Longfellow's poems, but at fourteen I had Emerson's Essays. And they accompanied me through my student days; I read and reread them, and he became thus the star to which I hitched my little wagon when it was to carry me to the new world from the fatherland. This was not without effect on my own American experiences. Emerson's work had so often represented to me the spirit of the new world which I entered that my mental eye became so sensitive as to recognize the Emersonian lines and curves and forms everywhere in the background of American life. Most Europeans, and especially Germans, who come over, see everywhere the features of commercialism and practical utilitarianism. I was impressed by the idealism of this young, healthful community, and in the first essay which I published on America, in a German paper, only a few months after my first visit, I wrote with most sincere conviction: "If you really want to understand the deepest energies of this glorious country, do not consult the editorials of the yellow press of New York, but read the golden books of the wise man of Concord."

But, Mr. Chairman, I feel that I have no right to speak here as a German, since you have assured us that the foreign scholars have been invited for tonight, with the understanding that they are not allowed to come if a cover has been laid for me, nevertheless, I take it that I was expected not to forget that I am here as the representative of the Harvard Philosophy Department. But, Mr. Chair

man, the Philosophy Department of Harvard has not to report any new facts to-night. The Emerson story is very simple, very short, and completely known to you. We saw a year ago that the time had come to place an Emerson Hall for Philosophy on the Harvard Yard, and that it was necessary for that purpose to collect $150,000 before the 25th of May, 1903; we began thus to collect, and when we counted the contents of our purse, on the 23d of May, 1903, we found there $150,250. That is the whole simple story indeed, and yet some connotations to it may be in order, and I am most happy to make them in this company.

First, do not misunderstand the report of our treasurer; the sum I mentioned was meant from the beginning merely as a fund sufficient to secure a building, not at all sufficient to secure the building for which we were hoping from the start. We want a spacious, noble, monumental hall- the architectural plans are drawn. To build it as the plans suggest it we need $100,000 more; and while we highly appreciate any small gifts toward this additional sum we are firmly determined not to reject even the largest contributions.

But all this refers to the externals, to the newspaper side of our memorial work; let me speak in this narrower circle of some more internal points. Seen from such an exoteric point of view, it may look as though we Harvard philosophers had said through all the year: "Happy public, you are fortu

nate in being allowed to build a fine building for our splendid philosophy instruction, and now that the checks are written, the public may kindly remove itself and the students may fill their fountain pens to write down in the new building our glorious effusion of wisdom." Well, over there in Cambridge, we must impose on the freshmen and sophomores, but here let me say at once, we know exactly that the generous contributions of the community were not given to us but to Emerson. And if we ever forgot it, our benefactors reminded us of it. I asked, for instance, the help of Andrew Carnegie, and he gave generously, but when I replied that there would be rejoicing in Harvard that at last he had given to Harvard University, I saw in the far background the big Harvard Library building we need so badly,— he left me not the slightest doubt that his pledge was for the Emerson Memorial, but not for Harvard as Harvard. Yes, it is thoroughly an Emerson building, a late expression of Harvard's gratitude for her greatest son.

But we know also that the value of this memorial gift lies not in its walls and roof, but in the kind of work which will develop within those walls. It will be a true Emerson memorial only if the words and work in that hall become help and guidance, wisdom and inspiration for new and new generations of Harvard men. There would be no hope of such influence if we instructors really entered into it with an air of self-satisfaction and self-complacency. Let me

assure you that it is exactly the opposite feeling with which we look into the future, and this conviction that we must fulfil our duty better, much better, than heretofore, is common to all of us in the whole large Department of Philosophy. A lucky chance brought to me this morning, when I left for Concord, a letter from our colleague, Professor Royce, who is spending his sabbatical year in the country of his childhood, in California. He finds the fit word better than I could hope to do; let me read from his letter. I had written to him that the success seems near, and he replies :

"I feel very deeply how great are the responsibilities which the new gift places upon the shoulders of each teacher of the department which is thus endowed. I do not know how much I shall be able to do to live up to these new responsibilities. I only know that the news of the success of the Emerson Hall endowment fills me with a desire not only to improve here and there, but quite to make over afresh, and to change throughout for the better, my methods of work as a teacher of philosophy; and with a determination to devote myself as never before to the task of offering to philosophy and to Harvard my best services. That the founding of this new building may mean the beginning of a new life for philosophical study in our country, and the dawning of a new day for the interests of higher thought in our national affairs, is the earnest wish of your absent colleague."

This is the feeling of our common department's soul. We shall not enter the new Philosophy Hall with the feeling that we can sit there on our laurels, but with the firm promise that we will live up to the duties which the single word above its door demands from us. We all are united by the ideal to make our work in Emerson Hall worthy of the name that honors it.

Mr. Chairman, I see from your pretty menu-card that Emerson once said, "Harvard University is thin like a wafer compared with the solid land of our Social Circle in Concord." That was sixty years ago, and there has not been much change since that time, indeed. But now the change will come, believe us. Emerson Hall in Harvard University will be built on solid land, too, on the solid land of our best will and effort, and we will work that it may prove perhaps even not less solid than the Social Circle,— solid land on which to stand to-night gave me the greatest possible pleasure.

THE CHAIRMAN:- Dr. Emerson needs no introduction from me to you. He will occupy the few remaining moments before the time to leave for the train, and the exercises will then close with singing the "Battle Hymn" to the tune of "Old Hundred."