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THE VAMPIRE’S PIXIE
Real Men Romance
MOXIE NORTH
 Contents

About This Book

Foreword

Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14

About the Author

Also by the Author
 About This Book

Even among Fairies, she’s the black sheep…

Nyx Shae-Lynn plays by her own rules—ones her diplomat father
and militant mother don’t understand. Since a birth defect means
she can’t fly, she’s had to make her own way in the world, rather
than becoming a fighter like her mother and brothers. The one way
she can satisfy her family is to find a Consort from Fairy high society,
but when she meets Caspian, all bets are off.
He’s a vampire from Clan Nicolaides who isn’t part of the Fairy world.
Nyx’s mom thinks she can do better. Meanwhile, Nyx knows she’s
met the vampire meant for her. She may not be a fighter, but she’ll
do whatever it takes to prove that Caspian is her mate.

The Vampire’s Pixie by Moxie North is part of Real Men Romance

Season One, a multi-author world created by Celia Kyle and Marina
Maddix.
 Foreword

Welcome to the Real Men Romance World, where other ah-mazing

paranormal romance authors write books set in the world we first
created with Real Men Shift, then continued with Real Men of
Othercross, Real Fae of Othercross, Real Men of Wildridge, and Real
Men Love Witches.
Each author in Season One was personally invited to write in our
world because we're also SUPER FANS of their work. (For realsies!)
They bring their own unique vision to the RMR World, with some
even tying them into their own established series or starting a
brand-new series just for our awesomesauce fans. Below you'll find
a list of the books in Season One—we think you're going to love
each and every book!
 SEASON ONE

Sanguine Scent by Reina Torres

Feral Fated Mate by Anne Hale
Howl for Me by Cecilia Lane
The Vampire's Pixie by Moxie North
Howling for You by Kate Rudolph
Finding Her Home by Willa Hart
We'd also like to invite you to our Facebook group, where we give
away prizes, interview authors, and get up to all sorts of hijinks. We
hope you'll join us!

