —  to  advance  the  business." 
Sir  Samuel  Romilly  refused  to  speak  in  popular  assemblies, 
confining  himself  to  the  House  of  Commons,  where  a  measure 
can  be  carried  by  a  speech.  The  business  of  the  House  of 
Commons  is  concluctecl  by  a  few  persons,  but  these  are  hard- 
worked.  Sir  Robert  Peel  "knew  the  Blue  Books  by  heart." 
His  colleagues  and  rivals  carry  Hansard  in  their  heads. 
The  high  civil  and  legal  offices  are  not  beds  of  ease,  but  posts 
which  exact  frightful  amounts  of  mental  labor.  Many  of 
the  great  leaders,  like  Pitt,  Canning,  Castlereagh,  Romilly, 
are  soon  worked  to  death.  They  are  excellent  judges  in 
England  of  a  good  worker,  and  when  they  find  one,  hke 
Clarendon,  Sir  Philip  Warwick,  Sir  William  Coventry, 
Ashley,  Burke,  Thurlow,  Mansfield,  Pitt,  Eldon,  Peel,  or 
Russell,  there  is  nothing  too  good  or  too  high  for  him. 

They  have  a  wonderful  heat  in  the  pursuit  of  a  public  aim. 
Private  persons  exhibit,  in  scientific  and  antiquarian  re- 
searches, the  same  pertinacity  as  the  nation  showed  in  the 
coalitions  in  which  it  yoked  Europe  against  the  Empire  of 
Bonaparte,  one  after  the  other  defeated,  and  still  renewed, 
until  the  sixth  hurled  him  from  his  seat. 

Sir  John  Herschel,  in  completion  of  the  work  of  his  father, 
who  had  made  the  catalogue  of  the  stars  of  the  northern 


CHAPTERS  FROM   '^ENGLISH  TRAITS'^      273 

hemisphere,  expatriated  himself  for  years  at  the  Cape  of 
Good  Hope,  finished  his  inventory  of  the  southern  heaven, 
came  home,  and  redacted  it  in  eight  years  more ;  —  a  work 
whose  value  does  not  begin  until  thirty  years  have  elapsed, 
and  thenceforward  a  record  to  all  ages  of  the  highest  import. 
The  Admiralty  sent  out  the  Arctic  expeditions  year  after 
year,  in  search  of  Sir  John  Franklin,  until,  at  last,  they  have 
threaded  their  way  through  polar  pack  and  Behring^s  Straits, 
and  solved  the  geographical  problem.  Lord  Elgin,  at 
Athens,  saw  the  imminent  ruin  of  the  Greek  remains,  set 
up  his  scaffoldings,  in  spite  of  epigrams,  and,  after  five 
years'  labor  to  collect  them,  got  his  marbles  on  shipboard. 
The  ship  struck  a  rock,  and  went  to  the  bottom.  He  had 
them  all  fished  up,  by  divers,  at  a  vast  expense,  and  brought 
to  London ;  not  knowing  that  Haydon,  Fuseli,  and  Canova, 
and  all  good  heads  in  all  the  world,  were  to  be  his  applauders. 
In  the  same  spirit,  were  the  excavation  and  research  by 
Sir  Charles  Fellows,  for  the  Xanthian  monument;  and  of 
Layard,  for  his  Nineveh  sculptures. 

The  nation  sits  in  the  immense  city  they  have  builded, 
a  London  extended  into  every  man's  mind,  though  he  five 
in  Van  Dieman's  Land  or  Capetown.  Faithful  performance 
of  what  is  undertaken  to  be  performed,  they  honor  in  them- 
selves, and  exact  in  others,  as  certificate  of  equality  with 
themselves.  The  modern  world  is  theirs.  They  have  made 
and  make  it  day  by  day.  The  commercial  relations  of  the 
world  are  so  intimately  drawn  to  London,  that  every  dollar 
on  earth  contributes  to  the  strength  of  the  English  govern- 
ment. And  if  all  the  wealth  in  the  planet  should  perish  by 
war  or  deluge,  they  know  themselves  competent  to  replace  it. 

They  have  approved  their  Saxon  blood,  by  thoir  sea- 
going qualities;  their  descent  from  Odin's  smiths,  by  their 
hereditary  skill  in  working  in  iron;  their  British  birth,  by 
husbandry  and  immense  wheat  harvests ;  and  justified  their 
occupancy  of  the  centre  of  habitable  land,  by  their  supreme 
ability  and  cosmopolitan  spirit.  They  have  tilled,  builded, 
forged,  spun,  and  woven.  They  have  made  the  island 
a  thoroughfare ;  and  London  a  shop,  a  law-court,  a  record- 
office,  and  scientific  bureau,  inviting  to  strangers ;  a  sanctuary 
to  refugees  of  every  political  and  religious  opinion ;  and  such 
a  city,  that  almost  every  active  man,"  in  any  nation,  finds 
himself,  at  one  time  or  other,  forced  to  visit  it. 


274     CHAPTERS  FROM  ^'ENGLISH  TRAITS'^ 


In  every  path  of  practical  activity  they  have  gone  even 
with  the  best.  There  is  no  secret  of  war,  in  which  they  have 
not  shown  mastery.  The  steam-chamber  of  Watt,  the 
locomotive  of  Stephenson,  the  cotton-mule  of  Roberts, 
perform  the  labor  of  the  world.  There  is  no  department 
of  literature,  of  science,  or  of  useful  art,  in  which  they  have 
not  produced  a  first-rate  book.  It  is  England,  whose  opinion 
is  waited  for  on  the  merit  of  a  new  invention,  an  improved 
science.  And  in  the  compHcations  of  the  trade  and  politic; 
of  their  vast  empire,  they  have  been  equal  to  every  exigency 
with  coimsel  and  with  conduct.  Is  it  their  luck,  or  is  it  in  thel 
chambers  of  their  brain,  —  it  is  their  commercial  advantage 
that  whatever  hght  appears  in  better  method  or  happy 
invention,  breaks  out  in  their  race.  They  are  a  family  to 
which  a  destiny  attaches,  and  the  Banshee  has  sworn  that 
a  male  heir  shall  never  be  wanting.  They  have  a  wealth  of 
men  to  fill  important  posts,  and  the  vigilance  of  party  criticism 
insures  the  selection  of  a  competent  person. 

A  proof  of  the  energy  of  the  British  people  is  the  highly 
artificial  construction  of  the  whole  fabric.  The  cHmate  and 
geography,  I  said,  were  factitious,  as  if  the  hands  of  man 
had  arranged  the  conditions.  The  same  character  pervades 
the  whole  kingdom.  Bacon  said,  '^Rome  was  a  state  not 
subject  to  paradoxes'^ ;  but  England  subsists  by  antagonisms 
and  contradictions.  The  foundations  of  its  greatness  are 
the  roUing  waves ;  and,  from  first  to  last,  it  is  a  museum  of 
anomahes.  This  foggy  and  rainy  country  furnishes  the  world 
with  astronomical  observations.  Its  short  rivers  do  not 
afford  water-power,  but  the  land  shakes  under  the  thunder  of 
the  mills.  There  is  no  gold-mine  of  any  importance,  but 
there  is  more  gold  in  England  than  in  all  other  countries. 
It  is  too  far  north  for  the  culture  of  the  vine,  but  the  wines 
of  all  countries  are  in  its  docks.  The  French  Comte  de 
Lauraguais  said,  "no  fruit  ripens  in  England  but  a  baked 
apple" ;  but  oranges  and  pineapples  are  as  cheap  in  London 
as  in  the  Mediterranean.  The  Mark-Lane  Express,  or  the 
Custom-House  Returns  bear  out  to  the  letter  the  vaunt  of 
Pope,  — 

''Let  India  boast  her  palms,  nor  envy  we 
The  weeping  amber,  nor  the  spicy  tree, 
While,  by  our  oaks,  those  precious  loads  are  borne, 
And  realms  commanded  which  those  trees  adorn." 


CHAPTERS  FROM  ^'ENGLISH  TRAITS ^^      275 

The  native  cattle  are  extinct,  but  the  island  is  full  of 
artificial  breeds.  The  agriculturist  Bake  well  created  sheep 
and  cows  and  horses  to  order,  and  breeds  in  which  everything 
was  omitted  but  what  is  economical.  The  cow  is  sacrificed 
to  her  bag,  the  ox  to  his  surloin.  Stall-feeding  makes  sperm- 
mills  of  the  cattle,  and  converts  the  stable  to  a  chemical 
factory.  The  rivers,  lakes,  and  ponds,  too  much  fished, 
or  obstructed  by  factories,  are  artificially  filled  with  the  eggs 
of  salmon,  turbot,  and  herring. 

Chat  Moss  and  the  fens  of  Lincolnshire  and  Cambridge- 
shire are  unhealthy  and  too  barren  to  pay  rent.  By  cyhn- 
drical  tiles,  and  gutta-percha  tubes,  five  millions  of  acres 
of  bad  land  have  been  drained  and  put  on  equality  with  the 
best,  for  rape-culture  and  grass.  The  climate  too,  which 
was  already  believed  to  have  become  milder  and  drier  by 
the  enormous  consumption  of  coal,  is  so  far  reached  by 
this  new  action,  that  fogs  and  storms  are  said  to  disappear. 
In  due  course,  all  England  will  be  drained,  and  rise  a  second 
time  out  of  the  waters.  The  latest  step  was  to  call  in  the 
aid  of  steam  to  agriculture.  Steam  is  almost  an  Englishman. 
I  do  not  know  but  they  will  send  him  to  Parliament,  next, 
to  make  laws.  He  weaves,  forges,  saws,  pounds,  fans,  and 
now  he  must  pump,  grind,  dig,  and  plough  for  the  farmer. 
The  markets  created  by  the  manufacturing  population  have 
erected  agriculture  into  a  great  thriving  and  spending  in- 
dustry. The  value  of  the  houses  in  Britain  is  equal  to  the 
value  of  the  soil.  Artificial  aids  of  all  kinds  are  cheaper  than 
the  natural  resources.  No  man  can  afford  to  walk,  when  the 
parliamentary  train  carries  him  for  a  penny  a  mile.  Gas- 
burners  are  cheaper  than  daylight  in  numberless  floors  in  the 
cities.  All  the  houses  in  London  buy  their  water.  The  English 
trade  does  not  exist  for  the  exportation  of  native  products, 
but  on  its  manufactures,  or  the  making  well  everything  which 
h  ill  made  elsewhere.  They  make  ponchos  for  the  Mexican, 
bandannas  for  the  Hindoo,  ginseng  for  the  Chinese,  beads 
for  the  Indian,  laces  for  the  Flemings,  telescopes  for  astron- 
omers, cannons  for  kings. 

