one that remembers that his essays were made from lecture notes.
His habit, often in lecturing, was to compile his ideas as they
came to him on a general subject, in scattered notes, and when on
the platform, to trust to the mood of the occasion, to assemble
them. This seems a specious explanation, though true to fact.
Vagueness, is at times, an indication of nearness to a perfect
truth. The definite glory of Bernard of Cluny's Celestial City,
is more beautiful than true--probably. Orderly reason does not
always have to be a visible part of all great things. Logic may
possibly require that unity means something ascending in self-
evident relation to the parts and to the whole, with no ellipsis
in the ascent. But reason may permit, even demand an ellipsis,
and genius may not need the self-evident part. In fact, these
parts may be the "blind-spots" in the progress of unity. They may
be filled with little but repetition. "Nature loves analogy and
hates repetition." Botany reveals evolution not permanence. An
apparent confusion if lived with long enough may become orderly.
Emerson was not writing for lazy minds, though one of the keenest
of his academic friends said that, he (Emerson) could not explain
many of his own pages. But why should he!--he explained them when
he discovered them--the moment before he spoke or wrote them. A
rare experience of a moment at daybreak, when something in nature
seems to reveal all consciousness, cannot be explained at noon.
Yet it is a part of the day's unity. At evening, nature is
absorbed by another experience. She dislikes to explain as much
as to repeat. It is conceivable, that what is unified form to the
author, or composer, may of necessity be formless to his
audience. A home-run will cause more unity in the grand stand
than in the season's batting average. If a composer once starts
to compromise, his work will begin to drag on HIM. Before the end