UNCOLLEGTED 
 WRITINGS 
 
 ESSAYS, ADDRESSES, POEMS, 
 REVIEWS AND LETTERS 
 
 BY 
 
 RALPH WALDO EMERSON 
 
 Now First Published in Book Form 
 
 THE LAMB PUBLISHING COMPANY 
 NEW YORK 
 
COPYRIGHT, 1912, BY 
 CHARLES C. BIGELOW 
 
G 
 
 Ls 
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 FOR many years the editor, in common with other 
 collectors of American first editions, has known of the 
 existence of much Emerson material that has never 
 heen permanently placed in book form or gathered in 
 any collected edition of Emerson s Works. As early 
 as 1866 an edition of Emerson appeared in London 
 labelled " Complete Works," but, though much mat 
 ter was crowded into the two volumes, it was very 
 incomplete. In 1869, 1876, 1881 and 1883 collected 
 editions appeared, bearing the imprints of Fields, 
 Osgood & Company and their various successors, but 
 on these editions no claims were made as to complete 
 ness. In 1884 Houghton, Mifflin & Co., of Boston, 
 published a twelve-volume edition of Emerson called 
 the Riverside Edition, labelling it " The Complete 
 Works." This edition was edited by J. E. Cabot, 
 but while Mr. Cabot included in the Riverside Edi 
 tion much material that had never before been pub 
 lished in book form, he failed to include a great mass 
 of material, essays, addresses, speeches and poems, 
 which he must have known existed. 
 
 In 1903-4 Houghton, Mifflin & Co. issued the 
 Centenary Edition of Emerson, in twelve volumes, 
 the work being edited by Edward Waldo Emerson. 
 This edition contains much matter not included in the 
 previous Riverside Edition, but, although the pub 
 lishers again claimed completeness for their book, they 
 again neglected to include all known material. 
 
 As the matter stands to-day, no such thing as a 
 really complete edition of Emerson has ever been 
 
 iii 
 
 255864 
 
iv INTRODUCTION 
 
 issued, no matter what publishers title-pages may say 
 or claim. 
 
 This present volume contains nothing but authentic 
 Emerson material not appearing in any of the col 
 lected editions or in any of the so-called " Complete 
 Works." Many of the pieces in this volume are of 
 great importance and should have been given to the 
 public long ago. The initial piece, " Nature," is an 
 individual essay, distinct from all others of the same 
 or similar title, and appeared in " The Boston Book " 
 in 1850. The article on Amos Bronson Alcott was 
 written for the " New American Cyclopedia " in 
 1858. Emerson s address entitled " The Right Hand 
 of Fellowship," and his addresses at the Japanese 
 Banquet, the Froude Dinner and the Bryant Festival, 
 are all important and worthy of preservation. Pre 
 vious editors have reprinted Emerson on Carlyle s 
 " Past and Present," but have overlooked his Review 
 of Carlyle s " French Revolution." 
 
 During the years 1840 to 1844 Emerson contrib 
 uted liberally to " The Dial," a quarterly magazine 
 published in Boston. More than seventy-five pieces 
 of Emerson s writings, including essays, poems and 
 reviews, appeared in this magazine during the four 
 years of its existence, and this material has been 
 largely drawn upon, but not exhausted by the various 
 Emerson editors. In this present volume we have 
 reprinted from " The Dial " all of the papers omitted 
 by previous editors, and they are thirty-two in num 
 ber. 
 
 Included in this volume are six poems that have 
 not been reprinted since their first appearance in the 
 early annuals where they were first published. A 
 number of Emerson s letters conclude this volume, 
 two of them being of special importance. One is the 
 Letter to the Second Church and Society, March, 
 
INTRODUCTION v 
 
 1829, accepting the invitation to become pastor of 
 that church, and the other is the Letter to the Second 
 Church and Society, dated December, 1832, addressed 
 to the congregation after he had delivered his famous 
 sermon entitled " The Lord s Supper/ on September 
 9th, 1882, which was followed by his resignation. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 INTRODUCTION iii 
 
 ESSAYS AND ADDRESSES 
 
 Nature 3 
 
 Amos Bronson Alcott 9 
 
 Right Hand of Fellowship 11 
 
 Address at Japanese Banquet 15 
 
 Address at the James Anthony Froude Dinner . . 18 
 
 Speech at the Bryant Festival 20 
 
 Arthur Hugh Clough 23 
 
 Carlyle s French Revolution 26 
 
 PAPERS FROM THE DIAL 
 
 The Editors to the Reader 31 
 
 Thoughts on Art 36 
 
 The Senses and the Soul 52 
 
 Transcendentalism 60 
 
 Veeshnoo Sarma 65 
 
 Fourierism and the Socialists 71 
 
 Intelligence 77 
 
 English Reformers 84 
 
 The Death of Dr. Channing 113 
 
 Tantalus 115 
 
 Ethnical Scriptures 123 
 
 BOOK REVIEWS FROM THE DIAL 
 
 New Poetry 137 
 
 Two Years Before the Mast 153 
 
 Social Destiny of Man 153 
 
 Michael Angelo 154 
 
 The Worship of the Soul 157 
 
 Jones Very s Essays and Poems 160 
 
 The Ideal Man 162 
 
 The Zincali 163 
 
 Ancient Spai^" h Ballads 165 
 
 Tecumseh . . 166 
 
 Tennyson s PC is 167 
 
 Letter to Rev. \ r m. E. Channing 172 
 
 vii 
 
viii CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Confessions of St. Augustine 174 
 
 The Bible in Spain 176 
 
 Paracelsus 177 
 
 Antislavery Poems 177 
 
 Wm. Lloyd Garrison s Sonnets and Poems .... 178 
 
 America 178 
 
 Wm. E. Channing s Poems 179 
 
 The Spanish Student 180 
 
 The Dream of a Day 181 
 
 POEMS 
 
 My Thoughts 185 
 
 The Phoenix 186 
 
 Faith 187 
 
 The Poet 188 
 
 Word and Deed 188 
 
 To Himself 189 
 
 LETTERS 
 
 Letter to Chandler Bobbins 193 
 
 Letter on William Emerson 194 
 
 Letter to Samuel Gridley Howe 195 
 
 Two Letters to Henry Ware, Jr 197 
 
 Letter to the Second Church and Society, March, 
 
 1829 200 
 
 Letter to the Second Church and Society, December, 
 
 1832 202 
 
 Letter of Protest 206 
 
 Letter to Walt. Whitman 208 
 
ESSAYS AND ADDRESSES 
 
 
NATURE 
 
 THERE are days which occur in this climate, at 
 almost any season of the year, wherein the world 
 reaches its perfection, when the air, the heavenly bod 
 ies, and the earth, make a harmony, as if nature 
 would indulge her offspring; when, in these bleak 
 upper sides of the planet, nothing is to desire that 
 we have heard of the happiest latitudes, and we bask 
 in the shining hours of Florida and Cuba; when 
 everything that has life gives signs of satisfaction, 
 and the cattle that lie on the ground seem to have 
 great and tranquil thoughts. These halcyons may 
 be looked for with a little more assurance in that pure 
 October weather, which we distinguish by the name 
 of the Indian Summer. The day, immeasurably long, 
 sleeps over the broad hills and warm wide fields. To 
 have lived through all its sunny hours, seems longevity 
 enough. The solitary places do not seem quite lonely. 
 At the gates of the forest, the surprised man of the 
 world is forced to leave his city estimates of great 
 and small, wise and foolish. The knapsack of custom 
 falls off his back with the first step he makes into these 
 precincts. Here is sanctity which shames our relig 
 ions, and reality which discredits our heroes. Here we 
 find nature to be the circumstance which dwarfs every 
 other circumstance, and judges like a god all men 
 that come to her. We have crept out of our close 
 and crowded houses into the night and morning, and 
 we see what majestic beauties daily wrap us in their 
 bosom. How willingly we would escape the barriers 
 which render them comparatively impotent, escape 
 
 3 
 
4 ": ..: 
 
 the sophistication and second thought, and suffer 
 nature to entrance us. The tempered light of the 
 woods is like a perpetual morning, and is stimulating 
 and heroic. The anciently reported spells of these 
 places creep on us. The stems of pines, hemlocks, and 
 oaks, almost gleam like iron on the excited eye. The 
 incommunicable trees begin to persuade us to live 
 with them, and quit our life of solemn trifles. Here 
 no history, or church, or state, is interpolated on the 
 divine sky and the immortal year. How easily we 
 might walk onward into the opening landscape, ab 
 sorbed by new pictures, and by thoughts fast succeed 
 ing each other, until by degrees the recollection of 
 home was crowded out of the mind, all memory ob 
 literated by the tyranny of the present, and we were 
 led in triumph by nature. 
 
 These enchantments are medicinal, they sober and 
 heal us. These are plain pleasures, kindly and native 
 to us. We come to our own, and make friends with 
 matter, which the ambitious chatter of the schools 
 would persuade us to despise. We never can part 
 with it ; the mind loves its old home ; as water to our 
 thirst, so is the rock, the ground, to our eyes, and 
 hands, and feet. It is firm water; it is cold flame: 
 what health, what affinity! Ever an old friend, ever 
 like a dear friend and brother, when we chat affectedly 
 with strangers, comes in this honest face, and takes 
 a grave liberty with us, and shames us out of our 
 nonsense. Cities give not the human senses room 
 enough. We go out daily and nightly to feed the 
 eyes on the horizon, and require so much scope, just 
 as we need water for our bath. There are all degrees 
 of natural influence, from these quarantine powers of 
 nature, up to her dearest and gravest ministrations 
 to the imagination and the soul. There is the bucket 
 of cold water from the spring, the wood-fire to which 
 
NATURE 5 
 
 the chilled traveller rushes for safety, and there is 
 the sublime moral of autumn and of noon. We 
 nestle in nature, and draw our living as parasites from 
 her roots and grains, and we receive glances from the 
 heavenly bodies, which call us to solitude, and foretell 
 the remotest future. The blue zenith is the point 
 in which romance and reality meet. I think, if we 
 should be rapt away into all that we dream of heaven, 
 and should converse with Gabriel and Uriel, the upper 
 sky would be all that would remain of our furniture. 
 It seems as if the day was not wholly profane, in 
 which we have given heed to some natural object. 
 The fall of snowflakes in a still air, preserving to 
 each crystal its perfect form; the blowing of sleet 
 over a wide sheet of water, and over plains, the wa 
 ving rye-field, the mimic waving of acres of hous- 
 tonia, whose innumerable florets whiten and ripple 
 before the eye; the reflections of trees and flowers in 
 glassy lakes; the musical steaming odorous south 
 wind, which converts all trees to wind-harps; the 
 crackling and spurting of hemlock in the flames; or 
 of pine logs, which yield glory to the walls and faces 
 in the sitting-room, these are the music and pic 
 tures of the most ancient religion. My house stands 
 in low land, with limited outlook, and on the skirt of 
 the village. But I go with my friend to the shore 
 of our little river, and with one stroke of the paddle, 
 I leave the village politics and personalities behind, 
 and pass into a delicate realm of sunset and moon 
 light, too bright almost for spotted man to enter 
 without novitiate and probation. We penetrate bod 
 ily this incredible beauty: we dip our hands in this 
 painted element : our eyes are bathed in these lights 
 and forms. A holiday, a villeggiatura, a royal revel, 
 the proudest, most heart-rejoicing festival that valor 
 and beauty, power and taste, ever decked and en- 
 
6 NATURE 
 
 joyed, establishes itself on the instant. These sunset 
 clouds, these delicately emerging stars, with their pri 
 vate and ineffable glances, signify it and proffer it. 
 I am taught the poorness of our invention, the ugli 
 ness of towns and palaces. Art and luxury have 
 early learned that they must work as enhancement 
 and sequel to this original beauty. I am over in 
 structed for my return. Henceforth I shall be hard 
 to please. I cannot go back to toys. I am grown 
 expensive and sophisticated. I can no longer live 
 without elegance: but a countryman shall be my 
 master of revels. He who knows the most, he who 
 knows what sweets and virtues are in the ground, the 
 waters, the plants, the heavens, and how to come at 
 these enchantments, is the rich and royal man. Only 
 as far as the masters of the world have called in na 
 ture to their aid, can they reach the height of magnif 
 icence. This is the meaning of their hanging-gardens, 
 villas, garden-houses, islands, parks, and preserves, to 
 back their faulty personality with these strong acces 
 sories. I do not wonder that the landed interest 
 should be invincible in the state with these dangerous 
 auxiliaries. These bribe and invite; not kings, not 
 palaces, not men, not women, but these tender and 
 poetic stars, eloquent of secret promises. We heard 
 what the rich man said, we knew of his villa, his grove, 
 his wine, and his company, but the provocation and 
 point of the invitation came out of these beguiling 
 stars. In their soft glances, I see what men strove 
 to realize in some Versailles, or Paphos, or Ctesiphon. 
 Indeed, it is the magical lights of the horizon, and the 
 blue sky for the background, which save all our works, 
 of art, which were otherwise baubles. When the rich 
 tax the poor with servility and obsequiousness, they 
 should consider the effect of men, reputed to be the 
 possessors of nature, on imaginative minds. Ah! if 
 
NATURE 7 
 
 the rich were rich as the poor fancy riches! A boy 
 hears a military band play on the field at night, and 
 he has kings and queens, and famous chivalry pal 
 pably before him. He hears the echoes of a horn in 
 a hill country, in the Notch Mountains, for example, 
 which converts the mountains into an JEolian harp, 
 and this supernatural tiralira restores to him the Do 
 rian mythology, Apollo, Diana, and all divine hunters 
 and huntresses. Can a musical note be so lofty, so 
 haughtily beautiful? To the poor young poet, thus 
 fabulous is his picture of society; he is loyal; he re 
 spects the rich; they are rich for the sake of his im 
 agination ; how poor his fancy would be, if they were 
 not rich! That they have some high-fenced grove, 
 which they call a park; that they live in larger and 
 better garnished saloons than he has visited, and go 
 in coaches, keeping only the society of the elegant, to 
 watering-places, and to distant cities, are the ground 
 work from which he has delineated estates of romance, 
 compared with which their actual possessions are 
 shanties and paddocks. The muse herself betrays her 
 son, and enhances the gifts of wealth and well born 
 beauty, by a radiation out of the air, and clouds, and 
 forests that skirt the road, a certain haughty favor, 
 as if from patrician genii to patricians, a kind of ar 
 istocracy in nature, a prince of the power of the air. 
 The moral sensibility which makes Edens and 
 Tempes so easily, may not be always found, but the 
 material landscape is never far off. We can find 
 these enchantments without visiting the Como Lake, 
 or the Madeira Islands. We exaggerate the praises 
 of local scenery. In every landscape, the point of 
 astonishment is the meeting of the sky and the earth, 
 and that is seen from the first hillock as well as from 
 the top of the Alleghanies. The stars at night stoop 
 down over the brownest, homliest common, with all 
 
8 NATURE 
 
 the spiritual magnificence which they shed on the 
 Campagna, or on the marble deserts of Egypt. The 
 uprolled clouds and the colors of morning and eve 
 ning, will transfigure maples and alders. The differ 
 ence between landscape and landscape is small, but 
 there is great difference in the beholders. There is 
 nothing so wonderful in any particular landscape, as 
 the necessity of being beautiful under which every 
 landscape lies. Nature cannot be surprised in un 
 dress. Beauty breaks in everywhere. 
 
AMOS BRONSON ALCOTT 
 
 AMOS BRONSON ALCOTT, a philosopher devoted to 
 the science of education, was born at Wolcott, Conn., 
 Nov. 29, 1799. Like many farmers sons in Connect 
 icut, whilst still a boy, he was intrusted by a local 
 trader with a trunk of merchandise, with which he 
 sailed for Norfolk, Va., and which he afterward car 
 ried about among the plantations ; and his early read 
 ings were in the planters houses, who gave hospital 
 ity to the young salesman, and, observing his turn for 
 study, talked with him, and opened their bookcases 
 to him in a stormy day. On his return to Connecticut 
 he began to teach, and attracted attention by his suc 
 cess with an infant-school. 
 
 He removed to Boston in 1828, and showed sin 
 gular skill and sympathy in his methods of teaching 
 young children of five, six and seven years of age, 
 at the Masonic Temple. (See a printed account, 
 " Record of a School," E. P. Peabody, 12mo, Bos 
 ton, 1834; also, a transcript of the colloquies of these 
 children with their teacher, in " Conversations on the 
 Gospels," 2 volumes, 12mo, Boston, 1836.) But the 
 school was in advance of public opinion, and, on the 
 publication of this book, was denounced by the news 
 papers of the day. After closing his school, Mr. 
 Alcott removed to Concord, Mass., where he betook 
 himself to his studies, interesting himself chiefly in 
 natural theology, and the various questions of reform, 
 in education, in diet, civil and social institutions. 
 
 On the invitation of James P. Greaves, of London, 
 the friend and fellow-laborer of Pestalozzi in Swit- 
 
 9 
 
10 AMOS BRONSON ALCOTT 
 
 zerland, Mr. Alcott went to England in 1842. Mr. 
 Greaves died before his arrival, but Mr. Alcott was 
 cordially received by his friends who had given his 
 name to their school at " Alcott House," Ham, near 
 London, and spent some months in making acquain 
 tance with various classes of reformers. On his re 
 turn to America, he brought with him two of his Eng 
 lish friends, Charles Lane and H. G. Wright; and 
 Mr. Lane having bought a farm which he called 
 " Fruitlands," at Harvard, Mass., they all went there 
 to found a new community. Messrs. Lane and 
 Wright soon returned to England, and the farm was 
 sold. Mr. Alcott removed to Boston, and has led the 
 life of a Peripatetic philosopher, conversing in cities 
 and in villages, wherever invited, on divinity, on 
 human nature, on ethics, on dietetics, and a wide 
 range of practical questions. These conversations, 
 which were at first casual, gradually assumed a more 
 formal character, the topics being often printed on 
 cards, and the company meeting at a fixed time and 
 place. 
 
 Mr. Alcott attaches great importance to diet and 
 government of the body; still more to race and com 
 plexion. He is an idealist, and we should say Pla- 
 tonist, if it were not doing injustice to give any name 
 implying secondariness to the highly original habit 
 of his salient and intuitive mind. He has singular 
 gifts for awakening contemplation and aspiration in 
 simple and in cultivated persons. Though not 
 learned, he is a rare master of the English language ; 
 and, though no technical logician, he has a subtle and 
 deep science of that which actually passes in thought, 
 and thought is ever seen by him in its relations to life 
 and morals. Those persons who are best prepared 
 by their own habit of thought, set the highest value on 
 his subtle perception and facile generalization. 
 
RIGHT HAND OF FELLOWSHIP 
 
 AT ORDINATION OF HERSEY BRADFORD GOODWIN, 1830 
 
 THE ancient custom of offering a new pastor the 
 expression of the sympathy of the churches is no un 
 suitable rite in the ceremonies of ordination, and hath 
 a deep foundation in reason. There is no sympathy 
 so strong as that which exists between the good, and 
 this fellow-feeling Christianity has done all to foster. 
 Whilst men are in the moral darkness which vice 
 produces, each individual is a sect by himself; each is 
 a self-seeker, with his hands against every man, and 
 every man s hands against him. Each, forgetful of 
 all other rights and feelings, is straining every nerve 
 to build up his own sordid advantage, and tearing 
 down his neighbor s happiness, if need be, to build 
 up his own. His eye is blind, his ear is deaf to the 
 great harmonies by which God yoked together the 
 social and the selfish good of his children. 
 
 Just in proportion as men grow wiser and better, 
 their efforts converge to a point. For as truth is one, 
 in seeking it, they all aim to conform their action to 
 one standard. When intelligent men talk together, 
 it is remarkable how much they think alike, how many 
 propositions are taken for granted, that are disputed, 
 word by word, in the conversation of ignorant per 
 sons. The more enlightened men are, the greater is 
 this unanimity, as is attested by the common wonder 
 when two minds of unquestionable elevation come 
 to opposite conclusions. As it is with the mind, so is 
 it with the heart. As two minds agreeing with truth 
 
 11 
 
12 RIGHT HAND OF FELLOWSHIP 
 
 do mutually agree, so, if their affections are right with 
 God, they will be true to one another. 
 
 Christianity aims to teach the perfection of human 
 nature, and eminently therefore does it teach the unity 
 of the spirit. It is, not only in its special precepts, 
 but by all its operations, a law of love. It does, by 
 its revelation of God and of the true purposes and 
 the true rules of life, operate to bind up, to join to 
 gether, and not to distinguish and separate. It pro 
 claimed peace. But it speaks first to its own disci 
 ples, " Be of one mind," else with what countenance 
 should the church say to the world of men, Love one 
 another. And thousands and thousands of hearts 
 have heard the commandment, and anon with joy re 
 ceived it. All men on whose souls the light of God s 
 revelation truly shineth, with whatever apparent dif 
 ferences, are substantially of one mind, work together, 
 whether consciously or not, for one and the same 
 good. Faces that never beheld each other are 
 lighted by it with the same expression. Hands that 
 were never clasped toil unceasingly at the same work. 
 This it is which makes the omnipotence of truth in 
 the keeping of feeble men, this fellowship in all 
 its servants, this swift, consenting acknowledgment 
 with which they hail it when it appears. God s truth, 
 it is that electric spark which flies instantaneously 
 through the countless hands that compose the chain. 
 Truth not like each form of error, depending for 
 its repute on the powers and influence of here and 
 there a solitary mind that espouses it combines 
 hosts for its support, and makes them co-operate 
 across mountains and oceans, yea, and ages of time. 
 This is what was meant in that beautiful sentiment of 
 ancient philosophy, that God had so intimately linked 
 all wise men to each other that, if one should only 
 lift his finger in Rome, all the rest were benefited by 
 
RIGHT HAND OF FELLOWSHIP 13 
 
 it, through Egypt or Asia. This is what was meant 
 by that one body in Christ, of which all his disciples 
 are the members. Sir, it is this sentiment which is 
 recognized in the ancient and simple rite of the 
 churches. 
 
 God has bound heart to heart by invisible and eter 
 nal bands, by oneness of nature, of duty, and of hope. 
 To us is " One Lord, one faith, one baptism." And, 
 in acknowledgment of these divine connections exist 
 ing between us, the Christian churches, whose organ 
 I am, do offer you, my brother, this right hand of their 
 fellowship. They greet you, by me, to the exalted 
 relations on which now you are entering. They give 
 you a solemn welcome to great duties, to honorable 
 sacrifices, to unremitting studies, and to the eternal 
 hope of all souls. They exhort you to all pious reso 
 lutions; and they pledge to you, by this sign, their 
 sympathy, their aid, and their intercession. 
 
 They say to you that, so long as in purity of heart 
 you do the work of God in this vineyard of his, you 
 are not alone ; but you shall be secure of the love and 
 the furtherance, not of these churches only, but of all 
 righteous men. In every hour of perplexity or afflic 
 tion, they shall encourage and aid and bless you, by 
 desire and by word and by action. And when the 
 day of success comes to you, and you see around you 
 in this garden of the Lord, the fruit of your virtues 
 and the light of your example and the truth you teach 
 shine forth together, in that day a kindred joy shall 
 touch our hearts, we shall be glad with you, and 
 give thanks with you, and hope for you. 
 
 Sir, it is with sincere pleasure that I speak for the 
 churches on this occasion and on this spot, hallowed 
 to all by so many patriotic and to me by so many 
 affectionate recollections. I feel a peculiar, a per 
 sonal right to welcome you hither to the home and 
 
14 EIGHT HAND OF FELLOWSHIP 
 
 the temple of my fathers. I believe the church whose 
 pastor you are will forgive me the allusion, if I ex 
 press the extreme interest which every man feels in 
 the scene of the trials and labors of his ancestors. 
 Five out of seven of your predecessors are my kin 
 dred. They are in the dust who bind my attachment 
 to this place, but not all. I cannot help congratulat 
 ing you that one survives, to be to you the true friend 
 and venerable counsellor he has ever been to me. 
 
 I heartily rejoice to see their labors and a portion 
 of his resting on one who comes with such ability, 
 and, as I trust, with such devout feeling to the work. 
 Suffer me then, as for them, to offer you my hand, 
 and receive with it, my brother, my best wishes and 
 prayers for your success in your great undertaking 
 and for your everlasting welfare. 
 
ADDRESS AT JAPANESE BANQUET, 
 AUG. 2, 1872 
 
 MR. PRESIDENT AND GENTLEMEN: I feel hon 
 ored by serving as the mouth-piece of this company 
 for a moment. The great deserts of this occasion and 
 the interest of this company might inspire a greater 
 coward than myself. 
 
 I shall share with this company the respect with 
 which they regard this embassy. It is full of romance 
 to us. Hitherward come a people with whom our 
 history has been but little occupied, a people who have 
 hidden themselves in their slow and private national 
 growth. It is six hundred years, as I understand, 
 since Marco Polo saw on the shores of the Yellow 
 Sea one great island, and that island was one of the 
 three islands of Japan Niphon and Yesso and Ki- 
 ovsoa. Columbus, it seems, took this book of Marco 
 Polo in his hands, and when he arrived at Cuba he 
 thought he had arrived at Japan. He had not come 
 there, but he showed mankind the way from thence 
 to Japan, and President Fillmore found it. Not, I 
 think, until 1852 was Commodore Perry sent by Pres 
 ident Fillmore to make a treaty with Japan, so slow 
 was the progress of our acquaintance with the nation 
 whose representatives we greet to-night. 
 
 There is something very interesting in the history 
 of that nation. I remember that in my college days 
 our professor in Greek used to tell us always in his 
 record of history, "All tends to the mysterious 
 East; " and so slow was the progress that only now 
 are the threads gathered up of relation between the 
 
 15 
 
16 THE JAPANESE BANQUET 
 
 farthest East and the farthest West. The nation has 
 itself every claim on us. The singular selection that 
 it showed in appealing to America for its guidance 
 and assistance in western civilization, the brave and 
 simple manner in which it has sent its pupils, its young 
 men, to our schools and colleges and to learn our arts, 
 is a great honor to their wisdom and their noble heart. 
 There is humanity as well as there is ambition. I am 
 very glad to be apprised by very competent critics in 
 art that in certain arts there has been no such success 
 in other nations as in Japan, that their bronzes, and 
 not only so but the arts of design when applied to 
 outline drawings, are more masterly than are to be 
 found in Europe or America. And I have to say that 
 I think the American government and American his 
 tory owes great thanks to the enlightened policy of 
 President Fillmore who, in 1852, sent Commodore 
 Perry to that country and introduced a new thought 
 into his embassy. Instead of sending to what he sup 
 posed a comparatively foreign and unrelated country, 
 to say the least, to the civil nations instead of send 
 ing to them beads and rum barrels, he sent the best 
 of our civilization. He sent the very best instruments 
 and inventions that the country could command. He 
 sent the steamboat. He sent the telescope. He sent 
 the telegraph. He sent all those instruments and 
 machines which had lately attracted and strengthened 
 western civilization. This gift was gratefully and 
 nobly received, instantly understood and remade in 
 that country. There is something besides art in 
 Japan that is interesting namely, a certain strength 
 in the constitution and the character of the Japanese, 
 which seems to have been revealed by many of these 
 emigrant scholars who have honored our country; 
 namely, a certain force of mind allied to religion 
 which marks their fidelity to their chiefs. I under- 
 
THE JAPANESE BANQUET 17 
 
 stand that if a young man in Japan finds that he can 
 not raise the young man whom he has undertaken to 
 guard and attend to an equality to the very best of his 
 class, andSf he cannot raise him above those who are 
 not his equal in rank, he suffers so much pain that 
 he cannot return to that country; and he is drawn 
 into a resolution that is self-sacrifice, and is prepared 
 for the suicide of himself rather than that his fidelity 
 to his chieftain should fail. It is a very remarkable 
 trait. We don t understand it in our loose, mercan 
 tile, popular civilization, but it is a prodigious power 
 to those people that possess it. One thing was said 
 to me in relation to this very interesting company of 
 our friends this: That they are, more than others, 
 deeply interested in education. They have, indeed, 
 honored me I am quite undeserving of that honor 
 with enquiries in regard to that I wish I could 
 help them. I wish any of us could. The best advice 
 I can give to them is to say that next week, in this 
 city, I understand, is to be held a meeting of the Na 
 tional Board of Education, in which, among other 
 gentlemen and officers, is Mr. Harris of St. Louis in 
 Missouri, who is the head there of the city education 
 and is besides the editor of the only journal of specu 
 lative philosophy edited in this country; a very 
 learned and a very able man, and very able as I un 
 derstand in this particular subject of education. 
 
 I should wish my friends to make his acquaintance, 
 as I doubt not he would be very glad to make theirs. 
 I don t know any person that could advise them better 
 on the subject. 
 
 NOTE This address was given at the banquet given at the Revere 
 House, Boston, on August 2, 1872. 
 
ADDRESS AT THE JAMES ANTHONY 
 FROUDE DINNER 
 
 AT DELMONICO S, NEW YORK, OCTOBER 15, 1872 
 
 I CONFESS, Mr. Chairman and gentlemen, that I 
 have accepted your invitation to this banquet in good 
 faith and humble belief that my friend, Mr. Froude, 
 of old times, was coming here, but not to be myself 
 made in any manner the subject of extravagant eu 
 logy, in the poetic or satirical spirit of the President. 
 To that I have nothing to reply, excepting that I 
 know nothing of it. It gives me great pleasure, cer 
 tainly, to be present at this very highly proper recep 
 tion of our guest. I had the great pleasure many, 
 many years ago it was twenty- four years ago 
 of meeting him when he was new from his Exeter 
 college, and amid very valued friends, Mr. Clough 
 of Oriel, honored in all parts of this country where 
 intelligent young scholars are known ; Mr. Arnold of 
 this same college, also of Oriel, whose fame is also 
 in all our mouths ; Mr. Stanley of Exeter ; Mr. Pal- 
 grave, and other able young men with whom I be 
 came most happily acquainted on my visit at Oxford. 
 And I rejoice very much to see Mr. Froude s face 
 here, with all our added acquaintance with him in his 
 books. His history is well-known, I know, to all good 
 readers in this country, and he has established the 
 importance of his own opinion, of his own judgment, 
 in these books. I think he has taught us much. He 
 has shown at least two eminent faculties in his his 
 tories the faculty of seeing wholes, and the faculty 
 of seeing and saying particulars. The one makes his 
 tory valuable, and the other makes it readable in 
 teresting. Both these qualities his writings have emi- 
 
 18 
 
JAMES ANTHONY FROUDE 19 
 
 nently shown. I think we are indebted to him for a 
 power which is eminent in them, the discretion which 
 is given us the speeches, the language of the very 
 persons whom his history records. The language, the 
 style of the books, draws very much of its excellence 
 from that habit, that practice, of giving the very lan 
 guage of the times. He knows well that the old Eng 
 lish people and Irish people of whom his history re 
 cords the events, did not write or speak in the style 
 of The Edinburgh Review or The North American 
 Review, but that they spoke a stern and dreadful lan 
 guage, when words were few and when words meant 
 much. So that the language is like the cry of the 
 soldier when the battle begins, or the cry of the fugi 
 tive when the battle turns against him. It is a pithy 
 and wonderful language. If you remember, it is 
 Shakespeare that says : " When breath is scant, it s 
 very seldom spent in vain." That is the very lan 
 guage of the poet. And that is the language which 
 his taste and judgment has had the skill to secure, 
 giving an emphasis and power to his history, which 
 is not familiar to English and Irish history. 
 
 It gives me great pleasure to see Mr. Froude, an 
 old friend, because he recalls the time of my own visit, 
 twenty-four years ago. It was at Oxford, when I 
 knew his contemporaries, his fellow-students at Exe 
 ter and Oriel Mr. Arnold, Mr. Stanley, Mr. 
 Clough alas, he died too early for us all Mr. 
 Palgrave, and many other young men, then of great 
 promise, and some of them who have more than ful 
 filled that promise. It gives me great pleasure to re 
 member that time, and to see that, if something has 
 fallen, much has survived, and that we have here one 
 of the best representatives of just that culture and 
 just that power and moral determination which was 
 exhibited and felt by all those young men. 
 
SPEECH AT THE BRYANT FESTIVAL 
 AT "THE CENTURY," NOVEMBER 5, 
 
 1864 
 
 MR. PRESIDENT: Whilst I am grateful to you 
 and to " The Century " for the privilege of joining 
 you in this graceful and most deserved homage to our 
 poet, I am a little disconcerted, in the absence of some 
 expected friends from the Bay State, at finding my 
 self put forward to speak on their part. Let me say 
 for them that we have a property in his genius and 
 virtue. Whilst we delight in your love of him, and 
 in his power and reputation in your imperial State, 
 we can never forget that he was born on the soil of 
 Massachusetts. Your great metropolis is always, by 
 some immense attraction of gravity, drawing to itself 
 our best men. But we forgive you in this case the 
 robbery, when we see how nobly you have used him. 
 Moreover, the joint possession by New York and 
 Massachusetts of him, and of others in this great cir 
 cle of his friends, is one of those ethereal hoops which 
 bind these states inseparably in these perilous times. 
 
 I join with all my heart in your wish to honor this 
 native, sincere, original, patriotic poet. I say orig 
 inal: I heard him charged with being of a certain 
 school. I heard it with surprise, and asked, what 
 school? for he reminded me of Goldsmith, or Words 
 worth, or Byron, or Moore. I found him always 
 original, a true painter of the face of this country, 
 and of the sentiment of his own people. When I 
 read the verses of popular American and English 
 poets, I often think that they appear to have gone 
 into the Art Galleries and to have seen pictures of 
 mountains, but this man to have seen mountains. 
 
 20 
 
THE BRYANT FESTIVAL 21 
 
 With his stout staff he has climbed Greylock and the 
 White Hills, and sung what he saw. He renders 
 Berkshire to me in verse, with the sober coloring, too, 
 to which nature cleaves, only now and then permit 
 ting herself the scarlet and gold of the prism. It is 
 his proper praise, that he first and he only made 
 known to mankind our northern landscape its 
 summer splendor, its autumn russet, its winter lights 
 and glooms. And he is original because he is sincere. 
 Many young men write verse which strikes by talent, 
 but the writer has not committed himself, the man is 
 not there, it is written at arm s length, he could as well 
 have written on any other theme : it was not necessi 
 tated and autobiographic, and therefore it does not 
 imprint itself on the memory, and return for thought 
 and consolation in our solitary hours. But our 
 friend s inspiration is from the inmost mind ; he has 
 not a labial but a chest voice, and you shall detect 
 the tastes and experiences of the poem in his daily 
 life. 
 
 Like other poets more than other poets with 
 his expanding genius his ambition grew. Fountain- 
 heads, and pathless groves did not content him. It 
 is a national sin. There is, you know, an optical dis 
 temper endemic in the city of Washington, contracted 
 by Senators and others who once look at the Presi 
 dent s chair; their eyes grow to it; they can never 
 again take their eyes off it. The virus once in, is not 
 to be got out of the system. Our friend has not this 
 malady, but has symptoms of another, 
 
 " That last infirmity of noble minds." 
 
 Ah, gentlemen! so cold and majestic as he sits here, 
 I hear this sin burned at his heart well hid, I own ; 
 never was a man more modest, less boastful, less ego 
 tistical. But you remember that wicked Phidias, who, 
 
22 THE BRYANT FESTIVAL 
 
 after making his divine Minerva, carved his own im 
 age with such deep incision into the shield, that it 
 could not be effaced without destroying the statue. 
 But this artist of ours, with deeper cunning, has con 
 trived to levy on all American nature, has subsidized 
 every solitary grove and monument-mountain in 
 Berkshire or the Kat skills, every gleaming water, 
 the " gardens of the Desert," every waterfowl and 
 woodbird, the evening wind, the stormy March, the 
 song of the stars; has suborned every one of these 
 to speak for him, so that there is no feature of day 
 or night in the country which does not, to the contem 
 plative mind, recall the name of Bryant. This high 
 handed usurpation of whatever is sweet or sublime, 
 I charge him with, and, on the top of this, wdth the 
 sorcery of making us hug our fetters and rejoice in 
 our subjugation. 
 
 Then, sir, for his patriotism we all know the deep 
 debt which the country owes to the accomplished 
 journalist, who, the better to carry the ends which 
 his heart desired, left the studies and retirements dear 
 to his muse, adapted his voice to the masses to be 
 reached, and the great cause to be sustained was 
 content to drop " the garland and singing-robes of 
 the poet," and, masking his Tyrtaean elegies in the 
 plain speech of the street, sounded the key-note of 
 policy and duty to the American people, in a manner 
 and with an effect of the highest service to the Re 
 public. 
 
 Before I sit down, let me apply to him a verse ad 
 dressed by Thomas Moore to the poet Crabbe, and 
 Moore has written few better: 
 
 " True bard, and simple as the race 
 Of heaven-born poets always are, 
 When stooping from their starry place, 
 They re children, but gods afar." 
 
ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 REVIEW OF THE BOTHtE OF TOPER - NA - FUOSICH, A 
 LONG - VACATION PASTORAL, BY ARTHUR CLOUGH 
 
 HERE is a new English poem which we heartily 
 recommend to all classes of readers. It is an account 
 of one of those Oxford reading-parties which, at the 
 beginning of a long vacation, are made up by a tutor 
 with five or six undergraduates, who wish to bring up 
 arrears of study, or to warn for examination and hon 
 ors, and who betake themselves with their guide to 
 some romantic spot in Wales or Scotland, where are 
 good bathing and shooting, read six hours a day, and 
 kill the other eighteen in sport, smoking, and sleep. 
 The poem is as jocund and buoyant as the party, 
 and so joyful a picture of college life and manners, 
 with such good strokes of revenge on the old torment 
 ors, Pindar, Thucydides, Aristotle, and the logical 
 Aldrich, that one wonders that this ground has not 
 been broken up before. Six young men have read 
 three weeks with their tutor, and after joining in a 
 country dinner and a dance in a barn, four of them 
 decide to give up books for three weeks, and make a 
 tour of the Highlands, leaving the other two partners 
 with the tutor in the cottage, to their matutive, or 
 morning bath, six hours reading, and mutton at 
 seven. The portraits of the young party are briefly 
 but masterly sketched. Adam the tutor, Lindsay the 
 dialectician, Hope, Hobbes, Airlie, Arthur, who, 
 from his thirty feet diving, is the " glory of headers," 
 and Hewson. Philip Hewson, the hero of the poem, 
 
 23 
 
24 ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH 
 
 the radical poet, in this excursion falls in love with the 
 golden-haired Katie at the farm of Rannoch, and is 
 left behind by his returning fellows. The poet fol 
 lows his hero into the mountains, wherever the rest 
 less Philip wanders, brooding on his passion. 
 
 Whilst the tutor anxiously, and his companions 
 more joyously, are speculating on this dubious ad 
 venture of their comrade, a letter arrives at the cot 
 tage from Hope, who travelled with Philip, announ 
 cing that Philip and Katie have parted, and that 
 Philip is staying at Castle Balloch, in assiduous at 
 tendance on the beautiful " Lady Maria." In an 
 earnest letter to his friend the tutor, Philip explains 
 himself; and the free-winged sweep of speculation 
 to which his new life at the Castle gives occasion, is in 
 a truly modern spirit, and sufficiently embarrassing, 
 one can see, to the friendliest of tutors. Great is the 
 mirth of the Oxford party at this new phase of the 
 ardent Philip, but it is suddenly checked again by 
 a new letter from Philip to Adam, entreating him to 
 come immediately to the bothie or hut of Toper-na- 
 Fuosich, to bring him counsel and sanction, since he 
 
 has already found rest and home in the heart of 
 
 Elspie! 
 
 We are now introduced to Elspie, the right Ante- 
 ros, hitherto pursued in vain under deceiving masks, 
 and are made with Adam the tutor to acquiesce in 
 Philip s final choice. The story leads naturally into 
 a bold hypothetical discussion of the most serious 
 questions that bubble up at this very hour in London, 
 Paris, and Boston, and, whilst these are met and hon 
 estly and even profoundly treated, the dialogue 
 charms us by perfect good breeding and exuberant 
 animal spirits. We shall not say that the rapid and 
 bold execution has the finish and the intimate music 
 we demand in modern poetry; but the subject-matter 
 
ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH 25 
 
 is so solid, and the figures so real and lifelike, that the 
 poem is justified, and would be good in spite of much 
 ruder execution than we here find. Yet the poem 
 has great literary merits. The author has a true eye 
 for nature, and expresses himself through the justest 
 images. The Homeric iteration has a singular charm, 
 half -comic, half -poetic, in the piece, and there is a 
 wealth of expression, a power of description and of 
 portrait-painting, which excels our best romancers. 
 Even the hexameter, which with all our envy of its 
 beauty in Latin and in Greek, we think not agreeable 
 to the genius of English poetry, is here in place to 
 heighten the humor of college conversation. 
 
CARLYLE S FRENCH REVOLUTION 
 
 A REVIEW IN THE CHRISTIAN EXAMINER, 
 JANUARY, 1838 
 
 WE welcome the appearance in this country of this 
 extraordinary work. It is by far the largest, the most 
 elaborate, and the best work which Mr. Carlyle has 
 yet attempted, and although an accurate and ex 
 tended history, not a whit less original and eccentric 
 than any of his earlier productions. One thing has 
 for some time been becoming plainer, and is now quite 
 undeniable, that Mr. Carlyle s genius, whether benig 
 nant or baleful, is no transient meteor, and no expir 
 ing taper, but a robust flame self-kindled and self- 
 fed, and more likely to light others into a conflagra 
 tion, than to be speedily blown out. The work before 
 us indicates an extent of resources, a power of labor, 
 and powers of thought, seldom combined, and never 
 without permanent effects. 
 
 It is a part of Mr. Carlyle s literary creed, " that 
 all history is poetry, were it rightly told." The work 
 before us is his own exemplification of his doctrine. 
 The poetry consists in the historian s point of view. 
 With the most accurate and lively delineation of the 
 crowded actions of the revolution, there is the con 
 stant co-perception of the universal relations of each 
 man. With a painter s eye for picturesque groups, 
 and a boy s passion for exciting details, he combines a 
 philosopher s habitual wonder as he stands before the 
 insoluble mysteries of the Advent and Death of man. 
 
 26 
 
THE FRENCH REVOLUTION 27 
 
 From this point of view, he is unable to part, and the 
 noble and hopeful heart of the narrator breathes a 
 music of humanity through every part of the tale. 
 Always equal to his subject, he has first thought it 
 through; and having seen in the sequence of events 
 the illustration of high and beautiful laws which exist 
 eternal in the reason of man, he beholds calmly like 
 a god the fury of the action, secure in his own percep 
 tion of the general harmony resulting from particu 
 lar horror or pain. This elevation of the historian s 
 point of view is not, however, produced at any ex 
 pense of attention to details. Here is a chronicle as 
 minute as Froissart, and a scrupulous weighing of 
 historical evidence, which begets implicit trust. 
 Above all, we have men in the story, and not names 
 merely. The characters are so sharply drawn that 
 they cannot be confounded or forgotten, though we 
 may sometimes doubt whether the thrilling imper 
 sonation is in very deed the historic man whose name 
 it bears. 
 
 We confess we feel much curiosity in regard to the 
 immediate success of this bold and original experi 
 ment upon the public taste. It seems very certain 
 that the chasm which existed in English literature, 
 the want of a just history of the French Revolution, 
 is now filled in a manner to prevent all competition. 
 But how far Mr. Carlyle s manifold innovations shall 
 be reckoned worthy of adoption and of emulation, or 
 what portion of them shall remain to himself incom 
 municable, as the anomalies of a genius too self-indul 
 gent, time alone can show. 
 
PAPERS FROM THE DIAL 
 
PAPERS FROM THE DIAL 
 
 THE EDITORS TO THE READER 
 
 INTRODUCTION TO THE FIRST ISSUE OF THE DIAL, JULY, 
 
 1840 
 
 WE invite the attention of our countrymen to a 
 new design. Probably not quite unexpected or un 
 announced will our Journal appear, though small 
 pains have been taken to secure its welcome. Those, 
 who have immediately acted in editing the present 
 Number, cannot accuse themselves of any unbecom 
 ing forwardness in their undertaking, but rather of 
 a backwardness, when they remember how often in 
 many private circles the work was projected, how 
 eagerly desired, and only postponed because no indi 
 vidual volunteered to combine and concentrate the 
 free-will offerings of many cooperators. With some 
 reluctance the present conductors of this work have 
 yielded themselves to the wishes of their friends, find 
 ing something sacred and not to be withstood in the 
 importunity which urged the production of a Journal 
 in a new spirit. 
 
 As they have not proposed themselves to the work, 
 neither can they lay any the least claim to an option 
 or determination of the spirit in which it is conceived, 
 or to what is peculiar in the design. In that respect, 
 they have obeyed, though with great joy, the strong 
 current of thought and feeling, which, for a few years 
 
 31 
 
32 THE EDITORS TO THE READER 
 
 past, has led many sincere persons in New England 
 to make new demands on literature, and to reprobate 
 that rigor of our conventions of religion and educa 
 tion which is turning us to stone, which renounces 
 hope, which looks only backward, which asks only 
 such a future as the past, which suspects improve 
 ment, and holds nothing so much in horror as new 
 views and the dreams of youth. 
 
 With these terrors the conductors of the present 
 Journal have nothing to do, not even so much as 
 a word of reproach to waste. They know that there 
 is a portion of the youth and of the adult population 
 of this country, who have not shared them ; who have 
 in secret or in public paid their vows to truth and free 
 dom; who love reality too well to care for names, 
 and who live by a Faith too earnest and profound 
 to suffer them to doubt the eternity of its object, or 
 to shake themselves free from its authority. Under 
 the fictions and customs which occupied others, these 
 have explored the Necessary, the Plain, the True, the 
 Human, and so gained a vantage ground, which 
 commands the history of the past and the present. 
 
 No one can converse much with different classes 
 of society in New England, without remarking the 
 progress of a revolution. Those who share in it have 
 no external organization, no badge, no creed, no 
 name. They do not vote, or print, or even meet to 
 gether. They do not know each other s faces or 
 names. They are united only in a common love of 
 truth, and love of its work. They are of all condi 
 tions and constitutions. Of these acolytes, if some 
 are happily born and well bred, many are no doubt ill 
 dressed, ill placed, ill made with as many scars of 
 hereditary vice as other men. Without pomp, with 
 out trumpet, in lonely and obscure places, in solitude, 
 in servitude, in compunctions and privations, trudg- 
 
THE EDITORS TO THE READER 33 
 
 ing beside the team in the dusty road, or drudging a 
 hireling in other men s cornfields, schoolmasters, who 
 teach a few children rudiments for a pittance, minis 
 ters of small parishes of the obscurer sects, lone 
 women in dependent condition, matrons and young 
 maidens, rich and poor, beautiful and hard-favored, 
 without concert or proclamation of any kind, they 
 have silently given in their several adherence to a new 
 hope, and in all companies do signify a greater trust 
 in the nature and resources of man, than the laws 
 or the popular opinions will well allow. 
 
 This spirit of the time is felt by every individual 
 with some difference, to each one casting its light 
 upon the objects nearest to his temper and habits of 
 thought; to one, coming in the shape of special 
 reforms in the state; to another, in modifications of 
 the various callings of men, and the customs of busi 
 ness; to a third, opening a new scope for literature 
 and art; to a fourth, in philosophical insight; to a 
 fifth, in the vast solitudes of prayer. It is in every 
 form a protest against usage, and a search for prin 
 ciples. In all its movements, it is peaceable, and in 
 the very lowest marked with a triumphant success. 
 Of course, it rouses the opposition of all which it 
 judges and condemns, but it is too confident in its 
 tone to comprehend an objection, and so builds no 
 outworks for possible defence against contingent 
 enemies. It has the step of Fate, and goes on exist 
 ing like an oak or a river, because it must. 
 
 In literature, this influence appears not yet in new 
 books so much as in the higher tone of criticism. The 
 antidote to all narrowness is the comparison of the 
 record with nature, which at once shames the record 
 and stimulates to new attempts. Whilst we look at 
 this, we wonder how any book has been thought 
 worthy to be preserved. There is somewhat in all 
 
34 THE EDITORS TO THE READER 
 
 life untranslatable into language. He who keeps his 
 eye on that will write better than others, and think 
 less of his writing, and of all writing. Every thought 
 has a certain imprisoning as well as uplifting quality, 
 and, in proportion to its energy on the will, refuses 
 to become an object of intellectual contemplation. 
 Thus what is great usually slips through our fingers, 
 and it seems wonderful how a lifelike word ever 
 comes to be written. If our Journal share the im 
 pulses of the time, it cannot now prescribe its own 
 course. It cannot foretell in orderly propositions 
 what it shall attempt. All criticism should be poetic; 
 unpredictable; superseding, as every new thought 
 does, all foregone thoughts, and making a new light 
 on the whole world. Its brow is not wrinkled with 
 circumspection, but serene, cheerful, adoring. It has 
 all things to say, and no less than all the world for 
 its final audience. 
 
 Our plan embraces much more than criticism; were 
 it not so, our criticism would be naught. Everything 
 noble is directed on life, and this is. We do not wish 
 to say pretty or curious things, or to reiterate a few 
 propositions in varied forms, but, if we can, to give 
 expression to that spirit which lifts men to a higher 
 platform, restores to them the religious sentiment, 
 brings them worthy aims and pure pleasures, purges 
 the inward eye, makes life less desultory, and, through 
 raising man to the level of nature, takes away its 
 melancholy from the landscape, and reconciles the 
 practical with the speculative powers. 
 
 But perhaps we are telling our little story too 
 gravely. There are always great arguments at hand 
 for a true action, even for the writing of a few pages. 
 There is nothing but seems near it and prompts it, 
 the sphere in the ecliptic, the sap in the apple tree, 
 every fact, every appearance seem to persuade to it. 
 
THE EDITORS TO THE READER 35 
 
 Our means correspond with the ends we have indi 
 cated. As we wish not to multiply books, but to re 
 port life, our resources are therefore not so much the 
 pens of practised writers, as the discourse of the liv 
 ing, and the portfolios which friendship has opened 
 to us. From the beautiful recesses of private 
 thought; from the experience and hope of spirits 
 which are withdrawing from all old forms, and seek 
 ing in all that is new somewhat to meet their inappeas- 
 able longings; from the secret confession of genius 
 afraid to trust itself to aught but sympathy; from the 
 conversation of fervid and mystical pietists; from 
 tear-stained diaries of sorrow and passion; from the 
 manuscripts of young poets; and from the records of 
 youthful taste commenting on old works of art; we 
 hope to draw thoughts and feelings, which being alive 
 can impart life. 
 
 And so with diligent hands and good intent we set 
 down our Dial on the earth. We wish it may re 
 semble that instrument in its celebrated happiness, 
 that of measuring no hours but those of sunshine. 
 Let it be one cheerful rational voice amidst the din 
 of mourners and polemics. Or to abide by our 
 chosen image, let it be such a Dial, not as the dead 
 face of a clock, hardly even such as the Gnomon in a 
 garden, but rather such a Dial as is the Garden itself, 
 in whose leaves arid flowers and fruits the suddenly 
 awakened sleeper is instantly apprised not what part 
 of dead time, but what state of life and growth is 
 now arrived and arriving. 
 
THOUGHTS ON ART 
 
 JANUARY, 1841 
 
 EVERY department of life at the present day, 
 Trade, Politics, Letters, Science, Religion, seem 
 to feel, and to labor to express the identity of their 
 law. They are rays of one sun; they translate each 
 into a new language the sense of the other. They 
 are sublime when seen as emanations of a Necessity 
 contradistinguished from the vulgar Fate, by being 
 instant and alive, and dissolving man as well as his 
 works, in its flowing beneficence. This influence is 
 conspicuously visible in the principles and history of 
 Art. 
 
 On one side, in primary communication with abso 
 lute truth, through thought and instinct, the human 
 mind tends by an equal necessity, on the other side, 
 to the publication and embodiment of its thought, - 
 modified and dwarfed by the impurity and untruth 
 which, in all our experience, injures the wonderful 
 medium through which it passes. The child not only 
 suffers, but cries; not only hungers, but eats. The 
 man not only thinks, but speaks and acts. Every 
 thought that arises in the mind, in its rising, aims to 
 pass out of the mind into act; just as every plant, in 
 the moment of germination, struggles up to light. 
 Thought is the seed of action; but action is as much 
 its second form as thought is its first. It rises in 
 thought to the end, that it may be uttered and acted. 
 The more profound the thought, the more burden 
 some. Always in proportion to the depth of its sense 
 
 36 
 
THOUGHTS ON ART 37 
 
 does it knock importunately at the gates of the soul, 
 to be spoken, to be done. What is in, will out. It 
 struggles to the birth. Speech is a great pleasure, 
 and action a great pleasure; they cannot be forborne. 
 
 The utterance of thought and emotion in speech 
 and action may be conscious or unconscious. The 
 sucking child is an unconscious actor. A man in an 
 ecstasy of fear or anger is an unconscious actor. A 
 large part of our habitual actions are unconsciously 
 done, and most of our necessary words are uncon 
 sciously said. 
 
 The conscious utterance of thought, by speech or 
 action, to any end, is Art. From the first imitative 
 babble of a child to the despotism of eloquence; from 
 his first pile of toys or chip bridge, to the masonry 
 of Eddystone lighthouse or the Erie canal; from the 
 tattooing of the Owhyhees to the Vatican Gallery; 
 from the simplest expedient of private prudence to 
 the American Constitution; from its first to its last 
 works, Art is the spirit s voluntary use and combina 
 tion of things to serve its end. The Will distin 
 guishes it as spiritual action. Relatively to them 
 selves, the bee, the bird, the beaver, have no art, for 
 what they do, they do instinctively; but relatively to 
 the Supreme Being, they have. And the same is true 
 of all unconscious action; relatively to the doer, it is 
 instinct; relatively to the First Cause, it is Art. In 
 this sense, recognizing the Spirit which informs Na 
 ture, Plato rightly said, " Those things which are said 
 to be done by Nature, are indeed done by Divine 
 Art." Art, universally, is the spirit creative. It was 
 defined by Aristotle, " The reason of the thing, with 
 out the matter," as he defined the art of ship-building 
 to be, " All of the ship but the wood." 
 
 If we follow the popular distinction of works ac 
 cording to their aim, we should say, the Spirit, in its 
 
38 THOUGHTS ON ART 
 
 creation, aims at use or at beauty, and hence Art 
 divides itself into the Useful and the Fine Arts. 
 
 The useful arts comprehend not only those that lie 
 next to instinct, as agriculture, building, weaving, 
 &c., but also navigation, practical chemistry, and the 
 construction of all the grand and delicate tools and 
 instruments by which man serves himself; as lan 
 guage; the watch; the ship; the decimal cipher; and 
 also the sciences, so far as they are made serviceable 
 to political economy. 
 
 The moment we begin to reflect on the pleasure we 
 receive from a ship, a railroad, a dry dock ; or from a 
 picture, a dramatic representation, a statue, a poem, 
 we find that they have not a quite simple, but a 
 blended origin. We find that the question, What 
 is Art? leads us directly to another, -- Who is the 
 artist? and the solution of this is the key to the his 
 tory of Art. 
 
 I hasten to state the principle which prescribes, 
 through different means, its firm law to the useful 
 and the beautiful arts. The law is this. The univer 
 sal soul is the alone creator of the useful and the beau 
 tiful ; therefore to make anything useful or beautiful, 
 the individual must be submitted to the universal 
 mind. 
 
 In the first place, let us consider this in reference 
 to the useful arts. Here the omnipotent agent is Na 
 ture; all human acts are satellites to her orb. Nature 
 is the representative of the universal mind, and the 
 law becomes this, that Art must be a complement 
 to nature, strictly subsidiary. It was said, in allusion 
 to the great structures of the ancient Romans, the 
 aqueducts and bridges, that their " Art was a Na 
 ture working to municipal ends." That is a true 
 account of all just works of useful art. Smeaton 
 built Eddystone lighthouse on the model of an oak 
 
THOUGHTS ON ART 39 
 
 tree, as being the form in nature best designed to 
 resist a constant assailing force. Dollond formed his 
 achromatic telescope on the model of the human eye. 
 Duhamel built a bridge, by letting in a piece of 
 stronger timber for the middle of the under surface, 
 getting his hint from the structure of the shin-bone. 
 
 The first and last lesson of the useful arts is, that 
 nature tyrannizes over our works. They must be 
 conformed to her law, or they will be ground to pow 
 der by her omnipresent activity. Nothing droll, noth 
 ing whimsical will endure. Nature is ever interfer 
 ing with Art. You cannot build your house or pa 
 goda as you will, but as you must. There is a quick 
 bound set to our caprice. The leaning tower can only 
 lean so far. The verandah or pagoda roof can curve 
 upward only to a certain point. The slope of your 
 roof is determined by the weight of snow. It is only 
 \vithin narrow limits that the discretion of the archi 
 tect may range. Gravity, wind, sun, rain, the size 
 of men and animals, and such like, have more to say 
 than he. It is the law of fluids that prescribes the 
 shape of the boat, keel, rudder, and bows, and, 
 in the finer fluid above, the form and tackle of the 
 sails. Man seems to have no option about his tools, 
 but merely the necessity to learn from Nature what 
 will fit best, as if he were fitting a screw or a door. 
 Beneath a necessity thus almighty, what is artificial 
 in man s life seems insignificant. He seems to take 
 his task so minutely from intimations of Nature, that 
 his works become as it were hers, and he is no longer 
 free. 
 
 But if we work within this limit, she yields us all 
 her strength. All powerful action is performed, by 
 bringing the forces of nature to bear upon our ob 
 jects. We do not grind corn or lift the loom by our 
 own strength, but we build a mill in such a position 
 
40 THOUGHTS ON ART 
 
 as to set the north wind to play upon our instrument, 
 or the elastic force of steam, or the ebb and flow of 
 the sea. So in our handiwork, we do few things by 
 muscular force, but we place ourselves in such atti 
 tudes as to bring the force of gravity, that is, the 
 weight of the planet, to bear upon the spade or the 
 axe we wield. What is it that gives force to the blow 
 of the axe or crowbar? Is it the muscles of the labor 
 er s arm, or is it the attraction of the whole globe 
 below it, on the axe or bar? In short, in all our opera 
 tions we seek not to use our own, but to bring a quite 
 infinite force to bear. 
 
 Let us now consider this law as it affects the works 
 that have beauty for their end, that is, the produc 
 tions of the Fine Arts. 
 
 Here again the prominent fact is subordination of 
 man. His art is the least part of his work of art. A 
 great deduction is to be made before we can know his 
 proper contribution to it. 
 
 Music, eloquence, poetry, painting, sculpture, arch 
 itecture. This is a rough enumeration of the Fine 
 Arts. I omit rhetoric, which only respects the form 
 of eloquence and poetry. Architecture and eloquence 
 are mixed arts, whose end is sometimes beauty and 
 sometimes use. 
 
 It will be seen that in each of these arts there is 
 much which is not spiritual. Each has a material 
 basis, and in each the creating intellect is crippled 
 in some degree by the stuff on which it works. The 
 basis of poetry is language, which is material only on 
 one side. It is a demi-god. But being applied pri 
 marily to the common necessities of man, it is not 
 new created by the poet for his own ends. 
 
 The basis of music is the qualities of the air and 
 the vibrations of sonorous bodies. The pulsation of 
 a stretched string or wire, gives the ear the pleasure 
 
THOUGHTS ON ART 41 
 
 of sweet sound, before yet the musician has enhanced 
 this pleasure by concords and combinations. 
 
 Eloquence, as far as it is a fine art, is modified how 
 much by the material organization of the orator, the 
 tone of the voice, the physical strength, the play of 
 the eye and countenance! All this is so much deduc 
 tion from the purely spiritual pleasure. All this is 
 so much deduction from the merit of Art, and is the 
 attribute of Nature. 
 
 In painting, bright colors stimulate the eye, before 
 yet they are harmonized into a landscape. In sculp 
 ture and in architecture, the material, as marble or 
 granite ; and in architecture, the mass, are sources 
 of great pleasure, quite independent of the artificial 
 arrangement. The art resides in the model, in the 
 plan, for it is on that the genius of the artist is ex 
 pended, not on the statue, or the temple. Just as 
 much better as is the polished statue of dazzling mar 
 ble than the clay model ; or as much more impressive 
 as is the granite cathedral or pyramid than the 
 ground-plan or profile of them on paper, so much 
 more beauty owe they to Nature than to Art. 
 
 There is a still larger deduction to be made from 
 the genius of the artist in favor of Nature than I 
 have yet specified. 
 
 A jumble of musical sounds on a viol or a flute, in 
 which the rhythm of the tune is played without one 
 of the notes being right, gives pleasure to the unskil 
 ful ear. A very coarse imitation of the human form 
 on canvas, or in wax- work, a very coarse sketch 
 in colors of a landscape, in which imitation is all that 
 is attempted, these things give to unpractised eyes, 
 to the uncultured, who do not ask a fine spiritual de 
 light, almost as much pleasure as a statue of Canova 
 or a picture of Titian. 
 
 And in the statue of Canova, or the picture of 
 
42 THOUGHTS ON ART 
 
 Titian, these give the great part of the pleasure ; they 
 are the basis on which the fine spirit rears a higher 
 delight, but to which these are indispensable. 
 
 Another deduction from the genius of the artist is 
 what is conventional in his art, of which there is much 
 in every work of art. Thus how much is there that 
 is not original in every particular building, in every 
 statue, in every tune, in every painting, in every poem, 
 in every harangue. Whatever is national or usual; 
 as the usage of building all Roman churches in the 
 form of a cross, the prescribed distribution of parts of 
 a theatre, the custom of draping a statue in classical 
 costume. Yet who will deny that the merely conven 
 tional part of the performance contributes much to 
 its effect? 
 
 One consideration more exhausts, I believe, all the 
 deductions from the genius of the artist in any given 
 work. 
 
 This is the adventitious. Thus the pleasure that a 
 noble temple gives us, is only in part owing to the 
 temple. It is exalted by the beauty of sunlight, by 
 the play of the clouds, by the landscape around it, 
 by its grouping with the houses, and trees, and tow 
 ers, in its vicinity. The pleasure of eloquence is in 
 greatest part owing often to the stimulus of the occa 
 sion which produces it; to the magic of sympathy, 
 which exalts the feeling of each, by radiating on him 
 the feeling of all. 
 
 The effect of music belongs how much to the place, 
 as the church, or the moonlight walk, or to the com 
 pany, or, if on the stage, to what went before in 
 the play, or to the expectation of what shall come 
 after. 
 
 In poetry, "It is tradition more than invention 
 helps the poet to a good fable." The adventitious 
 beauty of poetry may be felt in the greater delight 
 
THOUGHTS ON ART 43 
 
 which a verse gives in happy quotation than in the 
 poem. 
 
 It is a curious proof of our conviction that the artist 
 does not feel himself to be the parent of his work 
 and is as much surprised at the effect as we, that we 
 are so unwilling to impute our best sense of any work, 
 of art to the author. The very highest praise we can 
 attribute to any writer, painter, sculptor, builder, is, 
 that he actually possessed the thought or feeling with 
 which he has inspired us. We hesitate at doing Spen 
 ser so great an honor as to think that he intended by 
 his allegory the sense we affix to it. We grudge to 
 Homer the wise human circumspection his commen 
 tators ascribe to him. Even Shakspeare, of whom we 
 can believe everything, we think indebted to Goethe 
 and to Coleridge for the wisdom they detect in his 
 Hamlet and Anthony. Especially have we this in 
 firmity of faith in contemporary genius. We fear 
 that Allston and Greenough did not foresee and de 
 sign all the effect they produce on us. 
 
 Our arts are happy hits. We are like the musician 
 on the lake, whose melody is sweeter than he knows, 
 or like a traveller, surprised by a mountain echo, 
 whose trivial word returns to him in romantic thun 
 ders. 
 
 In view of these facts, I say that the power of 
 Nature predominates over the human will in all 
 works of even the fine arts, in all that respects their 
 material and external circumstances. Nature paints 
 the best part of the picture; carves the best part of 
 the statue; builds the best part of the house; and 
 speaks the best part of the oration. For all the ad 
 vantages to which I have adverted are such as the 
 artist did not consciously produce. He relied on their 
 aid, he put himself in the way to receive aid from 
 some of them, but he saw that his planting and his 
 
44 THOUGHTS ON ART 
 
 watering waited for the sunlight of Nature, or was 
 yain. 
 
 Let us proceed to the consideration of the great 
 law stated in the beginning of this essay, as it affects 
 the purely spiritual part of a work of art. 
 
 As in useful art, so far as it is useful, the work must 
 be strictly subordinated to the laws of Nature, so as 
 to become a sort of continuation, and in no wise a 
 contradiction of Nature ; so in art that aims at beauty 
 as an end, must the parts be subordinated to Ideal 
 Nature, and everything individual abstracted, so that 
 it shall be the production of the universal soul. 
 
 The artist, who is to produce a work which is to be 
 admired not by his friends or his townspeople, or hiss 
 contemporaries, but by all men; and which is to be 
 more beautiful to the eye in proportion to its culture, 
 must disindividualize himself, and be a man of no 
 party, and no manner, and no age, but one through 
 whom the soul of all men circulates, as the common 
 air through his lungs. He must work in the spirit 
 in which we conceive a prophet to speak, or an angel 
 of the Lord to act, that is, he is not to speak his own 
 words, or do his own works, or think his own thoughts, 
 but he is to be an organ through which the universal 
 mind acts. 
 
 In speaking of the useful arts, I pointed to the 
 fact, that we do not dig, or grind, or hew, by our 
 muscular strength, but by bringing the weight of 
 the planet to bear on the spade, axe, or bar. Pre 
 cisely analogous to this, in the fine arts, is the man 
 ner of our intellectual work. We aim to hinder our 
 individuality from acting. So much as we can shove 
 aside our egotism, our prejudice, and will, and bring 
 the omniscience of reason upon the subject before us, 
 so perfect is the work. The wonders of Shakspeare 
 are things which he saw whilst he stood aside, and then 
 
THOUGHTS ON ART 45 
 
 returned to record them. The poet aims at getting 
 observations without aim; to subject to thought 
 things seen without (voluntary) thought. 
 
 In eloquence, the great triumphs of the art are, 
 when the orator is lifted above himself; when con 
 sciously he makes himself the mere tongue of the oc 
 casion and the hour, and says what cannot but be said. 
 Hence the French phrase I abandon, to describe the 
 self-surrender of the orator. Not his will, but the 
 principle on which he is horsed, the great connection 
 and crisis of events thunder in the ear of the crowd. 
 
 In poetry, where every word is free, every word is 
 necessary. Good poetry could not have been other 
 wise written than it is. The first time you hear it, it 
 sounds rather as if copied out of some invisible tablet 
 in the Eternal mind, than as if arbitrarily composed 
 by the poet. The feeling of all great poets has ac 
 corded with this. They found the verse, not made it. 
 The muse brought it to them. 
 
 In sculpture, did ever anybody call the Apollo a 
 fancy piece? Or say of the Laocoon how it might 
 be made different? A masterpiece of art has in the 
 mind a fixed place in the chain of being, as much as a 
 plant or a crystal. 
 
 The whole language of men, especially of artists, 
 in reference to this subject, points at the belief, that 
 every work of art, in proportion to its excellence, par 
 takes of the precision of fate; no room was there for 
 choice ; no play for fancy ; for the moment, or in the 
 successive moments, when that form was seen, the 
 iron lids of Reason were unclosed, which ordinarily 
 are heavy with slumber: that the individual mind 
 became for the moment the vent of the mind of hu 
 manity. 
 
 There is but one Reason. The mind that made the 
 world is not one mind, but the mind. Every man is 
 
46 THOUGHTS ON ART 
 
 an inlet to the same, and to all of the same. And 
 every work of art is a more or less pure manifestation 
 of the same. Therefore we arrive at this conclusion, 
 which I offer as a confirmation of the whole view: 
 That the delight, which a work of art affords, seems 
 to arise from our recognizing in it the mind that 
 formed Nature again in active operation. 
 
 It differs from the works of Nature in this, that 
 they are organically reproductive. This is not: but 
 spiritually it is prolific by its powerful action on the 
 intellects of men. 
 
 In confirmation of this view, let me refer to the 
 fact, that a study of admirable works of art always 
 sharpens the perceptions of the beauty of Nature; 
 that a certain analogy reigns throughout the wonders 
 of both; that the contemplation of a work of great 
 art draws us into a state of mind which may be called 
 religious. It conspires with all exalted sentiments. 
 
 Proceeding from absolute mind, whose nature is 
 goodness as much as truth, they are always attuned 
 to moral nature. If the earth and sea conspire with 
 virtue more than vice, so do the masterpieces of 
 art. The galleries of ancient sculpture in Naples 
 and Rome strike no deeper conviction into the mind 
 than the contrast of the purity, the severity, expressed 
 in these fine old heads, with the frivolity and gross- 
 ness of the mob that exhibits, and the mob that gazes 
 at them. These are the countenances of the first-born, 
 the face of man in the morning of the world. No 
 mark is on these lofty features of sloth, or luxury, or 
 meanness, and they surprise you with a moral admoni 
 tion, as they speak of nothing around you, but re 
 mind you of the fragrant thoughts and the purest re 
 solutions of your youth. 
 
 Herein is the explanation of the analogies which 
 exist in all the arts. They are the reappearance of 
 
THOUGHTS ON ART 47 
 
 one mind, working in many materials to many tem 
 porary ends. Raphael paints wisdom ; Handel sings 
 it, Phidias carves it, Shakspeare writes it, Wren 
 builds it, Columbus sails it, Luther preaches it, 
 Washington arms it, Watt mechanizes it. Painting 
 was called " silent poetry; " and poetry " speaking 
 painting." The laws of each art are convertible into 
 the laws of every other. 
 
 Herein we have an explanation of the necessity that 
 reigns in all the kingdom of art. 
 
 Arising out of eternal reason, one and perfect, 
 whatever is beautiful rests on the foundation of the 
 necessary. Nothing is arbitrary, nothing is insulated 
 in beauty. It depends forever on the necessary and 
 the useful. The plumage of the bird, the mimic plu 
 mage of the insect, has a reason for its rich colors in 
 the constitution of the animal. Fitness is so insepa 
 rable an accompaniment of beauty, that it has been 
 taken for it. The most perfect form to answer an 
 end, is so far beautiful. In the mind of the artist, 
 could we enter there, we should see the sufficient rea 
 son for the last flourish and tendril of his work, just 
 as every tint and spine in the sea-shell preexists in 
 the secreting organs of the fish. We feel, in seeing 
 a noble building, which rhymes well, as we do in 
 hearing a perfect song, that it is spiritually organic, 
 that is, had a necessity in nature, for being, was one 
 of the possible forms in the Divine mind, and is now 
 only discovered and executed by the artist, not arbi 
 trarily composed by him. 
 
 And so every genuine work of art has as much 
 reason for being as the earth and the sun. The gay 
 est charm of beauty has a root in the constitution of 
 things. The Iliad of Homer, the songs of David, 
 the odes of Pindar, the tragedies of ^Bschylus, the 
 Doric temples, the Gothic cathedrals, the plays of 
 
48 THOUGHTS ON ART 
 
 Shakspeare, were all made not for sport, but in grave 
 earnest, in tears, and smiles of suffering and loving 
 men. 
 
 Viewed from this point, the history of Art becomes 
 intelligible, and, moreover, one of the most agreeable 
 studies in the world. We see how each work of art 
 sprang irresistibly from necessity, and, moreover, 
 took its form from the broad hint of Nature. Beau 
 tiful in this wise is the obvious origin of all the known 
 orders of architecture, namely, that they were the 
 idealizing of the primitive abodes of each people. 
 Thus the Doric temple still presents the semblance of 
 the wooden cabin, in which the Dorians dwelt. The 
 Chinese pagoda is plainly a Tartar tent. The Indian 
 arid Egyptian temples still betray the mounds and 
 subterranean houses of their forefathers. The Gothic 
 church plainly originated in a rude adaptation of for 
 est trees, with their boughs on, to a festal or solemn 
 edifice, as the bands around the cleft pillars still indi 
 cate the green withs that tied them. No one can 
 walk in a pine barren, in one of the paths which the 
 woodcutters make for their teams, without being 
 struck with the architectural appearance of the grove, 
 especially in winter, when the bareness 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, I think, can any lover of 
 nature enter the old piles of Oxford and the English 
 cathedrals, without feeling that the forest overpow 
 ered the mind of the builder, with its ferns, its spikes 
 of flowers, its locust, its oak, its pine, its fir, its 
 spruce. The cathedral is a blossoming in stone, sub 
 dued by the insatiable demand of harmony in man. 
 
THOUGHTS ON ART 49 
 
 The mountain of granite blooms into an eternal 
 flower, with the lightness and delicate finish, as well 
 as aerial proportions and perspective of vegetable 
 beauty. 
 
 There was no wilfulness in the savages in this per 
 petuating of their first rude abodes. The first form 
 in which they built a house would be the first form of 
 their public and religious edifice also. This form be 
 comes immediately sacred in the eyes of their children, 
 and the more so, as more traditions cluster round it, 
 and is, therefore, imitated with more splendor in each 
 succeeding generation. 
 
 In like manner, it has been remarked by Goethe, 
 that the granite breaks into parallelepipeds, which, 
 broken in two, one part would be an obelisk; that in 
 Upper Egypt the inhabitants would naturally mark 
 a memorable spot by setting up so conspicuous a 
 stone. Again, he suggested we may see in any stone 
 wall, on a fragment of rock, the projecting veins of 
 harder stone, which have resisted the action of frost 
 and water, which has decomposed the rest. This ap 
 pearance certainly gave the hint of the hieroglyphics 
 inscribed on their obelisk. The amphitheatre of the 
 old Romans, any one may see its origin, who looks 
 at the crowd running together to see any fight, sick 
 ness, or odd appearance in the street. The first 
 comers gather round in a circle; those behind stand 
 on tiptoe; and further back they climb on fences or 
 window sills, and so make a cup of which the object 
 of attention occupies the hollow area. The architect 
 put benches in this order, and enclosed the cup with 
 a wall, and behold a coliseum. 
 
 It would be easy to show of very many fine things 
 in the world, in the customs of nations, the etiquette 
 of courts, the constitution of governments, the origin 
 in very simple local necessities. Heraldry, for exam- 
 
50 THOUGHTS ON ART 
 
 pie, and the ceremonies of a coronation, are a splen 
 did burlesque of the occurrences that might befal a 
 dragoon and his f ootboy. The College of Cardinals 
 were originally the parish priests of Rome. The 
 leaning towers originated from the civil discords 
 which induced every lord to build a tower. Then it 
 became a point of family pride, and for pride a 
 leaning tower was built. 
 
