Some years ago in introducing Dr. Edward Waldo Emerson to an audience in St. Louis, I said that our great-grandfathers had stood together with the Minute Men of Concord at the North Bridge on the 19th of April, 1775.  His ancestor as their minister inspiring them with the idea of freedom, my ancestor as an officer, who by word and deed kept the farmers firm before the British volleys.  The old-time connection between the two families persisted.  Ralph Waldo Emerson and my father were contemporaries coming through the Harvard gate into the small company of Unitarian ministers at about the same period and somewhat associated in their young manhood.  Mrs. Emerson had been Lydia Jackson of Plymouth, baptised, into the old Pilgrim Parish by the father of my mother.  Lydia Jackson and my mother had been girls together, and good friends.  It was natural, therefore, that, with these antecedents when I as a young boy arrived in Concord, I should come into touch with the Emersons.  They were indeed pleasant friends to me, both Mr. and Mrs. Emerson receiving with kindness the child whose parents they had known when children.  The Emerson house on the Lexington Road is to-day a world-renowned shrine, sixty years ago it was the quiet home of a peaceful family, lovely as now through its natural beauty but not yet sought out by many pilgrims.  The fame of Emerson, only recently established by his Nature and the earlier poems, was just beginning to spread into world-wide proportions.

I have before me his image, in his vigorous years, the sloping rather narrow shoulders, the slender frame erect and sinewy but never robust, and a keen, firm face.  In his glance was complete kindliness and also profound penetration.  His nose was markedly expressive, sharp, and well to the fore.  In his lips there was geniality as well as firmness.  His smooth hair concealed a head and brow not large but well rounded.  His face was always without beard.  Though slight, he was vigorous and the erect figure striding at a rapid pace could be encountered any day in all weathers, not only on the streets but in the fields and woods.  Unlike his neighbour Hawthorne his instincts were always social.  He mingled affably with low and high and I have never heard a more hearty tribute to him than came from an Irish washwoman, his neighbour, who only knew him as he chatted with her over the fence about the round of affairs that interested her.  He always had a smile and a pleasant word for the school-children and at town-meeting bore his part among the farmers in discussing the affairs of the community.  His voice in particular bespoke the man.  It had a rich resonance and a subtle quality that gave to the most cursory listener an impression of culture.  His speech was deliberate, sometimes hesitating, and his phrases often, even when he talked on simple themes, had especial point and appropriateness.