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sible for men to come in weekly contact with his acute and vigorous speculations, without acquiring somewhat of that shrewdness and force of mind which have characterized our fellow citizens.

I do not intend to give an elaborate analysis of Dr. Emmons' character, such as may be gleaned from a review of his works and his history; nor to give a scientific delineation of him as a philosopher, or a preacher, or a christian; but to state a few reminiscences of him as he appeared to a visiter, and as his personal peculiarities were connected with his public developements. I do not wish to confine myself to a view of his social characteristics, but to intersperse such miscellaneous reflections as have been suggested by intercourse with him; and to detail some of the circumstances, which made him the centre of attraction to all who understood him.

It is not pretended that he was, in the common sense of the term, a popular man, for he was not sufficiently known to be a personal favorite with a large community ; but where he was best known, he was most revered; and could the Association of ministers with which he was so long connected, be introduced with him upon the canvass, they would all be painted as reverently looking up to the only man in the group who wore a three-cornered hat. They were wont to visit him as a mental mechanist, who would wind up their intellects and set them in freer motion. The Presidents of our Colleges, the Judges of our Courts, went out of their way to do him reverence. His guests left him with renewed impulse to activity, with larger views of the sphere in which they were called io labor. He did not, at all times, engage the interest of his acquaintance, as he did at chosen times; not abroad, so much as at home; not in extreme old age, as in the prime of life. But few men have exerted greater power with so little parade. His doctrinal sermons give no adequate idea of himself as a man.*

They were written in the abstract style of a secluded student, with somewhat of the severity which is natural to one living aloof from and above his race; but no one exhibition of his character exhausted him. His aspect, in the pulpit, and in the published treatise, will not display the whole of ihe man. He had enough of material for five or six different portraitures; enough of manhood to fill out several quite respectable personages. Not but that he had faults of mind and heart; he not only had them, but could afford that others should know them. “ No man's character,” he used to say, “will bear examining;” and again, "every body has something about him to spoil him.” We are not called however to expatiate on his faults, nor on what we may deem to be his doctrinal errors, but to examine the sources of the interest felt in one who never courted the attentions he received, nor sought any of the honors which he found; who disdained to run after the world, but chose to remain tranquilly at home, and to let such come to see him as were so disposed.

* No one, on the perusal of his a priori argument for the divine existence, or of several passages against the indulgence of the fancy, would suppose that he ever allowed his imagination a monent's recess from the tutelage of his judg. ment. It was however characteristic of him to make simple-hearted and childlike expressions which have but little resemblance to his logical formularies. Once, describing a most unpleasant dilemma in which he was involved, and from which he was extricated by expressing a thought that dropped into his mind suddenly, at the very instant when alone it could avail, he said, in a tone which one would have expected from Izaak Walton, “I do believe it was an immediate suggestion of a good angel."

A chief source of the interest felt in Dr. Emmons was the fact of his preserving, under many uncongenial influences, so much of the freshness and mellowness of human life. Perhaps the first feeling of strangers on visiting him was that of disappointment. They had heard of the minister of Franklin, as a recluse residing in a still parish, on a quiet road, seldom visiting even his own parishioners, except when they had complied with the direction of James, Is


among you, let him call for the elders of the church,” &c. Living such a secluded lise, one would naturally be expected to contract an awkwardness and stiffness of manner, an habitual reserve and shyness, from which a man of the world is free. Perhaps he did exhibit some constraint when with strangers in a strange place; but in his own study, no one need be more courteous and affable. Cordiality and good will marked his reception of his guests; whether they harmonized or not with his political or theological views. They found in him many sympathies in common with their own; they could not but see that their company was a pleasure to him; and they accordingly felt the ease and self-satisfaction, which it is the characteristic of a polite man to give his visiters. They had read perhaps the sermons of Dr. Emmons, and found them characterized by metaphysical reasoning, subtile distinctions, a great prominence of those doctrines which are called stern and severe; and remembering the words of Burke, “ There is no heart so hard as that of a thorough bred metaphysician,” they expected to find for their

host an austere man, exsiccated by logic and abstractions. But he showed no hardfeatured countenance to his guests; his face was the picture of hearty kindness and good nature; and although he was not unused to a knit brow in his study hours, he would converse on the literature, the politics, the news of the day, with a freshness of interest belonging to a citizen more than a scholar. “Whence VOL. I.


hath this man these things ?was a frequent query of his visiters. That large, spacious white house, which every one would know was the minister's house, with the venerable trees before it, and the neat enclosure around it, was the abode of native complaisance, and unaffected generosity. Unlike some of our ancient clergymen, he preserved a generous style of living, even to the last. Dr. Hopkins, in his old age, lived on charity ; and sometimes, when he rose in the morning, did not know where or how he should procure his morsel of bread for the day. Dr. Bellamy, when he had lost the tone of his mind, became too great a burden for his relatives to retain in their houses; was obliged to leave the genial influences of home and kindred, and was boarded at the house of one of his parishioners. But competence and good cheer always smiled upon the guests of Dr. Emmons; his mansion was called the minister's hotel; and no minister's horse would pass it a second time, without giving signs of pleasant remembrances.