 This strict dependence of art upon material and 
 ideal nature, this adamantine necessity, which it un 
 derlies, has made all its past, and may foreshow its 
 future history. It never was in the power of any 
 man, or any community, to call the arts into being. 
 They come to serve his actual wants, never to please 
 his fancy. These arts have their origin always in 
 some enthusiasm, as love, patriotism, or religion. 
 Who carved marble? The believing man, who wished 
 to symbolize their gods to the waiting Greeks. 
 
 The Gothic cathedrals were built, when the builder 
 and the priest and the people were overpowered by 
 their faith. Love and fear laid every stone. The 
 Madonnas of Raphael and Titian were made to be 
 worshipped. Tragedy was instituted for the like 
 purpose, and the miracles of music ; all sprang out 
 of some genuine enthusiasm, and never out of dilet 
 tantism and holidays. But now they languish, be 
 cause their purpose is merely exhibition. Who cares, 
 who knows what works of art our government have 
 ordered to be made for the capitol? They are a mere 
 flourish to please the eye of persons who have asso 
 ciations with books and galleries. But in Greece, 
 the Demos of Athens divided into political factions 
 upon the merits of Phidias. 
 
 In this country, at this time, other interests than 
 religion and patriotism are predominant, and the 
 arts, the daughters of enthusiasm, do not flourish. 
 
THOUGHTS ON ART 51 
 
 The genuine offspring of our ruling passions we be 
 hold. Popular institutions, the school, the reading 
 room, the post office, the exchange, the insurance 
 company, and an immense harvest of economical in 
 ventions, are the fruit of the equality and the bound 
 less liberty of lucrative callings. These are super 
 ficial wants; and their fruits are these superficial in 
 stitutions. But as far as they accelerate the end of 
 political freedom and national education, they are 
 preparing the soil of man for fairer flowers and fruits 
 in another age. For beauty, truth, and goodness are 
 not obsolete; they spring eternal in the breast of 
 man; they are as indigenous in Massachusetts as in 
 Tuscany, or the Isles of Greece. And that Eternal 
 Spirit, whose triple face they are, moulds from them 
 forever, for his mortal child, images to remind him of 
 the Infinite and Fair. 
 
THE SENSES AND THE SOUL 
 
 JANUARY, 1842 
 
 "WHAT we know is a point to what we do not 
 know." The first questions are still to be asked. Let 
 any man bestow a thought on himself, how he came 
 hither, and whither he tends, and he will find that all 
 the literature, all the philosophy that is on record, 
 have done little to dull the edge of inquiry. The 
 globe that swims so silently with us through the sea 
 of space, has never a port, but with its little convoy 
 of friendly orbs pursues its voyage through the signs 
 of heaven, to renew its navigation again forever. 
 The wonderful tidings our glasses and calendars give 
 us concerning the hospitable lights that hang around 
 us in the deep, do not appease but inflame our curios 
 ity; and in like manner, our culture does not lead to 
 any goal, but its richest results of thought and action 
 are only new preparation. 
 
 Here on the surface of our swimming earth we 
 come out of silence into society already formed, into 
 language, customs, and traditions, ready made, and 
 the multitude of our associates discountenance us 
 from expressing any surprise at the somewhat agree 
 able novelty of Being, and frown down any intima 
 tion on our part of a disposition to assume our own 
 vows, to preserve our independence, and to institute 
 any inquiry into the sweet and sublime vision which 
 surrounds us. 
 
 And yet there seems no need that any should fear 
 we should grow too wise. The path of truth has ob- 
 
 52 
 
THE SENSES AND THE SOUL 53 
 
 stacks enough of its own. We dwell on the surface 
 of nature. We dwell amidst surfaces; and surface 
 laps so closely on surface, that we cannot easily pierce 
 to see the interior organism. Then the subtlety of 
 things! Under every cause, another cause. Truth 
 soars too high or dives too deep for the most resolute 
 inquirer. See of how much we know nothing. See 
 the strange position of man. Our science neither 
 comprehends him as a whole, nor any one of its par 
 ticulars. See the action and reaction of Will and 
 Necessity. See his passions, and their origin in the 
 deeps of nature and circumstance. See the Fear that 
 rides even the brave. See the omnipresent Hope, 
 W 7 hose fountains in our consciousness no metaphysi 
 cian can find. Consider the phenomenon of Laugh 
 ter, and explore the elements of the Comic. What 
 do we know of the mystery of Music? and what of 
 Form? why this stroke, this outline should express 
 beauty, and that other not? See the occult region of 
 Demonology, with coincidence, foresight, dreams, 
 and omens. Consider the appearance of Death, the 
 formidable secret of our destiny, looming up as the 
 barrier of nature. 
 
 Our ignorance is great enough, and yet the fact 
 most surprising is not our ignorance, but the aversa- 
 tion of men from knowledge. That which, one would 
 say, would unite all minds and join all hands, the am 
 bition to push as far as fate would permit, the planted 
 garden of man on every hand into the kingdom of 
 Xight, really fires the heart of few and solitary men. 
 Tell men to study themselves, and for the most part, 
 they find nothing less interesting. Whilst we walk 
 environed before and behind with Will, Fate, Hope, 
 Fear, Love, and Death, these phantoms or angels, 
 whom we catch at but cannot embrace, it is droll to 
 see the contentment and incuriosity of man. All 
 
54 THE SENSES AND THE SOUL 
 
 take for granted, the learned as well as the un 
 learned, that a great deal, nay, almost all, is known 
 and forever settled. But in truth all is now to be 
 begun, and every new mind ought to take the at 
 titude of Columbus, launch out from the gaping 
 loiterers on the shore, and sail west for a new 
 world. 
 
 This profound ignorance, this deep sleep of the 
 higher faculties of man, coexists with a great abun 
 dance of what are called the means of learning, great 
 activity of book-making, and of formal teaching. 
 Go into one of our public libraries, when a new box 
 of books and journals has arrived with the usual im 
 portation of the periodical literature of England. 
 The best names of Britain are on the covers. What 
 a mass of literary production for a single week or 
 month! We speculate upon it before we read. We 
 say, what an invention is the press and the journal, 
 by which a hundred pale students, each a hive of dis 
 tilled flowers of learning, of thought, each a poet, 
 each an accomplished man whom the selectest in 
 fluences have joined to breed and enrich, are made to 
 unite their manifold streams for the information and 
 delight of everybody who can read! How lame is 
 speech, how imperfect the communication of the an 
 cient Harper, wandering from castle to hamlet, to 
 sing to a vagrant audience his melodious thoughts! 
 These unopened books contain the chosen verses of a 
 hundred minstrels, born, living, and singing in distant 
 countries and different languages; for, the intellec 
 tual wealth of the world, like its commercial, rolls to 
 London, and through that great heart is hurled again 
 to the extremities. And here, too, is the result, not 
 poetic, of how much thought, how much experience, 
 and how much suffering of wise and cultivated men! 
 How can we in America expect books of our own, 
 
THE SENSES AND THE SOUL 55 
 
 whilst this bale of wisdom arrives once or twice in a 
 month at our ports? 
 
 In this mind we open the books, and begin to read. 
 We find they are books about books; and then per 
 haps the book criticized was itself a compilation or 
 digest of others ; so that the page we read is at third 
 or fourth hand from the event or sentiment which it 
 describes. Then we find that much the largest pro 
 portion of the pages relates exclusively to matter of 
 fact to the superficial fact, and, as if systemati 
 cally, shuns any reference to a thought or law which 
 the fact indicated. A large part again, both of the 
 prose and verse, is gleanings from old compositions, 
 and the oft repeated praise of such is repeated in the 
 phrase of the present day. We have even the morti 
 fication to find one more deduction still from our an 
 ticipated prize, namely, that a large portion of osten 
 tatious criticism is merely a hired advertisement of 
 the great booksellers. In the course of our turning 
 of leaves, we fall at last on an extraordinary passage 
 - a record of thought and virtue, or a clarion strain 
 of poetry, or perchance a traveller makes us ac 
 quainted with strange modes of life and some relic of 
 primeval religion, or, rarer yet, a profound sentence 
 is here printed shines here new but eternal on these 
 linen pages, we wonder whence it came, or per 
 haps trace it instantly home aut Erasmus aut Dia- 
 bolus to the only head it could come from. 
 
 A few thoughts are all we glean from the best in 
 spection of the paper pile ; all the rest is combination 
 and confectionary. A little part abides in our mem 
 ory, and goes to exalt the sense of duty, and make us 
 happier. For the rest, our heated expectation is 
 chilled and disappointed. Some indirect benefit will 
 no doubt accrue. If we read with braced and active 
 mind, we learn this negative fact, itself a piece of 
 
56 THE SENSES AND THE SOUL 
 
 human life. We contrast this mountain of dross with 
 the grains of gold, we oversee the writer, and learn 
 somewhat of the laws of writing. But a lesson as 
 good we might be learning elsewhere. 
 
 Now what is true of a month s or a year s issue of 
 new books, seems to me with a little qualification true 
 of the age. The stock-writers, (for the honesty of 
 the literary class has given this population a name,) 
 vastly outnumber the thinking men. One man, two 
 men, possibly, three or four, have cast behind 
 them the long-descended costume of the academy, 
 and the expectations of fashion, and have said, This 
 world is too fair, this world comes home too near to 
 me than that I should walk a stranger in it, and live 
 at second-hand, fed by other men s doctrines, or tread 
 ing only in their steps; I feel a higher right herein, 
 and will hearken to the Oracle myself. Such have 
 perceived the extreme poverty of literature, have 
 seen that there was not and could not be help for the 
 fervent soul, except through its own energy. But 
 the great number of those who have voluminously 
 ministered to the popular tastes were men of talents, 
 who had some feat which each could do with words, 
 but who have not added to wisdom or to virtue. Tal 
 ent amuses; Wisdom instructs. Talent shows me 
 what another man can do ; Genius acquaints me with 
 the spacious circuits of the common nature. One is 
 carpentry; the other is growth. To make a step into 
 the world of thought is now given to but few men; 
 to make a second step beyond the first, only one in a 
 country can do ; but to carry the thought on to three 
 steps, marks a great teacher. Aladdin s palace with 
 its one unfinished window, which all the gems in the 
 royal treasury cannot finish in the style of the mean 
 est of the profusion of jewelled windows that were 
 built by the Genie in a night, is but too true an image 
 
THE SENSES AND THE SOUL 57 
 
 of the efforts of talent to add one verse to the copious 
 text which inspiration writes by one or another scribe 
 from age to age. 
 
 It is not that the literary class or those for whom 
 they write, are not lovers of truth, and amenable to 
 principles. All are so. The hunger of men for truth 
 is immense ; but they are not erect on their feet ; the 
 senses are too strong for the soul. Our senses bar 
 barize us. When the ideal world recedes before the 
 senses, we are on a retrograde march. The savage 
 surrenders to his senses; he is subject to paroxysms 
 of joy and fear; he is lewd, and a drunkard. The 
 Esquimaux in the exhilaration of the morning sun, 
 when he is invigorated by sleep, will sell his bed. He 
 is the fool of the moment s sensations to the degree 
 of losing sight of the whole amount of his sensations 
 in so many years. And there is an Esquimaux in 
 every man which makes us believe in the permanence 
 of this moment s state of our game more than our 
 own experience will warrant. In the fine day we 
 despise the house. At sea, the passengers always 
 judge from the weather of the present moment of 
 the probable length of the voyage. In a fresh 
 breeze, they are sure of a good run; becalmed, they 
 are equally sure of a long passage. In trade, the 
 momentary state of the markets betrays continually 
 the experienced and long-sighted. In politics, and 
 in our opinion of the prospects of society, we are in 
 like manner the slaves of the hour. Meet one or two 
 malignant declaimers, and we are weary of life, and 
 distrust the permanence of good institutions. A sin 
 gle man in a ragged coat at an election looks revolu 
 tionary. But ride in a stage-coach with one or two 
 benevolent persons in good spirits, and the Republic 
 seems to us safe. 
 
 It is but an extension of the despotism of sense, 
 
58 THE SENSES AND THE SOUL 
 
 shall I say, only a calculated sensuality, a little 
 more comprehensive devotion which subjugates the 
 eminent and the reputed wise, and hinders an ideal 
 culture. In the great stakes which the leaders of 
 society esteem not at all fanciful but solid, in the best 
 reputed professions and operations, what is there 
 which will bear the scrutiny of reason? The most 
 active lives have so much routine as to preclude prog 
 ress almost equally with the most inactive. We defer 
 to the noted merchants whose influence is felt not only 
 in their native cities, but in most parts of the globe; 
 but our respect does them and ourselves great injus 
 tice, for their trade is without system, their affairs 
 unfold themselves after no law of the mind; but are 
 bubble built on bubble without end ; a work of arith 
 metic, not of commerce, much less of considerate 
 humanity. They add voyage to voyage, and buy 
 stocks that they may buy stocks, and no ulterior pur 
 pose is thought of. When you see their dexterity in 
 particulars, you cannot overestimate the resources of 
 good sense, and when you find how empty they are 
 of all remote aims, you cannot underestimate their 
 philosophy. 
 
 The men of letters and the professions we have 
 charged with the like surrender to routine. It is no 
 otherwise with the men of office. Statesmen are soli 
 tary. At no time do they form a class. Govern 
 ments, for the most part, are carried on by political 
 merchants quite without principle, and according to 
 the maxims of trade and huckster; so that what is 
 true of merchants is true of public officers. Why 
 should we suffer ourselves to be cheated by sounding 
 names and fair shows? The titles, the property, the 
 notoriety, the brief consequence of our fellows are 
 only the decoration of the sacrifice, and add to the 
 melancholy of the observer. 
 
THE SENSES AND THE SOUL 59 
 
 " The earth goes on the earth glittering with gold, 
 The earth goes to the earth sooner than it should, 
 The earth builds on the earth castles and towers, 
 The earth says to the earth, all this is ours." 
 
 All this is covered up by the speedy succession of the 
 particulars, which tread so close on each other s heel, 
 as to allow no space for the man to question the whole 
 thing. There is somewhat terrific in this mask of 
 routine. Captain Franklin, after six weeks travelling 
 on the ice to the North Pole, found himself two hun 
 dred miles south of the spot he had set out from. The 
 ice had floated; and we sometimes start to think we 
 are spelling out the same sentences, saying the same 
 words, repeating the same acts as in former years. 
 Our ice may float also. 
 
 This preponderance of the senses can we balance 
 and redress? Can we give permanence to the light 
 nings of thought which lick up in a moment these 
 combustible mountains of sensation and custom, and 
 reveal the moral order after which the world is to be 
 rebuilt anew? Grave questions truly, but such as 
 leave us no option. To know the facts is already a 
 choosing of sides, ranges us on the party of Light 
 and Reason, sounds the signal for the strife, and 
 prophesies an end to the insanity and a restoration of 
 the balance and rectitude of man. 
 
TRANSCENDENTALISM 
 
 JANUAHY, 1842 
 
 THE more liberal thought of intelligent persons 
 acquires a new name in each period or community; 
 and in ours, by no very good luck, as it sometimes 
 appears to us, has been designated as Transcenden 
 talism. We have every day occasion to remark its 
 perfect identity, under whatever new phraseology or 
 application to new facts, with the liberal thought of 
 all men of a religious and contemplative habit in other 
 times and countries. We were lately so much struck 
 with two independent testimonies to this fact, pro 
 ceeding from persons, one in sympathy with the 
 Quakers, and the other with the Calvinistic Church, 
 that we have begged the privilege to transcribe an 
 extract from two private letters, in order that we 
 might bring them together. 
 
 The Calvinist writes to his Correspondent after this 
 manner. 
 
 " All the peculiarities of the theology, denominated 
 Trinitarian, are directly or indirectly transcendental. 
 The sinfulness of man involves the supposition of a 
 nature in man, which transcends all limits of animal 
 life and of social moralities. The reality of spirit, in 
 the highest sense of that holy word, as the essence of 
 God and the inward ground and law of man s being 
 and doing, is supposed both in the fact of sin, and 
 the possibility of redemption from sin. The mystery 
 of the Father revealed only in the Son as the Word 
 of Life, the Light which illumines every man, out- 
 
 60 
 
TRANSCENDENTALISM 61 
 
 wardly in the incarnation and offering for sin, in 
 wardly as the Christ in us, energetic and quickening 
 in the inspirations of the Holy Spirit, the great 
 mystery wherein we find redemption, this, like the 
 rest, is transcendental. So throughout, as might be 
 shown by the same induction suggested in relation 
 to another aspect of the matter. Now here is my 
 point. Trinitarians, whose whole system from begin 
 ning to end is transcendental, ideal, an idea is the 
 highest truth, war against the very foundations of 
 whatever is transcendental, ideal ; all must be empiric, 
 sensuous, inductive. A system, which used to create 
 and sustain the most fervid enthusiasm, as is its na 
 ture, for it makes God all in all, leads in crusade 
 against all even the purest and gentlest enthusiasm. 
 It fights for the letter of Orthodoxy, for usage, for 
 custom, for tradition, against the Spirit as it breathes 
 like healing air through the damps and unwholesome 
 swamps, or like strong wind throwing down rotten 
 trees and rotten frameworks of men. It builds up 
 with one hand the Temple of Truth on the outside; 
 and with the other works as in frenzy to tear up its 
 very foundations. So has it seemed to me. The 
 transcendentalists do not err in excess but in defect, 
 if I understand the case. They do not hold wild 
 dreams for realities; the vision is deeper, broader, 
 more spiritual than they have seen. They do not be 
 lieve with too strong faith; their faith is too dim of 
 sight, too feeble of grasp, too wanting in certainty. 
 I regret that they should ever seem to undervalue the 
 Scriptures. For those scriptures have flowed out of 
 the same spirit which is in every pure heart; and I 
 would have the one spirit recognize and respond to 
 itself under all the multiform shapes of word, of deed, 
 of faith, of love, of thought, of affection, in which 
 it is enrobed; just *as that spirit in us recognizes and 
 
62 TRANSCENDENTALISM 
 
 responds to itself now in the gloom of winter, now in 
 the cheer of summer, now in the bloom of spring, now 
 in the maturity of autumn; and in all the endless 
 varieties of each." 
 
 The Friend writes thus. 
 
 " Hold fast, I beseech you, to the resolution to wait 
 for light from the Lord. Go not to men for a creed, 
 faint not, but be of good courage. The darkness is 
 only for a season. We must be willing to tarry the 
 Lord s time in the wilderness, if we would enter the 
 Promised Land. The purest saints that I have ever 
 known were long, very long, in darkness and in dpubt. 
 Even when they had firm faith, they were long with 
 out feeling what they believed in. One told me he 
 was two years in chaotic darkness, without an inch of 
 firm ground to stand upon, watching for the day- 
 spring from on high, and after this long probation 
 it shone upon his path, and he has walked by its light 
 for years. Do not fear or regret your isolation from 
 men, your difference from all around you. It is often 
 necessary to the enlargement of the soul that it should 
 thus dwell alone for a season, and when the mystical 
 union of God and man shall be completely developed, 
 and you feel yourself newly born a child of light, one 
 of the sons of God, you will also feel new ties to your 
 fellow men; you will love them all in God, and each 
 will be to you whatever their state will permit them 
 to be. 
 
 " It is very interesting to me to see, as I do, all 
 around me here, the essential doctrines of the Quakers 
 revived, modified, stript of all that puritanism and 
 sectarianism had heaped upon them, and made the 
 foundation of an intellectual philosophy, that is illu 
 minating the finest minds and reaches the wants of 
 the least cultivated. The more I reflect upon the 
 Quakers, the more I admire the early ones, and am 
 
TRANSCENDENTALISM 63 
 
 surprised at their being so far in advance of their age, 
 but they have educated the world till it is now able 
 to go beyond those teachers. 
 
 " Spiritual growth, which they considered at vari 
 ance with intellectual culture, is now wedded to it, 
 and man s whole nature is advanced. The intellectual 
 had so lorded it over the moral, that much onesided 
 cultivation was requisite to make things even. I re 
 member when your intellect was all in all, and the 
 growth of the moral sense came after. It has now 
 taken its proper place in your mind, and the intellect 
 appears for a time prostrate, but in due season both 
 will go on harmoniously, and you will be a perfect 
 man. If you suffer more than many before coming 
 into the light, it is because your character is deeper 
 and your happy enlargement will be proportioned 
 to it." 
 
 The identity, which the writer of this letter finds 
 between the speculative opinions of serious persons 
 at the present moment, and those entertained by the 
 first Quakers, is indeed so striking as to have drawn 
 a very general attention of late years to the history of 
 that sect. . . . Of course, in proportion to the depth 
 of the experience, will be its independence on time 
 and circumstances, yet one can hardly read George 
 Fox s Journal, or Sewel s History of the Quakers, 
 without many a rising of joyful surprise at the corre 
 spondence of facts and expressions to states of 
 thought and feeling, with which we are very familiar. 
 The writer justly remarks the equal adaptation of 
 the philosophy in question " to the finest minds, and 
 to the least cultivated." And so we add in regard 
 to these works, that quite apart from the pleasure 
 of reading modern history in old books, the reader 
 will find another reward in the abundant illustration 
 they furnish to the fact, that wherever the religious 
 
64 TRANSCENDENTALISM 
 
 enthusiasm makes its appearance, it supplies the place 
 of poetry and philosophy and of learned discipline, 
 and inspires by itself the same vastness of thinking; 
 so that in learning the religious experiences of a 
 strong but untaught mind, you seem to have sug 
 gested in turn all the sects of the philosophers. 
 
 We seize the occasion to adorn our pages with the 
 dying speech of James Naylor, one of the compan 
 ions of Fox, who had previously been for eight years 
 a common soldier in the army. Its least service will 
 be to show how far the religious sentiment could exalt 
 the thinking and purify the language of the most 
 uneducated men. 
 
 ; * There is a spirit which I feel," said James Naylor 
 a few hours before his death, " that delights to do no 
 evil, nor to revenge any wrong, but delights to endure 
 all things, in hope to enjoy its own in the end. Its 
 hope is to outlive all wrath and contention, and to 
 weary out all exultation and cruelty, or whatever is 
 of a nature contrary to itself. It sees to the end of 
 all temptations. As it bears no evil in itself, so it 
 conceives none in thought to any other. If it be be 
 trayed, it bears it; for its ground and spring is the 
 mercies and forgiveness of God. Its crown is meek 
 ness, its life is everlasting love unfeigned, and it takes 
 its kingdom with entreaty, and keeps it by lowliness 
 of mind. In God alone it can rejoice, though none 
 else regard it, or can own its life. It is conceived in 
 sorrow, and brought forth without any to pity it; nor 
 doth it murmur at grief and oppression. It never 
 rejoiceth but through sufferings; for with the world s 
 joy it is murdered. I found it alone being forsaken. 
 I have fellowship therein with them who lived in dens 
 and desolate places of the earth, who through death 
 obtained this resurrection and eternal holy life." 
 
VEESHNOO SARMA 
 
 JULY, 1842 
 
 WE commence in the present number the printing 
 of a series of selections from the oldest ethical and re- 
 ligous writings of men, exclusive of the Hebrew and 
 Greek Scriptures. Each nation has its bible more or 
 less pure ; none has yet been willing or able in a wise 
 and devout spirit to collate its own with those of other 
 nations, and sinking the civil-historical and the ritual 
 portions to bring together the grand expressions of 
 the moral sentiment in different ages and races, the 
 rules for the guidance of life, the bursts of piety and 
 of abandonment to the Invisible and Eternal ; a 
 wprk inevitable sooner or later, and which we hope is 
 to be done by religion and not by literature. 
 
 The following sentences are taken from Charles 
 Wilkins s translation of the Heetopades or Amicable 
 Instructions of Veeshnoo Sarma, according to Sir 
 William Jones, the most beautiful, if not the most an 
 cient collection of apologues in the world, and the 
 original source of the book, which passes in the modern 
 languages of Europe and America, under the false 
 name of Pilpay. 
 
 EXTRACTS FROM THE HEETOPADES OF VEESHNOO 
 
 SARMA 
 
 Whatsoever cometh to pass, either good or evil, 
 is the consequence of a man s own actions, and de- 
 scendeth from the power of the Supreme Ruler. 
 
 65 
 
66 VEESHNOO SARMA 
 
 Our lives are for the purposes of religion, labor, 
 love, and salvation. If these are destroyed, what is 
 not lost? If these are preserved, what is not pre 
 served? 
 
 A wise man should relinquish both his wealth and 
 his life for another. All is to be surrendered for a 
 just man when he is reduced to the brink of destruc 
 tion^ 
 
 Why dost thou hesitate over this perishable body 
 composed of flesh, bones, and excrements? O my 
 friend, \my body,} support my reputation! 
 
 If constancy is to be obtained by inconstancy, pu 
 rity by impurity, reputation by the body, then what 
 is there which may not be obtained? 
 
 The difference between the body and the qualities 
 is infinite; the body is a thing to be destroyed in a 
 moment, whilst the qualities endure to the end of the 
 creation. 
 
 Is this one of us, or is he a stranger? is the enumera 
 tion of the ungenerous; but to those by whom liber 
 ality is practised, the whole world is but as one 
 family. 
 
 Fortune attendeth that lion amongst men who ex- 
 erteth himself. They are weak men who declare Fate 
 the sole cause. 
 
 It is said, Fate is nothing but the deeds committed 
 in a former state of existence; wherefore it behoveth 
 a man vigilantly to exert the powers he is possessed 
 of. 
 
VEESHNOO SARMA 67 
 
 The stranger, who turneth away from a house with 
 disappointed hopes, leaveth there his own offences 
 and departeth, taking with him all the good actions 
 of the owner. 
 
 Hospitality is to be exercised even towards an 
 enemy when he cometh to thine house. The tree does 
 not withdraw its shade even from the wood-cutter. 
 
 Of all men thy guest is the superior. 
 
 The mind of a good man does not alter when he is 
 in distress; the waters of the ocean are not to be 
 heated by a torch of straw. 
 
 Nor bathing with cool water, nor a necklace of 
 pearls, nor anointing with sanders, yieldeth such com 
 fort to the body oppressed with heat, as the language 
 of a good man cheerfully uttered doth to the mind. 
 
 Good men extend their pity even unto the most 
 despicable animals. The moon doth not withhold the 
 light, even from the cottage of a Chandala. 
 
 Those who have forsaken the killing of all; those 
 who are helpmates to all; those who are a sanctuary 
 to all ; those men are in the way to heaven. 
 
 Behold the difference between the one who eateth 
 flesh, and him to whom it belonged. The first hath a 
 momentary enjoyment, whilst the latter is deprived 
 of existence. 
 
 Who would commit so great a crime against a poor 
 animal, who is fed only by the herbs which grow wild 
 in the woods, and whose belly is burnt up with hunger? 
 
68 VEESHNOO SARMA 
 
 Every book of knowledge, which is known to Oos- 
 ana or to Vreehaspatee, is by nature planted in the 
 understanding of women. 
 
 The beauty of the Kokeela is his voice ; the beauty 
 of a wife is constancy to her husband; the beauty of 
 the ill-favored is science ; the beauty of the penitent is 
 patience. 
 
 What is too great a load for those who have 
 strength? What is distance to the indefatigable? 
 What is a foreign country to those who have science? 
 Who is a stranger to those who have the habit of 
 speaking kindly? 
 
 Time drinketh up the essence of every great and 
 noble action, which ought to be performed and is de 
 layed in the execution. 
 
 When Nature is forsaken by her lord, be she ever 
 so great, she doth not survive. 
 
 Suppose thyself a river, and a holy pilgrimage in 
 the land of Bharata, of which truth is the water, good 
 actions the banks, and compassion the current; and 
 then, O son of Pandoo, wash thyself therein, for 
 the inward soul is not to be purified by common 
 water. 
 
 As frogs to the pool, as birds to a lake full of water, 
 so doth every species of wealth flow to the hands of 
 him who exerteth himself. 
 
 If we are rich with the riches which we neither 
 give nor enjoy, we are rich with the riches which are 
 buried in the caverns of the earth. 
 
VEESHNOO SARMA 69 
 
 He whose mind is at ease is possessed of all riches. 
 Is it not the same to one whose foot is enclosed in a 
 shoe, as if the whole surface of the earth were covered 
 with leather? 
 
 Where have they, who are running here and there 
 in search of riches, such happiness as those placid 
 spirits enjoy who are gratified at the immortal foun 
 tain of happiness? 
 
 All hath heen read, all hath been heard, and all 
 hath been followed by him who, having put hope be 
 hind him, dependeth not upon expectation. 
 
 What is religion? Compassion for all things which 
 have life. What is happiness? To animals in this 
 world, health. What is kindness? A principle in the 
 good. What is philosophy? An entire separation 
 from the world. 
 
 To a hero of sound mind, what is his own, and what 
 a foreign country? Wherever he halteth, that place 
 is acquired by the splendor of his arms. 
 
 When pleasure is arrived, it is worthy of attention; 
 when trouble presenteth itself, the same; pains and 
 pleasures have their revolutions like a wheel. 
 
 One, although not possessed of a mine of gold, may 
 find the offspring of his own nature, that noble ardor 
 which hath for its object the accomplishment of the 
 whole assemblage of virtues. 
 
 Man should not be over-anxious for a subsistence, 
 for it is provided by the Creator. The infant no 
 
70 VEESHNOO SARMA 
 
 sooner droppeth from the womb, than the breasts of 
 the mother begin to stream. 
 
 He, by whom geese were made white, parrots are 
 stained green, and peacocks painted of various hues, 
 even he will provide for their support. 
 
 He, whose inclination turneth away from an object, 
 may be said to have obtained it. 
 
FOURIERISM AND THE SOCIALISTS 
 
 JULY, 1842 
 
 THE increasing zeal and numbers of the disciples of 
 Fourier, in America and in Europe, entitle them to an 
 attention which their theory and practical projects 
 will justify and reward. In London, a good weekly 
 newspaper (lately changed into a monthly journal) 
 called " The Phalanx," devoted to the social doctrines 
 of Charles Fourier, and bearing for its motto, " Asso 
 ciation and Colonization," is edited by Hugh Doherty. 
 Mr. Etzler s inventions, as described in the Phalanx, 
 promise to cultivate twenty thousand acres with the 
 aid of four men only and cheap machinery. Thus the 
 laborers are threatened with starvation, if they do not 
 organize themselves into corporations, so that ma 
 chinery may labor for instead of working against 
 them. It appears that Mr. Young, an Englishman 
 of large property, has purchased the Benedictine 
 Abbey of Citeaux, in the Mont d Or, in France, with 
 its ample domains, for the purpose of establishing a 
 colony there. We also learn that some members of 
 the sect have bought an estate at Santa Catharina, 
 fifty miles from Rio Janeiro, in a good situation for 
 an agricultural experiment, and one hundred laborers 
 have sailed from Havre to that port, and nineteen 
 hundred more are to follow. On the anniversary of 
 the birthday of Fourier, w r hich occurred in April, 
 public festivals were kept by the Socialists in London, 
 in Paris, and in New York. In the city of New 
 York, the disciples of Fourier have bought a column 
 
 71 
 
72 FOURIERISM 
 
 in the Daily Tribune, Horace Greeley s excellent 
 newspaper, whose daily and weekly circulation ex 
 ceeds twenty thousand copies, and through that organ 
 are now diffusing their opinions. 
 
 We had lately an opportunity of learning some 
 thing of these Socialists and their theory from the 
 indefatigable apostle of the sect in New York, Albert 
 Brisbane. Mr. Brisbane pushes his doctrine with 
 all the force of memory, talent, honest faith, and im- 
 portunacy. As we listened to his exposition, it ap 
 peared to us the sublime of mechanical philosophy; 
 for the system was the perfection of arrangement 
 and contrivance. The force of arrangement could no 
 farther go. The merit of the plan was that it was a 
 system; that it had not the partiality and hint-and- 
 f ragment character of most popular schemes, but was 
 coherent and comprehensive of facts to a wonderful 
 degree. It was not daunted by distance, or magni 
 tude, or remoteness of any sort, but strode about na 
 ture with a giant s step, and skipped no fact, but wove 
 its large Ptolemaic web of cycle and epicycle, of pha 
 lanx and phalanstery, with laudable assiduity. Me 
 chanics were pushed so far as fairly to meet spiritual 
 ism. One could not but be struck with strange coinci 
 dences betwixt Fourier and Swedenborg. Genius 
 hitherto has been shamefully misapplied, a mere 
 trifler. It must now set itself to raise the social condi 
 tion of man, and to redress the disorders of the planet 
 he inhabits. The Desert of Sahara, the Campagna di 
 Roma, the frozen polar circles, which by their pesti 
 lential or hot or cold airs poison the temperate re 
 gions, accuse man. Society, concert, co-operation, is 
 the secret of the coming Paradise. By reason of the 
 isolation of men at the present day, all work is drudg 
 ery. By concert, and the allowing each laborer to 
 choose his own work, it becomes pleasure. " Attrac- 
 
FOURIERISM 73 
 
 tive Industry " would speedily subdue, by adventur 
 ous, scientific, and persistent tillage, the pestilential 
 tracts ; would equalize temperature ; give health to the 
 globe, and cause the earth to yield " healthy impon 
 derable fluids " to the solar system, as now it yields 
 noxious fluids. The hyaena, the jackal, the gnat, the 
 bug, the flea, were all beneficent parts of the system; 
 the good Fourier knew what those creatures should 
 have been, had not the mould slipped, through the bad 
 state of the atmosphere, caused, no doubt, by these 
 same vicious imponderable fluids. All these shall be 
 redressed by human culture, and the useful goat, and 
 dog, and innocent poetical moth, or the wood-tick to 
 consume decomposing wood, shall take their place. 
 It takes 1680 men to make one Man, complete in all 
 the faculties; that is, to be sure that you have got a 
 good joiner, a good cook, a barber, a poet, a judge, an 
 umbrella-maker, a mayor and aldermen, and so on. 
 Your community should consist of 2000 persons, to 
 prevent accidents of omission; and each community 
 should take up 6000 acres of land. Now fancy the 
 earth planted with fifties and hundreds of these pha 
 lanxes side by side, what tillage, what architecture, 
 what refectories, what dormitories, what reading 
 rooms, what concerts, what lectures, what gardens, 
 what baths! What is not in one, will be in another, 
 and many will be within easy distance. Then know 
 you and all, that Constantinople is the natural capital 
 of the globe. There, in the Golden Horn, will be the 
 Arch-Phalanx established, there will the Omniarch 
 reside. Aladdin and his magician, or the beautiful 
 Scheherzarade, can alone in these prosaic times, be 
 fore the sight, describe the material splendors col 
 lected there. Poverty shall be abolished; deformity, 
 stupidity, and crime shall be no more. Genius, grace, 
 art, shall abound, and it is not to be doubted but that, 
 
74 FOUBIERISM 
 
 in the reign of " Attractive Industry," all men will 
 speak in blank verse. 
 
 Certainly we listened with great pleasure to such 
 gay and magnificent pictures. The ability and earn 
 estness of the advocate and his friends, the compre 
 hensiveness of their theory, its apparent directness 
 of proceeding to the end they would secure, the indig 
 nation they felt and uttered at all other speculation 
 in the presence of so much social misery, commanded 
 our attention and respect. It contained so much 
 truth, and promised in the attempts that shall be 
 made to realize it so much valuable instruction, that 
 we are engaged to observe every step of its progress. 
 Yet in spite of the assurances of its friends, that it 
 was new and widely discriminated from all other plans 
 for the regeneration of society we could not exempt it 
 from the criticism which we apply to so many projects 
 for reform with which the brain of the age teems. 
 Our feeling was, that Fourier had skipped no fact but 
 one, namely, Life. He treats man as a plastic thing, 
 something that may be put up or down, ripened or re 
 tarded, moulded, polished, made into solid, or fluid, 
 or gas, at the will of the leader ; or, perhaps, as a vege 
 table, from which, though now a poor crab, a very 
 good peach can by manure and exposure be in time 
 produced, but skips the faculty of life, which spawns 
 and scorns system and system-makers, which eludes 
 all conditions, which makes or supplants a thousand 
 phalanxes and New-Harmonies with each pulsation. 
 There is an order in which in a sound mind the facul 
 ties always appear, and which, according to the 
 strength of the individual, they seek to realize in the 
 surrounding world. The value of Fourier s system is 
 that it is a statement of such an order externized, or 
 carried outward into its correspondence in facts. The 
 mistake is, that this particular order and series is to 
 
FOURIERISM 75 
 
 be imposed by force of preaching and votes on all 
 men, and carried into rigid execution. But what is 
 true and good must not only be begun by life, but 
 must be conducted to its issues by life. Could not the 
 conceiver of this design have also believed that a simi 
 lar model lay in every mind, and that the method of 
 each associate might be trusted, as well as that of 
 his particular Committee and General Office, No. 
 200 Broadway? nay, that it would be better to say, let 
 us be lovers and servants of that which is just; and 
 straightaway every man becomes a centre of a holy 
 and beneficent republic, which he sees to include all 
 men in its law, like that of Plato, and of Christ. Be 
 fore such a man the whole world becomes Fourierized 
 or Christized or humanized, and in the obedience to his 
 most private being, he finds himself, according to his 
 presentiment, though against all sensuous probability, 
 acting in strict concert with all others who followed 
 their private light. 
 
