WHEN Emerson was giving a course of lectures in my church at Cincinnati, he does consented to address the children on Sunday morning. Many times have I regretted that no reporter was present to preserve that address. It was given without notes, and its effect upon the large assembly of children could have been no less striking than that extemporaneous speech delivred by Emerson at the Burns Centenary, which so experienced a critic as Judge Hoar declares to be the grandest piece of eloquence he ever heard. Emerson, in this case as in that, held his hearers between smiles and tears. He began by telling them about his neighbour Henry Thoreau, and his marvellous knowledge of nature, his intimate friendship with flowers, and with the birds which lit on his shoulder, and with the fishes which swam into his hand. It was as if he were charming the children with a fairy-tale, or something omitted from the Gospel stories, which at the same time they felt to be true.
Not very long after ( 1862) Thoreau -- it was at the age of forty-five -- and beside his grave at Concord Emerson delivered an address in which he said, "The country knows not yet, or in the least part, how great