The Democratic advocate. [volume] (Westminster, Md.) 1865-1972, 1896-07-25

| OF Carlyle anu the saValltS Vi Europe, ne
directed his wonderful powers Of research
and originality into the cture-feld, where
in they had natural play This is certain,
Emerson was nothing, if not original. He
would rather be a kitten and cry NEW,
and that new be Emerson's. In word,
his vocation was thinker, and into his
open passive mind, all rivers of thought
led Whilst others struggled for ideas, he
waited until they came He walked the
streets, wandered into the fields and sought
the woods He followed reason and fact,
in singleness and honesty of purpose,
wherever they led, and shrank from moth
ing that bore the signature Of truth.
From 1888 to 1910 Emerson delivered
sixty-eight lectures on ethical topics before
the most cultivated classes of New Eng
land. In 1888 he delivered his memora
bic address to the Cambridge Divinity
School. This imprisoned appeal tran
scended all his efforts hitherto, and demon
strated his power of thought and originality.
1t swept away the old moorings which had
so long hampered every thought and form
of speech and touched with new life the
sicklied intellectual spirit of the New
World. 1t broke the venerable old prison
in which thousands had locked themselves
and declared the soul sovereign right to
draw its own inspiration from that subtle
world where the thought of mankind Is
born. In word it dated the epoch of our
intellectual and religious freedom.
A coterie of co-workers naturally elus
tered around Emerson. In it were Marga-
ret Fuller, Claiming, Lowell, Alcott,
Thorean and Parker. OF this group
which is the most conspicuous in its do
main that has ever existed in America,
Mr.. Emerson was even more than its
chief. In those days when the intelligent
forces around him had become agitated and
the entire atmosphere was in commotion
because of him, he alone, was calm and
undisturbed. the center of the cyclone.
He said, do not set the least value on
what | do, or the least discredit on what
do not do, as if | pretended to settle
anything as true or false. unsettle all
things. No facts are to me sacred or pro-
fame. simply experiment, an endless
seeker with no past at my back.
The first concrete expression of thought
| from the Concord saviOrs, was magazine
called the Dial, in 1910. Magaret Fuller,
whose Catholic spirit scarcely permitted a
waste basket, struggled bravely the first
two years Of its existence, as its editor.
Its columns were replete with contributions
Of the highest order, penned by the most
delightful and opulent authors, which
shadowed the boundless aspirations Of the
age. She labored assiduously, with but
little compensation, until Mr.. Emerson
relieved her, though unwillingly. of her
charge The duties of an editor were I'M
congenial to him. but he would make al
most any sacrifice of time or money to
sustain the magazine, chiefly to introduce
his co-workers to the public, and offer a
medium for their thoughts to pass into the
alembic of the public mind. When he
assumed the editorship, he said, The
Dial is to be sustained or ended, and |
must settle the question, it seems. of Its
life or death. ! wish it to live, but do
not wish to be its life ''Poor Dial
he afterward wrote to Dr. Hedge, lit has
not pleased any mortal No man cried,
God save it. The Dial lived two years
longer under his guidance, and enjoyed its
obscurity, as he states, then to his great
relief. its existence ended. 1t was a
horologe of the dawn. and its life was the
expression of new spirit in literature,
which even in the atmosphere of those
creative days, was too far in advance for
its sustentation.
In his prime, Emerson was Il consum-
mate master of the lecture art, and an I'M
failing ''draw, and yet he most frequently
spoke from manuscript. The extempore
arts, he almost envied. On a certain oc-
casion. when he was addressing an I'M
mence audience, he mislaid portion of
his manuscript, and he became so confused
that he took his seat. Wendell Phillips
had Just previously delighted the audience
with his mastery oratory, and Emerson
said, Il would give thousand shekels
for that mans secret Later in life,
however, he lost much of his native charm
as a lecturer. His memory became very
treacherous, and he was often thrown into
pathetic confusion in the midst of dis
course. Who can forget that memorable
new year, when the people assembled in
the Music Hall in Boston, to hear read
the proclamation of Abraham Lincoln? 1t
was known that Emerson was to follow with
a poem. and stiffness fell on the vast as
sembly, as if one ear were waiting to catch
his voice. But at the awful moment, his
fingers become confused, and the precious
leaves of his manuscript fell as he rose,
and scattered themselves among the audi
ence. They were quickly gathered and
restored, however, but for an instant, it
seemed as if the cup so greatly desired,
was to be dashed from the lips of the list
eners.
In his latter days, when the desire had
failed, and the end was nigh, he one morn
ing wrote from Concord, Il am grown so
old that | can read from newspaper, that
| am no longer fit for conversation, and
dare not make visits, so we send you our
thanks, and you shall not expect us. .
There was in Emerson a meeting of the
elements which may seem incongruous in
the same character. A strong, rugged
nature, unquailing as he was, with no We
neering of conventionality, yet his soul was
attuned to the most exquisite sensibility,
and at times gave expression of thought in
poetry, exalted to heights reached only by
the sovereign poets of the world. Rightly
has he been called the poet-seer, stand
ing as he did on that sublime plane, where
poetry and philosophy meet,
Neu Hiadsor, .J,me 10, 1896.
VA q A nInM InXII