The  Board  of  Trade  caused  the  best  models  of  Greece  and 
Italy  to  be  placed  within  the  reach  of  every  manufacturing 
population.  They  caused  to  be  translated  from  foreign 
languages  and  illustrated  by  elaborate  drawings,  the  most 
approved  works  of  Munich,  Berlin,  and  Paris.    They  have 


276     CHAPTERS  FROM   "ENGLISH  TRAITS" 

ransacked  Italy  to  find  new  forms,  to  add  a  grace  to  the 
products  of  their  looms,  their  potteries,  and  their  foundries. 

The  nearer  we  look,  th^  more  artificial  is  their  social  system. 
Their  law  is  a  network  of  fictions.  Their  property,  a  script 
or  certificate  of  right  to  interest  on  money  that  no  man  ever 
saw.  Their  social  classes  are  made  by  statute.  Their  ratios 
of  power  and  representation  are  historical  and  legal.  The 
last  reform-bill  took  away  political  power  from  a  mound, 
a  ruin,  and  a  stone-wall,  whilst  Birmingham  and  Manchester, 
whose  mills  paid  for  the  wars  of  Europe,  had  no  representative. 
Purity  in  the  elective  Parliament  is  secured  by  the  purchase 
of  seats.  Foreign  power  is  kept  by  armed  colonies ;  power 
at  home,  by  a  standing  army  of  police.  The  pauper  lives 
better  than  the  free  laborer ;  the  thief  better  than  the  pauper ; 
and  the  transported  felon  better  than  the  one  under  imprison- 
ment. The  crimes  are  factitious,  as  smuggling,  poaching, 
non-conformity,  heresy,  and  treason.  Better,  they  say  in 
England,  kill  a  man  than  a  hare.  The  sovereignty  of  the 
seas  is  maintained  by  the  impressment  of  seamen.  "The 
impressment  of  seamen,"  said  Lord  Eldon,  "is  the  life  of  our 
navy."  Solvency  is  maintained  by  means  of  a  national 
debt,  on  the  principle,  "if  you  will  not  lend  me  the  money, 
how  can  I  pay  you?"  For  the  administration  of  justice. 
Sir  Samuel  Romilly's  expedient  for  clearing  the  arrears  of 
business  in  Chancery,  was,  the  chancellor's  staying  away 
entirely  from  his  court.  Their  system  of  education  is  facti- 
tious. The  Universities  galvanize  dead  languages  into  a 
semblance  of  life.  Their  church  is  artificial.  The  manners 
and  customs  of  society  are  artificial ;  —  made-up  men  with 
made-up  manners  ;  —  and  thus  the  whole  is  Birminghamized, 
and  we  have  a  nation  whose  existence  is  a  work  of  art; 
—  a  cold,  barren,  almost  arctic  isle,  being  made  the  most 
fruitful,  luxurious,  and  imperial  land  in  the  whole  earth 

Man  in  England  submits  to  be  a  product  of  political 
economy.  On  a  bleak  moor,  a  mill  is  built,  a  banking- 
house  is  opened,  and  men  come  in,  as  water  in  a  sluiceway, 
and  towns  and  cities  rise.  Man  is  made  as  a  Birmingham 
button.  The  rapid  doubling  of  the  population  dates  from 
Watt's  steam-engine.  A  landlord,  who  owns  a  provinceji 
says,  "the  tenantry  are  unprofitable;  let  me  have  sheep. '^1 
He  unroofs  the  houses,  and  ships  the  population  to  America. 
The  nation  is  accustomed  to  the  instantaneous  creation  of 


CHAPTERS   FROM   ''ENGLISH  TRAITS^'      277 

wealth.  It  is  the  maxim  of  their  economists,  ''that  the  greater 
part  in  value  of  the  wealth  now  existing  in  England  has  been 
produced  by  human  hands  within  the  last  twelve  months /'^ 
Meantime,  three  or  four  days'  rain  will  redu(;e  hundreds  to 
starving  in  London. 

One  secret  of  their  power  is  their  mutual  good  under- 
standing. Not  only  good  minds  are  born  among  them, 
but  all  the  people  have  good  minds.  Every  nation  has 
yielded  some  good  wit,  if,  as  has  chanced  to  many  tribes, 
only  "one.  But  the  intellectual  organization  of  the  English  [ 
admits  a  communicableness  of  knowledge  and  ideas  among; 
them  all.  An  electric  touch  by  any  of  their  national  ideas, 
melts  them  into  one  family,  and  brings  the  hoards  of  power 
which  their  individuality  is  always  hiving,  into  use  and  play 
for  all.  Is  it  the  smallness  of  the  country,  or  is  it  the  pride 
and  affection  of  race,  —  they  have  solidarity,  or  responsible- 
ness,  and  trust  in  each  other. 

Their  minds,  like  wool,  admit  of  a  dye  which  is  more  lasting 
than  the  cloth.  They  embrace  their  cause  with  more  tenacity 
than  their  life.  Though  not  military,  yet  every  common 
subject  by  the  poll  is  fit  to  make  a  soldier  of.  These  private,, 
reserved,  mute  family-men  can  adopt  a  public  end  with  all 
their  heat,  and  this  strength  of  affection  makes  the  romance 
of  their  heroes.  The  difference  of  rank  does  not  divide  the 
national  heart.  The  Danish  poet  Oehlenschlager  complains 
that  who  writes  in  Danish  writes  to  two  hundred  readers. 
In  Germany,  there  is  one  speech  for  the  learned,  and  another 
for  the  masses,  to  that  extent,  that  it  is  said  no  sentiment 
or  phrase  from  the  works  of  any  great  German  writer  is  ever 
heard  among  the  lower  classes.  But  in  England,  the  language 
of  the  noble  is  the  language  of  the  poor.  In  Parliament, 
in  pulpits,  in  theatres,  when  the  speakers  rise  to  thought  and 
passion,  the  language  becomes  idiomatic ;  the  people  in  the 
street  best  understand  the  best  words.  And  their  language 
seems  drawn  from  the  Bible,  the  common  law,  and  the 
works  of  Shakspeare,  Bacon,  Milton,  Pope,  Young,  Cowper, 
Burns,  and  Scott.  The  island  has  produced  two  or  three  of 
the  greatest  men  that  ever  existed,  but  they  were  not  solitary 
in  their  own  time.  Men  quickly  embodied  what  Newton 
found  out,  in  Greenwich  observatories,  and  practical  navi- 
gation. The  boys  knew  all  that  Hutton  knew  of  strata^ 
or  Dalton  of  atoms,  or  Harvey  of  blood-vessels;   and  these 


278     CHAPTERS  FROM   '^ENGLISH  TRAITS ^^ 

studies,  once  dangerous,  are  in  fashion.  So  what  is  invented 
or  known  in  agriculture,  or  in  trade,  or  in  war,  or  in  art,  or 
in  literature,  and  antiquities.  A  great  ability,  not  amassed 
on  a  few  giants,  but  poured  into  the  general  mind,  so  that 
each  of  them  could  at  a  pinch  stand  in  the  shoes  of  the  other ; 
and  they  are  more  bound  in  character  than  differenced  in 
ability  or  in  rank.  The  laborer  is  a  possible  lord.  The  lord 
is  a  possible  basket-maker.  Every  man  carries  the  English 
system  in  his  brain,  knows  what  is  confided  to  him,  and  does 
therein  the  best  he  can.  The  chancellor  carries  England  on 
Ms  mace,  the  midshipman  at  the  point  of  his  dirk,  the  smith 
on  his  hammer,  the  cook  in  the  bowl  of  his  spoon ;  the 
postilion  cracks  his  whip  for  England,  and  the  sailor  times 
his  oars  to  ^^God  save  the  King!^'  The  very  felons  have 
their  pride  in  each  other's  English  stanchness.  In  politics 
and  in  war,  they  hold  together  as  by  hooks  of  steel.  The 
charm  in  Nelson's  history  is,  the  unselfish  greatness;  the 
assurance  of  being  supported  to  the  uttermost  by  those 
whom  he  supports  to  the  uttermost.  Whilst  they  are  some 
ages  ahead  of  the  rest  of  the  world  in  the  art  of  living ;  whilst 
in  some  directions  they  do  not  represent  the  modern  spirit, 
but  constitute  it,  —  this  vanguard  of  civility  and  power  they 
coldly  hold,  marching  in  phalanx,  lock-step,  foot  after  foot, 
file  after  file  of  heroes,  ten  thousand  deep. 

CHARACTER 

The  English  race  are  reputed  morose.  I  do  not  know  that 
they  have  sadder  brows  than  their  neighbors  of  northern 
climates.  They  are  sad  by  comparison  with  the  singing 
and  dancing  nations :  not  sadder,  but  slow  and  staid,  as 
finding  their  joys  at  home.  They,  too,  believe  that  where 
there  is  no  enjoyment  of  life,  there  can  be  no  vigor  and  art 
in  speech  or  thought ;  that  your  merry  heart  goes  all  the  way, 
your  sad  one  tires  in  a  mile.  This  trait  of  gloom  has  been 
fixed  on  them  by  French  travellers,  who,  from  Froissart, 
Voltaire,  Le  Sage,  Mirabeau,  down  to  the  lively  journalists 
of  the  feuilletons,  have  spent  their  wit  on  the  solemnity  of 
their  neighbors.  The  French  say,  gay  conversation  is  un- 
known in  their  island:  the  Englishman  finds  no  relief  from 
reflection  except  in  reflection :  when  he  wishes  for  amuse- 
ment, he  goes  to  work :  his  hilarity  is  like  an  attack  of  fever, 


CHAPTERS  FROM  ^'ENGLISH  TRAITS^'      279 

Religion,  the  theatre,  and  the  reading  the  books  of  his  coun- 
try,  all  feed  and  increase  his  natural  melancholy.  The  police 
does  not  interfere  with  public  diversions.  It  thinks  itself 
bound  in  duty  to  respect  the  pleasures  and  rare  gayety  of 
this  inconsolable  nation;  and  their  well-known  courage  is 
entirely  attributable  to  their  disgust  of  life. 

I  suppose  their  gravity  of  demeanor  and  their  few  words 
have  obtained  this  reputation.  As  compared  with  the 
Americans,  I  think  them  cheerful  and  contented.  Young 
people,  in  our  country,  are  much  more  prone  to  melancholy. 
The  English  have  a  mild  aspect,  and  a  ringing,  cheerful  voice. 
They  are  large-natured,  and  not  so  easily  amused  as  the 
southerners,  and  are  among  them  as  grown  people  among- 
children,  requiring  war,  or  trade,  or  engineering,  or  science^ 
instead  of  frivolous  games.  They  are  proud  and  private,  and,, 
even  if  disposed  to  recreation,  will  avoid  an  open  garden. 
They  sported  sadly;  Us  s'amusaient  tristementy  selon  la  cou- 
tume  de  leur  pays,  said  Froissart;  and,  I  suppose,  never 
nation  built  their  party  walls  so  thick,  or  their  garden  fences 
so  high.  Meat  and  wine  produce  no  effect  on  them :  they 
are  just  as  cold,  quiet,  and  composed,  at  the  end,  as  at  the 
beginning  of  dinner. 

The  reputation  of  taciturnity  they  have  enjoyed  for  six 
or  seven  hundred  years;  and  a  kind  of  pride  in  bad  public 
speaking  is  noted  in  the  House  of  Commons,  as  if  they  were 
willing  to  show  that  they  did  not  live  by  their  tongues,  or 
thought  they  spoke  well  enough  if  they  had  the  tone  of 
gentlemen.  In  mixed  company,  they  shut  their  mouths. 
A  Yorkshire  mill-owner  told  me,  he  had  ridden  more  than 
once  all  the  way  from  London  to  Leeds,  in  the  first-class 
carriage,  with  the  same  persons,  and  no  word  exchanged. 
The  club-houses  were  established  to  cultivate  social  habits^ 
and  it  is  rare  that  more  than  two  eat  together,  and  oftenest 
one  eats  alone.  Was  it  then  a  stroke  of  humor  in  the  serious 
Swedenborg,  or  was  it  only  his  pitiless  logic,  that  made  him 
shut  up  the  English  souls  in  a  heaven  by  themselves? 

They  are  contradictorily  described  as  sour,  splenetic,  and 
stubborn,  —  and  as  mild,  sweet,  and  sensible.  The  truth  is^ 
they  have  great  range  and  variety  of  character.  Commerce 
sends  abroad  multitudes  of  different  classes.  The  choleric 
Welshman,  the  fervid  Scot,  the  bilious  resident  in  the  East 
or  West  Indies,  are  wide  of  the  perfect  behavior  of  the  edu- 


280     CHAPTERS  FROM   "ENGLISH  TRAITS'' 

cated  and  dignified  man  of  family.  So  is  the  burly  farmer ; 
so  is  the  country  'squire,  with  his  narrow  and  violent  life. 
In  every  inn  is  the  Commercial-Room,  in  which  travellers/ 
or  bagmen  who  carry  patterns,  and  solicit  orders  for  the 
manufacturers,  are  wont  to  be  entertained.  It  easily  hap- 
pens that  this  class  should  characterize  England  to  the 
foreigner,  who  meets  them  on  the  road,  and  at  every  public 
house,  whilst  the  gentry  avoid  the  taverns,  or  seclude  them- 
selves whilst  in  them. 

But  these  classes  are  the  right  English  stock,  and  may 
fairly  show  the  national  qualities,  before  yet  art  and  educa- 
tion have  dealt  with  them.  They  are  good  lovers,  good 
haters,  slow  but  obstinate  admirers,  and,  in  all  things,  very 
much  steeped  in  their  temperament,  like  men  hardly  awaked 
from  deep  sleep,  which  they  enjoy.  Their  habits  and  in- 
stincts cleave  to  nature.  They  are  of  the  earth,  and  of  the 
sea,  as  the  sea-kinds,  attached  to  it  for  what  it  yields  them, 
and  not  from  any  sentiment.  They  are  full  of  coarse  strength, 
rude  exercise,  butcher's  meat,  and  sound  sleep ;  and  suspect 
any  poetic  insinuation  or  any  hint  for  the  conduct  of  life 
which  reflects  on  this  animal  existence,  as  if  somebody  were 
fumbling  at  the  umbilical  cord  and  might  stop  their  supplies. 
They  doubt  a  man's  sound  judgment,  if  he  does  not  eat  with 
appetite,  and  shake  their  heads  if  he  is  particularly  chaste. 
Take  them  as  they  come,  you  shall  find  in  the  common  people 
a  surly  indifference,  sometimes  gruff ness  and  ill  temper ;  and, 
in  minds  of  more  power,  magazines  of  inexhaustible  war, 
challenging 

''The  ruggedest  hour  that  time  and  spite  dare  bring 
To  frown  upon  the  enraged  Northumberland.'' 

They  are  headstrong  believers  and  defenders  of  their  opinion, 
and  not  less  resolute  in  maintaining  their  whim  and  per- 
versity. Hezekiah  Woodward  wrote  a  book  against  the 
Lord's  Prayer.  And  one  can  believe  that  Burton  the  An- 
atomist of  Melancholy,  having  predicted  from  the  stars  the 
hour  of  his  death,  slipped  the  knot  himself  round  his  own 
neck,  not  to  falsify  his  horoscope. 

Their  looks  bespeak  an  invincible  stoutness;  they  have 
extreme  difficulty  to  run  away,  and  will  die  game.  Wel- 
lington said  of  the  young  coxcombs  of  the  Life-Guards 
delicately  brought  up,  "But  the  puppies  fight  well";  and- 


CHAPTERS  FROM   "ENGLISH  TRAITS^'      281 

Nelson  said  of  his  sailors,  "They  really  mind  shot  no  more 
than  peas/^  Of  absolute  stoutness  no  nation  has  more  or 
better  examples.  They  are  good  at  storming  redoubts,  at 
boarding  frigates,  at  dying  in  the  last  ditch,  or  any  desperate 
service  which  has  daylight  and  honor  in  it ;  but  not,  I  think, 
at  enduring  the  rack,  or  any  passive  obedience,  like  jumping 
off  a  castle-roof  at  the  word  of  a  czar.  Being  both  vascular 
and  highly  organized,  so  as  to  be  very  sensible  of  pain ;  and 
intellectual,  so  as  to  see  reason  and  glory  in  a  matter. 

Of  that  constitutional  force  which  yields  the  supplies  of  the 
day,  they  have  the  more  than  enough.  The  excess  which 
creates  courage  on  fortitude,  genius  in  poetry,  invention  in 
mechanics,  enterprise  in  trade,  magnificence  in  wealth,  splen- 
dor in  ceremonies,  petulance  and  projects  in  youth.  The 
young  men  have  a  rude  health  which  runs  into  peccant 
humors.  They  drink  brandy  like  water,  cannot  expend  their 
quantities  of  waste  strength  on  riding,  hunting,  swimming, 
and  fencing,  and  run  into  absurd  frolics  with  the  gravity  of 
the  Eumenides.  Thej^  stoutly  carry  into  every  nook  and  cor- 
ner of  the  earth  their  turbulent  sense ;  leaving  no  lie  uncon- 
tradicted, no  pretension  unexamined.  They  chew  hasheesh ; 
cut  themselves  with  poisoned  creases ;  swing  their  hammock 
in  the  boughs  of  the  Bohon  Upas ;  taste  ever^^  poison ;  buy 
every  secret ;  at  Naples,  they  put  St.  Januarius's  blood  in  an 
alembic ;  they  saw  a  hole  into  the  head  of  the  "winking 
Virgin,"  to  know  why  she  winks;  measure  with  an  English 
foot-rule  every  cell  of  the  Inquisition,  every  Turkish  caaba, 
every  Holy  of  holies;  translate  and  send  to  Bentley  the 
arcanum  bribed  and  bullied  away  from  shuddering  Bramins ; 
and  measure  their  own  strength  by  the  terror  they  cause. 
These  travellers  are  of  every  class,  the  best  and  the  worst ; 
and  it  may  easily  happen  that  those  of  rudest  behavior  are 
taken  notice  of  and  remembered.  The  Saxon  melancholy 
in  the  vulgar  rich  and  poor  appears  as  gushes  of  ill-humor, 
which  every  check  exasperates  into  sarcasm  and  vituperation. 
There  are  multitudes  of  rude  young  English  who  have  the 
self-sufficiency  and  bluntness  of  their  nation,  and  who,  with 
their  disdain  of  the  rest  of  mankind,  and  with  this  indigestion 
and  choler,  have  made  the  English  traveller  a  proverb  for 
uncomfortable  and  offensive  manners.  It  was  no  bad  de- 
scription of  the  Briton  generically,  what  was  said  two  hundred 
years  ago,  of  one  particular  Oxford  scholar :  "He  was  a  very 


282     CHAPTERS  FROM  '^ENGLISH  TRAITS''       < 

bold  man,  uttered  anything  that  came  into  his  mind,  not  only 
among  his  companions,  but  in  public  coffee-houses,  and 
would  often  speak  his  mind  of  particular  persons  then  acci- 
dentally present,  without  examining  the  company  he  was  in ; 
for  which  he  was  often  reprimanded,  and  several  times 
threatened  to  be  kicked  and  beaten/' 

The  common  Englishman  is  prone  to  forget  a  cardinal 
article  in  the  bill  of  social  rights,  that  every  man  has  a  right 
to  his  own  ears.  No  man  can  claim  to  usurp  more  than  a 
few  cubic  feet  of  the  audibilities  of  a  public  room,  or  to  put 
upon  the  company  the  loud  statements  of  his  crotchets  or 
personalities. 

