But from the beginning to the end there was nothing mystic—­no Platonism; and, if I remember rightly, the star-spangled banner was altogether omitted.  To the national eagle he did allude.  “Your American eagle,” he said, “is very well.  Protect it here and abroad.  But beware of the American peacock.”  He gave an account of the war from the beginning, showing how it had arisen, and how it had been conducted; and he did so with admirable simplicity and truth.  He thought the North were right about the war; and as I thought so also, I was not called upon to disagree with him.  He was terse and perspicuous in his sentences, practical in his advice, and, above all things, true in what he said to his audience of themselves.  They who know America will understand how hard it is for a public man in the States to practice such truth in his addresses.  Fluid compliments and high-flown national eulogium are expected.  In this instance none were forthcoming.  The North had risen with patriotism to make this effort, and it was now warned that in doing so it was simply doing its national duty.  And then came the subject of slavery.  I had been told that Mr. Emerson was an abolitionist, and knew that I must disagree with him on that head, if on no other.  To me it has always seemed that to mix up the question of general abolition with this war must be the work of a man too ignorant to understand the real subject of the war, or too false to his country to regard it.  Throughout the whole lecture I was waiting for Mr. Emerson’s abolition doctrine, but no abolition doctrine came.  The words abolition and compensation were mentioned, and then there was an end of the subject.  If Mr. Emerson be an abolitionist, he expressed his views very mildly on that occasion.  On the whole, the lecture was excellent, and that little advice about the peacock was in itself worth an hour’s attention.

That practice of lecturing is “quite an institution” in the States.  So it is in England, my readers will say.  But in England it is done in a different way, with a different object, and with much less of result.  With us, if I am not mistaken, lectures are mostly given gratuitously by the lecturer.  They are got up here and there with some philanthropical object, and in the hope that an hour at the disposal of young men and women may be rescued from idleness.  The subjects chosen are social, literary, philanthropic, romantic, geographical, scientific, religious—­anything rather than political.  The lecture-rooms are not usually filled to overflowing, and there is often a question whether the real good achieved is worth the trouble taken.  The most popular lectures are given by big people, whose presence is likely to be attractive; and the whole thing, I fear we must confess, is not pre-eminently successful.  In the Northern States of America the matter stands on a very different footing.  Lectures there are more popular than either theaters or concerts.