with himself. That which struck me most, as distinguishing him from most other human beings, is nobility. He is a born nobleman. I have seen before two other men born with this stamp upon them. His Excellency W——r, in Sweden, and —— is the second, Emerson the third, which has it, and perhaps in a yet higher degree. And added thereto that deep intonation of voice, that expression, so mild yet so elevated at the same time. I could not but think of Maria Lowell's words, “If he merely mentions my name I feel myself ennobled.”
I enjoyed Emerson's conversation, which flowed as calmly and easily as a deep and placid river. It was animating to me both when I agreed and when I dissented; there is always a something important in what he says, and he listens well and comprehends, and replies well also. But whether it was the weariness of the spirit, or whether a feeling of esteem for his peace and freedom, I know not, but I did not invite his conversation. When it came it was good; when it did not come it was good also, especially if he were in the room. His presence was agreeable to me. He was amiable in his attention to me, and in his mode of entertaining me as a stranger and guest in his house.
He read to me one afternoon some portions of his Observations on England (in manuscript), and scraps from his conversations with Thomas Carlyle (the only man of whom I heard Emerson speak with anything like admiration), about “the young America,” as well as the narrative of his journey with him to Stonehenge. There are some of these things which I can never forget. In proportion as the critical bent of Emerson's mind is strong, and as he finds a great want in human beings, and in things generally—measuring them by his ideal standard, is his faith strong in the power of good, and its ultimate triumph in the arrangement of the world. And he understands perfectly what constitutes noble republicanism and
