perfect as the most finished cameo. But what is the gift of a
mourning ring to the bequest of a perpetual annuity? How many lives
have melted into the history of their time, as the gold was lost
in Corinthian brass, leaving no separate monumental trace of their
influence, but adding weight and color and worth to the age of which
they formed a part and the generations that came after them! We can dare
to predict of Emerson, in the words of his old friend and disciple, Mr.
Cranch:--

"The wise will know thee and the good will love,
The age to come will feel thy impress given
In all that lifts the race a step above
Itself, and stamps it with the seal of heaven."

It seems to us, to-day, that Emerson's best literary work in prose and
verse must live as long as the language lasts; but whether it live or
fade from memory, the influence of his great and noble life and
the spoken and written words which were its exponents, blends,
indestructible, with the enduring elements of civilization.

* * * * *

It is not irreverent, but eminently fitting, to compare any singularly
pure and virtuous life with that of the great exemplar in whose
footsteps Christendom professes to follow. The time was when the divine
authority of his gospel rested chiefly upon the miracles he is reported
to have wrought. As the faith in these exceptions to the general laws
of the universe diminished, the teachings of the Master, of whom it was
said that he spoke as never man spoke, were more largely relied upon
as evidence of his divine mission. Now, when a comparison of these
teachings with those of other religious leaders is thought by many to
have somewhat lessened the force of this argument, the life of the
sinless and self-devoted servant of God and friend of man is appealed to
as the last and convincing proof that he was an immediate manifestation
of the Divinity.

Judged by his life Emerson comes very near our best ideal of humanity.
He was born too late for the trial of the cross or the stake, or even
the jail. But the penalty of having an opinion of his own and expressing
it was a serious one, and he accepted it as cheerfully as any of Queen
Mary's martyrs accepted his fiery baptism. His faith was too large and
too deep for the formulae he found built into the pulpit, and he was too
honest to cover up his doubts under the flowing vestments of a sacred
calling. His writings, whether in prose or verse,