His mind has the hand's pronounced anatomy,--its
cords and sinews and multiform articulations and processes, its
opposing and coordinating power. If his brain is small, its texture
is fine and its convolutions are deep. There have been broader and
more catholic natures, but few so towering and audacious in
expression and so rich in characteristic traits. Every scrap and
shred of him is important and related. Like the strongly aromatic
herbs and simples,--sage, mint, wintergreen, sassafras,--the least
part carries the flavor of the whole. Is there one indifferent or
equivocal or unsympathizing drop of blood in him? Where he is at
all, he is entirely,--nothing extemporaneous; his most casual word
seems to have lain in pickle a long time, and is saturated through
and through with the Emersonian brine. Indeed, so pungent and
penetrating is his quality that even his quotations seem more than
half his own.
He is a man who occupies every inch of his rightful territory; he
is there in proper person to the farthest bound. Not every man is
himself and his best self at all times and to his finger points.
Many great characters, perhaps the greatest, have more or less
neutral or waste ground. You must penetrate a distance before you
reach the real quick. Or there is a good wide margin of the
commonplace which is sure to put them on good terms with the mass
of their fellow-citizens. And one would think Emerson could afford
to relax a little; that he had earned the right to a dull page or
two now and then.
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