But  it  is  in  the  deep  traits  of  race  that  the  fortunes  of 
nations  are  written,  and  however  derived,  whether  a  happier 
tribe  or  mixture  of  tribes,  the  air,  or  what  circumstance,  that 
mixed  for  them  the  golden  mean  of  temperament,  —  here 
exists  the  best  stock  in  the  world,  broad-fronted,  broad- 
bottomed,  best  for  depth,  range,  and  equability,  men  of  aplomb 
and  reserves,  great  range  and  many  moods,  strong  instincts, 
yet  apt  for  culture;  war-class  as  well  as  clerks;  earls  and 
tradesmen;  wise  minority,  as  well  as  foolish  majority;  abys- 
mal temperament,  hiding  wells  of  wrath,  and  glooms  on  which 
no  sunshine  settles ;  alternated  with  a  common-sense  and 
humanity  which  hold  them  fast  to  every  piece  of  cheerful 
duty;  making  this  temperament  a  sea  to  which  all  storms 
axe  superficial ;  a  race  to  which  their  fortunes  flow,  as  if  they 
alone  had  the  elastic  organization  at  once  fine  and  robust 
enough  for  dominion ;  as  if  the  burly,  inexpressive,  now  mute 
and  contumacious,  now  fierce  and  sharp-tongued  dragon, 
which  once  made  the  island  light  with  his  fiery  breath,  had 
bequeathed  his  ferocity  to  his  conqueror.  They  hide  virtues 
under  vices,  or  the  semblance  of  them.  It  is  the  misshapen 
hairy  Scandinavian  troll  again,  who  lifts  the  cart  out  of  the 
mire,  or  ^^ threshes  the  corn  that  ten  day-laborers  could  not 
end,"  but  it  is  done  in  the  dark,  and  with  muttered  male- 
dictions. He  is  a  churl  with  a  soft  place  in  his  heart,  whose 
speech  is  a  brash  of  bitter  waters,  but  who  loves  to  help  you 
at  a  pinch.  He  says  no,  but  serves  you,  and  your  thanks 
disgust  him.  Here  was  lately  a  cross-grained  miser,  odd  and 
ugly,  resembhng  in  countenance  the  portrait  of  Punch,  with 
the  laugh  left  out;  rich  by  his  own  industry;  sulking  in  a 
lonely  house ;  who  never  gave  a  dinner  to  any  man,  and  dis- 


CHAPTERS  FROM   "ENGLISH  TRAITS''      283 

dained  all  courtesies ;  yet  as  true  a  worshipper  of  beauty  in 
form  and  color  as  ever  existed,  and  profusely  pouring  over  the 
cold  mind  of  his  countrymen  creations  of  grace  and  truth, 
removing  the  reproach  of  sterility  from  English  art,  catching 
from  their  savage  climate  every  fine  hint,  and  importing  into 
their  galleries  every  tint  and  trait  of  sunnier  cities  and  skies  ; 
making  an  era  in  painting ;  and,  when  he  saw  that  the  splendor 
of  one  of  his  pictures  in  the  Exhibition  dimmed  his  rivaFs- 
that  hung  next  it,  secretly  took  a  brush  and  blackened  his  own. 

They  do  not  wear  their  heart  in  their  sleeve  for  daws  ta 
peck  at.  They  have  that  phlegm  or  staidness,  which  it  is  a 
compliment  to  disturb.  "Great  men,''  said  Aristotle,  "are 
always  of  a  nature  originally  melancholy."  'T  is  the  habit 
cf  a  mind  which  attaches  to  abstractions  with  a  passion  which 
gives  vast  results.  They  dare  to  displease,  they  do  not  speak 
to  expectation.  They  like  the  sayers  of  No,  better  than  the 
sayers  of  Yes.  Each  of  them  has  an  opinion  which  he  feels  it- 
becomes  him  to  express  all  the  more  that  it  differs  from  yours. 
They  are  meditating  opposition.  This  gravity  is  inseparable 
from  minds  of  great  resources. 

There  is  an  EngHsh  hero  superior  to  the  French,  the  Ger- 
man, the  ItaHan,  or  the  Greek.  When  he  is  brought  to  the 
strife  with  fate,  he  sacrifices  a  richer  material  possession,  and 
on  more  purely  metaphysical  grounds.  He  is  there  with  his 
own  consent,  face  to  face  with  fortune,  which  he  defies.  On 
deliberate  choice,  and  from  grounds  of  character,  he  has 
elected  his  part  to  five  and  die  for,  and  dies  with  grandeur^ 
This  race  has  added  new  elements  to  humanity,  and  has  a 
deeper  root  in  the  world. 

They  have  great  range  of  scale,  from  ferocity  to  exquisite 
refinement.  With  larger  scale,  they  have  great  retrieving 
power.  After  running  each  tendency  to  an  extreme,  they  try 
another  tack  with  equal  heat.  More  intellectual  than  other 
races,  when  they  five  with  other  races,  they  do  not  take  their 
language,  but  bestow  their  own.  They  subsidize  other 
nations,  and  are  not  subsidized.  They  proselyte,  and  are  not 
proselyted.  They  assimilate  other  races  to  themselves,  and 
are  not  assimilated.  The  Enghsh  did  not  calculate  the  con- 
quest of  the  Indies.  It  fell  to  their  character.  So  they 
administer  in  different  parts  of  the  world,  the  codes  of  every 
empire  and  race :  in  Canada,  old  French  law ;  in  the  Mau- 
ritius, the  Code  Napoleon ;  in  the  West  Indies,  the  edicts  of 


284     CHAPTERS   FROM   '^ENGLISH  TRAITS ^^ 

the  Spanish  Cortes ;  in  the  East  Indies,  the  Laws  of  Menu ; 
in  the  Isle  of  Man,  of  the  Scandinavian  Thing ;  at  the  Cape 
of  Good  Hope,  of  the  Old  Netherlands ;  and  in  the  Ionian 
Islands,  the  Pandects  of  Justinian. 

They  are  very  conscious  of  their  advantageous  position  in 
Jiistory.  England  is  the  lawgiver,  the  patron,  the  instructor, 
the  ally.  Compare  the  tone  of  the  French  and  of  the  English 
press:  the  first  querulous,  captious,  sensitive,  about  English 
opinion;  the  English  press  is  never  timorous  about  French 
opinion,  but  arrogant  and  contemptuous. 

They  are  testy  and  headstrong  through  an  excess  of  will 
and  bias ;  churlish  as  men  sometimes  please  to  be  who  do  not 
forget  a  debt,  who  ask  no  favors,  and  who  will  do  what  they 
like  with  their  own.  With  education  and  intercourse  these 
.asperities  wear  off,  and  leave  the  good-will  pure.  If  anatomy 
is  reformed  according  to  national  tendencies,  I  suppose,  the 
spleen  will  hereafter  be  found  in  the  Englishman,  not  found 
in  the  American,  and  differencing  the  one  from  the  other.  I 
anticipate  another  anatomical  discovery,  that  this  organ  will 
be  found  to  be  cortical  and  caducous,  that  they  are  superfi- 
cially morose,  but  at  last  tender-hearted,  herein  differing 
from  Rome  and  the  Latin  nations.  Nothing  savage,  nothing 
mean  resides  in  the  English  heart.  They  are  subject  to 
panics  of  credulity  and  of  rage,  but  the  temper  of  the  nation, 
however  disturbed,  settles  itseK  soon  and  easily,  as,  in  this 
temperate  zone,  the  sky  after  whatever  storms  clears  again, 
and  serenity  is  its  normal  condition. 

A  saving  stupidity  masks  and  protects  their  perception  as 
the  curtain  of  the  eagle's  e^^e.  Our  smfter  Americans,  when 
they  first  deal  with  English,  pronounce  them  stupid ;  but, 
later,  do  them  justice  as  people  who  wear  well,  or  hide  their 
strength.  To  understand  the  power  of  performance  that  is 
in  their  finest  wits,  in  the  patient  Newton,  or  in  the  versatile 
transcendent  poets,  or  in  the  Dugdales,  Gibbons,  Hallams, 
Eldons,  and  Peels,  one  should  see  how  English  day-laborers 
hold  out.  High  and  low,  they  are  of  an  unctuous  texture. 
There  is  an  adipocere  in  their  constitution,  as  if  they  had  oil 
also  for  their  mental  wheels,  and  could  perform  vast  amounts 
of  work  without  damaging  themselves. 

Even  the  scale  of  expense  on  which  people  live,  and  to  which 
scholars  and  professional  men  conform,  proves  the  tension 
of  their  muscle,  when  vast  numbers  are  found  who  can  each 


CHAPTERS  FROM   '^ENGLISH  TRAITS'^      285 

lift  this  enormous  load.  I  might  even  add,  their  daily  feasts 
argue  a  savage  vigor  of  body. 

