" [From Lexington Kossuth proceeded to Concord, and was there addressed by the well-known author, Ralph Waldo Emerson.

Sir, I implore you (Mr. Emerson), give me the aid of your philosophical analysis, to impress the conviction upon the public mind of your nation that the Revolution, to which CONCORD was the preface, is full of a higher destinyof a destiny broad as the world, broad as humanity itself.

Emerson says, "The race of gods, or those we erring own, are shadows floating up and down in the still abodes."

Emerson.

Talking on art, he said he preferred John of Bologna to Michelangelo, a statement he repeated to Emerson, but afterwards, I believe, recanted.

A mild attack of Emerson followed, during which she was lost in a fog, and her sisters rejoiced inwardly when she emerged informing them that "The Sphinx was drowsy, Her wings were furled.

Not an original thinker, in the same sense with Emerson, he yet translated for tens of thousands that which Emerson spoke to hundreds only.

Not an original thinker, in the same sense with Emerson, he yet translated for tens of thousands that which Emerson spoke to hundreds only.

History, which always sends great men in groups, gave us Emerson by whom to test the intellectual qualities of Parker.

They cooperated in their work from the beginning, in much the same mutual relation as now; in looking back over the rich volumes of the "Dial," the reader now passes by the contributions of Parker to glean every sentence of Emerson's, but we have the latter's authority for the fact that it was the former's articles which originally sold the numbers.

Intellectually, the two men form the complement to each other; it is Parker who reaches the mass of the people, but it is probable that all his writings put together have not had so profound an influence on the intellectual leaders of the nation as the single address of Emerson at Divinity Hall.

And it is difficult not to notice, in that essay in which Theodore Parker ventured on higher intellectual ground, perhaps, than anywhere else in his writings,his critique on Emerson in the "Massachusetts Quarterly,"the indications of this mental disparity.

But so far as literary execution is concerned, the beautiful sentences of Emerson stand out like fragments of carved marble from the rough plaster in which they are imbedded.

Subtile beauties puzzle him; the titles of the poems, for instance, giving by delicate allusion the key-note of each,as "Astraea," "Mithridates," "Hamatreya," and "Étienne de la Boéce,"seem to him the work of "mere caprice"; he pronounces the poem of "Monadnoc" "poor and weak"; he condemns and satirizes the "Wood-notes," and thinks that a pine-tree which should talk like Mr. Emerson's ought to be cut down and cast into the sea.

It was certainly very great in its way, but not in quite the highest way; it was preliminary work, not final; it was Parker's Webster, not Emerson's Swedenborg or Napoleon.

Grant that Parker was not also Emerson; no matter, he was Parker.

I do not see how anybody can read Mr. Hawthorne or Mr. Emerson, and not long to be a gentleman, and feel as if he would like to be worthy to kiss the hem of the garment of those literary gentlemen.

" Rev. HENRY T. HOPKINS, pastor of the Primitive Methodist Church in New York City, who resided in Virginia from 1821 to 1826, relates the following fact: "An old colored man, the slave of Mr. Emerson; of Portsmouth, Virginia, being under deep conviction for sin, went into the back part of his master's garden to pour out his soul in prayer to God.

"The bias of the nation," says Mr. Emerson, "is a passion for utility."

These he has studied from a sculptor's point of view, comparing them carefully with the portraiture of other men, as Webster and Emerson.

Victor Hugo, again, was one of the herculean artists, working, in Emerson's phrase, "in a sad sincerity," with the patience of an ant and the energy of a volcano.

Shakespeare and Milton, yes, even Pope; Johnson, Fielding, Sterne, Scott, Dickens, Thackeray, Carlyle, Dumas, Balzac, Emerson, Thoreau, Hawthorne, Poetheir very faces seem to look out at us from the bindings, such vividly human beings were they, with a vision of the world, or a definition of character, so much their own and no one else's.

by Haven Emerson.

Emerson Books, Inc. (PWH); 27Aug64; R343729.

EMERSON, R.W., quoted, 124.