 Yet in a day of small, sour, and fierce schemes, one 
 is admonished and cheered by a project of such 
 friendly aims, and of such bold and generous propor 
 tion; there is an intellectual courage and strength in 
 it, which is superior and commanding: it certifies the 
 presence of so much truth in the theory, and in so far 
 is destined to be fact. 
 
 But now, whilst we write these sentences, comes to 
 us a paper from Mr. Brisbane himself. We are glad 
 of the opportunity of letting him speak for himself. 
 He has much more to say than we have hinted, and 
 here has treated a general topic. We have not room 
 for quite all the matter which he has sent us, but per 
 suade ourselves that we have retained every material 
 statement, in spite of the omissions which we find it 
 necessary to make, to contract his paper to so much 
 room as we offered him. 
 
76 FOURIERISM 
 
 Mr. Brisbane, in a prefatory note to his article, an 
 nounces himself as an advocate of the Social Laws 
 discovered by CHARLES FOURIER, and iirtimates that 
 he wishes to connect whatever value attaches to any 
 statement of his, with the work in which he is exclu 
 sively engaged, that of Social Reform. He adds the 
 following broad and generous declaration. 
 
 " It seems to me that, with the spectacle of the 
 present misery and degradation of the human race 
 before us, all scientific researches and speculations, to 
 be of any real value, should have a bearing upon the 
 means of their social elevation and happiness. The 
 mass of scientific speculations, which are every day 
 offered to the world by men, who are not animated by 
 a deep interest in the elevation of their race, and who 
 exercise their talents merely to build up systems, or to 
 satisfy a spirit of controversy, or personal ambition, 
 are perfectly valueless. What is more futile than 
 barren philosophical speculation, that leads to no 
 great practical results? " 
 
INTELLIGENCE 
 
 JULY, 1842 
 
 Exploring Expedition. The United States Cor 
 vette Vincennes, Captain Charles Wilkes, the flag 
 ship of the Exploring Expedition, arrived at New 
 York on Friday, June 10th, from a cruise of nearly 
 four years. The Brigs Porpoise and Oregon may 
 shortly be expected. The Expedition has executed 
 every part of the duties confided to it by the Govern 
 ment. A long list of ports, harbors, islands, reefs, and 
 shoals, named in the list, have been visited and ex 
 amined or surveyed. The positions assigned on the 
 charts to several vigias, reefs, shoals, and islands, have 
 been carefully looked for, run over, and found to have 
 no existence in or near the places assigned them. 
 Several of the principal groups and islands in the 
 Pacific Ocean have been visited, examined, and sur 
 veyed; and friendly intercourse, and protective com 
 mercial regulations, established with the chiefs and na 
 tives. The discoveries in the Antarctic Ocean (Ant 
 arctic continent, observations for fixing the South 
 ern Magnetic pole, &c. ) preceded those of the French 
 and English expeditions. The Expedition, during its 
 absence, has also examined and surveyed a large por 
 tion of the Oregon Territory, a part of Upper Cali 
 fornia, including the Columbia and Sacramento 
 Rivers, with their various tributaries. Several explor 
 ing parties from the Squadron have explored, exam 
 ined, and fixed those portions of the Oregon Terri 
 tory least known. A map of the Territory, embra- 
 
 77 
 
78 INTELLIGENCE 
 
 cing its Rivers, Sounds, Harbors, Coasts, Forts, &c., 
 has been prepared, which will furnish the information 
 relative to our possessions on the Northwest Coast, 
 and the whole of Oregon. Experiments have been 
 made with the pendulum, magnetic apparatus, and 
 various other instruments, on all occasions, the 
 temperature of the ocean, at various depths, ascer 
 tained in the different seas traversed, and full meteor 
 ological and other observations kept up during the 
 cruise. Charts of all the surveys have been made, with 
 views and sketches of headlands, towns or villages, 
 &c., with descriptions of all that appertains to the 
 localities, productions, language, customs, and man 
 ners. At some of the islands, this duty has been at 
 tended with much labor, exposure, and risk of life, 
 the treacherous character of the natives rendering 
 it absolutely necessary that the officers and men should 
 be armed, while on duty, and at all times prepared 
 against their murderous attacks. On several occa 
 sions, boats have been absent from the different ves 
 sels of the Squadron on surveying duty, (the greater 
 part of which has been performed in boats,) among 
 islands, reefs, &c., for a period of ten, twenty, and 
 thirty days at one time. On one of these occasions, 
 two of the officers were killed at the Fiji group, while 
 defending their boat s crew from an attack by the Na 
 tives. 
 
 Association of State Geologists. After holding an 
 nual meetings in New York and Philadelphia, the 
 Geologists assembled in April of this year in Boston, 
 to the number of f o rty, from the most distant points 
 of the Union. Members were present from Natchez 
 and Iowa. Mr. Lyell from London was present. 
 From we know not what inadvertence, the notice of 
 so unusual a scientific union failed to reach the ancient 
 ears of the University, at three miles distance. 
 
INTELLIGENCE 79 
 
 Neither its head nor its members, neither the pro 
 fessor of Geology nor the professor of Physics arrived 
 to welcome these pilgrims of science, from the far 
 East and the far West, to the capital and University 
 of New England. The public Address was made by 
 Mr. Silliman, and reports and debates of the most 
 animated and various interest, by the Messrs. Rogers 
 of Pennsylvania and of Virginia, Dr. Morton of 
 Philadelphia, and others, a full report of which is in 
 the course of publication. The next annual meeting 
 is to be holden in Albany, N. Y. 
 
 Harvard University. The Chair of Natural His 
 tory, vacant since the resignation of Mr. Nuttall, is 
 filled by the appointment of Asa Gray, M. D., known 
 to the botanists as the associate of Mr. Torrey of New 
 York. In the Divinity College, the Chair of Pulpit 
 Eloquence and Pastoral Care, vacant by the resigna 
 tion of Henry Ware, Jr., is to be filled by Dr. Convers 
 Francis. A generous subscription by several friends 
 of the College has resulted in a fund of more than 20,- 
 000 dollars for the purchase of books for the College 
 Library. The College has also received a bequest 
 which promises at a future day to be a valuable 
 foundation. Benjamin Bussey, Esq. has provided in 
 his will for the application of the income of his prop 
 erty to the benefit of certain heirs therein named. At 
 the decease of the survivor of them, and subject to 
 the payment of any annuities then existing, he gives 
 all his property to Harvard University for the fol 
 lowing purposes. His Estate in Boxbury is to be 
 held forever as a Seminary for " instruction in practi 
 cal agriculture, in useful and ornamental gardening, 
 in botany, and in such other branches of natural 
 science, as may tend to promote a knowledge of prac 
 tical agriculture, and the various arts subservient 
 thereto, and connected therewith." The government 
 
80 INTELLIGENCE 
 
 of the University is also " to cause such courses of 
 lectures to be delivered there, at such seasons of the 
 year and under such regulations as they may think 
 best adapted to promote the ends designed; and also 
 to furnish gratuitous aid, if they shall think it expe 
 dient, to such meritorious persons as may resort there 
 for instruction." One half of the net income of his 
 property is to be appropriated to maintain that insti 
 tution; and the residue of the income is to be divided 
 equally between the Divinity School and the Law 
 School of the University. Mr. Bussey s property is 
 estimated at not less than three hundred and fifty 
 thousand dollars. 
 
 On the subject of the University we cannot help 
 wishing that a change will one day be adopted which 
 will put an end to the foolish bickering between the 
 government and the students, which almost every year 
 breaks out into those uncomfortable fracases which 
 are called " Rebellions." Cambridge is so well en 
 dowed, and offers such large means of education, that 
 it can easily assume the position of an University, and 
 leave to the numerous younger Colleges the charge 
 of pupils too young to be trusted from home. This 
 is instantly effected by the Faculty s confining itself 
 to the office of Instruction, and omitting to assume the 
 office of Parietal Government. Let the College pro 
 vide the best teachers in each department, and for a 
 stipulated price receive the pupil to its lecture-rooms 
 and libraries; but in the matter of morals and man 
 ners, leave the student to his own conscience, and if he 
 is a bad subject to the ordinary police. This course 
 would have the effect of keeping back pupils from 
 College, a year or two, or, in some cases, of bringing 
 the parents or guardians of the pupil to reside in Cam 
 bridge; but it would instantly destroy the root of end 
 less grievances between the student and teacher, put 
 
INTELLIGENCE 81 
 
 both parties on the best footing, indispensable, one 
 would say, to good teaching, and relieve the pro 
 fessors of an odious guardianship, always degenera 
 ting into espionage, which must naturally indispose 
 men of genius and honorable mind from accepting 
 the professor s chair. 
 
 From London we have Mr. Wordsworth s new vol 
 ume of poems, which is not a bookseller s book, but 
 a poet s book. We have read them all with great 
 content, and very willingly forgave the poet for wri 
 ting against the abolition of capital punishment, for 
 the sake of the self-respect and truth to his own char 
 acter, which the topic and the treatment evinced. We 
 should say the same thing of his sonnet levelled at 
 Mr. Thomas Carlyle. But the name of Wordsworth 
 reminds us of another matter far less pleasant than 
 poetry, namely, the profligate course recently adopted 
 by some of the States of the Union in relation to their 
 public debt. The following is an extract from a letter 
 of Mr. Wordsworth to Bishop Doane of New Jersey. 
 " The proceedings of some of the States in your coun 
 try, in money concerns, and the shock which is given 
 to the credit of the State of Pennsylvania, have caused 
 much trouble under our roof, by the injury done to 
 some of my most valuable connexions and friends. I 
 am not personally and directly a sufferer; but my 
 brother, if the State of Pennsylvania should fail to 
 fulfil its engagements, would lose almost all the little 
 savings of his long and generous life. My daughter, 
 through the perfidy of the State of Mississippi, has 
 forfeited a sum, though but small in itself, large for 
 her means ; a great portion of my most valued friends 
 have to lament their misplaced confidence. Topics 
 of this kind are not pleasant to dwell upon, but the 
 more extensively the injury is made known, the more 
 likely is it, that where any remains of integrity, honor, 
 
82 INTELLIGENCE 
 
 or even common humanity exist, efforts will be made 
 to set and keep things right." We have learned also 
 with mortification that John Sterling, whose poems 
 have been lately reprinted in this country, had in 
 vested 2000 in the worthless stock of the Morris 
 Canal Company, and later, that Mr. Carlyle had in 
 vested $1000 in stock of the State of Illinois, which 
 presently proved worthless. In this way the heavens 
 have taken care that the character of our rotten public 
 stocks and the doctrine of " Repudiation " shall be 
 damned to fame. 
 
 Alfred Tennyson, moved by being informed of his 
 American popularity, has given himself to the labor 
 of revising and reprinting a selection of his old poems, 
 and adding as many new ones, which he has sent to 
 Mr. Wheeler of Harvard University, who is repub- 
 lishing them here. 
 
 Henry Taylor, too, the author of Van Artevelde, 
 announces a new dramatic poem in press in London. 
 John Sterling is still engaged on a tragedy, " Straf- 
 ford," which should have been finished before this 
 time, but for the ill health of the poet, which has 
 driven him to the south of Italy. Thomas Carlyle is 
 understood to be engaged on the Life of Oliver 
 Cromwell. 
 
 Berlin. From Berlin, " The City of Criticism," we 
 learned, in the past months, that the king of Prussia 
 was gathering around him a constellation of men of 
 science. The city was already the residence of Hum- 
 boldt, of Bettine von Arnim, of Raumer, of Ranke, of 
 Ritter, and of Ehrenberg. G. F. Waagen is director 
 of the Royal Gallery; and now Cornelius, the great 
 fresco painter ; Ruckert, the poet ; Tholuck, the theo- 
 
INTELLIGENCE 83 
 
 logian;* and, greatest of all, Schelling, from Munich, 
 are there. The king is discontented with the Hegel 
 influence, which has predominated at Berlin, and, we 
 regret to say, set himself to suppress the " Hallische 
 Jahrbucher; " which, though published at Halle, de 
 pended for its support mainly on Berlin. With this 
 view, also, he summons the great Schelling, now 
 nearly seventy years old, to lecture on the Philosophy 
 of Revelation. We have private accounts of this lec 
 tures, which began in the last November. The lecture 
 room was crowded to suffocation; the pale professor, 
 whose face resembles that of Socrates, was greeted 
 with thunders of acclamation, but he remained pale 
 and unmoved as if in his own study, and apparently 
 quite unconscious that he was making a new epoch in 
 German history. His first lecture has been published 
 at Berlin. Such are the social and aesthetic attractions 
 of this city, that it is said to acquire a new population 
 of six thousand souls every year, by the residence of 
 travellers, who are arrested by its music, its theatre, 
 and the arts. 
 
ENGLISH REFORMERS 
 
 OCTOBER, 1842 
 
 WHILST Mr. Sparks visits England to explore 
 the manuscripts of the Colonial Office, and Dr. 
 Waagen on a mission of Art, Mr. Alcott, whose 
 genius and efforts in the great art of Education have 
 been more appreciated in England than in America, 
 has now been spending some months in that country, 
 with the aim to confer with the most eminent Edu 
 cators and philanthropists, in the hope to exchange 
 intelligence, and import into this country whatever 
 hints have been struck out there, on the subject of 
 literature and the First Philosophy. The design 
 was worthy, and its first results have already reached 
 us. Mr. Alcott was received 1 with great cordiality 
 of joy and respect by his friends in London, and 
 presently found himself domesticated at an institu 
 tion, managed on his own methods and called after 
 his name, the School of Mr. Wright at Alcott House, 
 Ham, Surrey. He was introduced to many men of 
 literary and philanthropic distinction, and his arrival 
 was made the occasion of meetings for public con 
 versation on the great ethical questions of the 
 day. 
 
 Mr. Alcott s mission, beside making us acquainted 
 with the character and labors of some excellent per 
 sons, has loaded our table with a pile of English books, 
 pamphlets, periodicals, flying prospectuses, and ad 
 vertisements, proceeding from a class very little 
 known in this country, and on many accounts impor- 
 
 84 
 
ENGLISH REFORMERS 85 
 
 tant, the party, namely, who represent Social Reform. 
 Here are Educational Circulars, and Communist 
 Apostles; Alists; Plans for Syncretic Associations, 
 and Pestalozzian Societies, Self-supporting Institu 
 tions, Experimental Normal Schools, Hydropathic 
 and Philosophical 1 Associations, Health Unions and 
 Phalansterian Gazettes, Paradises within the reach 
 of all men, Appeals of Man to Woman, and Neces 
 sities of Internal Marriage illustrated by Phrenolog 
 ical Diagrams. These papers have many sins to 
 answer for. There is an abundance of superficialness, 
 of pedantry, of inflation, and of want of thought. It 
 seems as if these sanguine schemers rushed to the 
 press with every notion that danced before their brain, 
 and clothed it in the most clumsily compounded and 
 terminated words, for want of time to find the right 
 one. But although these men sometimes use a swollen 
 and vicious diction, yet they write to ends which raise 
 them out of the jurisdiction of ordinary criticism. 
 They speak to the conscience, and have that superi 
 ority over the crowd of their contemporaries, which 
 belongs to men who entertain a good hope. More 
 over, these pamphlets may well engage the attention 
 of the politician, as straws of no mean significance 
 to show the tendencies of the time. 
 
 Mr. Alcott s visit has brought us nearer to a class 
 of Englishmen, with whom we had already some 
 slight but friendly correspondence, who possess points 
 of so much attraction for us, that we shall proceed 
 to give a short account both of what we already knew, 
 and what we have lately learned, concerning them. 
 The central figure in the group is a very remarkable 
 person, who for many years, though living in great 
 retirement, has made himself felt by many of the 
 best and ablest men in England and in Europe, we 
 mean James Pierrepont Greaves, who died at Alcott- 
 
86 ENGLISH REFORMERS 
 
 House in the month of March of this year. Mr. 
 Greaves was formerly a wealthy merchant in the city 
 of London, but was deprived of his property by 
 French spoliations in Napoleon s time. Quitting busi 
 ness, he travelled and resided for some time in Ger 
 many. His leisure was given to books of the deepest 
 character; and in Switzerland he found a brother in 
 Pestalozzi. With him he remained ten years, living 
 abstemiously, almost on biscuit and water; and 
 though they never learned each the other s language, 
 their daily intercourse appears to have been of the 
 deepest and happiest kind. Mr. Greaves there made 
 himself useful in a variety of ways. Pestalozzi de 
 clared that Mr. Greaves understood his aim and 
 methods better than any other observer. And he 
 there became acquainted with some eminent persons. 
 Mr. Greaves on his return to England introduced as 
 much as he could of the method and life, whose beau 
 tiful and successful operations he had witnessed ; and 
 although almost all that he did was misunderstood, or 
 dragged downwards, he has been a chief instrument 
 in the regeneration in the British schools. For a sin 
 gle and unknown individual his influence has been 
 extensive. He set on foot Infant Schools, and was 
 for many years Secretary to the Infant School Soci 
 ety, which office brought him in contact with many 
 parties, and he has connected himself with almost 
 every effort for human emancipation. In this work 
 he was engaged up to the time of his death. His long 
 and active career developed his own faculties and 
 powers in a wonderful manner. At his house, No. 49 
 Burton Street, London, he was surrounded by men 
 of open and accomplished minds, and his doors were 
 thrown open weekly for meetings for the discussion 
 of universal subjects. In the last years he has resided 
 at Cheltenham, arid visited Stockport for the sake of 
 
ENGLISH REFORMERS 87 
 
 acquainting himself with the Socialists and their 
 methods. 
 
 His active and happy career continued nearly to 
 the seventieth year, with heart and head unimpaired 
 and undaunted, his eyes and other faculties sound, 
 except his lower limbs, which suffered from his seden 
 tary occupation of writing. For nearly thirty-six 
 years he abstained from all fermented drinks, and all 
 animal food. In the last years he dieted almost wholly 
 on fruit. The private correspondent, from whose ac 
 count, written two years ago, we have derived our 
 sketch, proceeds in these words. " Through evil re 
 ports, revilings, seductions, and temptations many 
 and severe, the Spirit has not let him go, but has 
 strongly and securely held him, in a manner not often 
 witnessed. New consciousness opens to him every 
 day. His literary abilities would not be by critics en 
 titled to praise, nor does he speak with what is called 
 eloquence ; but as he is so much the * lived word/ I 
 have described, there is found a potency in all he 
 writes and all he says, which belongs not to beings 
 less devoted to the Spirit. Supplies of money have 
 come to him as fast, or nearly as fast as required, and 
 at all events his serenity was never disturbed on this 
 account, unless when it has happened that, having 
 more than his expenses required, he has volunteered 
 extraneous expenditures. He has been, I consider, a 
 great apostle of the Newness to many, even when 
 neither he nor they knew very clearly what was going 
 forward. Thus inwardly married, he has remained 
 outwardly a bachelor." 
 
 Mr. Greaves is described to us by another corre 
 spondent as being " the soul of his circle, a prophet of 
 whom the world heard nothing, but who has quickened 
 much of the thought now current in the most intellec 
 tual circles of the kingdom. He was acquainted with 
 
88 ENGLISH REFORMERS 
 
 every man of deep character in England, and many 
 both in Germany and Switzerland; and Strauss, the 
 author of the Life of Christ/ was a pupil of Mr. 
 Greaves, when he held conversations in one of the 
 Colleges of Germany, after leaving Pestalozzi. A 
 most remarkable man; nobody remained the same 
 after leaving him. He was the prophet of the deepest 
 affirmative truths, and no man ever sounded his 
 depths. The best of the thought in the London 
 Monthly Magazine was the transcript of his Idea. 
 He read and wrote much, chiefly in the manner of 
 Coleridge, with pen in hand, in the form of notes on 
 the text of his author. But, like Boehmen and Swe- 
 denborg, neither his thoughts nor his writings were 
 for the popular mind. His favorites were the chosen 
 illuminated minds of all time, and with them he was 
 familiar. His library is the most select and rare which 
 I have seen, including most of the books which we 
 have sought with so ill success on our side of the 
 water." * 
 
 His favorite dogma was the superiority of Being to 
 
 1 The following notice of Mr. Greaves occurs in Mr. Morgan s 
 " Hampden in the Nineteenth Century." " The gentleman whom 
 he met at the school was Mr. J. P. Greaves, at that time Honor 
 ary Secretary to the Infant School Society, and a most active and 
 disinterested promoter of the system. He had resided for 
 three (?) years with Pestalozzi, who set greater value upon right 
 feelings and rectitude of conduct, than upon the acquisition of 
 languages. A collection of highly interesting letters, addressed 
 to this gentleman by Pestalozzi on the subject of education, has 
 been published. Among the numerous advocates for various im 
 provements, there was not one who exceeded him in personal 
 sacrifices to what he esteemed a duty. At the same time he had 
 some peculiar opinions, resembling the German mystical and 
 metaphysical speculations, hard to be understood, and to which 
 few in general are willing to listen, and still fewer to subscribe; 
 but his sincerity, and the kindness of his disposition always se 
 cured for him a patient hearing." Vol. II. p. 22. 
 
ENGLISH REFORMERS 89 
 
 all knowing and doing. Association on a high basis 
 was his ideal for the present conjuncture. " I hear 
 every one crying out for association," said he; " I join 
 in the cry; but then I say, associate first with the 
 Spirit, educate for this spirit-association; and far 
 more will follow than we have as yet any idea of. 
 Nothing good can be done without association; but 
 then we must associate with goodness ; and this good 
 ness is the spirit-nature, without which all our socie- 
 tarian efforts will be turned to corruption. Educa 
 tion has hitherto been all outward; it must now be 
 inward. The educator must keep in view that which 
 elevates man, and not the visible exterior world." 
 We have the promise of some extracts from the wri 
 tings of this great man, which we hope shortly to 
 offer to the readers of this Journal. His friend, Mr. 
 Lane, is engaged in arranging and editing his manu 
 script remains. 
 
 Mr. Heraud, a poet and journalist, chiefly known 
 in this country as the editor for two years of the 
 (London) Monthly Magazine, a disciple, in earlier 
 years, of Coleridge, and by nature and taste contem 
 plative and inclined to a mystical philosophy, was a 
 friend and associate of Mr. Greaves ; and for the last 
 years has been more conspicuous than any other writer 
 in that connexion of opinion. The Monthly Mag 
 azine, during his editorship, really was conducted in a 
 bolder and more creative spirit than any other British 
 Journal; and though papers on the highest transcen 
 dental themes were found in odd vicinity with the 
 lowest class of flash and so-called comic tales, yet a 
 necessity, we suppose, of British taste made these 
 strange bed-fellows acquainted, and Mr. Heraud had 
 done what he could. His papers called " Foreign 
 Aids to Self Intelligence," were of signal merit, espe 
 cially the papers on Boehmen and Swedenborg. The 
 
90 ENGLISH REFORMERS 
 
 last is; we think, the very first adequate attempt to 
 do justice to this mystic, by an analysis of his total 
 works; and, though avowedly imperfect, is, as far 
 as it goes, a faithful piece of criticism. We hope that 
 Mr. Heraud, who announces a work in three volumes, 
 called " Foreign Aids to Self Intelligence, designed 
 for an Historical Introduction to the Study of Onto- 
 logical Science, preparatory to a Critique of Pure 
 Being," as now in preparation for the press, and of 
 which, we understand, the Essays in the Monthly 
 Magazine were a part, will be enabled to fulfil his 
 design. Mr. Heraud is described by his friends as the 
 most amiable of men, and a fluent and popular lec 
 turer on the affirmative philosophy. He has recently 
 intimated a wish to cross the Atlantic, and read in 
 Bloston a course of six lectures, on the subject of 
 Christism as distinct from Christianity. 
 
 One of the best contributors to Mr. Heraud s Mag 
 azine was Mr. J. Westland Marston. The papers 
 marked with his initials are the most eloquent in the 
 book. We have greatly regretted their discontinu 
 ance, and have hailed him again in his new appearance 
 as a dramatic author. Mr. Marston is a writer of sin 
 gular purity of taste, with a heart very open to the 
 moral impulses, and in his settled conviction, like all 
 persons of a high poetic nature, the friend of a uni 
 versal reform, beginning in education. His thought 
 on that subject is, that " it is only by teachers becom 
 ing men of genius, that a nobler position can be se 
 cured to them." At the same time he seems to share 
 that disgust, which men of fine taste so quickly enter 
 tain in regard to the language and methods of that 
 class with which their theory throws them into corre 
 spondence, and to be continually attracted through his 
 taste to the manners and persons of the aristocracy, 
 whose selfishness and frivolity displease and repel him 
 
ENGLISH REFORMERS 91 
 
 again. Mr. Marston has lately written a Tragedy, 
 called " The Patrician s Daughter," which we have 
 read with great pleasure, barring always the fatal pre 
 scription, which in England seems to mislead every 
 fine poet to attempt the drama. It must be the read 
 ing of tragedies that fills them with this superstition 
 for the buskin and the pall, and not a sympathy with 
 existing nature and the spirit of the age. The Patri 
 cian s Daughter is modern in its plot and characters; 
 perfectly simple in its style; the dialogue is full of 
 spirit, and the story extremely well told. We confess, 
 as we drew out this bright pamphlet from amid the 
 heap of crude declamation on Marriage and Educa 
 tion, on Dietetics and Hydropathy, on Chartism and 
 Socialism, grim tracts on flesh-eating and dram-drink 
 ing, we felt the glad refreshment of its sense and 
 melody, and thanked the fine office which speaks to 
 the imagination, and paints with electric pencil a new 
 form, new forms on the lurid cloud. Although 
 the vengeance of Mordaunt strikes us as overstrained, 
 yet his character, and the growth of his fortunes is 
 very natural, and is familiar to English experience, 
 in the Thurlows, Burkes, Foxes, and Cannings. The 
 Lady Mabel is finely drawn. Pity that the catastro 
 phe should be wrought by the deliberate lie of Lady 
 Lydia ; for beside that lovers, as they of all men speak 
 the most direct speech, easily pierce the cobwebs of 
 fraud, it is a weak way of making a play, to hinge 
 the crisis on a lie, instead of letting it grow, as in life, 
 out of the faults and conditions of the parties, as, for 
 example, in Goethe s Tasso. On all accounts but one, 
 namely, the lapse of five years between two acts, the 
 play seems to be eminently fit for representation. Mr. 
 Marston is also the author of two tracts on Poetry 
 and Poetic Culture. 
 
 Another member of this circle is Francis Barham, 
 
92 ENGLISH REFORMERS 
 
 the dramatic poet, author of "The Death of 
 Socrates," a tragedy, and other pieces ; also a contrib 
 utor to the Monthly Magazine. To this gentleman 
 we are under special obligations, as he has sent us, 
 with other pamphlets, a manuscript paper " On Amer 
 ican Literature," written with such flowing good will, 
 and with an aim so high, that we must submit some 
 portion of it to our readers. 
 
 " Intensely sympathizing, as I have ever done, with 
 the great community of truth-seekers, I glory in the 
 rapid progress of that Alistic, 1 or divine literature, 
 which they develop and cultivate. To me this Alistic 
 literature is so catholic and universal that it has spread 
 its energies and influences through every age and na- 
 
 1 In explanation of this term, we quote a few sentences from a 
 printed prospectus issued by Mr. Barham. " The Alist; a 
 Monthly Magazine of Divinity and Universal Literature. I have 
 adopted the title of the Alist, or Divine/ for this periodical, 
 because the extension of Divinity and divine truth is its main 
 object. It appears to me, that by a firm adherence to the TO 
 0iov, or divine principle of things, a Magazine may assume a 
 specific character, far more elevated, catholic, and attractive, 
 than the majority of periodicals attain. This Magazine is there 
 fore specially written for those persons who may, without im 
 propriety, be termed Alists, or Divines; those who endeavor to 
 develop Divinity as the grand primary essence of all existence, 
 the element which forms the all in all, the element in which 
 we live, and move, and have our being. Such Alists, (deriving 
 their name from Alah the Hebrew title of God,) are Divines 
 in the highest sense of the word; for they cultivate Alism, or 
 the Divinity of Divinities, as exhibited in all Scripture and na 
 ture, and they extend religious and philanthropical influences 
 through all churches, states, and systems of education. This 
 doctrine of Alism, or the life of God in the soul of man, affords 
 the only prothetic point of union, sufficiently intense and authori 
 tative to unite men in absolute catholicity. In proportion as they 
 cultivate one and the same God in their minds, will their minds 
 necessarily unite and harmonize; but without this is done, per 
 manent harmony is impossible." 
 
ENGLISH REFORMERS 93 
 
 tion, in brighter or obscurer manifestations. It forms 
 the intellectual patrimony of the universe, delivered 
 down from kindling sire to kindling son, through all 
 nations, peoples, and languages. Like the God from 
 whom it springs, on whom it lives, and to whom it 
 returns, this divine literature is ever young, ever old, 
 ever present, ever remote. Like heaven s own sun 
 shine, it adorns all it touches, and it touches all. It is 
 a perfect cosmopolite in essence and in action; it has 
 nothing local or limitary in its nature; it participates 
 the character of the soul from which it emanated. It 
 subsists whole in itself, it is its own place, its own time, 
 nor seeks abroad the life it grants at home; aye, it is 
 an eternal now, an eternal present, at once beginning, 
 middle, and end of every past and every future. 
 
 " It is, I conceive, salutary for us to take this en 
 larged view of literature. We should seek after liter 
 ary perfection in this cosmopolite spirit, and embrace 
 it wherever we find it, as a divine gift; for, in the 
 words of Pope, 
 
 both precepts and example tell 
 That nature s masterpiece is writing well/ 
 
 " So was it with the august and prophetic Milton. 
 To him literature was a universal presence. He re 
 garded it as the common delight and glory of gods 
 and men. He felt that its moral beauty lived and 
 flourished in the large heart of humanity itself, and 
 could never be monopolized by times or places. Most 
 deeply do I think and feel with Milton, when he utters 
 the following words. * What God may have deter 
 mined for me, I know not; but this I know, that if 
 ever he instilled an intense love of moral beauty into 
 the breast of any man, he has instilled it into mine. 
 Hence wherever I find a man despising the false esti 
 mates of the vulgar, and daring to aspire in senti- 
 
94 ENGLISH REFORMERS 
 
 merit and language and conduct to what the highest 
 wisdom through every age has taught us, as most ex 
 cellent, to him I unite myself by a kind of necessary 
 attachment. And if I am so influenced by nature, or 
 destiny, that by no exertions or labors of my own I 
 may exalt myself to this summit of worth and honor, 
 yet no power in heaven or earth will hinder me from 
 looking with reverence and affection upon those, 
 who have thoroughly attained this glory, or appeared 
 engaged in the successful pursuit of it. 
 
 Mr. Barham proceeds to apply this sentiment as 
 analogous to his own sentiment, in respect to the 
 literatures of other nations, but specially to that of 
 America. 
 
 The unity of language unites the literature of 
 Britain and America, in an essential and imperishable 
 marriage, which no Atlantic Ocean can divide. Yes ; 
 I as an Englishman say this, and maintain it. United 
 in language, in literature, in interest, and in blood, I 
 regard the English in England and the English in 
 America as one and the same people, the same magni 
 ficent brotherhood. The fact is owned in the common 
 names by which they are noted ; John and Jonathan, 
 Angles and Yankees, all reecho the fact." 
 
 Mr. Barham proceeds to exhibit the manifold rea 
 sons that enjoin union on the two countries, dep 
 recates the divisions that have sometimes suspended 
 the peace, and continues : 
 
 " Let us rather maintain the generous policy of Mil 
 ton, and with full acclamation of concord recite his 
 inspiring words: 
 
 " Go on both hand in hand, O nations, never to be 
 disunited. Be the praise and the heroic song of all 
 posterity. Merit this, but seek only virtue, not the 
 extension of your limits. For what needs to win a 
 fading triumphal laurel out of the tears of wretched 
 
ENGLISH REFORMERS 95 
 
 men, but to settle the true worship of God and justice 
 in the commonwealth. Then shall the hardest diffi 
 culties smooth themselves out before you, envy shall 
 sink to hell, and craft and malice shall be confounded, 
 whether it be homebred mischief or outlandish cun 
 ning. Yea, other nations will then covet to serve you ; 
 for lordship and victory are but the pages of justice 
 and virtue. Commit securely to true wisdom the 
 vanquishing and uncaging of craft and subtlety, 
 which are but her two runagates. Join your invincible 
 might to do worthy and godlike deeds, and then he 
 that seeks to break your union, a cleaving curse be his 
 inheritance throughout all generations. 
 
 Mr. Barham then proceeds to express his convic 
 tion, that the specific character, which the literature 
 of these countries should aim at, is the Alistic or Di 
 vine. It is only by an aim so high, that an author 
 can reach any excellence. 
 
 " He builds too low who builds beneath the skies." 
 
 But our limits forbid any more extracts from this 
 friendly manuscript at present. 
 
 Another eminent member of this circle is Mr. 
 Charles Lane, for many years manager of the Lon 
 don Mercantile Price Current; a man of a fine intel 
 lectual nature, inspired and hallowed by a prof ounder 
 faith. Mr. Lane is the author of some pieces marked 
 with his initials, in the Monthly Magazine, and of 
 some remarkable tracts. Those which we have seen 
 are, " The Old, the New-Old, and the New; " Tone 
 in Speech;" some papers in a Journal of Health; 
 and last and best, a piece called " The Third Dispen 
 sation," prefixed by way of preface to an English 
 translation of Mme. Gatti de Gamond s " Phalan- 
 sterian," a French book of the Fourier School. In 
 this Essay Mr. Lane considers that History has ex- 
 
96 ENGLISH REFORMERS 
 
 hibited two dispensations, namely, first, the Family 
 Union, or connexion by tribes, which soon appeared 
 to be a disunion or a dispersive principle ; second, the 
 National Union. Both these, though better than the 
 barbarism which they displaced, are themselves bar 
 barism, in contrast with the third, or Universal 
 Union. 
 
 " As man is the uniter in all arrangements which 
 stand below him, and in which the objects could not 
 unite themselves, so man needs a uniter above him, 
 to whom he submits, in the certain incapability of 
 self -union. This uniter, unity, or One, is the premon- 
 itor whence exists the premonition Unity, which so 
 recurrently becomes conscious in man. By a neglect 
 of interior submission, man fails of this antecedent, 
 Unity; and as a consequence his attempts at union 
 by exterior mastery have no success." Certain condi 
 tions are necessary to this, namely, the external ar 
 rangements indispensable for the evolution of the 
 Uniting Spirit can alone be provided by the Uniting 
 Spirit. 
 
 " We seem to be in an endless circle, of which both 
 halves have lost their centre connexion; for it is an 
 operation no less difficult than the junction of two 
 such discs that is requisite to unity. These segments 
 also being in motion, each upon a false centre of its 
 own, the obstacles to union are incalculably multi 
 plied. 
 
 The spiritual or theoretic world in man revolves 
 upon one set of principles, and the practical or ac 
 tual world upon another. In ideality man recognises 
 the purest truths, the highest notions of justice ;- 
 in actuality he departs from all these, and his entire 
 career is confessedly a life of self -falseness and clever 
 injustice. This barren ideality, and this actuality re 
 plete with bitter fruits, are the two hemispheres to be 
 
ENGLISH REFORMERS 97 
 
 united for their mutual completion, and their com 
 mon central point is the reality antecedent to them 
 both. This point is not to be discovered by the rub 
 bing of these two half globes together, by their curved 
 sides, nor even as a school boy would attempt to unite 
 his severed marble by the flat sides. The circle must 
 be drawn anew from reality as a central point, the new 
 radius embracing equally the new ideality and the new 
 actuality. 
 
 " With this newness of love in men there would 
 resplendently shine forth in them a newness of light, 
 and a newness of life, charming the steadiest be 
 holder." Introduction, p. 4. 
 
 The remedy, which Mr. Lane proposes for the exist 
 ing evils, is his " True Harmonic Association." But 
 he more justly confides in " ceasing from doing " 
 than in exhausting efforts at inadequate remedies. 
 " From medicine to medicine is a change from disease 
 to disease ; and man must cease from self -activity, ere 
 the spirit can fill him with truth in mind or health in 
 body. The Civilization is become intensely false, and 
 thrusts the human being into false predicaments. The 
 antagonism of business to all that is high and good 
 and generic is hourly declared by the successful, as 
 well as by the failing. The mercantile system, based 
 on individual aggrandizement, draws men from unity; 
 its swelling columns of figures describe, in pounds, 
 shillings, and pence, the degrees of man s departure 
 from love, from wisdom, from power. The idle are 
 as unhappy as the busy. Whether the dread factory- 
 bell, or the fox-hunter s horn calls to a pursuit more 
 fatal to man s best interests, is an inquiry which ap 
 pears more likely to terminate in the cessation of both, 
 than in a preference of either." 
 
 Mr. Lane does not confound society with sociable- 
 ness. " On the contrary, it is when the sympathy 
 
98 ENGLISH REFORMERS 
 
 with man is the stronger and the truer, that the sym 
 pathy with men grows weaker, and the sympathy with 
 their actions weakest." 
 
 We must content ourselves with these few sentences 
 from Mr. Lane s book, but we shall shortly hear from 
 him again. This is no man of letters, but a man of 
 ideas. Deep opens below deep in his thought, and for 
 the solution of each new problem he recurs, with new 
 success, to the highest truth, to that which is most 
 generous, most simple, and most powerful; to that 
 which cannot be comprehended, or overseen, or ex 
 hausted. His words come to us like the voices of 
 home out of a far country. 
 