www.realmenromance.com
 Chapter One

N yx S hae -L ynn turned to the left , then to the right , and then left
again. But it didn’t seem to matter which way she turned; the mirror
showed her the same image.
“I should just wear a sack. It wouldn’t be technically against the
dress code,” she muttered.
She didn’t know why she put herself through this torture every
morning. Getting dressed for work should be easy. Rotate five outfits
and nobody would ever pay attention. But she liked clothes. She
wanted to be taken seriously and knew appearances mattered.
Especially around people who often wore expensive suits every day.
Staring at her sensible pants and vest combination, she turned again
to view her reflection and wished she could leave her wings out.
They were so colorful and would add some serious drama to an
otherwise boring outfit. She tried to avoid people staring at her but
with her naturally bright hair and wings that was impossible. She
hoped wearing muted colors wouldn’t make them stand out too
much.
Even if she kept her wings pinned back it didn’t always help the
wandering eye. That meant they checked out her wings then
checked out her. That was the part that was uncomfortable. She
could see the intrigue in their faces, which then would morph into an
expression of shock or surprise, and not in a good way. They weren’t
seeing the defect in her wing that kept from flying; they were just
surprised to see a fairy on the ground.
“Yup, burlap sacks. Maybe with a belt. That’s my best option.”
Nyx had a hard time not seeing herself with her mother’s eyes. Her
tall, trim mother who started every morning with a physically
demanding workout before drinking some hideous smoothie that
was always green and unpleasant tasting. Deema had high
expectations for her only daughter and wanted her to look like her
and act like her. When Nyx was younger and living at home, she had
been kept on a strict diet and exercise regime under her mother’s
watchful eye. But now that she lived on her own, Nyx only ate
something green for breakfast if it was chives in the cream cheese
that was smothering a bagel.
The phone sitting on her bed rang with a cheerful melody and Nyx
grabbed it knowing without looking that it was her best friend Lana.
“What,” she answered, “I’m grumpy and I look terrible.”
There was a snort on the other end of the line. “Then stop staring in
the mirror. You look hot and it’s not like you have anyone to impress
at work.”
Lana was a witch, not in a bitchy way, in the real way, and she also
had a gift of sight that could be super annoying. Although, it often
came in handy because she always knew when Nyx was wallowing
in self-pity and needed a kick in the ass.
Nyx rolled her eyes. “Well, I was just contemplating a sack, make
that a burlap sack, instead of what I’m wearing. That would make
sure no one was impressed.”
“Boo-hoo, you’re gorgeous and it’s annoying when you deny it. Are
you showing up anytime soon or am I going to have to remake your
coffee?”
“Did you already make it?” Nyx loved that her bestie worked at a
coffee shop and always had her order ready when she arrived. It
was an odd place for a witch with powers like Lana’s to work, but
Lana said that all the job offers she’d ever received would have her
putting herself out of balance with the universe, and she was pretty
sure that she didn’t need that kind of bad karma.
Nyx assumed people would want to use her to spy and get insider
information, and that was so not Lana. But her bestie also loved
being around people. She always said that meeting a stranger and
seeing some of their future was better than watching television.
“No, I didn’t make it yet, but there’s a good chance you may be late
so I’m trying to figure out when to have it ready.”
“Why don’t you just wait until you see my face then whip up your
usual fabulousness?” Nyx said with a smile. Her friend really knew
how to make things complicated sometimes.
“And look like I’m off my game? No, thank you. Besides, you forgot
to brush your teeth. Why don’t you take care of that, answer your
messages, and then scoot your butt down here.”
The line went dead and Nyx tossed her phone back on the bed.
“Nosy best friend,” she mumbled. There was a small chance that
Lana had probably already heard her say that, or saw it. But Lana
would forgive her for her thoughts. Lana was a pure soul and Nyx
desperately wanted to be like her when she grew up. If she ever
grew up. If her mother ever cut the strings to let her be her own
person.
Nyx looked back at the mirror and sighed heavily. “This is as good as
it’s going to get.” From an outside view she looked like a regular
fairy, maybe a little heavier than the stereotyped image, but she was
still standard fairy material.
“I totally deserve a bagel this morning,” Nyx announced her to her
empty apartment. She’d lived alone long enough that it didn’t seem
weird to talk to herself anymore. That probably happened to a lot of
people, no matter the species.
She picked up her phone again, searched for her purse, and put it in
the front pocket then grabbed her lunch box from the fridge. She
usually tried to eat with Lana when she could. The cafeteria at the
Othercross Arcane Judiciary was an easy place to meet up. Unlike
most days, today she had planned on sitting in the office lunchroom
to read while she munched on her sandwich. Big excitement for the
day.
Locking her apartment as she left, Nyx was not unhappy about going
to work. This was the time of day she always felt proudest of herself.
She was living on her own and making her own way in the world.