No  nation  was  ever  so  rich  in  able  men:  ^'Gentlemen/' 
as  Charles  I.  said  of  Strafford,  ^^ whose  abihties  might  make  a 
prince  rather  afraid  than  ashamed  in  the  greatest  affairs  of 
state"  :  men  of  such  temper,  that,  like  Baron  Vere,  "had  one 
seen  him  returning  from  a  victory,  he  would  by  his  silence 
have  suspected  that  he  had  lost  the  day ;  and,  had  he  beheld 
him  in  a  retreat,  he  would  have  collected  him  a  conqueror  by 
the  cheerfulness  of  his  spirit." 

The  following  passage  from  the  Heimskringla  might  almost 
stand  as  a  portrait  of  the  modern  Englishman :  "Haldor  was 
very  stout  and  strong,  and  remarkably  handsome  in  appear- 
ances. King  Harold  gave  him  this  testimony,  that  he, 
among'^all  his  men,  cared  least  about  doubtful  circumstances, 
whether  they  betokened  danger  or  pleasure ;  for,  whatever 
turned  up,  he  was  never  in  higher  nor  in  lower  spirits,  never 
slept  less  nor  more  on  account  of  them,  nor  ate  nor  drank  but 
according  to  his  custom.  Haldor  was  •not  a  man  of  many 
words,  but  short  in  conversation,  told  his  opinion  bluntly, 
and  was  obstinate  and  hard;  and  this  could  not  please  the 
king,  who  had  many  clever  people  about  him,  zealous  in  his 
service.  Haldor  remained  a  short  .time  with  the  king,  and 
then  came  to  Iceland,  where  he  took  up  his  abode  in  Hiarda- 
holt,  and  dwelt  in  that  farm  to  a  very  advanced  age." 

The  national  temper,  in  the  civil  history,  is  not  flashy  or 
whiffling.  The  slow,  deep,  English  mass  smoulders  with  fire, 
which  at  last  sets  all  its  borders  in  flame.  The  wrath  of 
Ijondon  is  not  French  wrath,  but  has  a  long  memory,  and,  in 
its  hottest  heat,  a  register  and  rule. 

Half  their  strength  they  put  not  forth.  They  are  capable 
of  a  sublime  resolution,  and  if  hereafter  the  war  of  races,  often 
predicted,  and  making  itseK  a  war  of  opinions  also  (a  question 
of  despotism  and  liberty  coming  from  Eastern  Europe), 
should  menace  the  English  civilization,  these  sea-kings  may 
take  once  again  to  their  floating  castles,  and  find  a  new  home 
and  a  second  millennium  of  power  in  their  colonies. 

The  stability  of  England  is  the  security  of  the  modern 
world.  If  the  English  race  were  as  mutable  as  the  French, 
what  reliance?  But  the  Enghsh  stand  for  liberty.  The 
conservative,  money-loving,  lord-loving  English  are  yet 
liberty-loving ;  and  so  freedom  is  safe :  for  they  have  more 


286     CHAPTERS  FROM   ^^ ENGLISH  TRAITS'' 

personal  force  than  other  people.  The  nation  always  resist 
the  immoral  action  of  their  government.  They  think  hu- 
manely on  the  affairs  of  France,  of  Turkey,  of  Poland,  of 
Hungary,  of  Schleswig  Holstein,  though  overborne  by  the 
statecraft  of  the  rulers  at  last. 

Does  the  early  history  of  each  tribe  show  the  permanent 
bias,  which,  though  not  less  potent,  is  masked,  as  the  tribe 
spreads  its  activity  into  colonies,  commerce,  codes,  arts, 
letters?  The  early  history  shows  it,  as  the  musician  plays 
the  air  which  he  proceeds  to  conceal  in  a  tempest  of  variations. 
In  Alfred,  in  the  Northmen,  one  may  read  the  genius  of  the 
English  society,  namely,  that  private  life  is  the  place  of  honor. 
Glory,  a  career,  and  ambition,  words  familiar  to  the  longi- 
tude of  Paris,  are  seldom  heard  in  English  speech.  Nelson 
wrote  from  their  hearts  his  homely  telegraph,  ^'England 
expects  every  man  to  do  his  duty.'' 

For  actual  service,  for  the  dignity  of  a  profession,  or  to 
appease  diseased  or  inflamed  talent,  the  army  and  navy  may 
be  entered  (the  worst  boys  doing  well  in  the  navy) ;  and  the 
civil  service,  in  departments  where  serious  official  work  is 
done ;  and  they  hold  in  esteem  the  barrister  engaged  in  the 
severer  studies  of  the  law.  But  the  calm,  sound,  and  most 
British  Briton  shrinks  from  public  life,  as  charlatanism,  and 
respects  an  economy  founded  on  agriculture,  coal-mines, 
manufactures,  or  trade,  which  secures  an  independence 
through  the  creation  of  real  values. 

They  wish  neither  to  command  or  obey,  but  to  be  kings 
in  their  own  houses.  They  are  intellectual  and  deeply  enjoy 
literature ;  they  like  well  to  have  the  world  served  up  to  them 
in  books,  maps,  models,  and  everj^  mode  of  exact  information, 
and,  though  not  creators  in  the  art,  they  value  its  refinement. 
They  are  ready  for  leisure,  can  direct  and  fill  their  own  day, 
nor  need  so  much  as  others  the  constraint  of  a  necessity. 
But  the  history  of  the  nation  discloses,  at  every  turn,  this 
original  predilection  for  private  independence,  and,  however 
this  inclination  may  have  been  disturbed  by  the  bribes  with 
which  their  vast  colonial  power  has  warped  men  out  of  orbit, 
the  inclination  endures,  and  forms  and  reforms  the  laws, 
letters,  manners,  and  occupations.  They  choose  that  wel- 
fare which  is  compatible  with  the  commonwealth,  knowing 
that  such  alone  is  stable ;  as  wise  merchants  prefer  invest- 
ments in  the  three  per  cents. 


CHAPTERS  FROM   ^^ ENGLISH  TRAITS'^     287 


WEALTH 


There  is  no  country  in  which  so  absolute  a  homage  is  paid 
to  wealth.  In  America,  there  is  a  touch  of  shame  when  a 
man  exhibits  the  evidences  of  large  property,  as  if,  after  all, 
it  needed  apology.  But  the  Englishman  has  pure  pride  in 
his  wealth,  and  esteems  it  a  final  certificate.  A  coarse  logic 
rules  throughout  all  English  souls ;  —  if  you  have  merit,  can 
you  not  show  it  by  your  good  clothes,  and  coach,  and  horses? 
How  can  a  man  be  a  gentleman  without  a  pipe  of  wine? 
Haydon  says,  ^^  There  is  a  fierce  resolution  to  make  every 
man  live  according  to  the  means  he  possesses.^'  There  is  a 
mixture  of  religion  in  it.  They  are  under  the  Jewish  law, 
and  read  with  sonorous  emphasis  that  their  days  shall  be 
long  in  the  land,  they  shall  have  sons  and  daughters,  flocks 
and  herds,  wine  and  oil.  In  exact  proportion  is  the  reproach 
of  poverty.  They  do  not  wish  to  be  represented  except  by 
opulent  men.  An  Englishman  who  has  lost  his  fortune  is 
said  to  have  died  of  a  broken  heart.  The  last  term  of  insult 
is,  ^'a  beggar.^'  Nelson  said,  ^^The  want  of  fortime  is  a 
crime  which  I  can  never  get  over.^^  Sydney  Smith  said, 
'^ Poverty  is  infamous  in  England. ^^  And  one  of  their  recent- 
writers  speaks,  in  reference  to  a  private  and  scholastic  life,  of 
'Hhe  grave  moral  deterioration  which  follows  an  empty 
exchequer.''  You  shall  find  this  sentiment,  if  not  so  frankh^ 
put,  yet  deeply  implied,  in  the  novels  and  romances  of  the 
present  century,  and  not  only  in  these,  but  in  biography, 
and  in  the  votes  of  public  assemblies,  in  the  tone  of  the 
preaching,  and  in  the  table-talk. 

I  was  lately  turning  over  Wood's  Athence  Oxonienses,  and 
looking  naturally  for  another  standard  in  a  chronicle  of  the 
scholars  of  Oxford  for  two  hundred  years.  But  I  found  the 
two  disgraces  in  that,  as  in  most  English  books,  are,  first, 
disloyalty  to  Church  and  State,  and,  second,  to  be  born  poor, 
or  to  come  to  poverty.  A  natural  fruit  of  England  is  the 
brutal  political  economy.  Malthus  finds  no  cover  laid  at 
nature's  table  for  the  laborer's  son.  In  1809,  the  majority 
in  Parliament  expressed  itself  by  the  language  of  Mr.  Fuller 
in  the  House  of  Commons,  ^'If  you  do  not  like  the  country, 
damn  you,  you  can  leave  it."  When  Sir  S.  Romilly  pro- 
posed his  bill  forbidding  parish  officers  to  bind  children 
apprentices  at  a  greater  distance  than  forty  miles  from  their 


288     CHAPTERS  FROM  '^ENGLISH  TRAITS^' 

home,  Peel  opposed,  and  Mr.  Wortley  said,  ^ though,  in  the 
higher  ranks,  to  cultivate  family  affections  was  a  good  thing, 
^t  was  not  so  among  the  lower  orders.  Better  take  them 
away  from  those  who  might  deprave  them.  And  it  was 
highly  injurious  to  trade  to  stop  binding  to  manufacturers, 
as  it  must  raise  the  price  of  labor,  and  of  manufactured 
goods.'' 

