THE IRRIGATION AGE. 



293 



so undemonstrable by ordinary 

 methods, that I disclaim it alto- 

 gether. It confers no honor on 

 Mr. Hawthorne, and is of no advan- 

 tage to myself. Much as I admire 

 Hawthorne's works, I should little 

 care to have his blood without his 

 gifts. 



Only last week I received a let- 

 ter from some very distant relative 

 (named Smith), who writes "I am 

 so glad that we are related to Haw- 

 thorne. I see by the genealogy 

 that you are a descendant of the 

 original family in Ipswich. My 

 great -great grandfather was your 

 great-grandfathers uncle. My boy 

 is just the picture of Julian Haw- 

 thorne". So much for that. 



Another thing I wish to set clear 

 and that is my relationship to Em- 

 erson's family. That this is known 

 by some is not my fault. My moth- 

 er was an Emerson, and for her 

 sake I love to speak of those that 

 may be her people; but I have made 

 no study of the genealogy at all, 

 and could not say what relationship 

 she bore to any outside of her im- 

 mediate family. Prom a loving im- 

 pulse, I have often been prompted 

 to do so, but each time I am checked 

 by the knowledge I have gained by 

 contact with the world. 



It is enough to have a far away 

 sense of kinship to so good a man 

 as Ralph Waldo Emerson, and to 

 have realized in my own mother's 

 life much that I have found in his 

 books. 



For more technical evidence I do 

 not care. 



I therefore disclaim all relation- 

 ship to any but my own family 

 (some of my cousins I should be 

 glad to disclaim), and beg of my 

 friends to accept me for my own 

 possessions. 



It is the misfortune of great men 

 that they are born with the usual 

 genealogical correlations; a branch- 

 ing that invariably reaches the 

 average. I suppose there is not a 

 living person who is not related to 

 some person of distinction, if it be 

 only a United States Senator. These 

 great men become so by overtop- 

 ping the rest; and the rest remain 

 as low as ever, while they suffer 

 from the proximity of the relation. 

 But I like to meet my real relatives 

 at all times, especially the common 

 lot. Since I am not benefitted by 

 kinship with the great, neither am 

 I hurt by the bond that unites me to 

 the poor and unknown of the earth. 

 I have spent happy hours hunting 

 my namesakes in large cities; por- 

 ters, carpenters, reporters, labor- 

 ers, tracing back with them to the 

 original "brothers". 



And one of my chance discoveries 

 I found to be the gentlest, kindest, 

 most refined and loveable of men; a 

 man of brilliant literary and ora- 

 torical abilities who flashed in my 

 presence once or twice, then sank 

 into a drunkard's grave. He was 

 found dead in one of Chicago's 

 streets. 