 With Mr. Lane is associated in the editorship of a 
 monthly tract, called " The Healthian," and in other 
 kindred enterprises, Mr. Henry G. Wright, who is 
 the teacher of the School at Ham Common, near 
 Richmond, and the author of several tracts on moral 
 and social topics. 
 
 This school is founded on a faith in the presence of 
 the Divine Spirit in man. The teachers say, " that 
 in their first experiments they found they had to deal 
 with a higher nature than the mere mechanical. They 
 found themselves in contact with an essence indefi 
 nably delicate. The great difficulty with relation to 
 the children, with which they were first called to 
 wrestle, was an unwillingness to admit access to their 
 spiritual natures. The teachers felt this keenly. 
 They sought for the cause. They found it in their 
 own hearts. Pure spirit would not, could not hold 
 communion with their corrupted modes. These must 
 be surrendered, and love substituted in lieu of them. 
 The experience was soon made that the primal duty 
 of the educator is entire self -surrender to love. Not 
 partial, not of the individual, but pure, unlimited, uni 
 versal. It is impossible to speak to natures deeper 
 
ENGLISH REFORMERS 99 
 
 than those from which you speak. Reason cries to 
 Reason, Love to Love. Hence the personal elevation 
 of the teacher is of supreme importance." Mr. Al- 
 cott, who may easily be a little partial to an instructor 
 who has adopted cordially his own methods, writes 
 thus of his friend. 
 
 " Mr. Wright is a younger disciple of the same 
 eternal verity, which I have loved and served so long. 
 You have never seen his like, so deep serene, so clear, 
 so true, and so good. His school is a most refreshing 
 and happy place. The children are mostly under 
 twelve years of age, of both sexes; and his art and 
 method of education simple and natural. It seemed 
 like being again in my own school, save that a wiser 
 wisdom directs, and a lovelier love presides over its 
 order and teachings. He is not yet thirty years of 
 age, but he has more genius for education than any 
 man I have seen, and not of children alone, but he 
 possesses the rare art of teaching men and women. 
 What I have dreamed, and stammered, and preached, 
 and prayed about so long, is in him clear and definite. 
 It is life, influence, reality. I flatter myself that I 
 shall bring him with me on my return. He cherishes 
 hopes of making our land the place of his experi 
 ment on human culture, and of proving to others 
 the worth of the divine idea that now fills and exalts 
 him." 
 
 In consequence of Mr. Greaves s persuasion, which 
 seems to be shared by his friends, that the special 
 remedy for the evils of society at the present moment 
 is association; perhaps from a more universal tend 
 ency, which has drawn in many of the best minds in 
 this countiy also to accuse the idealism, which contents 
 itself with the history of the private mind, and to de 
 mand of every thinker the warmest dedication to the 
 race, this class of which we speak are obviously in- 
 
100 ENGLISH REFORMERS 
 
 clined to favor the plans of the Socialists. They ap 
 pear to be in active literary and practical connexion 
 with Mr. Doherty, the intelligent and catholic editor 
 of the London Phalanx, who is described to us as 
 having been a personal friend of Fourier, and himself 
 a man of sanguine temper, but a friend of temperate 
 measures, and willing to carry his points with wise 
 moderation, on one side ; and in friendly relations with 
 Robert Owen, " the philanthropist, who writes in 
 brick and clay, in gardens and green fields, who is a 
 believer in the comforts and humanities of life, and 
 would give these in abundance to all men," although 
 they are widely distinguished from this last in their 
 devout spiritualism. Many of the papers on our table 
 contain schemes and hints for a better social organiza 
 tion, especially the plan of what they call " a Con- 
 cordium, or a Primitive Home, which is about to 
 be commenced by united individuals, who are desirous, 
 under industrial and progressive education, with sim 
 plicity in diet, dress, lodging, &c., to retain the means 
 for the harmonic development of their physical, intel 
 lectual, and moral natures." The institution is to be 
 in the country, the inmates are to be of both sexes, 
 they are to labor on the land, their drink is to be water, 
 and their food chiefly uncooked by fire, and the habits 
 of the members throughout of the same simplicity. 
 Their unity is to be based on their education in a 
 religious love, which subordinates all persons, and 
 perpetually invokes the presence of the spirit in every 
 transaction. It is through this tendency that these 
 gentlemen have been drawn into fellowship with a 
 humbler, but far larger class of their countrymen, of 
 whom Goodwyn Barmby may stand for the repre 
 sentative. 
 
 Mr. Barmby is the editor of a penny magazine, 
 called " The Promethean, or Communitarian Apos- 
 
ENGLISH REFORMERS 101 
 
 tie," published monthly, and, as the covers inform 
 us, " the cheapest of all magazines, and the paper the 
 most devoted of any to the cause of the people; con 
 secrated to Pantheism in Religion, and Communism 
 in Politics." Mr. Barmby is a sort of Camille Des- 
 moulins of British Revolution, a radical poet, with 
 too little fear of grammar and rhetoric before his 
 eyes, with as little fear of the Church or the State, 
 writing often with as much fire, though not with as 
 much correctness, as Ebenezer Elliott. He is the 
 author of a poem called " The European Pariah," 
 which will compare favorably with the Corn-law 
 Rhymes. His paper is of great interest, as it details 
 the conventions, the counsels, the measures of Barmby 
 and his friends, for the organization of a new order 
 of things, totally at war with the establishment. Its 
 importance arises from the fact, that it comes ob 
 viously from the heart of the people. It is a cry of 
 the miner and weaver for bread, for daylight, and 
 fresh air, for space to exist in, and time to catch their 
 breath and rest themselves in; a demand for political 
 suffrage, and the power to tax as a counterpart to the 
 liability of being taxed; a demand for leisure, for 
 learning, for arts and sciences, for the higher social 
 enjoyments. It is one of a cloud of pamphlets in the 
 same temper and from the same quarter, which show 
 a wholly new state of feeling in the body of the British 
 people. In a time of distress among the manufactur 
 ing classes, severe beyond any precedent, when, ac 
 cording to the statements vouched by Lord Brougham 
 in the House of Peers, and Mr. O Connell and others 
 in the Commons, wages are reduced in some of the 
 manufacturing villages to six pence a week, so that 
 men are forced to sustain themselves and their fam 
 ilies at less than a penny a day; when the most 
 revolting expedients are resorted to for food; when 
 
102 ENGLISH REFORMERS 
 
 families attempt by a recumbent posture to diminish 
 the pangs of hunger ; in the midst of this exasperation 
 the voice of the people is temperate and wise beyond 
 all former example. They are intent on personal as 
 well as on national reforms. Jack Cade leaves be 
 hind him his bludgeon and torch, and is grown ami 
 able, literary, philosophical, and mystical. He reads 
 Fourier, he reads Shelley, he reads Milton. He goes 
 for temperance, for non-resistance, for education, and 
 for the love-marriage, with the two poets above 
 named; and for association, after the doctrines either 
 of Owen or of Fourier. One of the most remarkable 
 of the tracts before us is " A Plan for the Education 
 and Improvement of the People, addressed to the 
 Working-Classes of the United Kingdom ; written in 
 Warwick Gaol, by William Lovett, cabinet-maker, 
 and John Collins, tool-maker," which is a calm, intelli 
 gent, and earnest plea for a new organization of the 
 people, for the highest social and personal benefits, 
 urging the claims of general education, of the Infant 
 School, the Normal School, and so forth; announcing 
 rights, but with equal emphasis admitting duties. 
 And Mr. Barmby, whilst he attacks with great spirit 
 and great contempt the conventions of society, is a 
 worshipper of love and of beauty, and vindicates the 
 arts. " The apostleship of veritable doctrine," he 
 say s, " in the fine arts is a really religious Apostolate, 
 as the fine arts in their perfect manifestation tend to 
 make mankind virtuous and happy." 
 
 It will give the reader some precise information of 
 the views of the most devout and intelligent persons 
 in the company we have described, if we add an ac 
 count of a public conversation which occurred during 
 the last summer. In the (London) Morning 
 Chronicle, of 5 July, we find the following advertise 
 ment. " Public Invitation. An open meeting of the 
 
ENGLISH REFORMERS 103 
 
 friends to human progress will be held to-morrow, 
 July 6, at Mr. Wright s Alcott-House School, Ham 
 Common, near Richmond, Surrey, for the purpose of 
 considering and adopting means for the promotion of 
 the great end, when all who are interested in human 
 destiny are earnestly urged to attend. The chair 
 taken at Three o clock and again at Seven, by A. 
 Bronson Alcott, Esq., now on a visit from America. 
 Omnibuses travel to and fro, and the Richmond 
 steam-boat reaches at a convenient hour." 
 
 Of this conference a private correspondent has fur 
 nished us with the following report. 
 
 A very pleasant day to us was Wednesday, the 
 sixth of July. On that day an open meeting was held 
 at Mr. Wright s Alcott-House School, Ham, Surrey, 
 to define the aims and initiate the means of human 
 culture. There were some sixteen or twenty of us 
 assembled on the lawn at the back of the house. We 
 came from many places; one 150 miles ; another a hun 
 dred; others from various distances; and our brother 
 Bronson Alcott from Concord, North America, We 
 found it not easy to propose a question sufficiently 
 comprehensive to unfold the whole of the fact with 
 which our bosoms labored. We aimed at nothing 
 less than to speak of the instauration of Spirit and its 
 incarnation in a beautiful form. We had no chair 
 man, and needed none. We came not to dispute, but 
 to hear and to speak. And when a word failed in ex 
 tent of meaning, we loaded the word with new mean 
 ing. The word did not confine our experience, but 
 from our own being we gave significance to the word. 
 Into one body we infused many lives, and it shone as 
 the image of divine or angelic or human thought. For 
 a word is a Proteus that means to a man what the man 
 is. Three papers were successively presented. 
 
104 ENGLISH REFORMERS 
 
 I. REFORMATION 
 " Old things shall pass away." 
 
 That an integral reform will comprise, not only an 
 amendment in our (1) Corn Laws, (2) Monetary 
 Arrangements, (3) Penal Code, (4) Education, (5) 
 the Church, (6) the Law of Primogeniture, (7) 
 Divorce; but will extend to questions yet publicly 
 unmooted, or unfavorably regarded, such as (1) that 
 of a reliance on Commercial Prosperity, (2) a belief 
 in the value of the purest conceivable Representa 
 tive Legislature, (3) the right of man to inflict Pain 
 on man, (4) the demand for a purer Generation in 
 preference to a better Education, (5) the reign of 
 Love in Man instead of human Opinions, (6) the 
 restoration of all things to their primitive Owner, and 
 hence the abrogation of Property, either individual 
 or collective, and (7) the Divine Sanction, instead of 
 the Civil and Ecclesiastical authority, for Mar 
 riage. 
 
 That the obstacles encountered, in any endeavor to 
 secure the smallest proposed public reform, are not 
 to be taken as a measure for the difficulties in reali 
 zing those of a deeper character, as above enumer 
 ated; for as the latter are more vital and real, so are 
 they less dependent on public concurrence, and need 
 rather an individual practice than an associative ap 
 peal. 
 
 That while the benevolent mind perceives and de 
 sires the entire reform which should be accomplished, 
 the practical reformer will bound his aims by that 
 which is possible at the moment; for while a twenty 
 years agitation is insufficient to procure the slightest 
 modification in the Corn Laws, of little value when 
 
ENGLISH REFORMERS 105 
 
 attained, and fifty years advocacy shall not accom 
 plish a reform in parliament, declared worthless and 
 delusive as soon as it is conceded, the abiding, and 
 real, and happy reforms are much more within our 
 own power, at the same time that their value is, under 
 every consideration, undoubted. 
 
 That however extensive, grand, or noble may be 
 the ultimate measures proposed, it is thus the impera 
 tive duty of the sincere reformer at once to commence 
 that course of conduct, which must not less conduce to 
 his own than to the universal good. 
 
 That a reform in the relation of master and serv 
 ant, in faith in money, in deference to wealth, in diet, 
 habits of life, modes of intercourse, and other particu 
 lars, almost or entirely under the control of each indi 
 vidual, is the first series of practical measures to be 
 adopted, at once the proof of sincerity, and the ear 
 nest of future success. 
 
 That a personal reform of this kind, humble as it 
 may appear, is obviously the key to every future and 
 wider good. By reformed individuals only can re 
 formed laws be enacted, or reformed plans effected. 
 By him alone, who is reformed and well regulated, 
 can the appeal fairly be made to others, either pri 
 vately or publicly, to submit to a superior rule. By 
 such as have themselves become somewhat puri 
 fied must the purer life and measures be indicated. 
 The greatest Apostle of Reform is the most re 
 formed. 
 
 The speaker added as a comment on this paper, 
 Human institutions and human habits are but the 
 histories of men s natures, and have in all times dis 
 closed the heaven-wandering attributes of their pro 
 jectors. At present, institutions are extremely com 
 plex, and so wreathed together, that one reform com- 
 
106 ENGLISH REFORMERS 
 
 pels a hundred, and of course every attempt to re 
 form in one part is resisted by the establishment in 
 all parts. But the divine thought permits us not to 
 remain in quietude. That, which we are not, rises 
 before us, as that, which we are to be. Our aspira 
 tions are the pledge of their own fulfilment. Hope 
 drives forward with the speed of wind, and affirms 
 that the unallowable of to-day shall be to-morrow 
 within our reach ; if that which is to-day only attain 
 able shall to-morrow be a realized fact. 
 
 Beneath the actual which a man is, there is always 
 covered a possible to tempt him forward, and beneath 
 that an impossible. Beneath sense lie reason and un 
 derstanding; beneath them both, humility; and be 
 neath all, God. To be Godlike, we must pass through 
 the grades of progress. We may make the experi 
 ences of the rational the humane life, and at last the 
 life of God. But our precessions are not so much of 
 time as of being. Even now the God-life is enfolded 
 in us, even now the streams of eternity course freely 
 in our central heart. If impelled by the spirit to in 
 termingle with the arrangements of polities of the 
 world in order to improve them, we shall discover the 
 high point, from which we begin by the God- 
 thought, in our interference. Our act must be divine. 
 We seem to do; God does. God empowers legisla 
 tors, and ennobles them for their fidelity. Let them, 
 however, be apostles, not apostles representatives; 
 men of God, not men of men. Personal elevation is 
 our credentials. Personal reform is that which is 
 practicable, and without it our efforts on behalf of 
 others are dreams only. 
 
 After this had been considered and approved, 
 another of our friends offered the following scrip 
 ture. 
 
ENGLISH REFORMERS 107 
 
 II. TRANSITION 
 " Bring no more vain oblations." 
 
 As men sincerely desirous of being that which we 
 have conceived in idea, earnestly longing to assert 
 the transcendency of divine humanity over all creeds, 
 sayings, and theories, the question occurred to us, 
 " How shall we find bread for the support of our 
 bodies? " We proposed reducing our wants to na 
 ture s simplest needs; but on due consideration, we 
 perceived that the restrictions on food precluded our 
 obtaining it, and we learned with dismay that the 
 spirit, which monopolizes bread and other constit 
 uents of life, denounced from the bosom of society, 
 * You shall not live a conscientious life." 
 
 Not abashed, however, by this decree, we resolved 
 to press our investigations, and we asked who had 
 uttered this practical blasphemy in the face of high 
 heaven? And all voices answered, that " the men 
 trusting in property had done it." We took up this 
 question of property, and asked, " By what tenure 
 is it held?" And society answered, " On the tenure 
 of might and immemorial custom." But when we 
 interrogated our own hearts, and asked, " Did Di 
 vinity ever thus sanction possession? " our hearts, in 
 deed, answered not ; but the God within spoke plainly, 
 that " Pure Love, which is ever communicative ; never 
 yet conceded to any being the right of appropriation." 
 But when society urged further, that government had 
 legitimated possession, we began to inquire on what 
 authority government itself rested. And the govern 
 ment s answer was immediately proffered, " We pro 
 tect the rights of property, and devise means for the 
 accumulation of more. We shield the good from ad- 
 
108 ENGLISH REFORMERS 
 
 versities, and we punish the evil-doers." Is this true? 
 we thought. . . . No; government had not redeemed 
 its promise to us, and we would no longer care for 
 its provisions. The first law, too, of Heaven is Love, 
 and government is founded on force. We were not 
 believers in force; we believed that moral majesty 
 was far more protection to man than the shield of a 
 mighty empire ; we believed that a man encased in 
 his own humanity was more secure, than he who was 
 protected by a thousand bayonets. Our faith was in 
 moral uprightness, and not in the prowess of armies, 
 We would be established in love, and not in fear; and 
 government is, in all these respects, infidel to the 
 good. We asked, " Whether domination was of 
 God?" and God answered, "No." 
 
 But we thought that the religious institute would 
 do something for humanity, that the priest would suc 
 cor the oppressed, and loose the burdens of the heavy 
 laden. But the priest told us, he too loved, above all 
 things, domination and homage. . . . He laughed at 
 human perfectibility. He declared, that loyalty to 
 the prince, and pecuniary reverence to the church, 
 were his only hope of salvation. 
 
 We, therefore, ignore human governments, creeds, 
 and institutions; we deny the right of any man to 
 dictate laws for our regulation, or duties for our per 
 formance ; and declare our allegiance only to Univer 
 sal Love, the all-embracing Justice. 
 
 In addition to this statement of his thought the 
 second speaker asked, Why does a man need an out 
 ward law? Simply because the law of love has been 
 hidden. Men, are they not bankers and capitalists, 
 whose Bank and Capital is God? Why should they 
 borrow of men? Why should the all-wealthy seek 
 the substitutes of riches? If we assert our manhood, 
 
ENGLISH REFORMERS 109 
 
 what do we need of learning, precedent, or govern 
 ment? Let the impoverished seek for notes of hand; 
 let the timid and lawless ask protection of the arm 
 of power. Let the foolish still dream, that the vanity 
 of book-miners will be their wisdom for us, we claim 
 wealth, love, and wisdom, as essential informations 
 of the Divinity. Besides, human institutions bear no 
 fruit. If you plant them, they will yield nothing. 
 Prohibitions and commands stand for nothing. 
 Thou shalt not kill," which is a history recording to 
 sense what the divine law of purity suggests in every 
 unperverted heart, is held binding by none. What 
 shall I not kill? asks the butcher, the poulterer, the 
 fishmonger, and he answers, All things in which I do 
 not trade. And what shall the soldier not kill? All 
 men, except his enemies. These exceptions make the 
 law nugatory. The command is universal only for 
 the pure soul, that neither stabs nor strangles. The 
 laws of men inculcate and command slaughter. Nor 
 will they exculpate rebellion on the ground, that holi 
 ness has rendered obedience impossible. But we must 
 ignore laws which ignore holiness. Our trust is in 
 purity, not in vengeance. 
 
 A third person had written down his thought as 
 follows. 
 
 III. FORMATION 
 " Behold I make all things new." 
 
 That in order to attain the highest excellence of 
 which man is capable, not only is a searching Reform 
 necessary in the existing order of men and things, but 
 the Generation of a new race of persons is demanded, 
 who shall project institutions and initiate conditions 
 
110 ENGLISH REFORMERS 
 
 altogether original, and commensurate with the being 
 and wants of humanity. 
 
 That the germs of this new generation are even 
 now discoverable in human beings, but have been 
 hitherto either choked by ungenial circumstances, or, 
 having borne fruit prematurely or imperfectly, have 
 attained no abiding growth. 
 
 That the elements for a superior germination con 
 sist in an innocent fertile mind, and a chaste health 
 ful body, built up from the purest and most volatile 
 productions of the uncontaminated earth; thus re 
 moving all hinderances to the immediate influx of 
 Deity into the spiritual faculties and corporeal organs. 
 Hence the tine Generator s attention will be drawn 
 to whatsoever pertains to the following constituents 
 of Man and of Society: 
 
 Primarily, Marriage and the Family Life, in 
 cluding of course, the Breeding and Education of 
 Children. 
 
 Secondly, Housewifery and Husbandry. 
 
 Thirdly, The relations of the Neighborhood. 
 
 Fourthly, Man s relation to the Creator. 
 
 It is obvious, that society, as at present constituted, 
 invades all and every one of these relations ; and it is, 
 therefore, proposed to select a spot whereon the new 
 Eden may be planted, and man may, untempted by 
 evil, dwell in harmony with his Creator, with himself, 
 his fellows, and with all external natures. 
 
 On a survey of the present civilized world, Provi 
 dence seems to have ordained the United States of 
 America, more especially New England, as the field 
 wherein this idea is to be realized in actual experience ; 
 and, trusting in the faith which inspires, the hope 
 which ensures, and the power which enacts, a few 
 persons, both in the new country and the old, are 
 uniting their efforts to secure, at the earliest possible 
 
ENGLISH REFORMERS 111 
 
 moment, and by the simplest possible means, a con 
 summation so sublime, so humane, so divine. 
 
 After reading this paper, he added words to this 
 effect. Reformation belongs not to us, it is but a 
 chimera. We propose not to make new combinations 
 of old substances, the elements themselves shall be 
 new. The great enigma, to solve which man has ever 
 labored, is answered in the one fact, Birth. The dis 
 ciplines, the loves, the wishes, the sorrows, the joys, 
 the travail of many years, are crowded into concep 
 tion, gestation, and Birth. If you ask where evil com 
 mences, the answer is, in Birth. If you ask what is 
 the unpardonable sin, the answer is an unholy birth. 
 The most sacred, the most profane, the most solemn, 
 the most irreverent, the most godlike, yet possibly 
 the most brutal of acts. This one stands as a centre 
 to all extremes, it is the point on which God and Devil 
 wage most irreconcilable warfare. Let Birth be sur 
 rendered to the spirit, and the results shall be blessed. 
 
 Together with pure beings will come pure habits. 
 A better body shall be built up from the orchard and 
 the garden. The outward frame shall beam with 
 soul; it shall be a vital fact in which is typically un 
 folded the whole of perfectness. As he who seizes 
 on civil liberty with the hand of violence would act 
 the tyrant, if power were entrusted to him, so he 
 whose food is obtained by force or fraud would ac 
 complish other purposes by similarly ignoble means. 
 Tyranny and domination must be overcome, when 
 they first take root in the lust of unhallowed things. 
 From the fountain we will stake our thirst, and our 
 appetite shall find supply in the delicious abundance 
 that Pomona offers. Flesh and blood we will reject 
 as " the accursed thing." A pure mind has no faith 
 in them. 
 
112 ENGLISH REFORMERS 
 
 An unvitiated generation and more genial habits 
 shall restore the Eden on Earth, and men shall again 
 find that paradise is not merely a fable of the poets. 
 
 Such was the current of our thought; and most 
 of those who were present felt delight in the con 
 versations that followed. Said I not well, that it was 
 a happy day? For though talk is never more than 
 a portraiture of a fact, it may be, and ours was, the 
 delineation of a fact based in the being of God. 
 
THE DEATH OF DR. CHANNING 
 
 JANUARY, 1843 
 
 THE death of Dr. Charming at Bennington in 
 Vermont, on the 2d October, is an event of great note 
 to the whole country. The great loss of the com 
 munity is mitigated by the new interest which intel 
 lectual power always acquires by the death of the 
 possessor. Dr. Channing was a man of so much rec 
 titude, and such power to express his sense of right, 
 that his value to this country, of which he was a kind 
 of public Conscience, can hardly be overestimated. 
 Not only his merits, but his limitations also, which 
 made all his virtues and talents intelligible and avail 
 able for the correction and elevation of society, made 
 our Cato dear, and his loss not to be repaired. His 
 interest in the times, and the fidelity and independ 
 ence, with which, for so many years, he had exer 
 cised that censorship on commercial, political, and 
 literary morals, which was the spontaneous dictate 
 of his character, Had earned for him an accumulated 
 capital of veneration, which caused his opinion to be 
 waited for in each emergency, as that of the wisest 
 and most upright of judges. We shall probably soon 
 have an opportunity to give an extended account of 
 his character and genius. In most parts of this 
 country notice has been taken of this event, and in 
 London also. Beside the published discourses of 
 Messrs. Gannett, Hedge, Clarke, Parker, Pierpont, 
 and Bellows, Mr. Bancroft made Dr. Channing s 
 genius the topic of a just tribute in a lecture before 
 
 113 
 
114 DEATH OF DR. CHAINING 
 
 the Diffusion Society at the Masonic Temple. We 
 regret that the city has not yet felt the propriety 
 of paying a public honor to the memory of one of 
 the truest and noblest of its citizens. 
 
TANTALUS 
 
 JANUARY, 1844 
 
 THE astronomers said, Give us matter and a little 
 motion, and we will construct the universe. It is not 
 enough that we should have matter, we must also 
 have a single impulse, one shove to launch the mass, 
 and generate the harmony of the centrifugal and cen 
 tripetal forces. Once heave the ball from the hand, 
 and we can show how all this mighty order grew. 
 A very unreasonable postulate, thought some of their 
 students, and a plain begging of the question. Could 
 you not prevail to know the genesis of projection as 
 well as the continuation of it? Nature, meantime, 
 had not waited for the discussion, but, right or wrong, 
 bestowed the impulse, and the balls rolled. It was no 
 great affair, a mere push, but the astronomers were 
 right in making much of it, for there is no end to the 
 consequences of the act. That famous aboriginal 
 push propagates itself through all the balls of the 
 system, and through every atom of every ball; 
 through all the races of creatures, and through the 
 history and performances of every individual. Ex 
 aggeration is in the course of things. Nature sends 
 no creature, no man, into the world, without adding 
 a small excess of his proper quality. Given the 
 planet, it is still necessary to add the impulse; so to 
 every creature nature added a little violence of direc 
 tion in its proper path, a shove to put it on its way; 
 in every instance a slight generosity, a drop too much. 
 Without electricity the air would rot, and without 
 
 115 
 
116 TANTALUS 
 
 this violence of direction which men and women have, 
 without a spice of bigot and fanatic, no excitement, 
 no efficiency. We aim above the mark to hit the 
 mark. Every act hath some falsehood of exaggera 
 tion in it. And when now and then comes along 
 some sad, sharp-eyed man, who sees how paltry a 
 game is played and refuses to play, but blabs the 
 secret; how then? is the bird flown? O no, the wary 
 Nature sends a new troop of fairer forms, of lordlier 
 youths, with a little more excess of direction to hold 
 them fast to their several aim; makes them a little 
 wrong-headed in that direction in which they are 
 rightest, and on goes the game again with new whirl 
 for a generation or two more. See the child, the fool 
 of his senses, with his thousand pretty pranks, com 
 manded by every sight and sound, without any power 
 to compare and rank his sensations, abandoned to 
 every bauble, to a whistle, a painted chip, a lead drag 
 oon, a gilt gingerbread horse; individualizing every 
 thing, generalizing nothing, who thus delighted with 
 every thing new, lies down at night overpowered by 
 the fatigue, which this day of continual pretty mad 
 ness has incurred. But Nature has answered her 
 purpose with the curly, dimpled lunatic. She has 
 tasked every faculty and has secured the symmetrical 
 growth of the bodily frame by all these attitudes and 
 exertions; an end of the first importance, which 
 could not be trusted to any care less perfect than her 
 own. This glitter, this opaline lustre plays round the 
 top of every toy to his eye, to ensure his fidelity, and 
 he is deceived to his good. 
 
 We are made alive and kept alive by the same arts. 
 Let the stoics say what they please, we do not eat 
 for the good of living, but because the meat is savory, 
 and the appetite is keen. Nature does not content 
 herself with casting from the flower or the tree a 
 
TANTALUS 117 
 
 single seed, but she fills the air and earth with a 
 prodigality of seeds, that, if thousands perish, thou 
 sands may plant themselves, that hundreds may come 
 up, that tens may live to maturity, that at least one 
 may replace the parent. All things betray the same 
 calculated profusion. The excess of fear with which 
 the animal frame is hedged round, shrinking from 
 cold, starting at sight of a snake, at every sudden 
 noise or falling stone, protects us through a multitude 
 of groundless alarms from some one real danger at 
 last. The lover seeks in marriage his private felicity 
 and perfection, with no prospective end; and nature 
 hides in his happiness her own end, namely, progeny, 
 or the perpetuity of the race. 
 
 But the craft with which the world is made runs 
 also into the mind and character of men. No man 
 is quite sane, but each has a vein of folly in his com 
 position, a slight determination of blood to the head, 
 to make sure of holding him hard to some one point 
 which nature had taken to heart. 
 
 Great causes are never tried on their merits; but 
 the great cause is reduced to particulars, to suit the 
 size of the partisans, and the contention is ever hottest 
 on minor matters. Not less remarkable is that over- 
 faith of each man in the importance of what he has 
 to do or say. The poet, the prophet has a higher 
 value for what he utters, than any hearer, and there 
 fore it gets spoken. The strong, self-complacent 
 Luther declares, with an emphasis not to be mistaken, 
 that " God himself cannot do without wise men." 
 Jacob Behmen and George Fox betray their egotism 
 in the pertinacity of their controversial tracts, and 
 James Naylor once suffered himself to be worshipped 
 as the Christ. Each prophet comes presently to iden 
 tify himself with his thought, and to esteem his hat 
 and shoes sacred. However this may discredit such 
 
118 TANTALUS 
 
 persons with the judicious, it helps them with the 
 people, and gives pungency, heat, and publicity to 
 their words. A similar experience is not infrequent 
 in private life. Each young and ardent person writes 
 a diary, into which, when the hours of prayer and 
 penitence arrive, he inscribes his soul. The pages 
 thus written are to him burning and fragrant; he 
 reads them on his knees by midnight and by the morn 
 ing star; he wets them with his tears. They are 
 sacred; too good for the world, and hardly yet to be 
 shown to the dearest friend. This is the man-child 
 that is born to the soul, and her life still circulates 
 in the babe. The living cord has not yet been cut. 
 By and by, when some time has elapsed, he begins to 
 wish to admit his friend or friends to this hallowed 
 experience, and with hesitation, yet with firmness, ex 
 poses the pages to his eye. Will they not burn his 
 eyes? The friend coldly turns them over, and re 
 turns from the writing to conversation with easy tran 
 sition, which strikes the other party with astonish 
 ment and vexation. He cannot suspect the writing 
 itself. Days and nights of fervid life, of communion 
 with angels of darkness and of light, bear witness in 
 his memory to that tear-stained book. He suspects 
 the intelligence or the heart of his friend. Is there 
 then no friend? He cannot yet credit that one may 
 have impressive experience, and yet may not know 
 how to put his private fact into literature, or into 
 harmony with the great community of minds; and 
 perhaps the discovery, that wisdom has other tongues 
 and ministers than we, that the truth, which burns 
 like living coals in our heart, burns in a thousand 
 breasts, and though we should hold our peace, that 
 would not the less be spoken, might check too sud 
 denly the flames of our zeal. A man can only speak 
 so long as he does not feel his speech to be partial and 
 
TANTALUS 119 
 
 inadequate. It is partial, but he does not see it to be 
 so whilst he makes it. As soon as he is released from 
 the instinctive, the particular, and sees its partiality, 
 he shuts his mouth in disgust. For no man can write 
 any thing, who does not think that what he writes is 
 for the time the history of the world ; or do any thing 
 well, who does not esteem his work to be of greatest 
 importance. My work may be of none, but I must 
 not think it of none, or I shall not do it with impunity. 
 
 In like manner, there is throughout nature some 
 thing mocking, something that leads us on and on, 
 but arrives nowhere, keeps no faith with us; all 
 promise outruns the performance. We live in a 
 system of approximations, not of fulfilment. Every 
 end is prospective of some other end, which is also 
 temporary; a round and final success nowhere We 
 are encamped in nature, not domesticated Hunger 
 and thirst lead us on to eat and to drink, but bread 
 and wine, mix and cook them how you will, leave us 
 hungry and thirsty after the stomach is full. It is 
 the same with all our arts and performances. Our 
 music, our poetry, our language itself, are not satis 
 factions but suggestions. 
 
 The pursuit of wealth, of which the results are so 
 magical in the contest with nature, and hi reducing 
 the face of the planet to a garden, is like the headlong 
 game of the children in its reaction on the pursuers. 
 What is the end sought? Plainly to secure the ends 
 of good sense and beauty from the intrusion of de 
 formity or vulgarity of any kind. But men use a 
 very operose method. What an apparatus of means 
 to secure a little conversation! This great palace of 
 brick and stone, these servants, this kitchen, these 
 stables, horses, and equipage; this bankstock and file 
 of mortgages; trade to all the world; countryhouse 
 and cottage by the waterside; all for a little conver- 
 
120 TANTALUS 
 
 sation, high, clear, and spiritual! Could it not be had 
 as well by beggars on the highway? No, all these 
 things came from the successive efforts of these beg 
 gars to remove one and another interference. Wealth 
 was applied first to remove friction from the wheels 
 of life; to give clearer opportunity. Conversation, 
 character, were the avowed ends; wealth was good 
 as it silenced the creaking door, cured the smoky 
 chimney, brought friends together in a warm and 
 quiet room, and kept the children and the dinner- 
 table in a different apartment. Thought, virtue, 
 beauty, were the ends, but it was known that men of 
 thought and virtue sometimes had the headache, or 
 wet feet, or could lose good time whilst the room was 
 getting warm in winter days. Unluckily in the ex 
 ertions necessary to remove these inconveniences, the 
 main attention had been diverted to this object; the 
 old aims had been lost sight of, and to remove fric 
 tion had come to be the end. That is the ridicule of 
 rich men, and Boston, London, Vienna, and now the 
 governments generally of the world are cities and 
 governments of the rich, and the masses are not men, 
 but poor men, that is, men who would be rich; that 
 is the ridicule of the class, that they arrive with pains 
 and sweat, and fury, nowhere; when all is done, it 
 is for nothing. They are men who have interrupted 
 the whole conversation of a company to make their 
 speech, and now have forgotten what they went to 
 say. The appearance strikes the eye, everywhere, of 
 an aimless society, an aimless nation, an aimless world. 
 Were the ends of nature so great and cogent as to 
 exact this immense sacrifice of men? 
 
 Quite analogous to these deceits in life, there is, as 
 might be expected, a similar effect on the eye from 
 the face of external nature. There is in woods and 
 waters a certain enticement and flattery, together 
 
TANTALUS 121 
 
 with a failure to yield a present satisfaction. This 
 disappointment is felt in every landscape. I have 
 seen the softness and beauty of the summer clouds 
 floating feathery overhead, enjoying, as it seemed, 
 their height and privilege of motion, whilst yet they 
 appeared not so much the drapery of this place and 
 hour, as fore-looking to some pavilions and gardens 
 of festivity beyond. Who is not sensible of this 
 jealousy? Often you shall find yourself not near 
 enough to your object. The pine tree, the river, the 
 bank of flowers, before you, does not seem to be na 
 ture. Nature is still elsewhere. This or this is but 
 outskirt and far-off reflection and echo of the triumph 
 that has passed by, and is now at its glancing splen 
 dor and heyday, perchance in the neighboring fields, 
 or, if you stood in the field, then in the adjacent 
 woods. The present object shall give you this sense 
 of stillness that follows a pageant which has just gone 
 by. It is the same among the men and women, as 
 among the silent trees; always a referred existence, 
 an absence, never a presence and satisfaction. Is it 
 that beauty can never be grasped? in persons and in 
 landscape is equally inaccessible? The accepted and 
 betrothed lover has lost the wildest charm of his 
 maiden in her acceptance of him. She was heaven 
 whilst he pursued her as a star. She cannot be heaven 
 if she stoops to such an one as he. So is it with these 
 wondrous skies, and hills, and forests. What splen 
 did distance, what recesses of ineffable pomp and 
 loveliness in the sunset ! But who can go where they 
 are, or lay his land, or plant his foot thereon? Off 
 they fall from the round world for ever and ever; 
 glory is not for hands to handle. 
 
 What shall we say of this omnipresent appearance 
 of that first projectile impulse, this flattery and 
 baulking of so many good well-meaning creatures? 
 
122 TANTALUS 
 
 Must we not suppose somewhere in the universe a 
 slight treachery, a slight derision? Are we not en 
 gaged to a serious resentment of this use that is made 
 of us? Are we tickled trout, and fools of nature? 
 Unhappily, there is not the smallest prospect of ad 
 vantage from such considerations. Practically, there 
 is no great danger of their being pressed. One look 
 at the face of heaven and earth puts all petulance at 
 rest, and soothes us to wiser convictions. We see 
 that Nature converts itself into a vast promise, and 
 will not be rashly explained. Her secret is untold. 
 Many and many an CEdipus arrives; ^e has the whole 
 mystery teeming in his brain. Alas ! tnk same sorcery 
 has spoiled his skill ; no syllable can he\hape on his 
 lips. Her mighty orbit vaults like the fresh rainbow 
 into the deep, but no archangel s wing was yet strong 
 enough to follow it and report of the return of the 
 curve. Eut it also appears, and the experience might 
 dispose us to serenity, that our actions are seconded 
 and disposed to greater conclusions than we designed. 
 We are escorted on every hand through life by great 
 spiritual potentates, and a beneficent purpose lies in 
 wait for us. It is not easy to deal with Nature by 
 card and calculation. We cannot bandy words with 
 her; we cannot deal with her as man with man. If 
 we measure our individual forces against hers, we 
 may easily feel as if we were the sport of an over 
 whelming destiny. But if, instead of identifying our 
 selves with the work, we feel that the soul of the 
 Workman streams through us, that a paradise of love 
 and power lies close beside us, where the Eternal 
 Architect broods on his thought and projects the 
 world from his bosom, we may find the peace of the 
 morning dwelling first in our hearts, and the fathom 
 less powers of gravity and chemistry, and over them 
 of life, pre-existing within us in their highest form. 
 