The  respect  for  truth  of  facts  in  England  is  equalled  only 
by  the  respect  for  wealth.  It  is  at  once  the  pride  of  art  of 
the  Saxon,  as  he  is  a  wealth-maker,  and  his  passion  for  inde- 
pendence. The  Englishman  believes  that  every  man  must 
take  care  of  himself,  and  has  himseK  to  thank,  if  he  do  not 
mend  his  condition.  To  pay  their  debts  is  their  national 
point  of  honor.  From  the  Exchequer  and  the  East  India 
House  to  the  huckster's  shop,  everything  prospers,  because 
it  is  solvent.  The  British  armies  are  solvent,  and  pay  for 
what  they  take.  The  British  empire  is  solvent;  for,  in  spite 
of  the  huge  national  debt,  the  valuation  mounts.  During 
the  war  from  1789  to  1815,  whilst  they  complained  that  they 
were  taxed  within  an  inch  of  their  lives,  and,  by  dint  of 
enormous  taxes,  were  subsidizing  all  the  continent  against 
France,  the  English  were  growing  rich  every  year  faster  than 
any  people  ever  grew  before.  It  is  their  maxim,  that  the 
weight  of  taxes  must  be  calculated,  not  by  what  is  taken,  but 
by  what  is  left.  Solvency  is  in  the  ideas  and  mechanism  of 
an  EngHshman.  The  Crystal  Palace  is  not  considered  honest 
until  it  pays ;  no  matter  how  much  convenience,  beauty,  or 
eclatj  it  must  be  self-supporting.  They  are  contented  with 
slower  steamers,  as  long  as  they  know  that  swifter  boats  lose 
money.  They  proceed  logically  by  the  double  method  of 
labor  and  thrift.  Every  household  exhibits  an  exact  economy, 
and  nothing  of  that  uncalculated  headlong  expenditure  which 
families  use  in  America.  If  they  cannot  pay,  they  do  not 
buy ;  for  they  have  no  presumption  of  better  fortunes  next 
year,  as  our  people  have ;  and  they  say  without  shame,  I 
cannot  afford  it.  Gentlemen  do  not  hesitate  to  ride  in  the 
second-class  cars,  or  in  the  second  cabin.  An  economist,  or 
a  man  who  can  proportion  his  means  and  his  ambition,  or 
bring  the  year  round  with  expenditure  which  expresses  his 
character,  without  embarrassing  one  day  of  his  future,  is 
already  a  master  of  life,  and  a  freeman.  Lord  Burleigh 
writes  to  his  son,  ^Hhat  one  ought  never  to  devote  more 


CHAPTERS  FROM   ^'ENGLISH  TRAITS ^^     289> 

than  two  thirds  of  his  income  to  the  ordinary  expenses  of  life, 
since  the  extraordinary  will  be  certain  to  absorb  the  other 
third/' 

The  ambition  to  create  value  evokes  every  kind  of  ability ; 
government  becomes  a  manufacturing  corporation,  and 
every  house  a  mill.  The  headlong  bias  to  utility  will  let  no 
talent  lie  in  a  napkin,  —  if  possible,  will  teach  spiders  to 
weave  silk  stockings.  An  Englishman,  while  he  eats  and 
drinks  no  more,  or  not  much  more  than  another  man,  labors 
three  times  as  many  hours  in  the  course  of  a  year,  as  any  other 
European ;  or,  his  life  as  a  workman  is  three  lives.  He  works 
fast.  Everything  in  England  is  at  a  quick  pace.  They  have 
reinforced  their  own  productivity,  by  the  creation  of  that 
marvellous  machinery  which  differences  this  age  from  any 
other  age. 

'T  is  a  curious  chapter  in  modern  history,  the  growth  of 
the  machine-shop.  Six  hundred  years  ago,  Roger  Bacon 
explained  the  precession  of  the  equinoxes,  the  consequent 
necessity  of  the  reform  of  the  calendar ;  measured  the  length 
of  the  year,  invented  gunpowder ;  and  announced  (as  if  look- 
ing from  his  lofty  cell,  over  five  centuries,  into  ours)  ^Hhat 
machines  can  be  constructed  to  drive  ships  more  rapidly 
than  a  whole  galley  of  rowers  could  do ;  nor  would  they  need 
anything  but  a  pilot  to  steer  them.  Carriages  also  might 
be  constructed  to  move  with  an  incredible  speed,  without 
the  aid  of  any  animal.  Finally,  it  would  not  be  impossible 
to  make  machines,  which,  by  means  of  a  suit  of  wings,  should 
fly  in  the  air  in  the  manner  of  birds.''  But  the  secret  slept 
with  Bacon.  The  six  hundred  years  have  not  yet  fulfilled 
his  words.  Two  centuries  ago,  the  sawing  of  timber  was. 
done  by  hand  ;  the  carriage-wheels  ran  on  wooden  axles ; 
the  land  was  tilled  by  wooden  ploughs.  And  it  was  to  little 
purpose  that  they  had  pit-coal  or  that  looms  were  improved, 
unless  Watt  and  Stephenson  had  taught  them  to  work  force- 
pumps  and  power-looms  by  steam.  The  great  strides  were 
all  taken  within  the  last  hundred  years.  The  life  of  Sir 
Robert  Peel,  in  his  day  the  model  Englishman,  very  properly 
has,  for  a  frontispiece,  a  drawing  of  the  spinning-jenny, 
which  wove  the  web  of  his  fortunes.  Hargreaves  invented 
the  spinning- jenny,  and  died  in  a  workhouse.  Arkwright 
imy^roved  the  invention;  and  the  machine  dispensed  with 
the  work  of  ninety-nine  men :  that  is,  one  spinner  could  dO' 


290     CHAPTERS  FROM  '^ ENGLISH  TRAITS^' 

^s  much  work  as  one  hundred  had  done  before.  The  loom 
was  improved  further.  But  the  men  would  sometimes  strike 
for  wages,  and  combine  against  the  masters,  and,  about 
1829-30,  much  fear  was  felt,  lest  the  trade  would  be  drawn 
^way  by  these  interruptions,  and  the  emigration  of  the 
spinners,  to  Belgium  and  the  United  States.  Iron  and  steel 
are  very  obedient.  Whether  it  were  not  possible  to  make  a 
spinner  that  would  not  rebel,  nor  mutter,  nor  scowl,  nor  strike 
for  wages,  nor  emigrate  ?  At  the  solicitation  of  the  masters, 
after  a  mob  and  riot  at  Stale}^  Bridge,  Mr.  Roberts  of  Man- 
chester undertook  to  create  this  peaceful  fellow,  instead  of 
the  quarrelsome  fellow  God  had  made.  After  a  few  trials, 
he  succeeded,  and,  in  1830,  procured  a  patent  for  his  seK- 
acting  mule ;  a  creation,  the  dehght  of  mill-owners,  and 
*' destined,^'  they  said,  'Ho  restore  order  among  the  indus- 
trious classes'' ;  a  machine  requiring  only  a  child's  hand  to 
piece  the  broken  yarns.  As  Arkwright  had  destroyed  do- 
mestic spinning,  so  Roberts  destroyed  the  factory  spinner. 
The  power  of  machinery  in  Great  Britain,  in  mills,  has  been 
computed  to  be  equal  to  600,000,000  men,  one  man  being 
able  by  the  aid  of  steam  to  do  the  work  which  required  two 
hundred  and  fifty  men  to  accomplish  fifty  years  ago.  The 
production  has  been  commensurate.  England  already  had 
this  laborious  race,  rich  soil,  water,  wood,  coal,  iron,  and 
favorable  cHmate.  Eight  hundred  years  ago,  commerce  had 
made  it  rich,  and  it  was  recorded,  '^  England  is  the  richest 
of  all  the  northern  nations. '^  The  Norman  historians  recite, 
that  ''in  1067,  William  carried  with  him  into  Normandy, 
from  England,  more  gold  and  silver  than  had  ever  before 
been  seen  in  Gaul."  But  when,  to  this  labor  and  trade  and 
these  native  resources  was  added  this  goblin  of  steam,  with 
his  myriad  arms,  never  tired,  working  night  and  day  ever- 
lastingly, the  amassing  of  property  has  run  out  of  all  figures. 
It  makes  the  motor  of  the  last  ninety  years.  The  steam-pipe 
has  added  to  her  population  and  wealth  the  equivalent  of 
four  or  Rye  Engiands.  Forty  thousand  ships  are  entered  in 
Lloyd's  lists.  The  yield  of  wheat  has  gone  on  from  2,000,000 
quarters  in  the  time  of  the  Stuarts,  to  13,000,000  in  1854. 
A  thousand  milhon  pounds  sterling  are  said  to  compose  the 
floating  money  of  commerce.  In  1848,  Lord  John  Russell 
•stated  that  the  people  of  this  country  had  laid  out  £300- 
€00,000  of  capital  in  railways,  in  the  last  four  years.     But  a 


m 


CHAPTERS  FROM  "ENGLISH  TRAITS"     291 

better  measure  than  these  sounding  figures  is  the  estimate^ 
that  there  is  wealth  enough  in  England  to  support  the  entire 
population  in  idleness  for  one  year. 

