body was robed completely in white, and the face bore a natural and peaceful expression. From the church the procession took its way to the cemetery. The grave was made beneath a tall pine tree upon the hill top to the east of Sleepy Hollow, where lie the bodies of his friends Thoreau and Hawthorne, the upturned sod being concealed by strewings of pine boughs. A border of hemlock spray surrounded the grave and completely lined its sides. The services here were very brief and the casket was soon lowered to its final resting place.

The Rev. Dr. Haskins, a cousin of the family, an Episcopal clergyman, read the Episcopal burial service, and closed with the Lord's Prayer, ending at the words "and deliver us from evil." In this

all the people joined. Dr. Haskins then pro

nounced the benediction. After it was over the grandchildren passed by the open grave and threw flowers into it.

RECOLLECTIONS

OF

EMERSON'S VISITS TO ENGLAND IN 1833, 1847-8, AND 1872-3.

It was in the month of August, 1833-nearly fifty years ago—that I had the singular good fortune to make the acquaintance of Mr. Emerson, and to enjoy the privilege of several days' intercourse with him. I was then residing in Edinburgh, my native city, and he was on his way home, after his first visit to Europe. He had with him a letter of introduction to a friend of mine, who, luckily for me, was then so much engaged in professional duties, that he was unable to spare even a few hours to do the honours of the old Scottish metropolis; so the young American traveller was handed over to me, and I thus became "an entertainer of angels unawares." In those early days Mr. Emerson was about thirty years of age, and

his name was then utterly unknown in the world of letters; for the period to which I refer was anterior, by several years, to his delivery of those remarkable addresses which took by surprise the most thoughtful of his countrymen, as well as of cultivated English readers. Neither had he published any of those addresses or essays which afterwards stamped him as the most original thinker in America.

On Sunday, the 18th of August, 1833, I heard him deliver a discourse in the Unitarian Chapel, Young Street, Edinburgh, and I remember distinctly the effect which it produced on his hearers. It is almost needless to say that nothing like it had ever been heard by them before, and many of them did not know what to make of it. The originality of his thoughts, the consummate beauty of the language in which they were clothed, the calm dignity of his bearing, the absence of all oratorical effort, and the singular directness and simplicity of his manner, free from the least shadow of dogmatic assumption, made a deep impression on me. Not long before this I had listened to a wonderful sermon by Dr. Chalmers, whose force, and energy, and vehement, but rather turgid eloquence carried, for the moment, all before them-his audience becoming like clay in the hands of the

potter.* But I must confess that the pregnant thoughts and serene self-possession of the young Boston minister had a greater charm for me than all the rhetorical splendours of Chalmers. His voice was the sweetest, the most winning and penetrating of any I ever heard; nothing like it have I listened to since.

That music in our hearts we bore,

Long after it was heard no more.

We visited together the courts of law and other places of interest to a stranger, and ascended Blackford Hill, which commands a fine view of the city from the south. There were thus good opportunities for conversation. He spoke on many subjects connected with life, society, and literature, and with an affluence of thought and fulness of knowledge which surprised and delighted me. I had never before met with any one of so fine and varied a culture and with such frank sincerity of speech. There was a graciousness and kind encouragement, too, in his manner, inexpressibly winning to one so much younger than himself; and it was with a feeling almost akin to reverence that I listened to and drank in his high thoughts

* "His tones in preaching would rise to the piercingly patheticno preacher ever went so into one's heart. . . . I suppose there will never again be such a preacher in any Christian Church.". "Carlyle's Reminiscences," Vol. 1, p. 160.

and ripe wisdom. A refined and delicate courtesy, a kind of mental hospitality, so to speak,-the like of which, or anything approaching to which, I have never encountered,-seemed to be a part of his very nature, and inseparable from his " 'daily walk and conversation." It was not therefore extraordinary,—rather quite a natural result,—that the impression produced on me was intense and lasting.

It is with a feeling of something like pride that I find recorded, in a journal kept at the time, some memoranda of that brief intercourse, written in a strain of youthful, enthusiastic admiration, and of perfectly confident expectancy as to his future— a strain which might at that time have sounded unduly inflated, but which his subsequent career may be said to have rendered almost tame and inadequate. He spoke much about Coleridge, whom he had just visited at Highgate. I happened then to be reading the prose works of that writer, and these formed a fruitful topic of conversation. He spoke of his "Friend" and "Biographia Literaria" as containing many admirable passages for young thinkers, many valuable advices regarding the pursuit of truth and the right methods to be adopted in its investigation, and the importance of having precise and correct notions on moral and intellectual subjects. He considered that there