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freedom； reaching at last the summit of his ambition as minister at
the Court of Saint James。 All this I seemed to share with him as I
tracked his career from his birthplace in Dorchester； and the house
in Walnut Street where he passed his boyhood； to the palaces of
Vienna and London。 And then the cruel blow which struck him from the
place he adorned； the great sorrow that darkened his later years； the
invasion of illness； a threat that warned of danger； and after a
period of invalidism； during a part of which I shared his most
intimate daily life； the sudden； hardly unwelcome； final summons。
Did not my own consciousness migrate； or seem； at least； to transfer
itself into this brilliant life history； as I traced its glowing
record？ I； too； seemed to feel the delight of carrying with me； as
if they were my own； the charms of a presence which made its own
welcome everywhere。 I shared his heroic toils； I partook of his
literary and social triumphs； I was honored by the marks of
distinction which gathered about him； I was wronged by the indignity
from which he suffered； mourned with him in his sorrow； and thus；
after I had been living for months with his memory； I felt as if I
should carry a part of his being with me so long as my self…
consciousness might remain imprisoned in the ponderable elements。
The years passed away； and the influences derived from the
companionships I have spoken of had blended intimately with my own
current of being。 Then there came to me a new experience in my
relations with an eminent member of the medical profession； whom I
met habitually for a long period； and to whose memory I consecrated a
few pages as a prelude to a work of his own； written under very
peculiar circumstances。 He was the subject of a slow； torturing；
malignant； and almost necessarily fatal disease。 Knowing well that
the mind would feed upon itself if it were not supplied with food
from without； he determined to write a treatise on a subject which
had greatly interested him； and which would oblige him to bestow much
of his time and thought upon it； if indeed he could hold out to
finish the work。 During the period while he was engaged in writing
it； his wife； who had seemed in perfect health； died suddenly of
pneumonia。 Physical suffering； mental distress； the prospect of
death at a near； if uncertain； time always before him； it was hard to
conceive a more terrible strain than that which he had to endure。
When； in the hour of his greatest need； his faithful companion； the
wife of many years of happy union； whose hand had smoothed his
pillow； whose voice had consoled and cheered him； was torn from him
after a few days of illness； I felt that my； friend's trial was such
that the cry of the man of many afflictions and temptations might
well have escaped from his lips： 〃I was at ease； but he hath broken
me asunder； he hath also taken me by my neck and shaken me to pieces；
and set me up for his mark。 His archers compass me round about； he
cleaveth my reins asunder； and doth not spare； he poureth out my gall
upon the ground。〃
I had dreaded meeting him for the first time after this crushing
blow。 What a lesson he gave me of patience under sufferings which
the fearful description of the Eastern poet does not picture too
vividly！ We have been taught to admire the calm philosophy of
Haller； watching his faltering pulse as he lay dying； we have heard
the words of pious resignation said to have been uttered with his
last breath by Addison： but here was a trial； not of hours； or days；
or weeks； but of months； even years； of cruel pain； and in the midst
of its thick darkness the light of love； which had burned steadily at
his bedside； was suddenly extinguished。
There were times in which the thought would force itself upon my
consciousness； How long is the universe to look upon this dreadful
experiment of a malarious planet； with its unmeasurable freight of
suffering； its poisonous atmosphere； so sweet to breathe； so sure to
kill in a few scores of years at farthest； and its heart…breaking
woes which make even that brief space of time an eternity？ There can
be but one answer that will meet this terrible question； which must
arise in every thinking nature that would fain 〃justify the ways of
God to men。〃 So must it be until that
〃one far…off divine event
To which the whole creation moves〃
has become a reality； and the anthem in which there is no discordant
note shall be joined by a voice from every life made 〃perfect through
sufferings。〃
Such was the lesson into which I lived in those sad yet placid years
of companionship with my suffering and sorrowing friend； in retracing
which I seemed to find another existence mingled with my own。
And now for many months I have been living in daily relations of
intimacy with one who seems nearer to me since he has left us than
while he was here in living form and feature。 I did not know how
difficult a task I had undertaken in venturing upon a memoir of a man
whom all； or almost all； agree upon as one of the great lights of the
New World； and whom very many regard as an unpredicted Messiah。
Never before was I so forcibly reminded of Carlyle's description of
the work of a newspaper editor；that threshing of straw already
thrice beaten by the flails of other laborers in the same field。
What could be said that had not been said of 〃transcendentalism〃 and
of him who was regarded as its prophet； of the poet whom some admired
without understanding； a few understood； or thought they did； without
admiring； and many both understood and admired；among these there
being not a small number who went far beyond admiration； and lost
themselves in devout worship？ While one exalted him as 〃the greatest
man that ever lived；〃 another； a friend； famous in the world of
letters； wrote expressly to caution me against the danger of
overrating a writer whom he is content to recognize as an American
Montaigne； and nothing more。
After finishing this Memoir； which has but just left my hands； I
would gladly have let my brain rest for a while。 The wide range of
thought which belonged to the subject of the Memoir； the occasional
mysticism and the frequent tendency toward it； the sweep of
imagination and the sparkle of wit which kept his reader's mind on
the stretch； the union of prevailing good sense with exceptional
extravagances； the modest audacity of a nature that showed itself in
its naked truthfulness and was not ashamed； the feeling that I was in
the company of a sibylline intelligence which was discounting the
promises of the remote future long before they were due；all this
made the task a grave one。 But when I found myself amidst the
vortices of uncounted； various； bewildering judgments； Catholic and
Protestant； orthodox and liberal； scholarly from under the tree of
knowledge and instinctive from over the potato…hill； the passionate
enthusiasm of young adorers and the cool； if not cynical； estimate of
hardened critics； all intersecting each other as they whirled； each
around its own centre； I felt that it was indeed very difficult to
keep the faculties clear and the judgment unbiassed。
It is a great privilege to have lived so long in the society of such
a man。 〃He nothing common〃 said； 〃or mean。〃 He was always the same
pure and high…souled companion。 After being with him virtue seemed
as natural to man as its opposite did according to the old
theologies。 But how to let one's self down from the high level of
such a character to one's own poor standard？ I trust that the
influence of this long intellectual and spiritual companionship never
absolutely leaves one who has lived in it。 It may come to him in the
form of self…reproach that he falls so far short of the superior
being who has been so long the object of his contemplation。 But it
also carries him at times into the other's personality； so that he
finds himself thinking thoughts that are not his own； using phrases
which he has unconsciously borrowed； writing； it may be； as nearly
like his long…studied original as Julio Romano's painting was like
Raphael's ； and all this with the unquestioning conviction that he is
talking from his own consciousness in his own natural way。 So far as
tones and expressions and habits which belonged to the idiosyncrasy
of the original are borrowed by the student of his life； it is a
misfortune for the borrower。 But to share the inmost consciousness
of a noble thinker； to scan one's self in the white light of a pure
and radiant soul；this is indeed the highest form of teaching and
discipline。
I have written these few memoirs； and I am grateful for all that they
have taught me。 But let me write no more。 There are but two
biographers who can tell the story of a man's or a woman's life。 One
is the person himself or herself； the other is the Recording Angel。
The autobiographer cann