really the unconscious result of the total movement. Fame is very chary of personal rights; it is difficult to erect a new altar. Everything tends to concentrate on a single name, and just as for years every good thing said in Boston was ultimately attributed to Holmes or Motley or Tom Appleton, so one sees to this day phrases credited to Emerson which really belonged to Alcott or Parker or Hedge. The late John S. Dwight was perhaps more boldly robbed and complimented than any other of his circle; since his poem called “Rest,” --
Sweet is the pleasurestill appears periodically as an occasional resurrection in the newspapers, but always as a translation from some supposed poem of Goethe. Dwight was very probably a divinity student at Cambridge when this poem was composed, he having left that institution in 1836; and enough has at any rate been written to show that Cambridge was in many respects the seed-ground of that intellectual
Itself cannot spoil;
Is not true leisure
One with true toil?