greater care the ‘address,’ before it is printed (for the use of the class):  and I heartily thank you for this expression of your tried toleration and love.”

Dr. Ware followed up his note with a sermon, preached on the 23d of September, in which he dwells especially on the necessity of adding the idea of personality to the abstractions of Emerson’s philosophy, and sent it to him with a letter, the kindness and true Christian spirit of which were only what were inseparable from all the thoughts and feelings of that most excellent and truly apostolic man.

To this letter Emerson sent the following reply:—­

    CONCORD, October 8, 1838.

“MY DEAR SIR,—­I ought sooner to have acknowledged your kind letter of last week, and the sermon it accompanied.  The letter was right manly and noble.  The sermon, too, I have read with attention.  If it assails any doctrine of mine,—­perhaps I am not so quick to see it as writers generally,—­certainly I did not feel any disposition to depart from my habitual contentment, that you should say your thought, whilst I say mine.  I believe I must tell you what I think of my new position.  It strikes me very oddly that good and wise men at Cambridge and Boston should think of raising me into an object of criticism.  I have always been—­from my very incapacity of methodical writing—­a ‘chartered libertine,’ free to worship and free to rail,—­lucky when I could make myself understood, but never esteemed near enough to the institutions and mind of society to deserve the notice of the masters of literature and religion.  I have appreciated fully the advantages of my position, for I well know there is no scholar less willing or less able than myself to be a polemic.  I could not give an account of myself, if challenged.  I could not possibly give you one of the ‘arguments’ you cruelly hint at, on which any doctrine of mine stands; for I do not know what arguments are in reference to any expression of a thought.  I delight in telling what I think; but if you ask me how I dare say so, or why it is so, I am the most helpless of mortal men.  I do not even see that either of these questions admits of an answer.  So that in the present droll posture of my affairs, when I see myself suddenly raised to the importance of a heretic, I am very uneasy when I advert to the supposed duties of such a personage, who is to make good his thesis against all comers.  I certainly shall do no such thing.  I shall read what you and other good men write, as I have always done, glad when you speak my thoughts, and skipping the page that has nothing for me.  I shall go on just as before, seeing whatever I can, and telling what I see; and, I suppose, with the same fortune that has hitherto attended me,—­the joy of finding that my abler and better brothers, who work with the sympathy of society, loving and beloved, do now and then unexpectedly confirm my conceptions, and find my nonsense is only their