eat works of German philosophy and literature so well
within the reach of those who have not mastered the cumbrous and
difficult language. Dr. Hedge's last removal was to Cambridge, whither
he had been called to fill the chair of the German professorship. I
recall with interest a course of lectures on philosophy, which he gave
at the university, and which outsiders were permitted to attend. I was
unwilling to miss any of these; and on one occasion, having passed the
night without sleeping, on the road between New York and Boston, I
determined, in spite of my fatigue, to attend the lecture appointed for
that day. I accordingly went out to Cambridge, and took my seat among
Dr. Hedge's hearers. From time to time a spasm of somnolence would seize
me, but the interest of the lecture was so great and my desire to hear
it so strong that I did not once catch myself napping.

Dr. Hedge was a lover of the drama. When Madame Janauschek first visited
Boston, he asked me to accompany him in a visit to her. The conversation
was in German, which the doctor spoke fluently. Madame J. said, among
other things, that she had intended coming a year earlier, and had sent
forward at that time her photograph and her biography. The doctor once
invited me to go with him to the Boston Theatre, which was then occupied
by a French troupe. This was at some period of our civil war. The most
important of the plays given was "La Joie fait Peur." As it proceeded,
Dr. Hedge said to me, "What a wonderful people these French are! They
have put passion enough into this performance to carry our war through
to a successful termination."

Dr. Hedge had known Margaret Fuller well in her youth and his own. His
judgment of her was perhaps more generous than hers of him, as indicated
in her criticism just quoted of his discourse, namely, that it occupied
"high ground for middle ground." In truth, the two were very unlike.
Margaret's nature impelled her to rush into "the imminent deadly
breach," while an element of caution and world-wisdom made the doctor
averse to all unnecessary antagonism and conflict. She probably
considered him timid where he felt her to be rash. In after years he
often spoke of her to me, always with great appreciation. I remarked
once to him that she had entertained a very good opinion of herself. He
replied, "Yes, and she was entitled to it." He recalled some passages of
her life in Cambridge. She once gave a party and invited only friends