Her own apartment, her own job, and a paycheck that she cashed
and spent however she wanted. Plus, her job was interesting.
Her boss loved her and left her alone most of the time. Mostly
because Nyx did ninety percent of the workload now and that left
plenty of nap-time for her work-weary boss, and allowed Nyx to run
the show.
The elevator doors opened, and Nyx walked briskly from the elevator
and made a beeline for the street. When she stepped into the
sunshine she tilted her face towards the heat to let it soak into the
sun. It was probably her fairy DNA that made her love the heat of
that faraway star. Normally, a fairy would be soaring above the
clouds where nothing stopped the rays from beating down on them.
It was where they were naturally supposed to be. Nyx, on the other
hand, had to get her Vitamin D much lower to the ground.
Taking one more moment to appreciate the beautiful day, Nyx
walked south, away from her building, and towards the coffee shop
where Lana worked.
She passed a number of people that eyed her up and down. That
was pretty common. Though for some reason today she was getting
a little more male attention than usual. She was sure a few shifters
sized her up, and noticed how their eyes changed to show their
animals as they looked at her hungrily. Even a warlock or two gave
her more than one glance. Passing a window, she glanced and saw
her usual self, although the sun seemed to be reflecting off her a
little more today, but it could just be a trick of the light.
“Weird,” she said under breath. Was her shirt unbuttoned? She ran
her fingers casually down the front of her vest to make sure she
wasn’t accidently flashing her bra to the city. Nope, everything
tucked in tight. Maybe she was just seeing things. Everything else
about her day felt painfully average.
When she finally made it to the Witches’ Brew coffee shop, Nyx
walked in past the line and the cash register and headed towards
the corner of the counter where Lana was waiting for her. She
smiled as she spotted her friend’s warm brown skin and curly halo of
reddish brown hair, pushed back with a wide headband. Her curvy
body also drew the eye of every male, and some females, in the
shop. Not only was Lana gorgeous, but she smiled all the time. Her
bright smile took up her whole face and it pulled people towards her.
Her friend’s usual smile was in place on that particular morning, but
Nyx also noticed a small furrow on her brow.
“What? Is something wrong with my mocha?” Nyx asked, taking the
cup her friend held out to her. She sniffed it, but couldn’t imagine
her friend screwing up a simple mocha.
“No, it’s fine. Perfect drinking temperature. No, but your day, it just
got all blurry.” Lana looked past her shoulder as if she was trying to
see something. “It’s just…” Lana waved her hand around like she
was batting at an imaginary barrier.
“Blurry? What the hell does that mean?” Nyx couldn’t imagine that
having a blurry future was ever a good thing.
“It means that I don’t see your day. I mean I’m trying, but...
nothing. It’s all just…fuzz. That’s so weird. You have static,” Lana
said and shook her head a little like that would loosen the block.
“Hey, I don’t have static, you have static,” Nyx said as she rolled her
eyes at her friend.
Lana shrugged. “Funny, but seriously, I’ve never seen anyone’s
future just flatline like that.”
“Oh, Goddess, am I going to die?” Nyx gasped. It was a bit of a
stretch, but what other reason would there be for the gap in Lana’s
sight.
“Don’t be dramatic. I just see there is so much unknown that I can’t
even sort it into anything concrete. Can you just promise me you’ll
be careful and aware today? Don’t do anything out of the ordinary.”
Lana’s expression was pleading, but Nyx didn’t think it was too much
to ask. Besides, her days were shockingly monotonous.
She sighed heavily, hoping that if she teased her friend a little it
would push away some of her unease. “Okay, how about I check in
every couple of hours and let you know I’m alive. That work for
you?”
“Yeah, it might. Here’s your bagel. Extra cream cheese, as usual,”
Lana said. She winked conspiratorially as she handed Nyx her bagel.
“Just what I needed,” Nyx said sarcastically, but she still blew her
friend a kiss, just like always.
She got a few glares from people in line as she walked out, but she
didn’t care. Lana was a direct line to caffeine and cream cheese, and
she wasn’t going to give up her perk for anything.
She checked her phone and saw she had plenty of time to leisurely
stroll to the OAJ while munching on her bagel. She wasn’t ashamed
to admit that she loved doing precisely that because her mother
thought it was tacky to eat while walking the streets. She thought it
was tacky to eat while standing, too and Nyx had made a point of
trying not to be anything like her mother. At least in the ways that
mattered.
Even though she was enjoying her walk to work and her yummy
breakfast, Nyx kept thinking back to Lana’s dire warning. Why had
her day gone fuzzy? Was there a meteor heading their way? Or was
something bad going to happen, like maybe she was going to get
fired. Her boss didn’t seem like the type to even go through the
effort of firing someone. If they did, there would be literally no one
else doing her job. No, that couldn’t be it. Maybe the building was
going to burn down. Or could burn down. There were too many
possibilities, but none of them explained why Lana was wigging out
on her.
“Nothing to it,” Nyx thought. She’d do her job, keep her schedule
and see what fate had in store for her on this slightly mysterious
day.
 Chapter Two