ETHNICAL SCRIPTURES 
 
 APRIL, 1844 
 CHALD^EAN ORACLES 
 
 WE owe to thai eminent benefactor of scholars and 
 philosophers, #ie late Thomas Taylor, who, we hope, 
 will not lonjp want a biographer, the collection of the 
 " Oracles pi Zoroaster and the Theurgists," from 
 which we^extract all the sentences ascribed to Zoroas 
 ter, and a part of the remainder. We prefix a por 
 tion of Mr. Taylor s preface : 
 
 " These remains of Chaldsean theology are not only 
 venerable for their antiquity, but inestimably valu 
 able for the unequalled sublimity of the doctrines 
 they contain. They will doubtless, too, be held in the 
 highest estimation by every liberal mind, when it is 
 considered that some of them are the sources whence 
 the sublime conceptions of Plato flowed, and that 
 others are perfectly conformable to his most abstruse 
 dogmas. 
 
 " I add, for the sake of those readers that are unac 
 quainted with the scientific theology of the ancients, 
 that as the highest principle of things is a nature truly 
 ineffable and unknown, it is impossible that this vis 
 ible world could have been produced by him without 
 mediums ; and this not through any impotency, but, 
 on the contrary, through transcendency of power. 
 For if he had produced all things without the agency 
 of intermediate beings, all things must have been, like 
 himself, ineffable and unknown. It is necessary, 
 
 123 
 
124 ETHNICAL SCRIPTURES 
 
 therefore, that there should be certain mighty powers 
 between the supreme principle of things and us: for 
 we, in reality, are nothing more than the dregs of the 
 universe. These mighty powers, from their surpass 
 ing similitude to the first god, were very properly 
 called by the ancients, gods; and were considered by 
 them as perpetually subsisting in the most admirable 
 and profound union with each other, and the first 
 cause; yet so as amidst this union to preserve their 
 own energy distinct from that of the highest god. 
 For it would be absurd in the extreme, to allow that 
 man has a peculiar energy of his own, and to deny 
 that this is the case with the most exalted beings. 
 Hence, as Proclus beautifully observes, the gods may 
 be compared to trees rooted in the earth : for as these, 
 by their roots, are united with the earth, and become 
 earthly in an eminent degree, without being earth it 
 self ; so the gods, by their summits, are profoundly 
 united to the first cause, and by this means are tran- 
 scendently similar to, without being the first cause. 
 
 " Lines, too, emanating from the centre of a circle, 
 afford us a conspicuous image of the manner in which 
 these mighty powers proceed from, and subsist in, the 
 ineffable principle of things. For here, the lines are 
 evidently things different from the centre, to which, 
 at the same time, by their summits, they are exquis 
 itely allied. And these summits, which are indescrib 
 ably absorbed in the centre, are yet no parts (i. e. 
 powers) of it: for the centre has a subsistence prior 
 to them, as being their cause." 
 
 ORACLES OF ZOROASTER 
 
 There is also a portion for the image 1 in the place 2 
 every way splendid. 
 
 1 That is, the irrational soul, which is the image of the rational. 
 
 2 That is, the region above the moon. 
 
ETHNICAL SCRIPTURES 125 
 
 Nor should you leave the dregs of matter * in the 
 precipice. 2 
 
 Nor should you expel the soul from the body, lest 
 in departing it retain something. 3 , 
 
 4 Direct not your attention to the immense meas 
 ures of the earth ; for the plant of truth is not in the 
 earth. Nor measure the dimensions of the sun, by 
 means of collected rules ; for it revolves by the eter 
 nal will of the Father, and not for your sake. Dismiss 
 the sounding course of the moon; for it perpetually 
 runs through the exertions of necessity. The advan 
 cing procession of the stars was not generated for 
 your sake. The wide-spread aerial wing of birds, 
 and the sections of victims and viscera are never 
 true; but all these are mere puerile sports, the 
 foundations of mercantile deception. Fly from 
 these, if you intend to open the sacred paradise of 
 piety, where virtue, wisdom, and equity, are collected 
 together. 
 
 Explore the river 5 of the soul, whence, or in what 
 order, having become a servant to body, you may 
 again rise to that order from which you flowed, uni 
 ting operation to sacred reason. 6 
 
 Verge not downward, a precipice lies under the 
 earth, which draws through a descent of seven steps, 7 
 
 1 i. e. The human body. 
 
 2 i. e. This terrestrial region. 
 
 * i. e. Lest it retain something of the more passive life. 
 
 4 This oracle is conformable to what Plato says in his Republic, 
 that a philosopher must astronomize above the heavens : that is to 
 say, he must speculate the celestial orbs, as nothing more than 
 images of forms in the intelligible world. 
 
 6 i. e. The producing cause of the soul. 
 
 6 By sacred reason, is meant the summit, or principal power of 
 the soul, which Zoroaster, in another place, calls the flower of 
 intellect. 
 
 7 i. e. The orbs of the seven planets. 
 
126 ETHNICAL SCRIPTURES 
 
 and under which lies the throne of dire neces 
 sity. 
 
 You should never change barbarous names. 1 
 
 In a certain respect, the world possesses intellec 
 tual, inflexible sustainers. 2 
 
 Energize about the Hecatic sphere. 3 
 
 If you invoke me? all things will appear to 
 you to be a lion. For neither will the convex bulk 
 of heaven then be visible; the stars will not shine; 
 the light of the moon will be concealed; the earth 
 will not stand firm; but all things will be seen in 
 thunder. 
 
 On all sides, with an unfigured 5 soul, extend the 
 reins of fire. 
 
 man, thou subtle production, 6 that art of a bold 
 nature ! 
 
 In the left hand inward parts of Hecate 7 is the 
 
 1 For in every nation there are names of divine origin, and 
 which possess an ineffable power in mystic operations. 
 
 2 i. e. The fontal fathers, or intellectual gods. By in flexible, 
 understand stable power. 
 
 3 This sphere was of gold. In the middle of it there was a 
 sapphire; and the sphere itself was turned round by means of 
 a thong, made of the hide of an ox. It was likewise every where 
 inscribed with characters; and the Chaldseans turning it round, 
 made certain invocations. But it is called Hecatine, because ded 
 icated to Hecate. 
 
 4 By me is meant the fountain or cause of the celestial constel 
 lation called the lion. 
 
 B By unfigured, understand most simple and pure ; and by the 
 reins of fire, the unimpeded energy of the theurgic life of such 
 a soul. 
 
 6 Man is a subtle production, considered as the work of the 
 secret art of divinity. But he is of a bold nature, as exploring 
 things more excellent than himself. 
 
 7 Hecate, according to the Chaldaeans, is the centre of the in 
 tellectual gods: and they say, that in her right hand parts she 
 contains the fountain of souls; and in her left, the fountain of 
 the virtues. 
 
ETHNICAL SCRIPTURES 127 
 
 fountain of virtue, which wholly abides within, and 
 does not emit its virginal nature. 
 
 When you behold a sacred fire l without form, shi 
 ning with a leaping splendor through the profundi 
 ties of the whole world, hear the voice of fire. 
 
 You should not invoke the self -conspicuous image 
 of nature. 2 
 
 Nature persuades us that there are holy daemons, 
 and that the blossoms of depraved matter 3 are useful 
 and good. 
 
 4 The soul of mortals compels, in a certain respect, 
 divinity into itself, possessing nothing mortal, and 
 is wholly inebriated from deity; for it glories 
 in the harmony 5 under which the mortal body sub 
 sists. 
 
 The immortal depth 6 of the soul should be the 
 leader ; but vehemently extend all your eyes 7 up 
 wards. 
 
 You should not defile the spirit, 8 nor give depth to 
 a superficies. 
 
 Seek Paradise. 9 
 
 1 This oracle relates to the vision of divine light. 
 
 2 i. e. The image, to be invoked in the mysteries, must be intel 
 ligible, and not sensible. 
 
 3 By the blossoms of depraved matter, understand the daemons 
 called Evil; but which are not so essentially, but from their 
 office. 
 
 4 That is, the human soul, through its immortality and purity, 
 becomes replete with a more excellent life, and divine illumina 
 tion ; and is, as it were, raised above itself. 
 
 5 i, e. Unapparent and intelligible harmony. 
 
 6 i. e. The summit or flower of its nature. 
 
 7 *. e. All the gnostic powers of the soul. 
 
 8 Understand by the spirit, the aerial vehicle of the soul ; and 
 by the super-fides, the ethereal and lucid vehicle. 
 
 9 The Chaldaic Paradise is the choir of divine powers about 
 the Father of the universe; and the empyrean beauties of the 
 demiurgic fountains. 
 
128 ETHNICAL SCRIPTURES 
 
 1 The wild beasts of the earth shall inhabit thy 
 vessel. 
 
 By extending a fiery intellect 2 to the work of 
 piety, you will also preserve the flowing body. 
 
 From the bosom therefore of the earth, terrestrial 
 dogs 3 leap forth, who never exhibit a true sign to 
 mortal man. 
 
 The Father 4 perfected all things, and delivered 
 them to the second intellect, 5 M^hich the nations of men 
 call the first. 
 
 The furies are the bonds of men. 6 
 
 The paternal intellect disseminated symbols 7 in 
 souls. 
 
 8 Those souls that leave the body with violence are 
 the most pure. 
 
 The soul being a splendid fire, through the power 
 of the father remains immortal, is the mistress 9 of 
 life, and possesses many perfections of the bosoms 
 of the world. 
 
 1 By the vessel is meant the composite temperature of the 
 soul; and by the wild beasts of the earth, terrestrial daemons. 
 These, therefore, will reside in the soul which is replete with 
 irrational affections. 
 
 2 i. e. An intellect full of divine light. 
 
 3 t. e. Material daemons. 
 4 z. e. Saturn. 
 
 5 i. e. Jupiter. 
 
 6 That is, the powers that punish guilty souls, bind them to 
 their material passions, and in these, as it were, suffocate them; 
 such punishment being finally the means of purification. Nor do 
 these powers only afflict the vicious, but even such as convert 
 themselves to an immaterial essence; for these, through their 
 connection with matter, require a purification of this kind. 
 
 7 That is, symbols of all the divine natures. 
 
 8 This oracle praises a violent death, because the soul, in this 
 case, is induced to hate the body, and rejoice in a liberation 
 from it. 
 
 The soul is the mistress of life, because it extends vital il 
 luminations to the body, which is, of itself, destitute of life. 
 
ETHNICAL SCRIPTURES 129 
 
 The Father did not hurl forth fear, but infused 
 persuasion. 1 
 
 The Father 2 has hastily withdrawn himself, but 
 has not shut up his proper fire, in his own intellectual 
 power. 
 
 There is a certain intelligible 3 which it becomes you 
 to understand with the flower of intellect. 
 
 The expelling powers 4 of the soul which cause her 
 to respire, are of an unrestrained nature. 
 
 It becomes you to hasten to the light and the rays 
 of the Father, whence a soul was imparted to you, 
 invested with an abundance of intellect. 
 
 All things are the progeny of one fire. 5 
 
 6 That which intellect says, it undoubtedly says by 
 intellection. 
 
 7 Ha! ha! the earth from beneath bellows at these 
 as far as to their children. 
 
 You should not increase your fate. 8 
 
 1 That is, as divinity is not of a tyrannical nature, he draws 
 every thing to himself by persuasion, and not by fear. 
 
 2 That is, Saturn, the summit of the intellectual order, is per 
 fectly separated from all connection with matter; but, at the 
 same time, imparts his divinity to inferior natures. 
 
 3 Meaning the intelligible, which immediately subsists after 
 the highest God. 
 
 4 That is, those powers of the soul which separate it from the 
 body. 
 
 6 That is, of one divine nature. 
 
 6 That is, the voice of intellect is an intellectual, or, in other 
 words, an immaterial and indivisible energy. 
 
 7 The meaning of the oracle is, that even the very children of 
 the impious are destined to subterranean punishments ; and this, 
 with the greatest propriety ; for those who, in a former life, have 
 perpetrated similar crimes, become, through the wise administra 
 tion of Providence, the members of one family. 
 
 8 Fate is the full perfection of those divine illuminations which 
 are received by Nature; but Providence is the immediate energy 
 of deity. Hence, when we energize intellectually, we are under 
 the dominion of Providence; but when corporeally, under that 
 
130 ETHNICAL SCRIPTURES 
 
 Nothing imperfect proceeds, according to a circu 
 lar energy, from a paternal principle. 1 
 
 But the paternal intellect will not receive the will 
 of the soul, till she has departed from oblivion; 2 and 
 has spoken the word, assuming the memory of her 
 paternal sacred impression. 
 
 When you behold the terrestrial 3 daemon approach 
 ing, vociferate and sacrifice the stone MNIZURIM. 
 
 Learn the intelligible, for it subsists beyond intel 
 lect. 4 
 
 The intelligible lynges possess intellection them 
 selves from the Father, so far as they energize intel 
 lectually, being moved by ineffable counsels. 
 
 He who knows himself, knows all things in himself, 
 as Zoroaster first asserted, and afterwards Plato in 
 the first Alcibiades. Pici Mirand. Op. torn. 1, p. 
 211. 
 
 Since the soul perpetually runs, in a certain space 
 of time it passes through all things, which circulation 
 
 of Fate. The oracle, therefore, admonishes to withdraw our 
 selves from corporeal energy. 
 
 1 For divinity is self-perfect; and the imperfect cannot pro 
 ceed from the perfect. 
 
 2 That is, till she has recovered her knowledge of the divine 
 symbols, and sacred reasons, from which she is composed; the 
 former of which she receives from the divine unities, and the 
 latter from sacred ideas. 
 
 * Terrestrial daemons are full of deceit, as being remote from 
 divine knowledge, and replete with dark matter; he, therefore, 
 who desires to receive any true information from one of these, 
 must prepare an altar, and sacrifice the stone Mnizurim, which 
 has the power of causing another greater daemon to appear, who, 
 approaching invisible to the material daemon, will give a true 
 answer to the proposed question; and this to the interrogator 
 himself. 
 
 4 The intelligible is twofold ; one kind being coordinate with 
 intellect, but the other being of a super-essential characteristic. 
 
ETHNICAL SCRIPTURES 131 
 
 being accomplished, it is compelled to run back again 
 through all things, and unfold the same web of gen 
 eration in the world, according to Zoroaster; who is 
 of opinion, that the same causes, on a time returning, 
 the same effects will, in a similar manner, return. 
 Fidn. de Immortal. Anim. p. 123. 
 
 ORACLES BY THE THEURGISTS 
 
 Our voluntary sorrows germinate in us as the 
 growth of the particular life we lead. 
 
 On beholding yourself, fear. 
 
 Believe yourself to be above body, and you are. 
 
 Those robust souls perceive truth through them 
 selves, and are of a more inventive nature; such a 
 soul being saved through its own strength. 
 
 We should fly from the multitude of men going 
 along in a herd. 
 
 The powers build up the body of a holy man. 
 
 Not knowing that every god is good, ye are fruit 
 lessly vigilant. 
 
 Fiery hope should nourish you in the angelic 
 region. 
 
 Ascending souls sing paean. 
 
 To the persevering mortal the blessed immortals 
 are swift. 
 
 All things are governed and subsist in faith, truth, 
 and love. 
 
 The oracle says, Divinity is never so much turned 
 away from man, and never so much sends him in 
 novel paths, as when we make an ascent to the most 
 divine of speculations or works, in a confused and 
 disordered manner, and, as it adds, with unhallowed 
 lips or unbathed feet. For, of those who are thus 
 negligent, the progressions are imperfect, the im 
 pulses are vain, and the paths are blind. 
 
132 ETHNICAL SCRIPTURES 
 
 The orders prior to Heaven possess mystic silence. 
 
 Every intellect apprehends deity. 
 
 The intelligible is food to that which understands. 
 
 You will not apprehend it by an intellectual energy 
 as when understanding some particular thing. 
 
 It is not proper to understand that intelligible with 
 vehemence, but with the extended flame of an ex 
 tended intellect; a flame which measures all things, 
 except that intelligible. But it is requisite to under 
 stand this. For if you incline your mind, you will 
 understand it, though not vehemently. It becomes 
 you therefore, bringing with you the pure convertible 
 eye of your soul, to extend the void intellect to the 
 intelligible, that you may learn its nature, because it 
 has a subsistence above intellect. 
 
 SAYINGS OF PYTHAGORAS AND OF THE PYTHAGORIANS 
 
 Follow God. 
 
 All things are possible to the Gods. 
 
 Choose the most excellent life, and custom will 
 make it pleasant. 
 
 This is the law of God, that virtue is the only thing 
 that is strong. 
 
 Abstain from such things as are an impediment to 
 prophecy, or to the purity and chastity of the soul, 
 or to the habit of temperance or of virtue. 
 
 It is necessary to beget children, for it is neces 
 sary to leave those that may worship the Gods after 
 us. 
 
 Other compacts are engraved in tables and pillars, 
 but those with wives are inserted in children. 
 
 It is holy for a woman, after having been connected 
 with her husband, to perform sacred rites on the same 
 day, but this is never holy after she has been con 
 nected with any other man. 
 
ETHNICAL SCRIPTURES 133 
 
 It is requisite to be silent, or to say something bet 
 ter than silence. 
 
 The possessions of friends are common. 
 
 The animal which is not naturally noxious to the 
 human race should neither be injured nor slain. 
 
 Intoxication is the meditation of insanity. 
 
 The beginning is the half of the whole. 
 
 An oath should be taken religiously, since that 
 which is behind is long. 
 
 Be sober, and remember to be disposed to believe, 
 for these are the nerves of wisdom. 
 
 All the parts of human life, in the same manner as 
 those of a statue, ought to be beautiful. 
 
 When the wise man opens his mouth, the beauties 
 of his soul present themselves to the view, like the 
 statues in a temple. 
 
BOOK REVIEWS FROM THE DIAL 
 
REVIEWS OF BOOKS 
 
 OCTOBER, 1840, TO OCTOBER, 1843 
 
 (.New Poetry 
 
 THE tendencies of the times are so democratical, 
 that we shall won have not so much as a pulpit or 
 raised platform in any church or townhouse, but each 
 person, who*s moved to address any public assembly, 
 will speak from the floor. The like revolution in lit 
 erature is now giving importance to the portfolio 
 over the book. Only one man in the thousand may 
 print a book, but one in ten or one in five may ia- 
 scribe his thoughts, or at least with short commentary 
 his favorite readings in a private journal. The phi 
 losophy of the day has long since broached a more 
 liberal doctrine of the poetic faculty than our fathers 
 held, and reckons poetry the right and power of 
 every man to whose culture justice is done. We own 
 that, though we were trained in a stricter school of 
 literary faith, and were in all our youth inclined to 
 the enforcement of the straitest restrictions on the 
 admission of candidates to the Parnassian fraternity, 
 and denied the name of poetry to every composition 
 in which the workmanship and the material were not 
 equally excellent, in our middle age we have grown 
 lax, and have learned to find pleasure in verses of a 
 ruder strain, to enjoy verses of society, or those 
 effusions which in persons of a happy nature are the 
 easy and unpremeditated translation of their thoughts 
 
 137 
 
138 REVIEWS OF BOOKS 
 
 and feelings into rhyme. This new taste for a certain 
 private and household poetry, for somewhat less pre 
 tending than the festal and solemn verses which are 
 written for the nations, really indicates, we suppose, 
 that a new style of poetry exists. The number of 
 writers has increased. Every child has been taught 
 the tongues. The universal communication of the 
 arts of reading and writing has brought the works of 
 the great poets into every house, and made all ears 
 familiar with the poetic forms. The progress of pop 
 ular institutions has favored self-respect, and broken 
 down that terror of the great, which once imposed 
 awe and hesitation on the talent of the masses of so 
 ciety. A wider epistolary intercourse ministers to the 
 ends of sentiment and reflection than ever existed 
 before; the practice of writing diaries is becoming 
 almost general; and every day witnesses new at 
 tempts to throw into verse the experiences of private 
 life. 
 
 What better omen of true progress can we ask 
 than an increasing intellectual and moral interest of 
 men in each other? What can be better for the re 
 public than that the Capitol, the White House, and 
 the Court House are becoming of less importance 
 than the farm-house and the book-closet? If we are 
 losing our interest in public men, and finding that 
 their spell lay in number and size only, and acquiring 
 instead a taste for the depths of thought and emotion, 
 as they may be sounded in the soul of the citizen or 
 the countryman, does it not replace man for the state, 
 and character for official power? Men should be 
 treated with solemnity ; and when they come to chant 
 their private griefs and doubts and joys, they have 
 a new scale by which to compute magnitude and re 
 lation. Art is the noblest consolation of calamity. 
 The poet is compensated for his defects in the street 
 
REVIEWS OF BOOKS 139 
 
 and in society, if in his chamber he has turned his mis 
 chance into noble numbers. 
 
 Is there not room then for a new department in 
 poetry, namely, Verses of the Portfolio? We have 
 fancied that we drew greater pleasure from some 
 manuscript verses than from printed ones of equal 
 talent. For there was herein the charm of character; 
 they were confessions; and the faults, the imperfect 
 parts, the fragmentary verses, the halting rhymes, 
 had a worth beyond that of a high finish; for they 
 testified that the writer was more man than artist, 
 more earnest than vain; that the thought was too 
 sweet and sacred to him, than that he should suffer 
 his ears to hear or his eyes to see a superficial defect 
 in the expression. 
 
 The characteristic of such verses is, that being not 
 written for publication, they lack that finish which 
 the conventions of literature require of authors. But 
 if poetry of this kind has merit, we conceive that the 
 prescription which demands a rhythmical polish may 
 be easily set aside; and when a writer has outgrown 
 the state of thought which produced the poem, the 
 interest of letters is served by publishing it imper 
 fect, as we preserve studies, torsos, and blocked 
 statues of the great masters. For though WT should 
 be loath to see the wholesome conventions, to which 
 we have alluded, broken down by a general inconti 
 nence of publication, and every man s and woman s 
 diary flying into the bookstores, yet it is to be con 
 sidered, on the other hand, that men of genius are 
 often more incapable than others of that elaborate 
 execution which criticism exacts. Men of genius in 
 general are, more than others, incapable of any per 
 fect exhibition, because, however agreeable it may be 
 to them to act on the public, it is always a secondary 
 aim. They are humble, self-accusing, moody men, 
 
140 REVIEWS OF BOOKS 
 
 whose worship is toward the Ideal Beauty, which 
 chooses to be courted not so often in perfect hymns, 
 as in wild ear-piercing ejaculations, or in silent mu 
 sings. Their face is forward, and their heart is in this 
 heaven. By so much are they disqualified for a per 
 fect success in any particular performance to which 
 they can give only a divided affection. But the man 
 of talents has every advantage in the competition. 
 He can give that cool and commanding attention to 
 the thing to be done, that shall secure its just per 
 formance. Yet are the failures of genius better than 
 the victories of talent; and we are sure that some 
 crude manuscript poems have yielded us a more sus 
 taining and a more stimulating diet, than many elab 
 orated and classic productions. 
 
 We have been led to these thoughts by reading 
 some verses, which were lately put into our hands by 
 a friend with the remark, that they were the produc 
 tion of a youth, who had long passed out of the mood 
 in which he wrote them, so that they had become quite 
 dead to him. Our first feeling on reading them was 
 a lively joy. So then the Muse is neither dead nor 
 dumb, but has found a voice in these cold Cisatlantic 
 States. Here is poetry which asks no aid of magni 
 tude or number, of blood or crime, but finds theatre 
 enough in the first field or brookside, breadth and 
 depth enough in the flow of its own thought. Here 
 is self -repose, which to our mind is stabler than the 
 Pyramids; here is self-respect which leads a man to 
 date from his heart more proudly than from Rome. 
 Here is love which sees through surface, and adores 
 the gentle nature and not the costume. Here is re 
 ligion, which is not of the Church of England, nor 
 of the Church of Boston. Here is the good wise 
 heart, which sees that the end of culture is strength 
 and cheerfulness. In an age too which tends with 
 
REVIEWS OF BOOKS 141 
 
 so strong an inclination to the philosophical muse, 
 here is poetry more purely intellectual than any 
 American verses we have yet seen, distinguished from 
 all competition by two merits ; the fineness of percep 
 tion; and the poet s trust in his own genius to that 
 degree, that there is an absence of all conventional 
 imagery, and a bold use of that which the moment s 
 mood had made sacred to him, quite careless that it 
 might be sacred to no other, and might even be 
 slightly ludicrous to the first reader. 
 
 We proceed to give our readers some selections, 
 taken without much order from this rich pile of man 
 uscript. We first find the poet in his boat. 
 
 BOAT - SONG 
 
 The River calmly flows, 
 
 Through shining banks, through lonely glen, 
 Where the owl shrieks, though ne er the cheer of men 
 
 Has stirred its mute repose, 
 Still if you should walk there, you would go there again. 
 
 The stream is well alive: 
 Another passive world you see, 
 Where downward grows the form of every tree; 
 
 Like soft light clouds they thrive: 
 Like them let us in our pure loves reflected be. 
 
 A yellow gleam is thrown 
 Into the secrets of that maze 
 Of tangled trees, which late shut out our gaze, 
 
 Refusing to be known; 
 It must its privacy unclose, its glories blaze. 
 
 Sweet falls the summer air 
 Over her frame who sails with me: 
 Her way like that is beautifully free, 
 
 Her nature far more rare, 
 And is her constant heart of virgin purity. 
 
142 REVIEWS OF BOOKS 
 
 A quivering star is seen 
 Keeping his watch above the hill, 
 Though from the sun s retreat small light is still 
 
 Poured on earth s saddening mien : 
 We all are tranquilly obeying Evening s will. 
 
 Thus ever love the POWER; 
 To simplest thoughts dispose the mind; 
 In each obscure event a worship find 
 
 Like that of this dim hour, 
 In lights, and airs, and trees, and in all human kind. 
 
 We smoothly glide below 
 The faintly glimmering worlds of light: 
 Day has a charm, and this deceptive night 
 
 Brings a mysterious show ; 
 He shadows our dear earth, but his cool stars are white. 
 
 Is there any boat-song like this? any. in which the 
 harmony proceeds so manifestly from the poet s mind, 
 giving to nature more than it receives? In the fol 
 lowing stanzas the writer betrays a certain habitual 
 worship of genius, which characterizes many pieces 
 in the collection, breaking out sometimes into very 
 abrupt expression. 
 
 OCTOBER 
 
 Dry leaves with yellow ferns, they are 
 Fit wreath of Autumn, while a star 
 Still, bright, and pure, our frosty air 
 
 Shivers in twinkling points 
 
 Of thin celestial hair, 
 And thus one side of heaven anoints. 
 
 I am beneath the moon s calm look 
 Most quiet in this sheltered nook 
 From trouble of the frosty wind 
 
 Which curls the yellow blade; 
 
 Though in my covered mind 
 A grateful sense of change is made. 
 
REVIEWS OF BOOKS 143 
 
 To wandering men how dear this sight 
 Of a cold tranquil autumn night, 
 In its majestic deep repose; 
 
 Thus will their" genius be 
 
 Not buried in high snows, 
 Though of as mute tranquillity. 
 
 An anxious life they will not pass, 
 Nor, as the shadow on the grass, 
 Leave no impression there to stay; 
 
 To them all things are thought; 
 
 The blushing morn s decay, 
 Our death, our life, by this is taught. 
 
 find in every haze that shines, 
 A brief appearance without lines, 
 A single word, no finite joy; 
 
 For present is a Power 
 Which we may not annoy, 
 Yet love him stronger every hour. 
 
 1 would not put this sense from me, 
 If I could some great sovereign be; 
 Yet will not task a fellow man 
 
 To feel the same glad sense, 
 For no one living can 
 Feel save his given influence. 
 
 WILLINGNESS 
 
 An unendeavoring flower, how still 
 Its growth from morn to eventime; 
 Nor signs of hasty anger fill 
 Its tender form from birth to prime 
 Of happy will. 
 
 And some, who think these simple things 
 Can bear no goodness to their minds, 
 May learn to feel how nature brings, 
 Around a quiet being winds, 
 
 AJid through us sings. 
 
144 REVIEWS OF BOOKS 
 
 A stream to some is no delight, 
 Its element diffused around; 
 Yet in its unobtrusive flight 
 There trembles from its heart a sound 
 Like that of night. 
 
 So give thy true allotment, fair ; 
 To children turn a social heart; 
 And if thy days pass clear as air, 
 Or friends from thy beseeching part, 
 O humbly bear. 
 
 SONNETS 
 
 The brook is eddying in the forest dell, 
 
 All full of untaught merriment, the joy 
 
 Of breathing life is this green wood s employ. 
 
 The wind is feeling through his gentle bell ; 
 
 I and my flowers receive this music well. 
 
 Why will not man his natural life enjoy? 
 
 Can he then with his ample spirit toy? 
 
 Are human thoughts as wares now baked to sell? 
 
 All up, all round, all down, a thrilling deep, 
 
 A holy infinite salutes the sense, 
 
 And incommunicable praises leap, 
 
 Shooting the entire soul with love intense, 
 
 Throughout the All, and can a man live on to weep? 
 
 n. 
 
 There never lived a man who with a heart 
 
 Resolved, bound up, concentred in the good, 
 
 However low or high in rank he stood, 
 
 But when from him yourself had chanced to start, 
 
 You felt how goodness alway maketh art; 
 
 And that an ever venerable mood 
 
 Of sanctity, like the deep worship of a wood, 
 
 Of its unconsciousness turns you a part. 
 
REVIEWS OF BOOKS 145 
 
 Let us live amply in the joyous All; 
 
 We surely were not meant to ride the sea, 
 
 Skimming the wave in that so prisoned Small, 
 
 Reposing our infinite faculties utterly. 
 
 Boom like a roaring sunlit waterfall, 
 
 Humming to infinite abysms ; speak loud, speak free. 
 
 ui. 
 
 Hearts of eternity, hearts of the deep ! 
 Proclaim from land to sky your mighty fate; 
 How that for you no living comes too late; 
 How ye cannot in Theban labyrinth creep; 
 How ye great harvests from small surface reap; 
 Shout, excellent band, in grand primeval strain, 
 Like midnight winds that foam along the main, 
 And do all things rather than pause to weep. 
 A human heart knows nought of littleness, 
 Suspects no man, compares with no man s ways, 
 Hath in one hour most glorious length of days, 
 A recompense, a joy, a loveliness, 
 Like eaglet keen, shoots into azure far, 
 And always dwelling nigh is the remotest star. 
 
 LINES 
 
 WRITTEN IN THE EVENING OP A NOVEMBER DAY 
 
 Thee, mild autumnal day, 
 I felt not for myself; the winds may steal 
 From any point, and seem to me alike 
 
 Reviving, soothing powers. 
 
 Like thee the contrast is 
 Of a new mood in a decaying man, 
 Whose idle mind is suddenly revived 
 
 With many pleasant thoughts. 
 
 Our earth was gratified; 
 Fresh grass, a stranger in this frosty time, 
 Peeped from the crumbling mould as welcome as 
 
 An unexpected friend. 
 
146 REVIEWS OF BOOKS 
 
 How glowed the evening star, 
 As it delights to glow in summer s midst, 
 When out of ruddy boughs the twilight birds 
 
 Sing flowing harmony. 
 
 Peace was the will to-day, 
 Love in bewildering growth our joyous minds 
 Swelled to their widest bounds; the worldly left 
 
 All hearts to sympathize. 
 
 I felt for thee, for thee, 
 
 Whose inward, outward life completely moves, 
 Surrendered to the beauty of the soul 
 
 Of this creative day. 
 
 OUR BIRTH DAYS 
 
 These are the solemnest days of our bright lives, 
 
 When memory and hope within exert 
 
 Delightful reign; when sympathy revives, 
 
 And that, which late was in the soul inert, 
 
 Grows warm and living, and to us alone 
 
 Are these a knowledge; nowise may they hurt, 
 
 Or cry aloud, or frighten out the tone, 
 
 Which we will strive to wear and as calm nature own. 
 
 ii. 
 
 Whatever scenes our eyes once gratified, 
 Those landscapes couched around our early homes, 
 To which our tender, peaceful hearts replied, 
 To those our present happy feeling roams, 
 And takes a mightier joy than from the tomes 
 Of the pure scholar; those ten thousand sights 
 Of constant nature flow in us, as foams 
 The bubbling spring; these are the true delights 
 Wherewith this solemn world the sorrowful requites. 
 
REVIEWS OF BOOKS 147 
 
 These are proper Manuscript inspirations, honest, 
 great, but crude. They have never been filed or deco 
 rated for the eye that studies surface. The writer was 
 not afraid to write ill; he had a great meaning too 
 much at heart to stand for trifles, and wrote lordly 
 for his peers alone. This is the poetry of hope. Here 
 is no French correctness, but Hans Sachs and Chau 
 cer rather. But the minstrel can be sweet and tender 
 also. We select from the sheaf one leaf, for which 
 we predict a more general popularity. 
 
 A POET S LOVE 
 
 I can remember well 
 
 My very early youth, 
 
 My sumptuous Isabel, 
 
 Who was a girl of truth, 
 Of golden truth ; we do not often see 
 Those whose whole lives have only known to be. 
 
 So sunlight, very warm, 
 
 On harvest fields and trees, 
 
 Could not more sweetly form 
 
 Rej oicirig melodies 
 
 For these deep things, than Isabel for me; 
 I lay beneath her soul as a lit tree. 
 
 That cottage where she dwelt 
 
 Was all o er mosses green; 
 
 J still forever felt 
 
 How nothing stands between 
 The soul and truth; why, starving poverty 
 Was nothing nothing, Isabel, to thee. 
 
 Grass beneath her faint tread 
 
 Bent pleasantly away; 
 
 From her ne er small birds fled, 
 
 But kept at their bright play, 
 Not fearing her; it was her endless motion, 
 Just a true swell upon a summer ocean. 
 
148 REVIEWS OF BOOKS 
 
 Those who conveyed her home, 
 
 I mean who led her where 
 
 The spirit does not roam, 
 
 Had such small weight to bear, 
 They scarcely felt; how softly was thy knell 
 Rung for thee that soft day, girl Isabel. 
 
 I am no more below, 
 
 My life is raised on high; 
 
 My fantasy was slow 
 
 Ere Isabel could die; 
 
 It pressed me down; but now I sail away 
 Into the regions of exceeding day. 
 
 And Isabel and I 
 
 Float on the red brown clouds, 
 
 That amply multiply 
 
 The very constant crowds 
 Of serene shapes. Play on, Mortality ! 
 Thy happiest hour is that when thou may st die. 
 
 The second of the two following verses is of such 
 extreme beauty, that we do not remember anything 
 more perfect in its kind. Had the poet been looking 
 over a book of Raffaelle s drawings, or perchance the 
 villas and temples of Palladio, with the maiden to 
 whom it was addressed? 
 
 TO * * * * 
 
 My mind obeys the power 
 
 That through all persons breathes ; 
 And woods are murmuring, 
 And fields begin to sing, 
 
 And in me nature wreathes. 
 
 Thou too art with me here, 
 The best of all design; 
 
 Of that strong purity, 
 
 Which makes it joy to be 
 A distant thought of thine. 
 
REVIEWS OF BOOKS 149 
 
 But here are verses in another vein, plain, eth 
 ical, human, such as in ancient lands legislators carved 
 on stone tablets and monuments at the roadside, or 
 in the precincts of temples. They remind us of the 
 austere strain in which Milton celebrates the Hebrew 
 prophets. 
 
 " In them is plainest taught and easiest learned 
 What makes a nation happy and keeps it so." 
 
 The Bible is a book worthy to read; 
 
 The life of those great Prophets was the life we need, 
 
 From all delusive seeming ever freed. 
 
 Be not afraid to utter what thou art; 
 Tis no disgrace to keep an open heart; 
 A soul free, frank, and loving friends to aid, 
 Not even does this harm a gentle maid. 
 
 Strive as thou canst, thou wilt not value o er 
 Thy life. Thou standest on a lighted shore, 
 And from the waves of an unfathomed sea, 
 The noblest impulses flow tenderly to thee; 
 Feel them as they arise, and take them free. 
 
 Better live unknown, 
 
 No heart but thy own 
 
 Beating ever near, 
 
 To no mortal dear 
 
 In thy hemisphere, 
 
 Poor and wanting bread, 
 
 Steeped in poverty, 
 
 Than to be a dread, 
 
 Than to be afraid, 
 
 From thyself to flee; 
 
 For it is not living 
 
 To a soul believing, 
 
 To change each noble joy 
 
 Which our strength employs, 
 
150 REVIEWS OF BOOKS 
 
 For a state half rotten 
 And a life of toys. 
 Better be forgotten 
 Than lose equipoise. 
 
 How shall I live? In earnestness. 
 What shall I do? Work earnestly. 
 What shall I give? A willingness. 
 What shall I gain? Tranquillity. 
 But do you mean a quietness 
 In which I act and no man bless ? 
 Flash out in action infinite and free, 
 Action conjoined with deep tranquillity, 
 Resting upon the soul s true utterance, 
 And life shall flow as merry as a dance. 
 
 ii 
 
 Life is too good to waste, enough to prize; 
 Keep looking round with clear unhooded eyes; 
 Love all thy brothers, and for them endure 
 Many privations; the reward is sure. 
 