The  wise,  versatile,  all-giving  machinery  makes  chisels^ 
roads,  locomotives,  telegraphs.  Whitworth  divides  a  bar 
to  a  millionth  of  an  inch.  Steam  twines  huge  cannon  into 
wreaths,  as  easily  as  it  braids  straw,  and  vies  with  the  vol- 
canic forces  which  twisted  the  strata.  It  can  clothe  shingle 
mountains  with  ship-oaks,  make  sword-blades  that  will  cut 
gun-barrels  in  two.  In  Egypt,  it  can  plant  forests,  and  bring 
rain  after  three  thousand  years.  Already  it  is  ruddering  the 
balloon,  and  the  next  war  will  be  fought  in  the  air.  But 
another  machine  more  potent  in  England  than  steam  is  the 
Bank.  It  votes  an  issue  of  bills,  population  is  stimulated, 
and  cities  rise ;  it  refuses  loans,  and  emigration  empties  the 
country ;  trade  sinks ;  revolutions  break  out ;  kings  are  de- 
throned. By  these  new  agents  our  social  system  is  moulded. 
By  dint  of  steam  and  of  money,  war  and  commerce  are 
changed.  Nations  have  lost  their  old  omnipotence;  the 
patriotic  tie  does  not  hold.  Nations  are  getting  obsolete, 
we  go  and  live  where  we  will.  Steam  has  enabled  men  ta 
choose  what  law  they  will  Uve  under.  Money  makes  place 
for  them.  The  telegraph  is  a  Hmp-band  that  will  hold  the 
-  Fenris-wolf  of  war.  For  now,  that  a  telegraph  line  runs 
through  France  and  Europe,  from  London,  every  message  it 
transmits  makes  stronger  by  one  thread  the  band  which  war 
will  have  to  cut. 

The  introduction  of  these  elements  gives  new  resources  to 
existing  proprietors.  A  sporting  duke  may  fancy  that  the 
state  depends  on  the  House  of  Lords,  but  the  engineer  sees, 
that  every  stroke  of  the  steam-piston  gives  value  to  the  duke's 
land,  fills  it  with  tenants ;  doubles,  quadruples,  centuples  the 
duke's  capital,  and  creates  new  measures  and  new  neces- 
sities for  the  culture  of  his  children.  Of  course,  it  draws  the 
nobility  into  the  competition  as  stockholders  in  the  mine, 
the  canal,  the  railway,  in  the  application  of  steam  to  agri- 
culture, and  sometimes  into  trade.  But  it  also  introduces 
large  classes  into  the  same  competition ;  the  old  energy  of  the 
Norse  race  arms  itself  with  these  magnificent  powers;  new 
men  prove  an  overmatch  for  the  land-owner,  and  the  mill 
buys  out  the  castle.  Scandinavian  Thor,  who  once  forged 
his  bolts  in  icy  Hecla,  and  built  galleys  by  lonely  fiords,  in: 


292     CHAPTERS  FROM   ^^ ENGLISH  TRAITS^' 

England  has  advanced  with  the  times,  has  shorn  his  beard, 
enters  ParHament,  sits  down  at  a  desk  in  the  India  House, 
^nd  lends  MioUnir  to  Birmingham  for  a  steam-hammer. 

The  creation  of  wealth  in  England  in  the  last  ninety  years 
is  a  main  fact  in  modern  history.  The  wealth  of  London 
determines  prices  all  over  the  globe.  All  things  precious,  or 
useful,  or  amusing,  or  intoxicating,  are  sucked  into  this  com- 
merce and  floated  to  London.  Some  English  private  for- 
tunes reach,  and  some  exceed,  a  million  of  dollars  a  year.  A 
hundred  thousand  palaces  adorn  the  island.  All  that  can 
feed  the  senses  and  passions,  all  that  can  succor  the  talent, 
or  arm  the  hands  of  the  intelligent  middle  class  who  never 
spare  in  what  they  buy  for  their  own  consumption ;  all  that 
can  aid  science,  gratify  taste,  or  soothe  comfort,  is  in  open 
market.  Whatever  is  excellent  and  beautiful  in  civil,  rural, 
or  ecclesiastic  architecture ;  in  fountain,  garden,  or  grounds ; 
the  English  noble  crosses  sea  and  land  to  see  and  to  copy  at 
home.  The  taste  and  science  of  thirty  peaceful  generations ; 
the  gardens  which  Evel}^  planted ;  the  temples  and  pleasure- 
houses  which  Inigo  Jones  and  Christopher  Wren  built;  the 
wood  that  Gibbons  carved ;  the  taste  of  foreign  and  domestic 
artists,  Shenstone,  Pope,  Brown,  Loudon,  Paxton,  are  in  the 
vast  auction,  and  the  hereditary  principle  heaps  on  the 
owner  of  to-day  the  benefit  of  ages  of  owners.  The  present  • 
possessors  are  to  the  full  as  absolute  as  any  of  their  fathers,  in 
choosing  and  procuring  what  they  like.  This  comfort  and 
splendor,  the  breadth  of  lake  and  mountain,  tillage,  pasture, 
and  park,  sumptuous  castle  and  modern  villa,  —  all  consist 
with  perfect  order.  They  have  no  revolutions;  no  horse- 
guards  dictating  to  the  crown;  no  Parisian  poissardes  and 
barricades  ;  no  mob  ;  but  drowsy  habitude,  daily  dress-dinners, 
wine,  and  alo,  and  beer,  and  gin,  and  sleep. 

With  this  power  cf  creation,  and  this  passion  for  inde- 
pendence, property  has  reached  an  ideal  perfection.  It  is 
felt  and  treated  as  the  national  life-blood.  The  laws  are 
framed  to  give  property  the  securest  possible  basis,  and  the 
provisions  to  lock  and  transmit  it  have  exercised  the  cun- 
ningest  heads  in  a  profession  which  never  admits  a  fool.  The 
rights  of  property  nothing  but  felony  and  treason  can  over- 
ride. The  house  is  a  castle  which  the  king  cannot  enter. 
The  Bank  is  a  strong-box  to  which  the  king  has  no  key. 
IVhatever  surly  sweetness  possession  can  give,  is  tasted  in 


I 


CHAPTERS  FROM  "ENGLISH  TRAITS ^^     293 

England  to  the  dregs.  Vested  rights  are  awful  things,  and 
absolute  possession  gives  the  smallest  freeholder  identity  of 
interest  with  the  duke.  High  stone  fences  and  padlocked 
garden  gates  announce  the  absolute  will  of  the  owner  to  be 
alone.  Every  whim  of  exaggerated  egotism  is  put  into  stone 
and  iron,  into  silver  and  gold,  with  costly  deliberation  and 
detail. 

An  Englishman  hears  that  the  Queen  Dowager  wishes  to 
establish  some  claim  to  put  her  park  paling  a  rod  forward 
into  his  grounds,  so  as  to  get  a  coachway,  and  save  her  a 
mile  to  the  avenue.  Instanth''  he  transforms  his  paling  into 
stone  masonry,  soHd  as  the  walls  of  Cuma,  and  all  Europe 
cannot  prevail  on  him  to  sell  or  compound  for  an  inch  of  the 
land.  They  dehght  in  a  freak  as  the  proof  of  their  sovereign 
freedom.  Sir  Edward  Boynton,  at  Spic  Park,  at  Cadenham, 
on  a  precipice  of  incomparable  prospect,  built  a  house  like  a 
long  barn,  which  had  not  a  mndow  on  the  prospect  side. 
Strawberry  Hill  of  Horace  Walpole,  Fonthill  Abbey  of  Mr. 
Beckford,  were  freaks ;  and  Newstead  Abbey  became  one  in 
the  hands  of  Lord  Byron. 

But  the  proudest  result  of  this  creation  has  been  the  great 
and  refined  forces  it  has  put  at  the  disposal  of  the  private 
citizen.  In  the  social  world,  an  Englishman  to-day  has  the 
best  lot.  He  is  a  king  in  a  plain  coat.  He  goes  with  the 
most  powerful  protection,  keeps  the  best  company,  is  armed 
by  the  best  education,  is  seconded  by  wealth ;  and  his  English 
name  and  accidents  are  like  a  flourish  of  trumpets  announcing 
him.  This,  with  his  quiet  style  of  manners,  gives  him  the 
power  of  a  sovereign,  without  the  inconveniences  which  belong 
to  that  rank.  I  much  prefer  the  condition  of  an  English 
gentleman  of  the  better  class,  to  that  of  any  potentate  in 
Europe,  —  whether  for  travel,  or  for  opportunity  of  society, 
or  for  access  to  means  of  science  or  study,  or  for  mere  com- 
fort and  easy  healthy  relation  to  people  at  home. 

Such,  as  we  have  seen,  is  the  wealth  of  England,  a  mighty 
mass,  and  made  good  in  whatever  details  we  care  to  explore. 
The  cause  and  spring  of  it  is  the  wealth  of  temperament  in 
the  people.  The  wonder  of  Britain  is  this  plenteous  nature. 
Her  worthies  are  ever  surrounded  by  as  good  men  as  them- 
selves ;  each  is  a  captain  a  hundred  strong,  and  that  wealth  of 
men  is  represented  again  in  the  faculty  of  each  individual,  — 
that  he  has  waste  strength,  power  to  spare.    The  English  are 


294     CHAPTERS  FROM   ''ENGLISH  TRAITS'^ 


so  rich,  and  seem  to  have  established  a  taproot  in  the  bowels 
of  the  planet,  because  they  are  constitutionally  fertile  and 
creative. 

