Light is one kind of motion, heat another,
electricity another, magnetism another, sound another. Every human
sense is the result of motion; every perception, every thought is
but motion of the molecules of the brain translated by that
incomprehensible thing we call mind. The processes of growth, of
existence, of decay, whether in worlds, or in the minutest organisms,
are but motion."
BY EMERSON'S GRAVE
_May 6, '82._--We stand by Emerson's new-made grave without
sadness--indeed a solemn joy and faith, almost hauteur--our
soul-benison no mere
"Warrior, rest, thy task is done,"
for one beyond the warriors of the world lies surely symboll'd here. A
just man, poised on himself, all-loving, all-inclosing, and sane and
clear as the sun. Nor does it seem so much Emerson himself we are here
to honor--it is conscience, simplicity, culture, humanity's attributes
at their best, yet applicable if need be to average affairs, and
eligible to all. So used are we to suppose a heroic death can only
come from out of battle or storm, or mighty personal contest, or amid
dramatic incidents or danger, (have we not been taught so for ages
by all the plays and poems?) that few even of those who most
sympathizingly mourn Emerson's late departure will fully appreciate
the ripen'd grandeur of that event, with its play of calm and fitness,
like evening light on the sea.
How I shall henceforth dwell on the blessed hours when, not long
since, I saw that benignant face, the clear eyes, the silently smiling
mouth, the form yet upright in its great age--to the very last, with
so much spring and cheeriness, and such an absence of decrepitude,
that even the term _venerable_ hardly seem'd fitting.
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