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will stand no more wear and tear； close them； and leave them to the
spider and the book…worm。〃
In the mean time the nebula of the first quarter of the century had
condensed into the constellation of the middle of the same period。
When； a little while after the establishment of the new magazine； the
〃Saturday Club〃 gathered about the long table at 〃Parker's；〃 such a
representation of all that was best in American literature had never
been collected within so small a compass。 Most of the Americans whom
educated foreigners cared to see…leaving out of consideration
official dignitaries； whose temporary importance makes them objects
of curiositywere seated at that board。 But the club did not yet
exist； and the 〃Atlantic Monthly〃 was an experiment。 There had
already been several monthly periodicals； more or less successful and
permanent； among which 〃Putnam's Magazine〃 was conspicuous； owing its
success largely to the contributions of that very accomplished and
delightful writer； Mr。 George William Curtis。 That magazine； after a
somewhat prolonged and very honorable existence； had gone where all
periodicals go when they die； into the archives of the deaf； dumb；
and blind recording angel whose name is Oblivion。 It had so well
deserved to live that its death was a surprise and a source of
regret。 Could another monthly take its place and keep it when that；
with all its attractions and excellences； had died out； and left a
blank in our periodical literature which it would be very hard to
fill as well as that had filled it？
This was the experiment which the enterprising publishers ventured
upon； and I； who felt myself outside of the charmed circle drawn
around the scholars and poets of Cambridge and Concord； having given
myself to other studies and duties； wondered somewhat when Mr。 Lowell
insisted upon my becoming a contributor。 And so； yielding to a
pressure which I could not understand； and yet found myself unable to
resist； I promised to take a part in the new venture； as an
occasional writer in the columns of the new magazine。
That was the way in which the second Portfolio found its way to my
table； and was there opened in the autumn of the year 1857。 I was
already at least
Nel mezzo del cammin di mia； vita；
when I risked myself； with many misgivings； in little…tried paths of
what looked at first like a wilderness； a selva oscura； where； if I
did not meet the lion or the wolf； I should be sure to find the
critic； the most dangerous of the carnivores； waiting to welcome me
after his own fashion。
The second Portfolio is closed and laid away。 Perhaps it was hardly
worth while to provide and open a new one； but here it lies before
me； and I hope I may find something between its covers which will
justify me in coming once more before my old friends。 But before I
open it I want to claim a little further indulgence。
There is a subject of profound interest to almost every writer； I
might say to almost every human being。 No matter what his culture or
ignorance； no matter what his pursuit； no matter what his character；
the subject I refer to is one of which he rarely ceases to think；
and； if opportunity is offered； to talk。 On this he is eloquent； if
on nothing else。 The slow of speech becomes fluent； the torpid
listener becomes electric with vivacity； and alive all over with
interest。
The sagacious reader knows well what is coming after this prelude。
He is accustomed to the phrases with which the plausible visitor； who
has a subscription book in his pocket； prepares his victim for the
depressing disclosure of his real errand。 He is not unacquainted
with the conversational amenities of the cordial and interesting
stranger； who； having had the misfortune of leaving his carpet…bag in
the cars； or of having his pocket picked at the station； finds
himself without the means of reaching that distant home where
affluence waits for him with its luxurious welcome； but to whom for
the moment the loan of some five and twenty dollars would be a
convenience and a favor for which his heart would ache with gratitude
during the brief interval between the loan and its repayment。
I wish to say a few words in my own person relating to some passages
in my own history； and more especially to some of the recent
experiences through which I have been passing。
What can justify one in addressing himself to the general public as
if it were his private correspondent？ There are at least three
sufficient reasons： first； if he has a story to tell that everybody
wants to hear；if be has been shipwrecked； or has been in a battle；
or has witnessed any interesting event； and can tell anything new
about it； secondly； if he can put in fitting words any common
experiences not already well told； so that readers will say； 〃Why；
yes！ I have had that sensation； thought； emotion； a hundred times；
but I never heard it spoken of before； and I never saw any mention of
it in print；〃 and thirdly； anything one likes； provided he can so
tell it as to make it interesting。
I have no story to tell in this Introduction which can of itself
claim any general attention。 My first pages relate the effect of a
certain literary experience upon myself；a series of partial
metempsychoses of which I have been the subject。 Next follows a
brief tribute to the memory of a very dear and renowned friend from
whom I have recently been parted。 The rest of the Introduction will
be consecrated to the memory of my birthplace。
I have just finished a Memoir； which will appear soon after this page
is written； and will have been the subject of criticism long before
it is in the reader's hands。 The experience of thinking another
man's thoughts continuously for a long time； of living one's self
into another man's life for a month； or a year； or more； is a very
curious one。 No matter how much superior to the biographer his
subject may be； the man who writes the life feels himself； in a
certain sense； on the level of the person whose life he is writing。
One cannot fight over the battles of Marengo or Austerlitz with
Napoleon without feeling as if he himself had a fractional claim to
the victory； so real seems the transfer of his personality into that
of the conqueror while he reads。 Still more must this identification
of 〃subject〃 and 〃object〃 take place when one is writing of a person
whose studies or occupations are not unlike his own。
Here are some of my metempsychoses：
Ten years ago I wrote what I called A Memorial Outline of a
remarkable student of nature。 He was a born observer； and such are
far from common。 He was also a man of great enthusiasm and
unwearying industry。 His quick eye detected what others passed by
without notice： the Indian relic； where another would see only
pebbles and fragments； the rare mollusk； or reptile； which his
companion would poke with his cane； never suspecting that there was a
prize at the end of it。 Getting his single facts together with
marvellous sagacity and long…breathed patience； he arranged them；
classified them； described them； studied them in their relations； and
before those around him were aware of it the collector was an
accomplished naturalist。 Whenhe died his collections remained； and
they still remain； as his record in the hieratic language of science。
In writing this memoir the spirit of his quiet pursuits； the even
temper they bred in him； gained possession of my own mind； so that I
seemed to look at nature through his gold…bowed spectacles； and to
move about his beautifully ordered museum as if I had myself prepared
and arranged its specimens。 I felt wise with his wisdom； fair…minded
with his calm impartiality； it seemed as if for the time his placid；
observant； inquiring； keen…sighted nature 〃slid into my soul；〃 and if
I had looked at myself in the glass I should almost have expected to
see the image of the Hersey professor whose life and character I was
sketching。
A few years hater I lived over the life of another friend in writing
a Memoir of which he was the subject。 I saw him； the beautiful；
bright…eyed boy； with dark； waving hair； the youthful scholar； first
at Harvard； then at Gottingen and Berlin； the friend and companion of
Bismarck； the young author； making a dash for renown as a novelist；
and showing the elements which made his failures the promise of
success in a larger field of literary labor； the delving historian；
burying his fresh young manhood in the dusty alcoves of silent
libraries； to come forth in the face of Europe and America as one of
the leading historians of the time； the diplomatist； accomplished； of
captivating presence and manners； an ardent American； and in the time
of trial an impassioned and eloquent advocate of the cause of
freedom； reaching at last the summit of his ambition as minister at
the Court of Saint James。 All this I seemed to share with h