neighbor he was always at his best. To the
family of his old friend Alcott he was as a special providence for many
years, and beautiful indeed was the affection in which he was held by
them. When, during Emerson's absence in Europe, his house was partly
burned, his neighbors promptly rebuilt it, ready for his return. Of
these helpers Emerson wrote, in accepting their gift:--

"Judge Hoar has up to this time withheld from me the names of my
benefactors; but you may be sure I shall not rest till I have
learned them, every one, to repeat to myself at night and at
morning."

Emerson's personal appearance was that of a scholar and the descendant
of scholars,--tall, slender, and with the complexion which is bred in
the alcove and not in the open air. His hair was brown, fine, and thick.
His eyes were of the deepest blue. His mode of living was very simple,
but he was constitutionally fastidious, and very much averse to vulgar
or commonplace companionship. He loved all children and simple-minded
people, and the very babies in Concord knew and loved him. "Incorrigible
spouting Yankee" he called himself; but he was rather a silent man in
reality, and did not care to talk excepting when he had somewhat to say.
He did not prate eternally of silence, as Carlyle did, while wreaking
himself upon speech in the most frantically vehement manner all his
days, but he knew when and how to be silent. The glimpses he gives of
Mrs. Emerson, in the long correspondence with Carlyle, are all of the
most pleasing nature, and his home life was apparently as perfect as
music all his life long. Of the boy Waldo, who died, he was fond of
speaking, and he evidently mourned him very deeply for a long time. Of
his other children he never boasted, but always spoke most kindly. The
most entire revelation that Emerson ever made of himself was doubtless
in the letters to Carlyle; and it must be said that nowhere else has
Carlyle appeared to so good advantage as in this correspondence with
Emerson. One loves the grim, sardonic old man better after seeing that
he could love his friend faithfully and loyally for so many years, and
after reading all the tender and touching things he puts into his
letters to him. Especially is this the case in the later days, when both
had grown to be old men, and had been saddened by their life experience.
Carlyle's letters after his wife's death are very touching. In the first
after the sad event he says: