had a pair of eyes which, like those of the Indian deity, could see the smallest emmet on the blackest stone in the darkest night,—­or come nearer to seeing it than those of most mortals.  Emerson’s long intimacy with him taught him to give an outline to many natural objects which would have been poetic nebulae to him but for this companionship.  A nicer analysis would detect many alien elements mixed with his individuality, but the family traits predominated over all the external influences, and the personality stood out distinct from the common family qualities.  Mr. Whipple has well said:  “Some traits of his mind and character may be traced back to his ancestors, but what doctrine of heredity can give us the genesis of his genius?  Indeed the safest course to pursue is to quote his own words, and despairingly confess that it is the nature of genius ’to spring, like the rainbow daughter of Wonder, from the invisible, to abolish the past and refuse all history.’”

* * * * *

Emerson’s place as a thinker is somewhat difficult to fix.  He cannot properly be called a psychologist.  He made notes and even delivered lectures on the natural history of the intellect; but they seem to have been made up, according to his own statement, of hints and fragments rather than of the results of systematic study.  He was a man of intuition, of insight, a seer, a poet, with a tendency to mysticism.  This tendency renders him sometimes obscure, and once in a while almost, if not quite, unintelligible.  We can, for this reason, understand why the great lawyer turned him over to his daughters, and Dr. Walter Channing complained that his lecture made his head ache.  But it is not always a writer’s fault that he is not understood.  Many persons have poor heads for abstractions; and as for mystics, if they understand themselves it is quite as much as can be expected.  But that which is mysticism to a dull listener may be the highest and most inspiring imaginative clairvoyance to a brighter one.  It is to be hoped that no reader will take offence at the following anecdote, which may be found under the title “Diogenes,” in the work of his namesake, Diogenes Laertius.  I translate from the Latin version.

“Plato was talking about ideas, and spoke of mensality and cyathity [tableity, and gobletity].  ‘I can see a table and a goblet,’ said the cynic, ‘but I can see no such things as tableity and gobletity.’  ‘Quite so,’ answered Plato, ’because you have the eyes to see a goblet and a table with, but you have not the brains to understand tableity and gobletity.’”

This anecdote may be profitably borne in mind in following Emerson into the spheres of intuition and mystical contemplation.