controversy with Salmasius.  But though Emerson never betrayed it to the offence of others, he must have been conscious, like Milton, of “a certain niceness of nature, an honest haughtiness,” which was as a shield about his inner nature.  Charles Emerson, the younger brother, who was of the same type, expresses the feeling in his college essay on Friendship, where it is all summed up in the line he quotes:—­

  “The hand of Douglas is his own.”

It must be that in writing this Essay on Milton Emerson felt that he was listening in his own soul to whispers that seemed like echoes from that of the divine singer.

* * * * *

My friend, the Rev. James Freeman Clarke, a life-long friend of Emerson, who understood him from the first, and was himself a great part in the movement of which Emerson, more than any other man, was the leader, has kindly allowed me to make use of the following letters:—­

    TO REV.  JAMES F. CLARKE, LOUISVILLE, KY.

    PLYMOUTH, MASS., March 12, 1834.

MY DEAR SIR,—­As the day approaches when Mr. Lewis should leave Boston, I seize a few moments in a friendly house in the first of towns, to thank you heartily for your kindness in lending me the valued manuscripts which I return.  The translations excited me much, and who can estimate the value of a good thought?  I trust I am to learn much more from you hereafter of your German studies, and much I hope of your own.  You asked in your note concerning Carlyle.  My recollections of him are most pleasant, and I feel great confidence in his character.  He understands and recognizes his mission.  He is perfectly simple and affectionate in his manner, and frank, as he can well afford to be, in his communications.  He expressed some impatience of his total solitude, and talked of Paris as a residence.  I told him I hoped not; for I should always remember him with respect, meditating in the mountains of Nithsdale.  He was cheered, as he ought to be, by learning that his papers were read with interest by young men unknown to him in this continent; and when I specified a piece which had attracted warm commendation from the New Jerusalem people here, his wife said that is always the way; whatever he has writ that he thinks has fallen dead, he hears of two or three years afterward.—­He has many, many tokens of Goethe’s regard, miniatures, medals, and many letters.  If you should go to Scotland one day, you would gratify him, yourself, and me, by your visit to Craigenputtock, in the parish of Dunscore, near Dumfries.  He told me he had a book which he thought to publish, but was in the purpose of dividing into a series of articles for “Fraser’s Magazine.”  I therefore subscribed for that book, which he calls the “Mud Magazine,” but have seen nothing of his workmanship in the two last numbers.  The mail is going, so I shall finish my letter another time.

    Your obliged friend and servant,