 A little thing! There is no little thing; 
 Through all a joyful song is murmuring; 
 Each leaf, each stem, each sound in winter drear 
 Has deepest meanings for an anxious ear. 
 
 Thou seest life is sad ; the father mourns his wife and child ; 
 Keep in the midst of heavy sorrows a fair aspect mild. 
 
 A howling fox, a shrieking owl, 
 
 A violent distracting Ghoul, 
 
 Forms of the most infuriate madness, 
 
 These may not move thy heart to gladness, 
 
 But look within the dark outside, 
 
 Nought shalt thou hate and nought deride. 
 
 Thou meet st a common man 
 With a delusive show of can. 
 His acts are petty forgeries of natural greatness, 
 That show a dreadful lateness 
 
 Of this life s mighty impulses; a want of truthful earnest 
 ness; 
 
REVIEWS OF BOOKS 151 
 
 He seems, not does, and in that shows 
 
 No true nobility, 
 
 A poor ductility, 
 
 That no proper office knows, 
 
 Not even estimation small of human woes. 
 
 Be not afraid, 
 His understanding aid 
 With thy own pure content, 
 On highest purpose bent. 
 
 Leave him not lonely, 
 
 For that his admiration 
 
 Fastens on self and seeming only; 
 
 Make a right dedication 
 
 Of all thy strength to keep 
 
 From swelling that so ample heap 
 
 Of lives abused, of virtue given for nought, 
 
 And thus it shall appear for all in nature hast thou wrought. 
 
 If thou unconsciously perform what s good, 
 
 Like nature s self thy proper mood. 
 
 A life well spent is like a flower, 
 That had bright sunshine its brief hour; 
 It flourished in pure willingness; 
 Discovered strongest earnestness; 
 Was fragrant for each lightest wind; 
 Was of its own particular kind ; 
 Nor knew a tone of discord sharp; 
 Breathed alway like a silver harp ; 
 And went to immortality 
 A very proper thing to die. 
 
 We will close our extracts from this rare file of 
 blotted paper with a lighter strain, which, whilst it 
 shows how gaily a poet can chide, gives us a new in 
 sight into his character and habits. 
 
 TORMENTS 
 
 YES! they torment me 
 Most exceedingly : 
 I would I could flee. 
 A breeze on a river 
 
152 REVIEWS OF BOOKS 
 
 J listen forever; 
 The yellowish heather 
 Under cool weather, 
 These are pleasures to me. 
 
 What do torment me? 
 Those living vacantly, 
 Who live but to see; 
 Indefinite action, 
 Nothing but motion, 
 Round stones a rolling, 
 No inward controlling ; 
 Yes ! they torment me. 
 
 Some cry all the time, 
 Even in their prime 
 Of youth s flushing clime. 
 O! out on this sorrow! 
 Fear st thou to-morrow? 
 Set thy legs going, 
 Be stamping, be rowing, 
 This of life is the lime. 
 
 Hail, thou mother Earth! 
 
 Who gave me thy worth 
 
 For my portion at birth : 
 
 I walk in thy azure, 
 
 Unfond of erasure, 
 
 But they who torment me 
 
 So most exceedingly 
 
 Sit with feet on the hearth. 
 
 We have more pages from the same hand lying 
 before us, marked by the same purity and tender 
 ness and early wisdom as these we have quoted, 
 but we shall close our extracts here. May the 
 right hand that has so written never lose its cun 
 ning! may this voice of love and harmony teach its 
 songs to the too long silent echoes of the Western 
 Forest. 
 
REVIEWS OF BOOKS 153 
 
 Two Years before the Mast. A Personal Narrative 
 of Life at Sea. New York: Harper and Brothers. 
 12mo, pp. 483. 
 
 This is a voice from the forecastle. Though a 
 narrative of literal, prosaic truth, it possesses some 
 thing of the romantic charm of Robinson Crusoe. 
 Few more interesting chapters of the literature of 
 the sea have ever fallen under our notice. The author 
 left the halls of the University for the deck of a mer 
 chant vessel, exchanging " the tight dress coat, silk 
 cap, and kid gloves of an undergraduate at Cam 
 bridge, for the loose duck trowsers, checked skirt, and 
 tarpaulin hat of a sailor," and here presents us the 
 fruits of his voyage. His book will have a wide cir 
 culation; it will be praised in the public prints; we 
 shall be told that it does honor to his head and heart ; 
 but we trust that it will do much more than this ; that 
 it will open the eyes of many to the condition of the 
 sailor, to the fearful waste of man, by which the luxu 
 ries of foreign climes are made to increase the amount 
 of commercial wealth. This simple narrative, 
 stamped with deep sincerity, and often displaying an 
 unstudied, pathetic eloquence, may lead to reflections, 
 which mere argument and sentimental appeals do not 
 call forth. It will serve to hasten the day of reckon 
 ing between society and the sailor, which, though late, 
 will not fail to come. 
 
 Social Destiny of Man: or Association and Reorgan 
 ization of Industry. By ALBERT BRISBANE. Phil 
 adelphia. 12mo, pp. 480. 
 
 This work is designed to give a condensed view of 
 the system of M. Fourier, for the improvement and 
 elevation of productive industry. It will be read with 
 
154 REVIEWS OF BOOKS 
 
 deep interest by a large class of our population. The 
 name of Fourier may be placed at the head of modern 
 thinkers, whose attention has been given to the prac 
 tical evils of society and the means of their removal. 
 His general principles should be cautiously separated 
 from the details which accompany their exposition, 
 many of which are so exclusively adapted to the 
 French character, as to prejudice their reception with 
 persons of opposite habits and associations. The 
 great question, which he brings up for discussion, con 
 cerns the union of labor and capital in the same in 
 dividuals, by a system of combined and organized 
 industry. This question, it is more than probable, 
 will not be set aside at once, whenever its importance 
 is fully perceived, and those who are interested in its 
 decision will find materials of no small value in the 
 writings of M. Fourier. They may be regarded, in 
 some sense, as the scientific analysis of the coopera 
 tive principle, which has, within a few years past, 
 engaged the public attention in England, and in 
 certain cases, received a successful, practical appli 
 cation. 
 
 Michael Angela, considered as a Philosophic Poet, 
 with Translations. By JOHN EDWARD TAYLOR. 
 London: Saunders & Otley, Conduit Street. 1840. 
 
 We welcome this little book with joy, and a hope 
 that it may be republished in Boston. It would find, 
 probably, but a small circle of readers, but that circle 
 would be more ready to receive and prize it than the 
 English public, for whom it was intended, if we may 
 judge by the way in which Mr. Taylor, all through 
 his prefatory essay, has considered it necessary to 
 apologize for, or, at least, explain views very com 
 monly received among ourselves. 
 
REVIEWS OF BOOKS 155 
 
 The essay is interesting from the degree of ac 
 quaintance it exhibits with some of those great ones, 
 who have held up the highest aims to the soul, and 
 from the degree of insight which reverence and deli 
 cacy of mind have given to the author. From every 
 line comes the soft breath of green pastures where 
 " walk the good shepherds." 
 
 Of the sonnets, we doubt the possibility of making 
 good translations into English. No gift of the Muse 
 is more injured by change of form than the Italian 
 sonnet. As those of Petrarch will not bear it, from 
 their infinite grace, those of Dante from their mystic 
 and subtle majesty; so these of Angelo, from the 
 nigged naivete with which they are struck off from 
 the mind, as huge splinters of stone might be 
 from some vast block, can never be "done into 
 English," as the old translators, with an intelligent 
 modesty, were wont to write of their work. The 
 grand thought is not quite evaporated in the process, 
 but the image of the stern and stately writer is 
 lost. We do not know again such words as " con 
 cetto," "superna" in their English representa 
 tives. 
 
 But since a knowledge of the Italian language is 
 not so common an attainment as could be wished, 
 we ought to be grateful for this attempt to ex 
 tend the benefit of these noble expressions of the 
 faith which inspired one of the most full and 
 noble lives that has ever redeemed and encouraged 
 man. 
 
 Fidelity must be the highest merit of these trans 
 lations; for not even an Angelo could translate his 
 peer. This, so far as we have looked at them, they 
 seem to possess. And even in the English dress, we 
 think none, to whom they are new, can read the son 
 nets, 
 
156 REVIEWS, OF BOOKS 
 
 " V e ggi ne l volto tuo col pensier mie." 
 " S un casto amor, s una pieta superna." 
 " La vita del mio amor non e cuor mio." 
 
 and others of the same pure religion, without a delight 
 which shall 
 
 " Cast a light upon the day, 
 A light which will not go away, 
 A sweet forewarning." 
 
 We hope they may have the opportunity. It is a 
 very little book with a great deal in it, and five hun 
 dred copies will sell in two years. 
 
 We add Mr. Taylor s little preface, which happily 
 expresses his design. 
 
 " The remarks on the poetry and philosophy of 
 Michael Angelo, which are prefixed to these transla 
 tions, have been collected and are now published, in 
 the hope that they may invite the student of literature 
 to trace the relation which unites the efforts of the 
 pure intelligence and the desires of the heart to their 
 highest earthly accomplishment under the complete 
 forms of Art. For the example of so eminent a mind, 
 watched and judged not only by its finished works, 
 but, as it were, in its growth and from its inner source 
 of Love and Knowledge, cannot but enlarge the 
 range of our sympathy for the best powers and pro 
 ductions of man. And if these pages should meet 
 with any readers inclined, like their writer, to seek 
 and to admire the veiled truth and solemn beauty of 
 the elder time, they will add their humble testimony 
 to the fact, that whatever be the purpose and tenden 
 cies of the time we live in, we are not all unmind 
 ful of the better part of our inheritance in this 
 world." 
 
REVIEWS OF BOOKS 157 
 
 The Worship of the Soul. A Discourse preached to 
 the Third Congregational Society in Chelsea, at 
 the Dedication of their Chapel, on Sunday Morn 
 ing, September 13, 1840. By SAMUEL D. ROB- 
 BINS. Chelsea and Boston: B. H. Greene. 1840. 
 8vo, pp. 16. 
 
 This Discourse is pervaded by a deeper vein of 
 thought than we are wont to look for, or to find in the 
 occasional services of the pulpit. We should rejoice 
 to know that there is any considerable number of per 
 sons among the congregations that assemble in the 
 churches for Sabbath worship, who take delight in 
 such simple, fervent, and practical expositions of re 
 ligious truth as are here set forth. This Dis 
 course, however, indicates more than it unfolds; it 
 is not a complete and harmonious whole; and it 
 will be read with greater profit by those who 
 watch for every gleam of sun-light, than by those 
 whose eyes are open only to the broadest glare of 
 noon. 
 
 The following passage expresses the feelings of 
 many who are accustomed to distinguish between re 
 ligion, as it existed in the divine idea of Jesus, and the 
 religion which ventures to assume his name, as an ex 
 clusive badge at the present day, 
 
 " The occasion which assembles us is one of thrill 
 ing interest. At a day when the whole aspect of the 
 church and the world seems to present strong tenden 
 cies toward revolution; while on all sides men seem 
 to be outgrowing the tyranny of forms, and overleap 
 ing all former barriers which have been raised be 
 tween themselves and perfect freedom, we come to 
 consecrate this temple to the worship of the Father 
 of our Spirits, and thus bear our humble testimony 
 that we can find in Christian usages, and the Chris- 
 
158 REVIEWS OF BOOKS 
 
 tian s faith, all that we need for our mental and spirit 
 ual advancement in the path to heaven. We feel, 
 however others may consider the subject, that in the 
 Bible and in the Saviour, are revealed to us Infinite 
 Truths, which man can never outgrow, which as yet 
 the world have scarcely imagined. And although we 
 do not believe that the Christianity of Society, or the 
 Christianity of the Church, as they appear in the 
 present age, are by any means perfect, we do feel that 
 the Christianity of Jesus is perfect, perpetual, and 
 eternal: that the age will never arrive when man can 
 not draw from the fountain of God s truth, the 
 waters of life and salvation." - pp. 3, 4. 
 
 The characteristics of Christianity, as described by 
 Mr. Robbins, and the offices of the church, are worthy 
 of attention. In reading this statement, we cannot 
 but be struck with the incongruity between the ideal 
 church of the preacher, and the actual church of mod 
 ern society. 
 
 " I have said that Christianity is emphatically the 
 science of the soul ; and I regard this view of the re 
 ligion of Jesus as infinitely important. We have our 
 Universities and our Schools which are instituted for 
 the purpose of teaching and explaining the natural 
 sciences and the philosophy of the intellect. But the 
 Church is consecrated only to the higher purposes of 
 instruction in the knowledge of the human heart and 
 conscience; in the mysteries of the soul, its laws and 
 duties and destiny. We gather ourselves into this 
 holy place to learn those mighty truths which relate 
 to God and man. We come up hither from the 
 world and its trials and dangers to listen to the 
 wisdom of Jesus, and learn those deep lessons of 
 faith and obedience and love, by which we are 
 to become ripened daily into the image of Infinite 
 Holiness. 
 
REVIEWS OF BOOKS 159 
 
 " There is a higher life than that which most spirits 
 live. A higher love than most spirits know. There 
 is an infinity in the human soul which few have yet 
 believed, and after which few have aspired. There 
 is a lofty power of moral principle in the depths of 
 our nature, which is nearly allied to omnipotence; 
 compared with which the whole force of outward na 
 ture is more feeble than an infant s grasp. There is a 
 might within the soul which sets at nought all outward 
 things; and there is a joy unspeakable and full of 
 glory, dwelling in the recesses of the good man s 
 heart too vast for utterance. There is a spiritual in 
 sight to which the pure soul reaches, more clear and 
 prophetic, more wide and vast than all telescopic vis 
 ion can typify. There is a faith in God and a clear 
 perception of his will and designs and Providence 
 and Glory, which gives to its possessor a confidence 
 and patience and sweet composure, under every varied 
 and troublous aspect of events, such as no man can 
 realize, who has not felt its influences in his own heart. 
 There is a communion with God in which the soul 
 feels the presence of the unseen One, in the profound 
 depths of its being, with a vivid distinctness, and a 
 holy reverence, such as no word can describe. There 
 is a state of union of spirit with God, I do not say 
 often reached, yet it has been attained in this world, 
 in which all the past and present, and future seem 
 reconciled, and Eternity is won and enjoyed; and 
 God and man, earth and heaven with all their mys 
 teries are apprehended in truth, as .they lie in the 
 mind of the Infinite. But the struggle with most 
 beings is to spiritualize the actual, to make those 
 things which are immediately around them subserve 
 the higher interests of their immortal nature; and 
 finding that it is almost impossible to do this, they 
 faint in the way, and postpone to a future life that 
 
160 REVIEWS OF BOOKS 
 
 higher being which their thought apprehends, and 
 their hearts long for, but cannot reach. Hence it is 
 that the advanced powers of the soul of which I have 
 been speaking are not believed to exist for us, in this 
 world at least ; and therefore the few who will strive 
 for them, because they dare not compromise their 
 highest thought and life and love, are looked upon 
 as spiritual star-gazers, as visionaries dwelling amid 
 the beautiful creations of their own ardent hearts. 
 Hence it is that in our age the Church and its highest 
 influences is needed, to declare to the wide world 
 those precious promises which are destined to carry 
 comfort and peace to the deepest emotions of the 
 struggling soul; to speak to all men everywhere in 
 the name of Jesus, teaching them that the highest and 
 loveliest visions which the human mind in its most 
 rapt hour of aspiration, has enjoyed of Truth and 
 Life, of Holiness and Love of duty and denial of 
 growth and glory of Faith and .God, are only the 
 faintest sketches of that reality which Christianity 
 has brought to light." pp. 9-11. 
 
 Essay sand Poems. By JONES VERY. Boston: C. C. 
 Little and James Brown 
 
 This little volume would have received an earlier 
 notice, if we had been at all careful to proclaim our 
 favorite books. The genius of this book is religious, 
 and reaches an extraordinary depth of sentiment. 
 The author, plainly a man of a pure and kindly tem 
 per, casts himself into the state of the high and tran 
 scendental obedience to the inward Spirit. He has 
 apparently made up his mind to follow all its lead 
 ings, though he should be taxed with absurdity or even 
 with insanity. In this enthusiasm he writes most of 
 
REVIEWS OF BOOKS 161 
 
 these verses, which rather flow through him than from 
 him. There is no composition, no elaboration, no ar 
 tifice in the structure of the rhyme, no variety in the 
 imagery; in short, no pretension to literary merit, 
 for this would be departure from his singleness, and 
 followed by loss of insight. He is not at liberty even 
 to correct these unpremeditated poems for the press; 
 but if another will publish them, he offers no objec 
 tion. In this way they have come into the world, and 
 as yet have hardly begun to be known. With the 
 exception of the few first poems, which appear to be 
 of an earlier date, all these verses bear the unques 
 tionable stamp of grandeur. They are the breathings 
 of a certain entranced devotion, which one would say, 
 should be received with affectionate and sympathi 
 zing curiosity by all men, as if no recent writer had 
 so much to show them of what is most their own. 
 They are as sincere a litany as the Hebrew songs of 
 David or Isaiah, and only less than they, because in 
 debted to the Hebrew muse for their tone and genius. 
 This makes the singularity of the book, namely, that 
 so pure an utterance of the most domestic and primi 
 tive of all sentiments should in this age of revolt and 
 experiment use once more the popular religious lan 
 guage, and so show itself secondary and morbid. 
 These sonnets have little range of topics, no extent of 
 observation, no playfulness; there is even a certain 
 torpidity in the concluding lines of some of them, 
 which reminds one of church hymns ; but, whilst they 
 flow with great sweetness, they have the sublime unity 
 of the Decalogue or the Code of Menu, and if as 
 monotonous, yet are they almost as pure as the sounds 
 of surrounding Nature. We gladly insert from a 
 newspaper the following sonnet, which appeared since 
 the volume was printed. 
 
162 REVIEWS OF BOOKS 
 
 THE BARBERRY BUSH 
 
 The bush that has most briars and bitter fruit, 
 
 Wait till the frost has turned its green leaves red, 
 
 Its sweetened berries will thy palate suit, 
 
 And thou may st find e en there a homely bread. 
 
 Upon the hills of Salem scattered wide, 
 
 Their yellow blossoms gain the eye in Spring; 
 
 And straggling e en upon the turnpike s side, 
 
 Their ripened branches to your hand they bring, 
 
 I ve plucked them oft in boyhood s early hour, 
 
 That then I gave such name, and thought it true; 
 
 But now I know that other fruit as sour 
 
 Grows on what now thou callest Me and You; 
 
 Yet, wilt thou wait the autumn that I see, 
 
 Will sweeter taste than these red berries be. 
 
 At the request of a friend the following notice 
 is inserted of a book about to be published, called 
 "The Ideal Man." Boston: E. P. Peabody. 
 1842. 
 
 This book is somewhat out of the common course 
 of American books on manners, morals, and religion. 
 But we think it had better have been named the Cul 
 tivated Gentleman, than to have assumed the title of 
 The t Ideal Man. It is a manual of good manners, of 
 pure aims, and of honorable and praiseworthy con 
 duct, and especially is opposed to that negligence of 
 form which runs so to excess with us. But it does not 
 recommend or tolerate anything hollow or unmean 
 ing. The good manners must signify good taste, 
 good morals, good learning, and sincere religion. It 
 bears marks of being written by a foreigner, in its 
 style as well as matter, though he writes in the char 
 acter of an American. 
 
REVIEWS OF BOOKS 163 
 
 The Zincali: or an Account of the Gypsies of Spain; 
 with an Original Collection of their Songs and 
 Poetry. By GEORGE BORROW. Two Volumes in 
 New York: Wiley & Putnam. 
 
 Our list of tribes in America indigenous and im 
 ported wants the Gypsies, as the Flora of the western 
 hemisphere wants the race of heaths. But as it is all 
 one to the urchin of six years, whether the fine toys 
 are to be found in his father s house or across the road 
 at his grandfather s, so we have always domesticated 
 the Gypsy in school-boy literature from the English 
 tales and traditions. This reprinted London book is 
 equally sure of being read here as in England, and is 
 a most acceptable gift to the lovers of the wild and 
 wonderful. There are twenty or thirty pages in it of 
 fascinating romantic attraction, and the whole book, 
 though somewhat rudely and miscellaneously put to 
 gether, is animated, and tells us what we wish to 
 know. Mr. Borrow visited the Gypsies in Spain and 
 elsewhere, as an agent of the British and Foreign 
 Bible Society, and seems to have been commended to 
 this employment by the rare accomplishment of a 
 good acquaintance with the language of this singular 
 people. How he acquired his knowledge of their 
 speech, which seems to have opened their hearts to 
 hkn, he does not inform us; and he appears to have 
 prospered very indifferently in the religious objects 
 of his mission; but to have really had that in his na 
 ture or education which gave him access to the Gypsy 
 gang, so that he has seen them, talked confidentially 
 with them, and brought away something distinct 
 enough from them. 
 
 He has given us sketches of their past and present 
 manner of life and employments, in the different 
 European states, collected a strange little magazine 
 
164 REVIEWS OF BOOKS 
 
 of their poetry, and added a vocabulary of their lan 
 guage. He has interspersed some anecdotes of life 
 and manners, which are told with great spirit. 
 
 This book is very entertaining, and yet, out of 
 mere love and respect to human nature, we must add 
 that this account of the Gypsy race must be imperfect 
 and very partial, and that the author never sees his 
 object quite near enough. For, on the whole, the 
 impression made by the book is dismal ; the poverty, 
 the employments, conversations, mutual behavior of 
 the Gypsies, are dismal ; the poetry is dismal. Men 
 do not love to be dismal, and always have their own 
 reliefs. If we take Mr. Sorrow s story as final, here is 
 a great people subsisting for centuries unmixed with 
 the surrounding population, like a bare and blasted 
 heath in the midst of smiling plenty, yet cherishing 
 their wretchedness, by rigorous usage and tradition, 
 as if they loved it. It is an aristocracy of rags, and 
 suffering, and vice, yet as exclusive as the patricians 
 of wealth and power. We infer that the picture is 
 false; that resources and compensations exist, which 
 are not shown us. If Gypsies are pricked, we believe 
 they will bleed; if wretched, they will jump at the 
 first opportunity of bettering their condition. What 
 unmakes man is essentially incredible. The air may 
 be loaded with fogs or with fetid gases, and continue 
 respirable; but if it be decomposed, it can no longer 
 sustain life. The condition of the Gypsy may be bad 
 enough, tried by the scale of English comfort, and yet 
 appear tolerable and pleasant to the Gypsy, who finds 
 attractions in his out-door way of living, his freedom, 
 and sociability, which the Agent of the Bible Society 
 does not reckon. !A.nd we think that a traveller of 
 another way of thinking would not find the Gypsy 
 so void of conscience as Mr. Borrow paints him, as 
 the differences in that particular are universally exag- 
 
REVIEWS OF BOOKS 165 
 
 gerated in daily conversation. And lastly, we sus 
 pect the walls of separation between the Gypsy and 
 the surrounding population are less firm than we are 
 here given to understand. 
 
 Ancient Spanish Ballads, Historical and Romantic. 
 Translated, with Notes. By J. G. LOCKHART. 
 New York: Wiley & Putnam. 
 
 The enterprising publishers, Messrs. Wiley & Put 
 nam, who have reprinted, in a plain but very neat 
 form, Mr. Lockhart s gorgeously illustrated work, 
 have judiciously prefixed to it, by way of introduc 
 tion, a critique on the book from the Edinburgh Re 
 view, and have added at the end of the volume an 
 analytical account, with specimens of the Romance 
 of the Cid, from the Penny Magazine. This is done 
 with the greatest propriety, for the Cid seems to be 
 the proper centre of Spanish legendary poetry. The 
 Iliad, the Nibelungen, the Cid, the Robin Hood Bal 
 lads, Frithiof s Saga, (for the last also depends for 
 its merit on its fidelity to the legend,) are five ad 
 mirable collections of early popular poetry of so many 
 nations; and with whatever difference of form, they 
 possess strong mutual resemblances, chiefly apparent 
 in the spirit which they communicate to the reader, 
 of health, vigor, cheerfulness, and good hope. In this 
 day of reprinting and of restoration, we hope that 
 Southey s Chronicle of the Cid, which is a kind of 
 " Harmony of the Gospels " of the Spanish Ro 
 mance, may be republished in a volume of convenient 
 size. That is a strong book, and makes lovers and 
 admirers of " My Cid, the Perfect one, who was born 
 in a fortunate hour." Its traits of heroism and bursts 
 of simple emotion, once read, can never be forgotten; 
 * I am not a man to be besieged; " and " God! What 
 
166 REVIEWS OF BOOKS 
 
 a glad man was the Cid on that day," and many the 
 like words still ring in our ears. The Cortes at To 
 ledo, where judgment was given between the Cid and 
 his sons-in-law, is one of the strongest dramatic scenes 
 in literature. Several of the best ballads in Mr. Lock- 
 hart s collection recite incidents of the Cid s history. 
 The best ballad in the book is the " Count Alar cos 
 and the Infanta Solisa," which is a meet companion 
 for Chaucer s Griselda. The " Count Garci Perez 
 de Vargas " is one of our favorites; and there is one 
 called the " Bridal of Andalla," which we have long 
 lost all power to read as a poem, since we have heard 
 it sung by a voice so rich, and sweet, and penetrating, 
 as to make the ballad the inalienable property of the 
 singer. 
 
 Tecumseh; a Poem. By GEORGE H. COLTON. New 
 York: Wiley & Putnam 
 
 This pleasing summer-day story is the work of a 
 well read, cultivated writer, with a skilful ear, and an 
 evident admirer of Scott and Campbell. There is a 
 metrical sweetness and calm perception of beauty 
 spread over the poem, which declare that the poet en 
 joyed his own work; and the smoothness and literary 
 finish of the cantos seem to indicate more years than 
 it appears our author has numbered. Yet the perusal 
 suggested that the author had written this poem in 
 the feeling, that the delight he has experienced from 
 Scott s effective lists of names might be reproduced 
 in America by the enumeration of the sweet and 
 sonorous Indian names of our waters. The success is 
 exactly correspondent. The verses are tuneful, but 
 are secondary; and remind the ear so much of the 
 model, as to show that the noble aboriginal names 
 wore not suffered to make their own measures in the 
 
REVIEWS OF BOOKS 167 
 
 poet s ear, but must modulate their wild beauty to a 
 foreign metre. They deserved better at the author s 
 hands. We felt, also, the objection that is apt to lie 
 against poems on new subjects by persons versed in 
 old books, that the costume is exaggerated at the ex 
 pense of the man. The most Indian thing about the 
 Indian is surely not his moccasins, or his calumet, his 
 wampum, or his stone hatchet, but traits of char 
 acter and sagacity, skill or passion; which would 
 be intelligible at Paris or at Pekin, and which 
 Scipio or Sidney, Lord Clive or Colonel Crockett 
 would be as likely to exhibit as Osceola and Black 
 Hawk. 
 
 Poems. By ALFRED TENNYSON. Two Volumes. 
 Boston: W. D. Ticknor 
 
 Tennyson is more simply the songster than any 
 poet of our time. With him the delight of musical 
 expression is first, the thought second. It was well 
 observed by one of our companions, that he has de 
 scribed just what we should suppose to be his method 
 of composition in this verse from The Miller s 
 Daughter." 
 
 " A love-song I had somewhere read, 
 An echo from a measured strain, 
 
 Beat time to nothing in my head 
 From some odd corner of the brain. 
 
 It haunted me, the morning long, 
 With weary sameness in the rhymes, 
 
 The phantom of a silent song, 
 That went and came a thousand times." 
 
 So large a proportion of even the good poetry of 
 our time is either over-ethical or over-passionate, and 
 the stock poetry is so deeply tainted with a sentimen- 
 
168 REVIEWS OF BOOKS 
 
 tal egotism, that this, whose chief merits lay in its 
 melody and picturesque power, was most refreshing. 
 What a relief, after sermonizing and wailing had 
 dulled the sense with such a weight of cold abstrac 
 tion, to be soothed by this ivory lute! 
 
 Not that he wanted nobleness and individuality in 
 his thoughts, or a due sense of the poet s vocation; 
 but he won us to truths, not forced them upon us; as 
 we listened, the cope 
 
 " Of tKe self -attained futurity 
 Was cloven with the million stars which tremble 
 O er the deep mind of dauntless infamy." 
 
 And he seemed worthy thus to address his friend, 
 
 " Weak truth a-leaning on Her crutcK, 
 Wan, wasted truth in her utmost need, 
 Thy kingly intellect shall feed, 
 Until she be an athlete bold." 
 
 Unless thus sustained, the luxurious sweetness of 
 his verse must have wearied. Yet it was not of aim 
 or meaning we thought most, but of his exquisite sense 
 for sounds and melodies, as marked by himself in the 
 description of Cleopatra. 
 
 " Her warbling voice, a lyre of widest range, 
 Touched by all passion,, did fall down and glance 
 From tone to tone, and glided through all change 
 Of liveliest utterance." 
 
 Or in the fine passage in the Vision of Sin, where 
 
 11 Then the music touched the gates and died ; 
 Rose again from where it seemed to fail, 
 Stormed in orbs of song, a growing gale ; " &c. 
 
REVIEWS OF BOOKS 169 
 
 Or where the Talking Oak composes its serenade for 
 the pretty Alice ; but indeed his descriptions of 
 melody are almost as abundant as his melodies, though 
 the central music of the poet s mind is, he says, as that 
 of the 
 
 " fountain 
 
 Like sheet lightning, 
 
 Ever brightening 
 With a low melodious thunder; 
 All day and all night it is ever drawn 
 From the brain of the purple mountain 
 Which stands in the distance yonder: 
 It springs on a level of bowery lawn, 
 And the mountain draws it from heaven above, 
 And it sings a song of undying love." 
 
 Next to his music, his delicate, various, gorgeous 
 music, stands his power of picturesque representa 
 tion. And his, unlike those of most poets, are eye- 
 pictures, not mind-pictures. And yet there is no hard 
 or tame fidelity, but a simplicity and ease at represen 
 tation (which is quite another thing from reproduc 
 tion) rarely to be paralleled. How, in the Palace of 
 Art, for instance, they are unrolled slowly and grace 
 fully, as if painted one after another on the same can 
 vass. The touch is calm and masterly, though the 
 result is looked at with a sweet, self-pleasing eye. 
 Who can forget such as this, and of such there are 
 many, painted with as few strokes and with as com 
 plete a success? 
 
 " A still salt pool, locked in with bars of sand ; 
 
 Left on the shore; that hears all night 
 The plunging seas draw backward from the land 
 Their moon-led waters white/ 
 
 Tennyson delights in a garden. Its groups, an d 
 walks, and mingled bloom intoxicate him, and us 
 
170 REVIEWS OF BOOKS 
 
 through him. So high is his organization, and so 
 powerfully stimulated by color and perfume, that it 
 heightens all our senses too, and the rose is glorious, 
 not from detecting its ideal beauty, but from a per 
 fection of hue and scent, we never felt before. All 
 the earlier poems are flower-like, and this tendency is 
 so strong in him, that a friend observed, he could not 
 keep up the character of the tree in his Oak of Sum 
 mer Chase, but made it talk like an " enormous 
 flower." The song, 
 
 " A spirit haunts the year s last hours," 
 
 is not to be surpassed for its picture of the autumnal 
 garden. 
 
 The new poems, found in the present edition, show 
 us our friend of ten years since much altered, yet the 
 same. The light he sheds on the world is mellowed 
 and tempered. If the charm he threw around us be 
 fore was somewhat too sensuous, it is not so now; he 
 is deeply thoughtful ; the dignified and graceful man 
 has displaced the Antinous beauty of the youth. His 
 melody is less rich, less intoxicating, but deeper; a 
 sweetness from the soul, sweetness as of the hived 
 honey of fine experiences, replaces the sweetness 
 which captivated the ear only, in many of his earlier 
 verses. His range of subjects was great before, and 
 is now such that he would seem too merely the ama 
 teur, but for the success in each, which says that the 
 same fluent and apprehensive nature, which threw 
 itself with such ease into the forms of outward beauty, 
 has now been intent rather on the secrets of the sha 
 ping spirit. In " Locksley Hall," " St. Simeon Sty- 
 lites," "Ulysses," "Love and Duty," "The Two 
 Voices," are deep tones, that bespeak that acquain 
 tance with realities, of which, in the " Palace of Art," 
 
REVIEWS OF BOOKS 171 
 
 he had expressed his need. The keen sense of out 
 ward beauty, the ready shaping fancy, had not been 
 suffered to degrade the poet into that basest of beings, 
 an intellectual voluptuary, and a pensive but serene 
 wisdom hallows all his song. 
 
 His opinions on subjects, that now divide the 
 world, are stated in two or three of these pieces, with 
 that temperance and candor of thought, now more 
 rare even than usual, and with a simplicity bordering 
 on homeliness of diction, which is peculiarly pleasing, 
 from the sense of plastic power and refined good sense 
 it imparts. 
 
 A gentle and gradual style of narration, without 
 prolixity or tameness, is seldom to be found in the 
 degree in which such pieces as " Dora " and " Go- 
 diva " display it. The grace of the light ballad pieces 
 is as remarkable in its way, as was his grasp and force 
 in " Oriana." " The Lord of Burleigh," " Edward 
 Gray," and " Lady Clare," are distinguished for dif 
 ferent shades of this light grace, tender, and speaking 
 more to the soul than the sense, like the different hues 
 in the landscape, when the sun is hid in clouds, so 
 gently shaded that they seem but the echoes of them 
 selves. 
 
 I know not whether most to admire the bursts of 
 passion in " Locksley Hall," the playful sweetness 
 of the " Talking Oak," or the mere catching of a 
 cadence in such slight things as 
 
 " Break, break, break 
 On thy cold gray stones, O sea/ &c. 
 
 Nothing is more uncommon than the lightness of 
 touch, which gives a charm to such little pieces as the 
 " Skipping Rope." 
 
 We regret much to miss from this edition " The 
 Mystic," " The Deserted House," and " Elegiacs," 
 
172 REVIEWS OF BOOKS 
 
 all favorites for years past, and not to be disparaged 
 in favor of any in the present collection. England, 
 we believe, has not shown a due sense of the merits 
 of this poet, and to us is given the honor of rendering 
 homage more readily to an accurate and elegant in 
 tellect, a musical reception of nature, a high ten 
 dency in thought, and a talent of singular fineness, 
 flexibility, and scope. 
 
 A Letter to Rev. Wm. E. Channing, D. D. By O. 
 A. BROWNSON. Boston: Charles C. Little and 
 James Brown. 1842. 
 
 That there is no knowledge of God possible to 
 man but a subjective knowledge, no revelation but 
 the development of the individual within himself, and 
 to himself, are prevalent statements, which Mr. 
 Brownson opposes by a single formula, that life is 
 relative in its very nature. God alone is; all crea 
 tures live by virtue of what is not themselves, no less 
 than by virtue of what is themselves, the prerogative 
 of man being to do consciously, that is, more or less, 
 intelligently. Mr. Brownson carefully discriminates 
 between Essence and Life. Essence, being object to 
 itself, alone has freedom, which is what the old theo 
 logians named sovereignty ; a noble word for the 
 thing intended, were it not desecrated in our asso 
 ciations, in being usurped by creatures that are 
 slaves to time and circumstance. But life implies 
 a causative object, as well as causative subject; 
 wherefore creatures are only free by Grace of 
 God. 
 
 That men should live, with God for predominating 
 object, is the Ideal of Humanity, or the Law of Holi 
 ness, in the highest sense; for this object alone can 
 emancipate them from what is below themselves. 
 
REVIEWS OF BOOKS 173 
 
 But a nice discrimination must be made here. The 
 Ideal of Humanity, as used by Mr. Brownson, does 
 not mean the highest idea of himself, which a man 
 can form by induction on himself as an individual ; it 
 means God s idea of man, which shines into every 
 man from the beginning; " Enlighteneth every man 
 that cometh into the world," though his darkness com- 
 prehendeth it not, until it is " made flesh." It is by 
 virtue of that freedom which is God s alone, and which 
 is the issue of absolute love, that is, " because God so 
 loved the world," he takes up the subject, Jesus, and 
 makes himself objective to him without measure, 
 thereby rendering his life as divine as it is human, 
 though it remains also as human, strictly speak 
 ing, as it is divine. 
 
 To all men s consciousness it is true that God is 
 objective in a degree, or they were not distinctively 
 human. His glory is refracted, as it were, to their 
 eyes, through the universe. But only in a man, to 
 whom he has made himself the imperative object, does 
 he approach men, in all points, in such degree as to 
 make them divine. He is no less free (sovereign) in 
 coming to each man in Christ, than, in the first in 
 stance, in* making Jesus of Nazareth the Christ. Men 
 are only free inasmuch as they are open to this majes 
 tic access, and are able to pray with St. Augustine, 
 "What art thou to me, oh Lord? Have mercy on 
 me that I may ask. The house of my soul is too 
 strait for thee to come into; but let it, oh Lord, be 
 enlarged by thee. It is ruinous, but let it be repaired 
 by thee," &c. 
 
