like an
aerolite, unasked for, unaccounted for, unexpected, almost unwelcome,--a
stumbling-block to be got out of the well-trodden highway of New England
scholastic intelligence. But here and there it found a reader to whom it
was, to borrow, with slight changes, its own quotation,--

"The golden key
Which opes the palace of eternity,"

inasmuch as it carried upon its face the highest certificate of truth,
because it animated them to create a new world for themselves through
the purification of their own souls.

Next to "Nature" in the series of his collected publications comes "The
American Scholar. An Oration delivered before the Phi Beta Kappa Society
at Cambridge, August 31, 1837."

The Society known by these three letters, long a mystery to the
uninitiated, but which, filled out and interpreted, signify that
philosophy is the guide of life, is one of long standing, the
annual meetings of which have called forth the best efforts of many
distinguished scholars and thinkers. Rarely has any one of the annual
addresses been listened to with such profound attention and interest.
Mr. Lowell says of it, that its delivery "was an event without any
former parallel in our literary annals, a scene to be always treasured
in the memory for its picturesqueness and its inspiration. What crowded
and breathless aisles, what windows clustering with eager heads, what
enthusiasm of approval, what grim silence of foregone dissent!"

Mr. Cooke says truly of this oration, that nearly all his leading ideas
found expression in it. This was to be expected in an address delivered
before such an audience. Every real thinker's world of thought has its
centre in a few formulae, about which they revolve as the planets circle
round the sun which cast them off. But those who lost themselves now and
then in the pages of "Nature" will find their way clearly enough through
those of "The American Scholar." It is a plea for generous culture;
for the development of all the faculties, many of which tend to become
atrophied by the exclusive pursuit of single objects of thought. It
begins with a note like a trumpet call.

"Thus far," he says, "our holiday has been simply a friendly sign
of the survival of the love of letters amongst a people too busy to
give to letters any more. As such it is precious as the sign of an
indestructible instinct. Perhaps the time is already come when
it ought to be, and will be,