EMERSON THE LECTURER. 157 



flash of that humour which always played about the horizon 

 of his mind like heat-lightning, and it seems now like the 

 sad whisper of the autumn leaves that are whirling around 

 me. But would my picture be complete if I forgot that 



ample and vegete countenance of Mr. R of W 



how, from its regular post at the corner of the front 

 bench, it turned in ruddy triumph to the profaner audience, 

 as if he were the inexplicably appointed fugleman of 

 appreciation? I was reminded of him by those hearty 

 cherubs in Titian s Assumption, that look at you as who 

 should say, &quot; Did you ever see a Madonna like that ? 

 Did you ever behold one hundred and fifty pounds of 

 womanhood mount heavenward before like a rocket 1 &quot; 



To some of us that long-past experience remains as the 

 most marvellous and fruitful we have ever had. Emerson 

 awakened us, saved us from the body of this death. It 

 is the sound of the trumpet that the young soul longs 

 for, careless what breath may fill it. Sidney heard it in 

 the ballad of &quot; Chevy Chase,&quot; and we in Emerson. Nor 

 did it blow retreat, but called to us with assurance of 

 victory. Did they say he was disconnected ? So were 

 the stars, that seemed larger to our eyes, still keen with 

 that excitement, as we walked homeward with prouder 

 stride over the creaking snow. And were they not knit 

 together by a higher logic than our mere sense could 

 master 1 Were we enthusiasts ? I hope and believe we 

 were, and am thankful to the man who made us worth 

 something for once in our lives. If asked what was 

 left 1 what we carried home &quot;? we should not have been 

 careful for an answer. It would have been enough if 

 we had said that something beautiful had passed that way. 

 Or we might have asked in return what one brought away 

 from a symphony of Beethoven ? Enough that he had set 

 that ferment of wholesome discontent at work in us. There 

 is one, at least, of those old hearers, so many of whom are now 

 in the fruition of that intellectual beauty of which Emerson 

 {rave them both the desire and the foretaste, who will always 

 love to repeat : 