That he never yielded to the morbid tendencies of a sedentary and secluded life, is more than can be claimed. It appears from several incidents in his history, that he sometimes worked his intellect with so great intenseness, and found so little intermission of his cares, as to lose for a season his usual amenity; and to say or do things which might with reason be expected of a laborious recluse, but not of a perfect man. Still it is not extravagant to say, that no hard student ever passed seventy years, in one room, with fewer morbid excitements; and if, for a short time, some scholars may have surpassed him in kindliness of manners, these were rare favorites of Providence; and after all, his smiles were diffused through so long a life, that perhaps, in the end, they would outnumber those of the happy men who contracted their joy into a briefer period.

Another source of the interest felt in him was, the resemblance between the outward and the inward man; between his appearance and his character, his manners and his mind. We love to see that force and formative energy of the spirit, which controls the whole expression of the face, and shapes the movement of the limbs. The theory of some Platonising philosophers, that the soul originally makes or developes the body, would find as much confirmation in Dr. Emmons, as in any other one.

He was not more than five feet and seven inches high, but he stood erect, and was in all senses upright. In his old age he walked like a young man. “My feet," he said, "are the best part of me." When he appeared in the streets of a New England city, a few years ago, with his three cornered hat, the bright buckles on his shoe and knee, his white locks flowing

down his shoulders, the boys flocked after him, as after a military general. Once, as he was seen walking with his usual dignity over a parade ground, it was well said of him, that he might be taken for some veteran commander, re-visiting the plain over which he had marched seventy years before. Nor was his character less dignified than his person. He would be one of the last men to be suspected of a meanness.

He was scrupulously neat in his person and dress, and he kept every thing in order around him. System characterized his movements. His guests would always find his hat hanging on the same nail in his study. Every chair was in its place; every book on its shelf, save the one he was reading; and that was put into the book-case, as soon as a visiter arrived. I remember hearing the late Dr. Harris, of Dunbarton, N. H., thus relate the scenes of the first day which he spent at the Franklin parsonage.

Having served as a soldier in the Revolutionary war, I went to read theology with Dr. Emmons. As I was expecting to remain several months a member of his family, he felt that he might be more free with me than with other strangers, and he wished to lose no time in training me to habits of order. After I had taken my seat with him by the fire, a brand fell upon the hearth; and as I was the younger man, and withal the pupil, I arose and put the brand in its place, but put the tongs on the left of the jamb. The Doctor instantly removed the tongs to the right of the jamb. In a few minutes more, the fire fell down the second time; I rectified the matter, and put the tongs again on the left of the fire place. The Doctor rose again, and put them on the right. Soon the brands fell the third time; and as the Doctor's movements had appeared to me somewhat singular, I determined to find out what they meant. Having adjusted the brands, therefore, I placed the tongs, designedly, along with the shovel at my left. My teacher then arose, and having corrected my third error, looked significantly in my face, and said: "My young friend, as you are going to stay with me, I wish to tell you, now, that I keep my shovel at the left of my fire, and my tongs at the right. From this incident," continued Dr. H., “ I learned one of the most useful maxims of a theologian; never to put on the left hand what belongs to the right; never to place together what ought to be kept separate; always to discriminate between things that differ; and to be accurate in small things as well as great."

It has been said, though there are many exceptions to the remark, that we can determine the character of a student, from the appearance of his study and his dress. If so, we should suppose Dr. Emmons to be a man of pure and correct taste, of

rigid system, of inflexible adherence to rule. And it was so. His style of writing was neat as his white locks. Though we may not say with an eminent critic, that “his style for didactic writing is just about perfect;" yet we may say, that, in a good degree, it answers the definition which Dean Swist gave of style, * Proper words in proper places.” Several autographs of those who signed the Declaration of American Independence are said to give a striking epitome of their respective peculiarities. The appearance of Dr. Emmons' manuscripts is a good representation of his character. He was always attentive to his chirography, and wrote a better hand at the age


seventyfive than at thirty-five. He loved to notice skilful penmanship, though he was not satisfied with this as the chief merit of what he read. Looking at a well penned manuscript, he once remarked, “ What a pity that a man who can write so well, had n't something to write.” Before he began his composition, he had arranged all the ideas which he meant to express, so that his sermons were penned with scarcely an erasure or interlincation, and the first draught of them looked like a copy; yet very few of them were ever copied. No one could be long in his company, without perceiving that even his conversational thoughts were classified. It had become a habit for him to introduce his remarks with numerical designations, first, second, third; and being thus distinguished, they would be remembered. Taking his leave of a young man whom he never expected to see again, he said, “ You must keep yourself familiar with three ideas; first, the nature of holiness; secondly, the nature of sin; thirdly, your responsibilities for eternity. Holiness, supreme love to the highest good, is beautiful in its own nature, but costs self denial. Sin, the love of a smaller good more than the greater, is hateful in its own nature, but is deceptive; and while it pleases, will ruin the transgressor. We are accountable for every voluntary action, to a Being who hates all sin, and will never clear the guilty.” Here was a compressed sermon, with its divisions and subdivisions. When told by a young collegian, that he contemplated the study of medicine, Dr. E. remarked, with his usual ease: “Men have different criteria by which they judge of a physician. I have five; first, good common sense; secondly, a power and disposition to discriminate; ihirdly, previous opportunities for professional study; fourthly, a habit of reflecting on his daily practice, and systematizing his conclusions; fifthly, right moral feelings.” On being asked what was the best system of rhetoric for a clergyman, he replied: " These two rules make the best system; first, Have something to say; second, Say it." Whether Dr. Emmons were unduly governed by his love of

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