Curious to see him, his chin aloft, the pent thunders rolling, lightnings darting from under the bold brows, words that tell of the wail within, accents not meant for music, yet made lyrical in the cadences of his Caledonian refrain; his mirth mad as Lear’s, his humor as willful as the wind’s. Not himself is approachable by himself even. And Emerson is the one only American deserving a moment’s consideration in his eyes. Him he honors and owns the better, giving him the precedence and the manners: “Had wolves and lions seen but thee, They must have paused to learn civility.” Of Emerson’s books I am not here designing to speak critically, but of his genius and personal influence rather. Yet, in passing, I may say, that his book of “Traits” deserves to be honored as one in which England, Old and New, may take honest pride, as being the liveliest portraiture of British genius and accomplishments,—a book, like Tacitus, to be quoted as a masterpiece of historical painting, and perpetuating the New Englander’s fame with that of his race. ’Tis a victory of eyes over hands, a triumph of ideas. Nor, in my judgment, has there been for some time any criticism of a people so characteristic and complete. It remains for him to do like justice to New England. Not a metaphysician, and rightly discarding any claims to systematic thinking; a poet in spirit, if not always in form; the consistent idealist, yet the realist none the less, he has illustrated the learning and thought of former times on the noblest themes, and come nearest of any to emancipating the mind of his own time from the errors and dreams of past ages. Why nibble longer there, Where nothing fresh ye find, Upon those rocks? Lo! meadows green and fair; Come pasture here your mind, Ye bleating flocks. There is a virtuous curiosity felt by readers of remarkable books to learn something more of their author’s literary tastes, habits and dispositions than these ordinarily furnish. Yet, to gratify this is a task as difficult as delicate, requiring a diffidency akin to that with which one would accost the author himself, and without which graceful armor it were impertinent for a friend even to undertake it. We may venture but a stroke or two here.