 The Unitarian Church, as Mr. Brownson thinks, 
 indicates truth, in so far as it insists on the life of 
 Jesus as being that wherein we find grace ; but in so 
 far as it does not perceive that this life is something 
 more than a series of good actions, which others may 
 
174 REVIEWS OF BOOKS 
 
 reproduce, it leans on an arm of flesh, and puts an 
 idol in the place of Christ. The Trinitarian Church, 
 he thinks, therefore, has come nearer the truth, by 
 its formulas of doctrine; and especially the Roman 
 Catholic Church, by the Eucharist. The error of 
 both Churches has been to predicate of the being, 
 Jesus, what is only true of his life. The being, Jesus, 
 was a man; his life is God. It is the doctrine of John 
 the Evangelist throughout, that the soul lives by the 
 real presence of Jesus Christ, as literally as the body 
 lives by bread. The unchristianized live only par 
 tially, by so much of the word as shines in the dark 
 ness which may not hinder it quite. This partial life 
 repeats in all time the prophecies of antiquity, and is 
 another witness to Jesus Christ, " the same yester 
 day, to-day, and forever." 
 
 Mr. Brownson thinks that he has thus discovered 
 a formula of " the faith once delivered to the saints," 
 which goes behind and annihilates the controversy 
 between Unitarians and Trinitarians, and may lead 
 them both to a deeper comprehension and clearer ex 
 pression of the secret of life. 
 
 Confessions of St. Augustine. Boston: E. P. Pea- 
 body 
 
 We heartily welcome this reprint from the recent 
 London edition, which was a revision, by the Oxford 
 divines, of an old English translation. It is a rare 
 addition to our religious library. The great Augus 
 tine, one of the truest, richest, subtlest, eloquentest 
 of authors, comes now in this American dress, to stand 
 on the same shelf with his far-famed disciples, with 
 A-Kempis, Herbert, Taylor, Scougal, and Fenelon. 
 The Confessions have also a high interest as one of 
 the honestest autobiographies ever written. In this 
 
REVIEWS OF BOOKS 175 
 
 view it takes even rank with Montaigne s Essays, 
 with Luther s Table Talk, the Life of John Bunyan, 
 with Rousseau s Confessions, and the Life of Dr. 
 Franklin. In opening the book at random, we have 
 fallen on his reflections on the death of his early 
 friend. 
 
 " O madness, which knowest not how to love men 
 like men! I fretted, sighed, wept, was distracted, had 
 neither rest nor counsel. For I bore about a shattered 
 and bleeding soul, impatient of being borne by me, 
 yet where to repose it I found not. All things looked 
 ghastly; yea, the very light; whatsoever was not 
 what he was, was revolting and hateful, except groan 
 ing and tears. In those alone found I a little refresh 
 ment. I fled out of my country; for so should 
 mine eyes look less for him where they were not wont 
 to see him. And thus from Thagaste I came to 
 Carthage. Times lose no time; nor do they roll idly 
 by ; through our senses they work strange operations 
 on the mind. Behold, they went and came day by 
 day, and by coming and going introduced into my 
 mind other imaginations and other remembrances; 
 and little by little patched me up again with my old 
 kind of delights unto which that my sorrow gave way. 
 And yet there succeeded not indeed other griefs, yet 
 the causes of other griefs. For whence had that 
 former grief so easily reached my inmost soul but that 
 I had poured out my soul upon the dust in loving one, 
 that must die, as if he would never die. For what 
 restored and refreshed me chiefly, was the solaces of 
 other friends with whom I did love what instead of 
 thee I loved: and this was a great fable and pro 
 tracted lie, by whose adulterous stimulus our soul, 
 which lay itching in our ears, was defiled. But that 
 fable would not die to me so oft as any of my friends 
 died. There were other things which in them did 
 
176 REVIEWS OF BOOKS 
 
 more take my mind; to talk and jest together; to do 
 kind offices by turns; to read together honied books; 
 to play the fool or be earnest together; to dissent at 
 times without discontent, as a man might with his 
 ownself ; and even with the seldomness of those dis- 
 sentings, to season our more frequent consentings; 
 sometimes to teach, and sometimes learn; long for 
 the absent with impatience, and welcome the coming 
 with joy." 
 
 The Bible in Spain., or the Journeys, ^Adventures, and 
 Imprisonments of an Englishman in an attempt 
 to circulate the Scriptures in the Peninsula. By 
 GEORGE BORROW. Author of " The Gypsies in 
 Spain." 
 
 This is a charming book, full of free breezes, and 
 mountain torrents, and pictures of romantic interest. 
 Mr. Borrow is a self-sufficing man of free nature, his 
 mind is always in the fresh air; he is not unworthy 
 to climb the sierras and rest beneath the cork trees 
 where we have so often enjoyed the company of Don 
 Quixote. And he has the merit, almost miraculous 
 to-day, of leaving us almost always to draw our own 
 inferences from what he gives us. We can wander 
 on in peace, secure against being forced back upon 
 ourselves, or forced sideways to himself. It is as 
 good to read through this book of pictures, as to stay 
 in a house hung with Gobelin tapestry. The Gypsies 
 are introduced here with even more spirit than in his 
 other book. He sketches men and nature with the 
 same bold and clear, though careless touch. Cape 
 Finisterre and the entrance into Gallicia are as good 
 parts as any to look at. 
 
REVIEWS OF BOOKS 177 
 
 Paracelsus 
 
 Mr. Browning was known to us before, by a little 
 book called " Pippa Passes," full of bold openings, 
 motley with talent like this, and rich in touches of 
 personal experience. A version of the thought of the 
 day so much less penetrating than Faust and Festus 
 cannot detain us long; yet we are pleased to see each 
 man in his kind bearing witness, that neither sight 
 nor thought will enable to attain that golden crown 
 which is the reward of life, of profound experiences 
 and gradual processes, the golden crown of wisdom. 
 The artist nature is painted with great vigor in 
 Aprile. The author has come nearer that, than to 
 the philosophic nature. There is music in the love of 
 Festus for his friend, especially in the last scene, the 
 thought of his taking sides with him against the di 
 vine judgment is true as poesy. 
 
 Antislavery Poems. By JOHN PIERPONT. Boston: 
 Oliver Johnson. 1843 
 
 These poems are much the most readable of all the 
 metrical pieces we have met with on the subject; in 
 deed, it is strange how little poetry this old outrage 
 of negro slavery has produced. Cowper s lines in the 
 Task are still the best we have. Mr. Pierpont has a 
 good deal of talent, and writes very spirited verses, 
 full of point. He has no continuous meaning which 
 enables him to write a long and equal poem, but every 
 poem is a series of detached epigrams, some better, 
 some worse. His taste is not always correct, and 
 from the boldest flight he shall suddenly alight in very 
 low places. Neither is the motive of the poem ever 
 very high, so that they seem to be rather squibs than 
 prophecies or imprecations; but for political satire, 
 
178 REVIEWS OF BOOKS 
 
 we think the " Word from a Petitioner " very strong, 
 and the " Gag " the best piece of poetical indignation 
 in America. 
 
 Sonnets and other Poems. By WILLIAM LLOYD 
 GARRISON. Boston. 1843. pp. 96 
 
 Mr. Garrison has won his palms in quite other 
 fields than those of the lyric muse, and he is far more 
 likely to be the subject than the author of good 
 poems. He is rich enough in the earnestness and the 
 success of his character to be patient with the very 
 rapid withering of the poetic garlands he has snatched 
 in passing. Yet though this volume contains little 
 poetry, both the subjects and the sentiments will 
 everywhere command respect. That piece in the vol 
 ume, which pleased us most, was the address to his 
 first-born child. 
 
 America an Ode; and other Poems. By N. W. 
 COFFIN. Boston: S. G. Simpkins 
 
 Our Maecenas shakes his head very doubtfully at 
 this well-printed Ode, and only says, " An ode now 
 adays needs to be admirable to carry sail at all. 
 Mr. Sprague s Centennial Ode, and Ode at the Shak- 
 speare Jubilee, are the only American lyrics that we 
 have prospered in reading, if we dare still remem 
 ber them." Yet he adds mercifully, " The good 
 verses run like golden brooks through the dark for 
 ests of toil, rippling and musical, and undermine the 
 heavy banks till they fall in and are borne away. 
 Thirty-five pieces follow the Ode, of which every 
 thing is neat, pretty, harmonious, tasteful, the senti 
 ment pleasing, manful, if not inspired. If the poet 
 have nothing else, he has a good ear." 
 
REVIEWS OF BOOKS 179 
 
 Poems by WILLIAM ELLERY CHANNING. Boston. 
 
 1843 
 
 We have already expressed our faith in Mr. Chan- 
 ning 3 genius, which in some of the finest and rarest 
 traits of the poet is without a rival in this country. 
 This little volume has already become a sign of great 
 hope and encouragement to the lovers of the muse. 
 The refinement and the sincerity of his mind, not less 
 than the originality and delicacy of the diction, are 
 not merits to be suddenly apprehended, but are sure 
 to find a cordial appreciation. Yet we would will 
 ingly invite any lover of poetry to read " The Earth- 
 Spirit," "Reverence," "The Lover s Song," 
 " Death," and " The Poet s Hope." 
 
 To Correspondents 
 
 We are greatly indebted to several friends, for the 
 most part anonymous, for literary contributions, and 
 not less indebted in those cases in which we have not 
 found the pieces sufficiently adapted to our purpose 
 to print them. The Dial has been almost as much a 
 journal of friendship as of literature and morals, and 
 its editors have felt the offer of any literary aid as a 
 token of personal kindness. Had it been practicable, 
 we should gladly have obeyed the wish to make a spe 
 cial acknowledgment of each paper that has been con 
 fided to us, explaining in each instance the reason for 
 withholding it. We wish to say to our Correspond 
 ents, that, printed or unprinted, these papers are 
 welcome and useful to us, if only as they confirm or 
 qualify our own opinions, and give us insight into the 
 thinking of others. 
 
 In the last quarter, we have received several papers, 
 some of which, after some hesitation, we decide not 
 
180 REVIEWS OF BOOKS 
 
 to print. One of these is a translation whicE (with 
 out comparing it with the original) seems to us excel 
 lent, of Schiller s Critique on Goethe s Egmont, and 
 that it may not through our omission, fail to be read, 
 we shall leave the MS. for a time with our publishers, 
 subject to the order of the writer. We have also re 
 ceived from A. Z. a poetical translation from Richter; 
 from A. C. L. A. a paper on the Spirit of Polythe 
 ism; from a friend at Byfield, a poetical fragment 
 called "The Ship;" from our correspondent C. at 
 New Bedford, a poem called " The Two Argosies; " 
 from R. P. R. some elegiac verses; from J. A. S. 
 " Lady Mirbel s Dirge." 
 
 The Huguenots in France and America 
 
 The Huguenots is a very entertaining book, drawn 
 from excellent sources, rich in its topics, describing 
 many admirable persons and events, and supplies an 
 old defect in our popular literature. The editor s 
 part is performed with great assiduity and conscience. 
 Yet amidst this enumeration of all the geniuses, and 
 beauties, and sanctities of France, what has the great 
 est man in France, at that period, Michael de Mon 
 taigne, done, or left undone, that his name should be 
 quite omitted? 
 
 The Spanish Student. A Play in Three Acts. By 
 H. W. LONGFELLOW 
 
 A pleasing tale, but Cervantes shall speak for us 
 out of La Gitanilla. 
 
 " You must know, Preciosa, that as to this name of 
 Poet, few are they who deserve it, and I am no 
 Poet, but only a lover of Poesy, so that I have no 
 need to beg or borrow the verses of others. The 
 
REVIEWS OF BOOKS 181 
 
 verses, I gave you the other day, are mine, and those 
 of to-day as well ; but, for all that, I am no poet, 
 neither is it my prayer to be so." 
 
 " Is it then so bad a thing to be a poet?" asked 
 Preciosa. 
 
 " Not bad," replied the Page, " but to be a poet 
 and nought else, I do not hold to be very good. For 
 poetry should be like a precious jewel, whose owner 
 does not put it on every day, nor show it to the world 
 at every step; but only when it is fitting, and when 
 there is a reason for showing it. Poetry is a most 
 lovely damsel ; chaste, modest, and discreet ; spirited, 
 but yet retiring, and ever holding itself within the 
 strictest rule of honor. She is the friend of Solitude. 
 She finds in the fountains her delight, in the fields her 
 counsellor, in the trees and flowers enjoyment and 
 repose; and lastly, she charms and instructs all that 
 approach her." 
 
 The Dream of a Day, and other Poems. By JAMES 
 G. PERCIVAL. New Haven, 1843 
 
 Mr. Percival printed his last book of poems six 
 teen years ago, and every school-boy learned to de 
 claim his " Bunker Hill," since which time, he in 
 forms us, his studies have been for the most part very 
 adverse to poetic inspirations. Yet here we have 
 specimens of no less than one hundred and fifty dif 
 ferent forms of stanza. Such thorough workmanship 
 in the poetical art is without example or approach in 
 this country, and deserves all honor. We have imita 
 tions of four of the leading classes of ancient meas 
 ures, the Dactylic, Iambic, Anapestic, and Tro 
 chaic, to say nothing of rarer measures, now never 
 known out of colleges. Then come songs for national 
 airs, formed on the rhythm of the music, including 
 
182 REVIEWS OF BOOKS 
 
 Norwegian, German, Russian, Bohemian, Gaelic, 
 and Welsh, Teutonian and Slavonian. But un 
 happily this diligence is not without its dangers. It 
 Jaas prejudiced the creative power, 
 
 " And made that art, which was a rage." 
 
 Neatness, terseness, objectivity, or at any rate the 
 absence of subjectivity, characterize these poems. 
 Our bard has not quite so much fire as we had looked 
 for, grows warm but does not ignite; those sixteen 
 years of " adverse " studies have had their effect on 
 Pegasus, who now trots soundly and resolutely on, 
 but forbears rash motions, and never runs away with 
 us. The old critics of England were hardly steadier 
 to their triad of " Gower, Lydgate, and Chaucer," 
 than our American magazines to the trinity of " Bry 
 ant, Dana, and Percival." A gentle constellation 
 truly, all of the established religion, having the good 
 of their country and their species at heart. Percival 
 has not written anything quite as good on the whole 
 as his two fast associates, but surpasses them both in 
 labor, in his mimetic skill, and in his objectiveness. 
 He is the most objective of the American Poets. 
 Bryant has a superb propriety of feeling, has plainly 
 always been in good society, but his sweet oaten pipe 
 discourses only pastoral music. Dana has the most 
 established religion, more sentiment, more reverence, 
 more of England ; whilst Mr. Percival is an upright, 
 soldierly, free-spoken man, very much of a patriot, 
 hates cant, and does his best. 
 
POEMS 
 
POEMS 
 
 MY THOUGHTS 
 
 MANY are the thoughts that come to me 
 
 In my lonely musings; 
 And they drift so strange and swift, 
 
 There s no time for choosing 
 Which to follow, for to leave 
 
 Any, seems a loosing. 
 
 When they come, they come in flocks, 
 
 As on glancing feather, 
 Startled birds rise one by one 
 
 In Autumnal weather, 
 Waking one another up 
 
 From the sheltering heather. 
 
 Some so merry that I laugh, 
 
 Some so grave and serious, 
 Some so trite, their least approach 
 
 Is enough to weary us: 
 
 185 
 
186 POEMS 
 
 Others flit like midnight ghosts, 
 Shrouded and mysterious. 
 
 There are thoughts that o er me steal, 
 Like the day when dawning; 
 
 Great thoughts winged with melody 
 Common utterance scorning, 
 
 Moving in an inward tune, 
 And an inward morning. 
 
 Some have dark and drooping wings, 
 
 Children all of sorrow; 
 Some are as gay, as if to-day 
 
 Could see no cloudy morrow, 
 And yet, like light and shade, they each 
 
 Must from the other borrow. 
 
 One by one they come to me 
 On their destined mission; 
 
 One by one I see them fade 
 With no hopeless vision; 
 
 For they ve led me on a step 
 To their home Elysian. 
 
 THE PHOENIX. 1 
 
 MY bosom s Phoenix has assured 
 His nest in sky-vault s cope, 
 
 In the body s eye immured 
 He is weary of life s hope. 
 
 Round and round this heap of ashes 
 Now flies the bird amain, 
 
 But in that odorous niche of heaven 
 Nestles the bird again. 
 
 1 The Soul. 
 
POEMS 187 
 
 Once flies he upward, he will perch 
 
 On Tuba s l golden bough; 
 His home is on that fruited arch 
 
 Which cools the blest below. 
 
 If over this world of ours 
 
 His wings my Phoenix spread, 
 How gracious falls on land and sea 
 
 The soul-refreshing shade! 
 
 Either world inhabits he, 
 
 Sees oft below him planets roll; 
 His body is all of air compact, 
 
 Of Allah s love, his soul. 
 
 FAITH 
 
 PLUNGE in your angry waves, 
 
 Defying doubt and care, 
 And the flowing of the seven broad seas 
 
 Shall never wet thy hair. 
 
 Is Allah s face on thee 
 
 Bending with love benign? 
 Thou too on Allah s countenance 
 
 O fairest! turnest thine. 
 
 And though thy fortune and thy form 
 Be broken, waste and void, 
 
 Though suns be spent, of thy life-root 
 No fibre is destroyed. 
 
 1 The Tree of Life. 
 
188 POEMS 
 
 THE POET 
 
 HOARD knowledge in thy coffers, 
 The lightest load to bear; 
 
 Ingots of gold, and diamonds, 
 Let others drag with care. 
 
 The devil s snares are strong, 
 
 Yet have I God in need ; 
 And if I had not God to friend, 
 
 What can the devil speed? 
 
 Courage! Hafiz, though not thine 
 Gold wedge and silver ore, 
 
 More worth to thee the gift of song, 
 And the clear insight more. 
 
 I truly have no treasure, 
 
 Yet have I rich content; 
 The first from Allah to the Shah, 
 
 The last to Hafiz went. 
 
 WORD AND DEED 
 
 WHILST roses bloom along the plain, 
 The Nightingale to the Falcon said, 
 6 Why of all the birds must thou be dumb? 
 With closed mouth thou utterest, 
 Though dying, no last word to man : 
 Yet sit st thou on the hand of caliphs, 
 And feedest on the grouse s breast; 
 Whilst I, who hundred thousand jewels 
 Squander in a single tone, 
 Lo! I feed myself with worms, 
 
POEMS 189 
 
 And my dwelling is a thorn." 
 
 The Falcon answered, " Be all ear: 
 
 Thou seest I m dumb; be thou, too, dumb. 
 
 I, experienced in affairs, 
 
 See fifty things, say never one. 
 
 But thee the people prize not, 
 
 Who, doing nothing, say a hundred. 
 
 To me, appointed to the chase, 
 
 The King s hand gives the grouse s breast, 
 
 Whilst a chatterer like thee 
 
 Must gnaw worms in the thorns. Farewell! " 
 
 TO HIMSELF 
 
 HAFIZ, speak not of thy need, 
 Are not these verses thine? 
 
 Then, all the poets are agreed, 
 Thou canst at nought repine. 
 
LETTERS 
 
LETTER TO CHANDLER ROBBINS 
 
 CONCORD, MARCH 2d, 1845. 
 
 MY DEAR SIR: Had I remembered any piece of 
 mine which seemed to have a special fitness for your 
 purpose, I should have made an opportunity, amidst 
 a press of petty affairs, to name it; but none occur 
 ring to me, I have left the selection to your and my 
 good fortune. It would have given me pleasure, 
 could I have known of the occasion earlier, and if the 
 Muse had been willing, to have recalled for poetry, 
 those earlier days many anxious, many pleasant, 
 all thoughtful days, which I spent in the service of 
 the Second Church. I stood a few weeks ago at the 
 foot of the new tower, and gazed up at its stately 
 mass and proportions with great satisfaction. I hope 
 it will confer new benefit every day as long as it shall 
 stand. 
 
 Yours, with great regard, 
 
 RALPH WALDO EMERSON. 
 
 193 
 
WILLIAM EMERSON 
 
 A LETTER TO WILLIAM B. SPRAGUE, D. D. 
 
 CONCORD, OCTOBER 5, 1849. 
 
 MY DEAR SIR : I fear you have the worst thoughts 
 of me as far as the virtues of a good correspondent 
 go. I ought to have warned you at first that I am a 
 reprobate in that matter. Yet, I did, on the receipt 
 of your letter, in the summer, make, with my mother, 
 some investigation into the history of my father s 
 preaching, that he might make his own answer, as you 
 suggested, to your inquiry concerning his opinions. 
 But I did not find, in any manuscript or printed ser 
 mons that I looked at, any very explicit statement of 
 opinion on the question between Calvinists and Socin- 
 ians. He inclines obviously to what is ethical and 
 universal in Christianity; very little to the personal 
 and historical. Indeed what I found nearest ap 
 proaching what would be called his creed, is in a 
 printed Sermon " at the Ordination of Mr. Bedee, 
 of Wilton, N. H." I think I observe in his writings, 
 as in the writings of Unitarians down to a recent date, 
 a studied reserve on the subject of the nature and 
 offices of Jesus. They had not made up their own 
 minds on it. It was a mystery to them, and they let 
 it remain so. 
 
 Yours respectfully, 
 
 RALPH WALDO EMERSON. 
 
 194 
 
LETTER TO SAMUEL GRIDLEY HOWE 
 
 ON THE "NEGRO KIDNAPPING IN BOSTON 
 
 CONCORD, September 23, 1846. 
 
 DR. S. G. HOWE, AND ASSOCIATES OF THE COMMIT 
 TEE OF CITIZENS: If I could do or say anything 
 useful or equal to the occasion, I would not fail to 
 attend the meeting on Thursday. I feel the irrepar 
 able shame to Boston of this abduction. I hope it is 
 not possible that the city will make the act its own, 
 by any color or justification. Our State has suffered 
 many disgraces, of late years, to spoil our pride in it, 
 but never any so flagrant as this, if the people of the 
 Commonwealth can be brought to be accomplices in 
 this crime, as nothing will be too bad for their 
 desert, so it is very certain they will have the igno 
 miny very faithfully put to their lips. The question 
 you now propose, is a good test of the honesty and 
 manliness of our commerce. If it shall turn out, as 
 desponding men say, that our people do not really 
 care whether Boston is a slave-port or not, provided 
 our trade thrives, then we may, at least, cease to 
 dread hard times and ruin. It is high time our bad 
 wealth came to an end. I am sure, I shall very cheer 
 fully take my share of suffering in the ruin of such a 
 prosperity, and shall very willingly turn to the moun 
 tains to chop wood, and seek to find for myself and 
 my children labors compatible with freedom and 
 honor. 
 
 With this feeling, I am proportionably grateful to 
 Mr. Adams and yourselves for undertaking the office 
 
 195 
 
196 SAMUEL GRIDLEY HOWE 
 
 of putting the question to our people, whether they 
 will make this cruelty theirs? and of giving them an 
 opportunity of clearing the population from the 
 stain of this crime, and of securing mankind from the 
 repetition of it, in this quarter, forever. 
 
 Respectfully and thankfully, 
 Your obedient servant, 
 
 RALPH WALDO EMERSON. 
 
TWO LETTERS TO HENRY WARE, JR. 
 
 CONCORD, July 28, 1838. 
 
 WHAT you say about the discourse at Divinity Col 
 lege, is just what I might expect from your truth and 
 charity, combined with your known opinions. I am 
 not a stock or a stone, as one said in the old time; 
 and could not but feel pain in saying some things in 
 that place and presence, which I supposed might 
 meet dissent, and the dissent, I may say, of dear 
 friends and benefactors of mine. Yet, as my con 
 viction is perfect in the substantial truth of the doc 
 trine of this discourse, and is not very new, you will 
 see, at once, that it must appear to me very important 
 that it be spoken; and I thought I would not pay 
 the nobleness of my friends so mean a compliment, 
 as to suppress my opposition to their supposed views 
 out of fear of offence. I would rather say to them 
 These things look thus to me ; to you, otherwise. Let 
 us say out our uttermost word, and be the all-per 
 vading truth, as it surely will, judge between us. 
 Either of us would, I doubt not, be equally glad to 
 be apprized of his error. Meantime, I shall be ad 
 monished by this expression of your thought, to re 
 vise with greater care the " Address " before it is 
 printed (for the use of the class), and I heartily 
 thank you for this renewed expression of your tried 
 toleration and love. 
 
 Respectfully and affectionately yours, 
 
 RALPH WALDO EMERSON. 
 
 CONCORD, October 8, 1838. 
 
 MY DEAR SIR: I ought sooner to have acknowl 
 edged your kind letter of last week, and the Sermon 
 
 197 
 
198 HENRY WARE, JR. 
 
 it accompanied. The letter was right manly and 
 noble. The Sermon, too, I have read with attention. 
 If it assails any doctrines of mine perhaps I am 
 not so quick to see it as writers generally, cer 
 tainly I did not feel any disposition to depart from 
 my habitual contentment, that you should say your 
 thought, whilst I say mine. 
 
 I believe I must tell you what I think of my new 
 position. It strikes me very oddly, that good and 
 wise men at Cambridge and Boston should think of 
 raising me into an object of criticism. I have always 
 been, from my very incapacity of methodical wri 
 ting, "a chartered libertine " free to worship and 
 free to rail, lucky when I could make myself un 
 derstood, but never esteemed near enough to the in 
 stitution and mind of society to deserve the notice of 
 the masters of literature and religion. I have appre 
 ciated fully the advantages of my position; for I 
 well know, that there is no scholar less willing or less 
 able to be a polemic. I could not give account of 
 myself, if challenged. I could not possibly give you 
 one of the " arguments " you cruelly hint at, on 
 which any doctrine of mine stands. For I do not 
 know what arguments mean, in reference to any ex 
 pression of thought. I delight in telling what I 
 think; but, if you ask me how I dare say so, or, why 
 it is so, I am the most helpless of mortal men. I do 
 not even see, that either of these questions admits of 
 an answer. So that, in the present droll posture of 
 my affairs, when I see myself suddenly raised into 
 the importance of a heretic, I am very uneasy when 
 I advert to the supposed duties of such a personage, 
 who is to make good his thesis against all comers. 
 
 I certainly shall do no such thing. I shall read 
 what you and other good men write, as I have always 
 done, glad when you speak my thoughts, and 
 
HENRY WARE, JE. 199 
 
 skipping the page that has nothing for me. I shall 
 go on, just as before, seeing whatever I can, and 
 telling what I see ; and, I suppose, with the same for 
 tune that has hitherto attended me; the joy of find 
 ing, that my abler and better brothers, who work with 
 the sympathy of society, loving and beloved, do now 
 and then unexpectedly confirm my perceptions, and 
 find my nonsense is only their own thought in motley. 
 And so I am, 
 
 Your affectionate servant, 
 
 RALPH WAU>O EMEBSON. 
 
LETTER TO THE SECOND CHURCH AND 
 SOCIETY IN BOSTON 
 
 MARCH, 1829 
 
 CHRISTIAN BRETHREN AND FRIENDS: I have re 
 ceived the communication transmitted to me by your 
 committee inviting me to the office of junior pastor 
 in your church and society. I accept the invitation. 
 If my own feelings could have been consulted, I 
 should have desired to postpone for at least several 
 months my entrance into this solemn affair. I do not 
 now approach it with any sanguine confidence in my 
 ability nor in my prospects. I come to you in weak 
 ness and not in strength. In short, I have not yet 
 had an abundant experience of the uncertainty of 
 human hopes. I have learned the lesson of utter de 
 pendency, and it is in a devout reliance upon other 
 strength than my own, in an humble trust in God 
 to sustain me, that I put forth my hands to his great 
 work. But, brethren, while I distrust my powers, I 
 must speak firmly of my purpose. I well know 
 what are the claims on your part to my best exer 
 tions, and I shall meet them, so far as in me lies, by 
 a faithful performance of duty. I shall do all I can 
 in approaching these duties. 
 
 I am encouraged by the strong expression of con 
 fidence and good-will I have read from you. I am 
 encouraged by the hope of enjoying the counsel and 
 aid of the distinguished servant of the Lord who has 
 so long labored with you. I look to the example of 
 
 200 
 
THE SECOND CHURCH 201 
 
 the Lord in all my hopes of advancing his holy relig 
 ion, and I implore the blessing of God upon this con 
 nection about to be formed between you and myself. 
 I am your friend and servant, 
 
 RALPH WALDO EMERSON. 
 
LETTER TO THE SECOND CHURCH 
 AND SOCIETY 
 
 BOSTON, 22d December, 1832. 
 To THE SECOND CHURCH AND SOCIETY. 
 
 CHRISTIAN FRIENDS : Since the formal resigna 
 tion of my official relation to you in my communica 
 tion to the proprietors in September, I had waited 
 anxiously for an opportunity of addressing you once 
 more from the pulpit, though it were only to say, Let 
 us part in peace and in the love of God. The state 
 of my health has prevented and continues to prevent 
 me from so doing. I am now advised to seek the 
 benefit of a sea-voyage. I cannot go away without a 
 brief parting word to friends who have shown me so^ 
 much kindness, and to whom I have felt myself so* 
 dearly bound. 
 
 Our connection has been very short. I had only 
 begun my work. It is now brought to a sudden close, 
 and I look back, I own, with a painful sense of weak 
 ness, to the little service I have been able to render, 
 after so much expectation on my part, to the 
 chequered space of time, which domestic affliction and 
 personal infirmities have made yet shorter and more 
 unprofitable. 
 
 As long as he remains in the same place, every man 
 flatters himself, however keen may be his sense of 
 failures and unworthiness, that he shall yet accom 
 plish much; that the future shall make amends for 
 the past; that his very errors shall prove his instruc 
 tors, and what limit is there to hope? But a sepa 
 ration from our place, the close of a particular career 
 
 202 
 
THE SECOND CHURCH 203 
 
 of duty, shuts the book, bereaves us of this hope, and 
 leaves us only to lament how little has been done. 
 
 Yet, my friends, our faith in the great truths of the 
 New Testament makes the change of places and cir 
 cumstances, of less account to us, by fixing our atten 
 tion upon that which is unalterable. I find great con 
 solation in the thought, that the resignation of my 
 present relations makes so little change to myself. I 
 am no longer your minister, but am not the less en 
 gaged, I hope, to the love and service of the same 
 eternal cause, the advancement, namely, of the king 
 dom of God in the hearts of men. The tie that binds 
 each of us to that cause is not created by our connec 
 tion, and can not be hurt by our separation. To me, 
 as one disciple, is the ministry of truth, as far as I 
 can discern and declare it, committed, and I desire 
 to live nowhere and no longer than that grace of God 
 is imparted to me the liberty to seek and the liberty 
 to utter it. 
 
 And, more than this, I rejoice to believe, my ceas 
 ing to exercise the pastoral office among you, does 
 not make any real change in our spiritual relation to 
 each other. Whatever is most desirable and excel 
 lent therein, remains to us. For, truly speaking, who 
 ever provokes me to a good act or thought, has given 
 me a pledge of his fidelity to virtue, he has come 
 under bonds to adhere to that cause to which we are 
 jointly attached. And so I say to all you, who have 
 been my counsellors and co-operators in our Christian 
 walk, that I am wont to see in your faces, the seals 
 and certificates of our mutual obligations. If we have 
 conspired from week to week, in the sympathy and 
 expression of devout sentiments ; if we have received 
 together the unspeakable gift of God s truth; if we 
 have studied together the sense of any divine word; 
 or striven together in any charity; or conferred to- 
 
204 THE SECOND CHURCH 
 
 gether for the relief or instruction of any brother; if 
 together we have laid down the dead in a pious hope; 
 or held up the babe into the baptism of Christianity; 
 above all, if we have shared in any habitual acknowl 
 edgment of that benignant God, whose omnipresence 
 raises and glorifies the meanest offices and the lowest 
 ability, and opens heaven in every heart that worships 
 him, then indeed are we united, we are mutually 
 debtors to each other of faith and hope, engaged to 
 persist and confirm each other s hearts in obedience 
 to the Gospel. We shall not feel that the nominal 
 changes and little separations of this world, can re 
 lease us from the strong cordage of this spiritual 
 bond. And I entreat you to consider how truly 
 blessed will have been our connection, if in this man 
 ner, the memory of it shall serve to bind each one of 
 us more strictly to the practice of our several duties. 
 It remains to thank you for the goodness you have 
 uniformly extended toward me, for your forgiveness 
 of many defects, and your patient and even partial 
 acceptance of every endeavor to serve you; for the 
 liberal provision you have ever made for my mainte 
 nance; and for a thousand acts of kindness, which 
 have comforted and assisted me. 
 
 To the proprietors, I owe a particular acknowledg 
 ment, for their recent generous vote for the continu 
 ance of my salary, and hereby ask their leave to re 
 linquish the emolument at the end of the present 
 month. And now, brethren and friends, having re 
 turned into your hands the trust you have honored 
 me with the charge of public and private instruc 
 tion in this religious society, I pray God, that what 
 ever seed of virtue we have sown and watered to 
 gether, may bear fruit unto eternal life. 
 
 I commend you to the Divine Providence. May 
 He grant you, in your ancient sanctuary, the service 
 
THE SECOND CHURCH 205 
 
 of able and faithful teachers. May He multiply to 
 your families and to your persons, every genuine 
 blessing; and whatever discipline may be appointed 
 to you in this world, may the blessed hope of the res 
 urrection, which He has planted in the constitution 
 of the human soul, and confirmed and manifested by 
 Jesus Christ, be made good to you beyond the grave. 
 In this faith and hope, I bid you farewell. 
 Your affectionate servant, 
 
 RALPH WALDO EMERSON. 
 
BETTER OF PROTEST 
 
 CONCORD, September 23d, 1846. 
 
 DR. S. G. HOWE, AND ASSOCIATES OF THE COM 
 MITTEE OF CITIZENS : If I could do or say anything 
 useful or equal to the occasion, I would not fail to 
 attend the meeting on Thursday. I feel the irrepar 
 able shame of Boston of this abduction. I hope it is 
 not possible that the city will make the act its own, 
 by any color or justification. Our State has suffered 
 many disgraces, of late years, to spoil our pride in it, 
 but never any so flagrant as this, if the people of the 
 Commonwealth can be brought to be accomplices in 
 one crime, which, I assure myself, will never be. 
 I hope it is not only not to be sustained by the mer 
 cantile body, but not even by the smallest portion of 
 that class. If the merchants tolerate this crime, as 
 nothing will be too bad for their desert, so it is 
 very certain they will have the ignominy very faith 
 fully put to their lips. The question you now pro 
 pose, is a good test of the honesty and manliness of 
 our commerce. If it shall turn out, as desponding 
 men say, that our people do not really care whether 
 Boston is a slave-port or not, provided our trade 
 thrives, then we may, at least cease to dread hard 
 time and ruin. It is high time our bad wealth came 
 to an end. I am sure I shall very cheerfully take my 
 share of suffering in the ruin of such a prosperity, 
 and shall very willingly turn to the mountain to chop 
 wood, and seek to fold for myself and my children 
 labors compatible with freedom and honor. 
 
 With this feeling, I am proportionably grateful 
 
 206 
 
LETTER OF PROTEST 207 
 
 to Mr. Adams and yourselves, for undertaking the 
 office of putting the question to our people, whether 
 they will make this cruelty theirs? and of giving 
 them an opportunity of clearing the population from 
 the stain of this crime, and of securing mankind from 
 the repetition of it, in this quarter forever. 
 Respectfully and thankfully 
 
 Your obedient servant, 
 RALPH WALDO EMERSON. 
 
LETTER TO WALT WHITMAN 
 
 CONCORD, MASSACHUSETTS, 21 July, 1855. 
 
 DEAR SIR: I am not blind to the worth of the 
 wonderful gift of " Leaves of Grass." I find it the 
 most extraordinary piece of wit and wisdom that 
 America has yet contributed. I am very happy in 
 reading it, as great power makes us happy. It meets 
 the demand I am always making of what seemed the 
 sterile and stingy nature, as if too much handiwork, 
 or too much lymph in temperament, were making our 
 western wits fat and mean. I give you joy of your 
 free and brave thought. I have great joy in it. I 
 find incomparable things said incomparably well, as 
 they must be. I find the courage of treatment which 
 so delights us, and which large preception only can 
 inspire. 
 
 I greet you at the beginning of a great career, 
 which yet must have had a long foreground some 
 where, for such a start. I rubbed my eyes a little, to 
 see if this sunbeam were no illusion; but the solid 
 sense of the book is a sober certainty. 
 
 It has the best merits, namely, of fortifying and 
 encouraging. 
 
 I did not know until I last night saw the book ad 
 vertised in a newspaper that I could trust the name 
 as real and available for a post-office. I wish to see 
 my benefactor, and have felt much like striking my 
 tasks and visiting New York to pay you my respects. 
 
 RALPH WALDO EMERSON. 
 
 208 
 
RETURN CIRCULATION DEPARTMENT 
 
 TO * 202 Main Library 
 
 LOAN PERIOD 1 
 HOME USE 
 
 2 
 
 3 
 
 4 
 
 5 
 
 6 
 
 
 ALL BOOKS MAY BE RECALLED AFTER 7 DAYS 
 
 Renewals and Recharges may be made 4 days prior to the due date. 
 
 Books may be Renewed by calling 642-3405. 
 
 DUE AS STAMPED BELOW 
 
 RECEIV 
 
 ED 
 
 
 AUG 08 
 
 996 
 
 
 CIRCULATE 
 
 Dfch 
 
 
 1 5 1998 
 
 
 
 \J\J\J 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA, BERKELEY 
 FORM NO. DD6 BERKELEY, CA 94720 
 
GENERAL LIBRARY - U.C. BERKELEY