Bedford inquirer. [volume] (Bedford, Pa.) 1857-1884, 1869-07-30
aAisfellaufpp5.
RALPH WALDO EMERSON.

Writes in the morning; and, when not alb
sentin Boston, or away on cne Of hisaDnual
lecturing expeditions. is always to be found
at that hour among bis books, in a plain
front room on the lower floor Of the CID
fashioned country house in which be lives,
and with which q score OF cagrayiugs have
made al the world acquainted. We will
enter the low wooden gate Of this dwelling,
and passing through the small checker
board garden. rap at its cid oaken doorway.
Our summons Is answered By a prim serv-
ing-woman, who seems a queer compound
of steel springs, Oswego starch, and the
neatest of Yankee calico. We are ushered
into wide hall, hung with dingy paper and
garnished with an old-fashioned hat-stand
broad-brimmed beaver and q big cotton
umbrella The door at the right now opens
and we are face to face with the great tran
seendentalist There is a smile about his
mouth, pen behind his ear, and two or
three daubs Of ink on as many Of his fingers;
but, holding out both his hands TO Us and
saying, Come in, come IN; am glad to see
you, he leads the way into his study. Il
is low room about twenty feet square,
with q worn carpet on the fooraud the same
dingy paper on the walls-but this is half
hidden by q score or two Of portraits and
engravings. A round table is against the
wall and on it are several open books and
pamphlets, a pen rack and an inkstand, and
few quires Of ordinary packet post paper.
Near the table is wide arm chair, and
scattered about on the floor, under the chair
and under the table are, perhaps, dozen
sheets Of freshly written manuscript. The
philosopher is at work, and these neatly
penued sheets are a part Of his next book.
or new lyceum lecture We fear we have
cut some great thought rudely asuoder, and
propose to 60, and come again after dinner.
''No, no, he answers; stay; stay now; a
little talk VIII brush me up; my ideas flow
slowly this morning But let US get out Of
this den-let US have a Wifi Of the fresh
grass in the meadow
He leads the way into another room Of
the same size as the former, bat looking out
upon small garden and a broad meadow
that are odorous with the breath Of new
mown hay aad spring flowers. All sorts oi
odd knick knacks cover the walls and cum
Der the corners of this room, and on two o.
It's sides are oren shelves, filed with old
volumes in odd and antique bindings, or in
no bindings at all. These are the philoso-
piers stones, By which he transmutes base
metal into gold-rare old tones, chronicles,
romaneists, quaint poetry, and precious
books in blac'- letter, holding in their faded
leaves the dration os many dead and
gone century.
But he motions as to a chair BY the win
dow, and, setting himself down, opens his
mouth and pours forth mingled stream Of
provcrb, poetry ard ransceadentalism.
This lasts quarter of an hour BY the clock,
and tbenwe manage to wedge in a word or
two, and every word is aques;iou
You work in the morning, Mr. Emar-
son?"
always in the morning for then the in-
teFeet is fresh and the spirits elastic; and,
toe, there is something in the morning all
that inyigorates the mind. frees it from It's
trammels and gives itful scope and action.
You do not work al the day?"
Never after dinner, if / can help It. On
pleasant days I idle away the afternoon II
the woods ard fields, and then / Try to get
as near as ! can 70 our great master, Ma