“H ead down and don ’ t drop these ,” N yx whispered in frustration .

Despite Lana’s fuzzy prediction, her day had been fairly normal.
Requests were stacked on her desk when she arrived, and she had
started in on them before she could be distracted with incoming
calls. However, now she struggled with the pile of files in her arms
that kept shifting. She weaved and tilted, trying to get them back in
line. She could have carried fewer files, or made two trips, but that
would have been practical. In spite of the normalcy of everything,
something felt off, and Nyx was starting to have doubts. Doubts
about lots of things. She felt uneasy with Lana’s warning following
her through her day.
Usually, Nyx went with the flow and found ways to make her own
path and avoid falling into the ‘normal,’ practical, method of living
life. Nyx wasn’t known for being practical. Just ask her mother, or
her father, or anyone in her family. No, head first and damn the
consequences was her motto. Did anyone even have mottos these
days?
Being practical would have meant taking the pity job they had
offered her in the Skyward Sentinels. Any job where you wore the
uniform of the elite flying squadron was something to be envied. It
had stature, and was something a parent could be proud of. Being a
Sentinel was a family tradition, and they had an image to uphold.
Her family had served for generations. Hell, the Sentinels were her
family. She would have been able to carry on the revered history of
sky high protectors that her illustrious family had so carefully
developed over generations.
But Nyx had turned them, and her parents, down. Regardless of her
personal situation, she still had some dignity, a little self-respect to
not be pushed aside into some dark musty room with a desk job.
Uniform or not, she couldn’t be a Sentinel.
Her mother was top brass, and the level of nepotism that would
have been needed to get her the job didn’t sit well with her. Her
father was an ambassador, and he considered his children either
political assets, or liabilities. She never doubted that they loved her
as a daughter. Their ambitions, on the other hand, sometimes didn’t
make them the most tactful of parents. When it came to Nyx, her
career choice wasn’t something that could be bragged about to
others in their “class.” There was nothing they could frame on a wall
and point out to guests as a source of pride.
Besides, it wasn’t as though working for the Othercross Arcane
Judiciary wasn’t a respected position. There were brilliant people
working for the betterment of Othercross, and keeping law and
order was just as important. Her job was important, and the work
being done there was vital.
It was true that being a file clerk didn’t exactly reek of success, and
she was still working in a musty, dark office. But she had gotten the
job on her own merits, and Nyx took pride in her ability to be the
best at what she did. Her mentor, the former file clerk who spent
most of her time sleeping now, had called herself the ‘guardian of
the truth.’ Nyx had liked that. They had at their fingertips all of the
proof and history that was needed in their world. The Judiciary files
never lied. They held the chronicles of every case that had ever
come through the court. Paper might have been an outdated
medium, but there were reasons some fae and others liked having
paper documents; whether it be for practical or impractical reasons.
Like in the courtroom. It was far more dramatic to slap down a
heavy folder than to break a tablet by smashing it against the table
for effect.
Everything was digitized, of course, but sometimes things got a little
twitchy around magic users. Paper was safe, and files held more
than just words. Nyx would have been willing to bet that even
shifters could sniff out whether the last person who had held a file
was confident in their case, or nervous of an impending loss.
“Hey, need some help?”
Nyx glanced over the top of the mountain of files she held in her
arms to see a wolf shifter smiling at her with nothing less than a, “I
might have just eaten your grandma” sort of grin. He was loitering in
the marbled hallway and looked somewhat out of place, and he was
definitely up to no good. Maybe this was why her future was messed
up. She was going to be eaten by the big bad wolf.
“I’m good,” she said. Shifters were too much for her. They were
always on the hunt. Their eyes were constantly tracking and their
casual interest always hovered just near sexual interest. But who
could blame them, it was in their nature. She still tried to give them
