I know, for one,—­and there are many who will bear the same testimony,—­that I never went to Mr. Parker to talk over a subject which I had just made a speciality, without finding that on that particular matter he happened to know, without any special investigation, more than I did.  This extended beyond books, sometimes stretching into things where his questioner’s opportunities of knowledge had seemed considerably greater,—­as, for instance, in points connected with the habits of our native animals and the phenomena of out-door Nature.  Such were his wonderful quickness and his infallible memory, that glimpses of these things did for him the work of years.  But, of course, it was in the world of books that this wonderful superiority was chiefly seen, and the following example may serve as one of the most striking among many.

It happened to me, some years since, in the course of some historical inquiries, to wish for fuller information in regard to the barbarous feudal codes of the Middle Ages,—­as the Salic, Burgundian, and Ripuarian,—­before the time of Charlemagne.  The common historians, even Hallam, gave no very satisfactory information and referred to no very available books; and supposing it to be a matter of which every well-read lawyer would at least know something, I asked help of the most scholarly member of that profession within my reach.  He regretted his inability to give me any aid, but referred me to a friend of his, who was soon to visit him, a young man, who was already eminent for legal learning.  The friend soon arrived, but owned, with some regret, that he had paid no attention to that particular subject, and did not even know what books to refer to; but he would at least ascertain what they were, and let me know. (N.B.  I have never heard from him since.) Stimulated by ill-success, I aimed higher, and struck at the Supreme Bench of a certain State, breaking in on the mighty repose of His Honor with the name of Charlemagne.  “Charlemagne?” responded my lord judge, rubbing his burly brow,—­“Charlemagne lived, I think, in the sixth century?” Dismayed, I retreated, with little further inquiry; and sure of one man, at least, to whom law meant also history and literature, I took refuge with Charles Sumner.  That accomplished scholar, himself for once at fault, could only frankly advise me to do at last what I ought to have done at first,—­to apply to Theodore Parker.  I did so.  “Go,” replied he instantly, “to alcove twenty-four, shelf one hundred and thirteen, of the College Library at Cambridge, and you will find the information you need in a thick quarto, bound in vellum, and lettered ‘Potgiesser de Statu Servorum.’” I straightway sent for Potgiesser, and found my fortune made, it was one of those patient old German treatises which cost the labor of one man’s life to compile and another’s to exhaust, and I had no reason to suppose that any reader had disturbed its repose until that unwearied industry had explored the library.