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"IN MEMORIAM E. B. E.

"All inborn power that could
Consist with homage to the good,
Flamed from his martial eye.
He, who seemed a soldier born,
He should have the helmet worn,

All friends to fend, all foes defy.
Fronting the foes of God and man,
Frowning down the evil-doer,
Battling for the weak and poor,

His from youth the leader's look,
Gave the law which others took,
And never poor beseeching glance
Shamed that sculptured countenance.

"There is no record left on earth,
Save in tablets of the heart,
Of the rich inherent worth,

Of the grace that on him shone
Of eloquent lips and joyful wit.
He could not frame a word unfit,
An act unworthy to be done.
Honor prompted every glance,
Honor came and sat beside him,

In lowly cot or painful road,
And evermore the cruel god

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Cried 'Onward!' and the palm-branch showed.

Born for success he seemed,

With grace to win, with heart to hold,
With shining gifts that took all eyes,

With budding power in college halls

As pledged in coming days to forge
Weapons to guard the State, or scourge

Tyrants despite their guards or walls.
On his young promise Beauty smiled,
Drew his free homage unbeguiled,
And prosperous Age held out the hand,
And richly his large future planned;
And troops of friends enjoyed the tide :-
All, all, was given, and only health denied.

"Fell the bolt on the branching oak,
The rainbow of his life was broke;
No craven cry, no secret tear:
He told no pang, he knew no fear;
Its peace sublime his features kept;
His purpose woke, his features slept;
And yet between the spasms of pain
His genius beamed with joy again.

"O'er thy rich dust the endless smile
Of Nature in thy Spanish isle
Hints never loss or cruel break,
And sacrifice for love's dear sake;
Nor mourn the unalterable days
That Genius goes and Folly stays.

What matters how or from what ground,
The freed soul its Creator found?

Alike thy memory embalms

That orange-grove, that isle of palms,

...

And these loved banks whose oak-boughs bold
Root in the blood of heroes old."

Of Charles Emerson, the youngest of the four brothers, who died early, we are told that "he

combined the genius and saintliness of the others." "The Dial" contains some papers written by him entitled: "Notes from the Note-Book of a Scholar," which one might suppose to be written by Ralph Waldo Emerson. This for example:

THE UNITY OF HUMANITY.

"This afternoon we read Shakspeare. The verse so sank into me that as I toiled my way home under the cloud of night, with the gusty music of the storm around and overhead, I doubted that it was all a remembered scene; that humanity was indeed one-a spirit continually reproduced, accomplishing a vast orbit whilst individual men are but the points through which it passes.

"We each furnish to the angel who stands in the sun a single observation. The reason why Homer is to me like the dewy morning is because I too lived while Troy was, and sailed in the hollow ships to sack the devoted town. The rosy-fingered dawn, as it crimsoned the tops of Ida, the broad sea-shore covered with tents, the Trojan hosts in their painted armor, and the rushing chariots of Diomed and Idomeneus-all these too I saw. My ghost animated the form of some ancient Argive.

"And Shakspeare, in 'King John,' does but recall to me myself in the dress of another age, the sport of new accidents. I who am Charles was sometime Romeo. In Hamlet I pondered and doubted. We forget what we have been, drugged by the sleepy bowl of the Present. But when a lively chord in the soul is struck, when the windows for a moment are unbarred, the long and varied Past is recovered. We recognize it all; we are no brief ignoble creatures; we seize our immortality, and bind together the related parts of our being.”

Or again this, which reads like a page dropped out of Emerson's Essays:

INDIVIDUALITY.

"Let us not vail our bonnets to circumstances. If we act so because we are so-if we sin from strong bias of temper and constitution-at least we have in ourselves the measure and the curb of our aberration. But if they who are around us sway us; if we think ourselves incapable of resisting the cords by which fathers and mothers and a host of unsuitable expectations and duties, falsely so called, seek to bind us-into what helpless discord shall we not fall. Do you remember, in the 'Arabian Nights,' the princes who climbed the hill to bring away the singing-tree-how the black pebbles clamored, and the princes looked round, and became black pebbles themselves?

"I hate whatever is imitative in states of mind as well as in action. The moment I say to myself, 'I ought to feel thus and so,' life loses its sweetness, the soul her vigor and truth. I can only recover my genuine self by stopping short, refraining from every effort to shape my thought after a form, and giving it boundless freedom and horizon. Then after the oscillation, more or less protracted as the mind has been more or less forcibly pushed from its place, I fall again into my orbit and recognize myself, and find with gratitude that something there is in the spirit which changes not neither is weary; but ever returns into itself, and partakes of the eternity of God. Do not let persons and things come too near you. They should be phenomenal. The soul should keep the external world at a distance. Only in the

character of messengers charged with a mission from the Everlasting and the True, should we receive what befalls us or them who stand near us."

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This, at first sight, would seem to set aside that great law of Duty, that "stern daughter of the voice of God," which is, as Wordsworth sings, in one of in his sublimest odes, "a light to guide, a rod to check the erring and reprove. But Charles Emerson nowise ignores the existence of this higher law; nor does his strong estimate of individuality lead him to make light of the obligation imposed upon every man, by the very constitution of his nature and by the environments in which he is placed, no less than by the command of God, to fulfill all the duties of social and civil life, in the completest manner, but in such manner as he best can with the endowments which have been vouchsafed to him. Following directly after the foregoing citation, he continues:

SELF AND SOCIETY.

"It is a miserable smallness of nature to be shut up within the small circle of a few personal relations, and to fret and fume whenever a claim is made on us from God's wide world without. If we are impatient of the dependence of man upon man, and grudge to take hold of hands in the ring, the spirit in us is either evil or infirm. If to need least is nighest to God, so also is it to impart most. There is no soundness in any philosophy short of that unlimited debt. As there is no man but is

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