Remember that, my dear oldest nephew, as the ten million years go by,--and, remembering it, keep young or grow young. Mr. Emerson was young, I say,--and I. We were all young. Mr. Edward Everett was young. He was then Governor,--and, I think, presided, certainly spoke, at that Phi Beta dinner. By the almanac he must have been that year forty-five years old,--just as old, dear Tom, as some other people are this year by the almanac. He had been pretty much everything, had gone most everywhere, had seen almost all the people that were worth seeing, and remembered more than all the rest of us had forgotten. And he was very young. To those who knew him he always was. The day he died he was about the youngest man in most things that I knew. And so it happened that he made the first dinner speech that I remember. We were all in the South Commons Hall of University, now used as somebody's lecture-room, say, at a guess, Professor Lovering's. And he gave some charming reminiscences of Charles Emerson, brother of the philosopher, too early lost, and everywhere loved,--and then, speaking of the oration of the day, and of the new philosophy to which it belonged, and of which the orator was, is, and will be the prophet, he said, in his gracious, funny, courtly, and hearty way, that he always thought of its thunders as he did of the bolts of Jupiter himself! Could one have complimented an orator more than to compare him to Jupiter? And then he went on to verify the comparison, by quoting the description,-- "Tres imbris torti radios, tres nubis aquosæ Addiderant, tres rutili ignis, tres alitis Austri,"-- and translated the words for his purpose,-- "Three ports were raging fire, and three the whelming waves! But three were _thirsty cloud_, and three were _empty wind_!" Ah well, my boy! You do not remember what all the world, except a few of the elect, then said of "Transcendentalism." So you cannot imagine the scream of fun and applause which saluted this good-natured analysis of its thunder. And I,--I was delighted at this aptness of quotation. Should I ever bring my capping lines to such a market? Here was a hit as good as the famous parliamentary retorts, which were so precious to us in the I. O. H. and in the Harvard Union. Should I ever live to see the happy day when I should find that it was wise, witty, and just the thing to say, "Tu quoque litoribus nostris Æneia nutrix"? or, "Tityre dum redeo, brevis est via, pasce capellas," or any other of the T's? Or, "Æsopus auctor quam materiam reperit," or, "Æacus ingemuit, tristique ita voce locutus," or any other of the Æ diphthongs? It did not seem possible, but we would see.