EMERSON THE LECTURER. 381 



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 " Chevy Chase," 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? Were we enthusiasts'? 1 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 ] 

 what \ve carried home 1 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 1 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 gave them both the desire and the 

 foretaste, who will always love to repeat : 



" Che in la mente m'o fitta, ed or m'accuora 

 La cara e bunna immaginc patorna 

 l>i voi, quando ncl ininl<> ad ora ad ora 

 M'inMgnavMta come 1'uom s'eterna.' 1 



I am unconsciously thinking, as I write, of the third 

 lecture of the present course, in which Mr. Emerson 

 gave some delightful reminiscences of the intellectual 

 influences in whose movement he had shared. It was 

 like hearing Goethe read some passages of the " Wahr- 

 heit aus seinem Leben." Not that there w:is not a little 

 Dichtung, too, here and there, as the lecturer built up 

 so lofty a pedestal under certain figures as to lift them 