But  a  man  must  keep  an  eye  on  his  servants,  if  he  would 
not  have  them  rule  him.  Man  is  a  shrewd  inventor,  and  is 
ever  taking  the  hint  of  a  new  machine  from  his  own  struc- 
ture, adapting  some  secret  of  his  own  anatomy  in  iron,  wood, 
and  leather,  to  some  required  function  in  the  work  of  the 
world.  But  it  is  found  that  the  machine  unmans  the  user. 
What  he  gains  in  making  cloth,  he  loses  in  general  power. 
There  should  be  temperance  in  making  cloth,  as  well  as  in 
eating.  A  man  should  not  be  a  silkworm;  nor  a  nation  a 
tent  of  caterpillars.  The  robust  rural  Saxon  degenerates  in 
the  mills  to  the  Leicester  stockinger,  to  the  imbecile  Man- 
chester spinner,  —  far  on  the  way  to  be  spiders  and  needles. 
The  incessant  repetition  of  the  same  hand-work  dwarfs  the 
man,  robs  him  of  his  strength,  wit,  and  versatiUty,  to  make  a 
pin-polisher,  a  buckle-maker,  or  any  other  specialty;  and 
presently,  in  a  change  of  industry,  whole  towns  are  sacrificed 
like  ant-hills,  when  the  fashion  of  shoestrings  supersedes 
buckles,  when  cotton  takes  the  place  of  Hnen,  or  railways  of 
turnpilvcs,  or  when  commons  are  enclosed  by  landlords. 
Then  society  is  admonished  of  the  mischief  of  the  di\asion  of 
labor,  and  that  the  best  pohtical  economy  is  care  and  culture 
of  men ;  for,  in  these  crises,  all  are  ruined  except  such  as  are 
proper  individuals,  capable  of  thought,  and  of  new  choice 
and  the  appUcation  of  their  talent  to  new  labor.  Then  again 
come  in  new  calamities.  England  is  aghast  at  the  disclosure 
of  her  fraud  in  the  adulteration  of  food,  of  drugs,  and  of 
almost  every  fabric  in  her  mills  and  shops ;  finding  that  milk 
will  not  nourish,  nor  sugar  sweeten,  nor  bread  satisfy,  nor 
pepper  bite  the  tongue,  nor  glue  stick.  In  true  England  all 
is  false  and  forged.  This  too  is  the  reaction  of  machinery, 
but  of  the  larger  machinery  of  commerce.  T  is  not,  I 
suppose,  want  of  probity,  so  much  as  the  tyranny  of  trade, 
which  necessitates  a  perpetual  competition  of  underselUng, 
and  that  again  a  perpetual  deterioration  of  the  fabric. 

The  machinery  has  proved,  like  the  balloon,  unmanageable, 
and  flies  away  with  the  aeronaut.  Steam  from  the  first 
hissed  and  screamed  to  warn  him;  it  was  dreadful  with  its 
explosion,  and  crushed  the  engineer.  The  machinist  has 
wrought  and  watched,  engineers  and  firemen  without  number 


1 

^1^    ■ 


4 


CHAPTERS  FROM  ^'ENGLISH  TRAITS'^      295 

have  been  sacrificed  in  learning  to  tame  and  guide  the  mon- 
ster. But  harder  still  it  has  proved  to  resist  and  rule  the 
dragon  Money,  with  his  paper  wings.  Chancellors  and 
Boards  of  Trade,  Pitt,  Peel,  and  Robinson,  and  their  Parha- 
ments,  and  their  whole  generation,  adopted  false  principles, 
and  went  to  their  graves  in  the  belief  that  they  were  en- 
riching the  country  which  they  were  impoverishing.  They 
congratulated  each  other  on  ruinous  expedients.  It  is  rare 
to  find  a  merchant  who  knows  why  a  crisis  occurs  in  trade, 
why  prices  rise  or  fall,  or  who  knows  the  mischief  of  paper 
money.  In  the  culmination  of  national  prosperity,  in  the 
annexation  of  countries;  building  of  ships,  depots,  towns; 
in  the  influx  of  tons  of  gold  and  silver ;  amid  the  chuckle  of 
chancellors  and  financiers,  it  was  found  that  bread  rose  to 
famine  prices,  that  the  yeoman  was  forced  to  sell  his  cow 
and  pig,  his  tools,  and  his  acre  of  land;  and  the  dreadful 
barometer  of  the  poor-rates  was  touching  the  point  of  ruin. 
The  poor-rate  was  sucking  in  the  solvent  classes,  and  forcing 
an  exodus  of  farmers  and  mechanics.  What  befalls  from 
the  violence  of  financial  crises,  befalls  daily  in  the  violence  of 
artificial  legislation. 

Such  a  wealth  has  England  earned,  ever  new,  bounteous, 
and  augmenting.  But  the  question  recurs,  does  she  take  the 
step  beyond,  namely,  to  the  wise  use,  in  view  of  the  supreme 
wealth  of  nations?  We  estimate  the  wisdom  of  nations  by 
seeing  what  they  did  with  their  surplus  capital.  And,  in 
view  of  these  injuries,  some  compensation  has  been  attempted 
in  England.  A  part  of  the  money  earned  returns  to  the  brain 
to  buy  schools,  libraries,  bishops,  astronomers,  chemists,  and 
artists  with ;  and  a  part  to  repair  the  wrongs  of  this  intem- 
perate weaving,  by  hospitals,  savings-banks.  Mechanics'  In- 
stitutes, public  grounds,  and  other  charities  and  amenities. 
But  the  antidotes  are  frightfully  inadequate,  and  the  evil 
requires  a  deeper  cure,  which  time  and  a  simpler  social  organ- 
ization must  supply.  At  present,  she  does  not  rule  her 
wealth.  She  is  simply  a  good  England,  but  no  divinity,  or 
wise  and  instructed  soul.  She  too  is  in  the  stream  of  fate, 
one  victim  more  in  a  common  catastrophe. 

But  being  in  the  fault,  she  has  the  misfortune  of  greatness 
to  be  held  as  the  chief  offender.  England  must  be  held  re- 
sponsible for  the  despotism  of  expense.     Her  prosperity,  the 


296     CHAPTERS  FROM   '' ENGLISH  TRAITS^'  | 

splendor  which  so  much  manhood  and  talent  and  perse- 
verance has  thro^vn  upon  vulgar  aims,  is  the  very  argumenlll 
of  materialism.  Her  success  strengthens  the  hands  of  has*' 
wealth.  Who  can  propose  to  youth  poverty  and  wisdom, 
when  mean  gain  has  arrived  at  the  conquest  of  letters  and 
arts ;  when  EngHsh  success  has  grown  out  of  the  very  renun- 
ciation of  principles,  and  the  dedication  to  outsides.  A 
civility  of  trifles,  of  money  and  expense,  an  erudition  of  sen- 
sation takes  place,  and  the  putting  as  many  impediments 
as  we  can,  between  the  man  and  his  objects.  Hardly  the 
bravest  among  them  have  the  manhness  to  resist  it  suc- 
cessfully. Hence,  it  has  come,  that  not  the  aims  of  a  manly 
life,  but  the  means  of  meeting  a  certain  ponderous  expense, 
is  that  which  is  to  be  considered  by  a  youth  in  England 
emerging  from  his  minority.  A  large  family  is  reckoned  a 
misfortune.  And  it  is  a  consolation  in  the  death  of  the 
young,  that  a  source  of  expense  is  closed. 


BIBLIOGRAPHY 

I  .  WORKS 

The  best  edition  of  Emerson's  Works  is  the  Centenary  Edi- 
tion in  twelve  volumes,  edited  by  Edward  Waldo  Emerson  and 
published  by  the  Houghton-Mifflin  Company,  Boston,  1903-1904 
Ihe  Concord  Edition,  1904,  is  a  reprint  of  this  edition. 

In  a  uniform  edition  with  the  Works,  the  Journals  of  Emer- 
son, edited  by  E  W.  Emerson  and  W.  E.  Forbes,  have  been  issued 
m  ten  valumes,  Boston,  1909-1914. 

Certain  additional  writings  of  Emerson  are  included  in  Un- 
collected Writings,  edited  by  Charles  C.  Bigelow,  New  York,  1912. 

I  BIOGRAPHIES 

Among  the  most  useful  lives  of  Emerson  are  the  following  r 
Ralph  Waldo  Emerson,  by  Oliver  Wendell  Holmes,  in  American 

Men  of  Letters  Series,  Boston,  1885. 
A  Memoir  of  Ralph  Waldo  Emerson,  by  James  EUiot  Cabot   2  v 

Boston,  1887.  ' 

Life  of  Ralph  Waldo  Emerson,  by  Richard  Garnett,  in  Great 

Writers  Series,  London,  1888. 
Emerson  at  Home  and  Abroad,  by  Moncure  D.  Conway,  Boston 

loo2.  ' 

f  T?'''1t^^'?''''??'''^'  Edward  Waldo  Emerson,  Boston,  1889 
Ralph    Waldo    Emerson:  His    Life,    Writings    and    Philosophy, 

George  Willis  Cooke,  Boston,  1881. 

BoS?\9^r''''''  Frankhn  Sanborn.     Beacon  Biographies, 
^'^erson^  Poet  and  Thinker,  Elizabeth  Luther  Gary,  New  York, 

Ralph  Waldo  Emerson,  George  E.  Woodberry,  English  Men  of 

Letters  Series,  New  York,  1907. 
Ralph  Waldo  Emerson,  O.  W.  Firkins,  Boston,  1915 
Records    of  a   Lifelong   Friendship,   1807-1882.      Ralph   Waldo 

Emerson  and   William  Henry  Furness,   edited  by   Horace 

Howard  Furness,  Boston,  1910. 

297 


298  BIBLIOGRAPHY 


BIBLIOGRAPHIES 

The  best  bibliography  of  Emerson  is  that  edited  by  George  | 
WiUis  Cooke,  Boston,  1908. 

There  is  a  selected  bibliography  by  Harrison  Ross  Steeves  in 
the  Cambridge  History  of  American  Literature,  Vol.  I,  pages 
551-566. 


\ 


ARTICLES 


4 


Among  the  many  articles  upon  Emerson;  probably  the  most 
helpful  are  those  included  in  the  following  works: 
My  Study  Windows,  James  Russell  Lowell,  Boston,  1871. 
Poets  of  America,  Edmund  Clarence  Stedman,  Boston,  1885. 
Partial  Portraits,  Henry  James,  London,  1888. 
Literary  and  Social  Essays,  George  William  Curtis,  New  York, 

1894. 
American  Prose  Masters,  William  C.  Brownell,  New  York,  1909. 
Cambridge  History  of  American  Literature,  Chap.   IX,  Vol.  I, 

"Emerson"  by  Paul  Elmer  More  —  New  York,  1917. 


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