a wide berth. She was sure they’d love to snap someone like her in
half.
“If you change your mind, I’m Eagen,” he said proudly, as though
she should have known who he was. He flashed his fangs at her and
she shivered just a little. He was a handsome devil, but he didn’t do
it for her. He looked dangerous. Much more Lana’s type.
“Uh, okay, thanks then.” Nyx scurried past him and tried to keep her
focus on weaving through the people moving through the hallways.
Eyes would flick to her as she passed, but she ignored them. Those
curious looks usually were followed by a raised eyebrow or two
which could only be followed, she assumed, by a bland dismissal.
She didn’t care; she knew that she wasn’t the sort of someone who
required more than a second glance.
Yeah, yeah, she was a chunky fairy. A far cry from the stereotypical
image one might expect. Despite her mother’s discouragement, Nyx
had embraced her curves and couldn’t be bothered to thin them out
to fit someone else’s ideals. She always thought it was better to be
happier thick than sad and skinny. Her daily dose of sugar and carbs
kept her in the shape she liked best. And round was most definitely
a shape.
What was the point? It wasn’t as if she could fly.
Her destination was a courtroom just ahead. The call she’d received
from Alena Falkov’s office was urgent and Nyx had done her best to
grab the files that were required and get her butt moving. Alena
wasn’t exactly a lawyer yet, but she had recently been sitting in on
big cases. Her boss must have been impressed with her shenanigans
on the Ravenna case.
Nyx had heard all the whispers. Alena had turned the courtroom on
its head and was still facing censure from her new beloved’s clan as
well as her own.
It was a messy business that Nyx stayed far away from because her
own family was wrapped up in it. Some of the clans used Skyward
Sentinels for spying on other clans and families. They didn’t call it
spying, of course, it was reconnaissance.
It was totally spying.
Sinclair, another junior lawyer, stuck his head out the courtroom door
and beckoned her forward. Like she wasn’t already hustling.
“Hurry up,” he hissed.
“Does this look light?” she retorted.
When she got to the door, she expected him to take some of the
files; instead, he just held the door open wider. What a gentleman.
Nyx reached the table just as the top file of the stack was starting to
slip.
“Oh, thank you,” Alena Folkov said with a worried look on her face.
She was always one of the nice ones. It didn’t matter how busy she
was, she always took the time to be polite and acknowledge those
around her.
“If I’d known you’d need these, I would have had them waiting for
you,” Nyx said. She wasn’t a slacker, and these seemed important. A
simple note and Nyx would have everything waiting for her.
“Nope, it’s not on you. I just got some new information on this case
and I need to see if I can find a loophole. These will help,” she
assured her.
“I know most of these files, what are you looking for?”
The courtroom was only half-full, there must have been some kind
of recess in effect. People were murmuring and milling about, and
they certainly weren’t paying any attention to her or Alena.
“I need to find anywhere the courts decreed non compos mentis for
being blood drunk. It’s had to have happened before. I just can’t
remember it in my lifetime.”
Being blood drunk was pretty common, and Nyx hadn’t heard of any
case that had taken that defense. Some vampires actively sought
out willing blood donors that were already drunk or under some kind
of influence. Nyx glanced to a rather nervous looking young vampire
who was sitting at the table. He wore an ill-fitting suit and was
chewing on his fingernails.
“He’s young,” she whispered to Alena.
“And stupid,” Alena agreed. The young vampire made a noise in his
throat in complaint. Alena shot him a look and he slumped down in
his seat.
“There’s no way they are going to go for this,” Sinclair said, flashing
his teeth including his fangs at Alena. The shifter had more
arrogance going for him than anything else.
“Why are you always so willing to lock your own clients up? Why
don’t you be useful and keep an eye out for that land shark,” Alena
shot back.
Nyx wasn’t sure what a land shark was, but she didn’t want to be
there when it arrived. Then she wondered fleetingly if there were
shark shifters.
She skimmed through the folders and finally found a case that was
over a hundred years old. “Here! Vamp endangered a royal… he was
blood drunk,” Nyx read. “Turns out the donor was full of laudanum
and the vamp didn’t know beforehand. They ruled that the vampire
couldn’t be held accountable as the blood was considered tainted.
Does this help?”
Alena grinned wildly. “It just might! Thank you, Nyx. You’re the best.
You can stick around if you want. See if this works out.”
Feeling some of Alena’s enthusiasm, Nyx nodded and snuck to the
back of the courtroom. She took the last seat in the last row in the
farthest corner from the aisle. She wasn’t worried about getting back
to her desk; whatever was waiting for her could wait a little linger. It
also helped that it was Mrs. McCreery’s naptime and her mentor
would be out for another hour or two.
Carefully smoothing down her wings, Nyx sat on the edge of the
seat and scanned the room. The prosecution table was empty, as
was the triune bench where the judges would sit. Nyx loved working
at the OAJ. She reveled in being able to be a part of something
important instead of just a mascot. If her mother had her way, Nyx
Shae-Lynn would have been locked in the family Aerie and never
seen again. The shame of the Shae-Lynn family finally out of the
public eye.
Of course, her mother never came right out and said anything like
that to her. She wasn’t an ‘in your face’ kind of bitch. But her mother
did care about appearances more than most things. Having a
disabled daughter was not in her mother’s life plans. Luckily for her,
the two sons she had after Nyx were healthy strapping men that
happily joined the Sentinels and rose through the ranks.
Nyx had other plans that didn’t involve being stuck above the clouds
and keeping a low profile. She thought of herself as more down to
earth. Not being able to fly might have been part of that
assessment. She could definitely not leave the earth. She still
wanted the slightly low profile, though. She had her favorite books
and a hardcore penchant for sweets. Since she couldn’t fly, there
was no reason for her to remain lean and trim or fighting ready, as
her mother used to say. The door to the courtroom opened and
three well-dressed vampires strolled in. The trio instantly
commanded all of the attention in the room. With their ‘suck or be
sucked’ attitude, they looked like a force to be reckoned with. Nyx
would never understand why the prosecution always looked like the
bad guys. They weren’t, no more than the defense were the bad
guys. But today the prosecution team looked particularly menacing.
All over some poor vamp doing something stupid? It wasn’t for Nyx
to decide, but she kind of felt bad for the young defendant who
slumped further down in his chair. If he slid any farther, he’d be
under the table in no time.
The prosecution set up at the other table, though none of them took
the first seat. That meant there was one more menacing vampire
lawyer to come before they got started. Granted, if the vamp did
attack a royal, it explained the squadron of fancy expensive suits.
The noise in the courtroom slowly came down to a hush as the
double doors pushed inward to allow another person to enter. Nyx
let her eyes scan back to the doors and she held her breath to see
who would be trying to lay Alena’s client low. Her desire to see who
it was was forgotten by the situation her body was putting her in out
of nowhere. She stared down at herself and tried to figure out what
was happening.
Nyx had just glanced back to the defense table when her wings
shivered. She usually kept them strapped tightly against her back so
she wouldn’t catch them on anything while she went about her daily
duties. Now they were straining against the leather straps and the
shiver became a vibration, as if her wings were trying to flutter
inside their confined space. It reminded her of when she was
younger and would make desperate attempts to fly. So many hours
trying to get them to work, to get her more than just an inch off the
ground without exhausting her. It had been years since she’d done
more than just shake out her wings after a long day. Now her wings
had decided to have a mind of their own.
That vibration was starting to travel down her body. It coursed over
her skin and settled between her legs. Warmth started to tingle
through her nether region and her breath caught in surprise.
“What the fuck?” she whispered. This was not the time or place to
get a fairy woody.
The sound of her wings desperately trying to beat their way free was
making a slapping sound against the wood benches of the
courtroom. A shifter nearby turned around and frowned at her.
“Sorry,” she mouthed, her face heating with a blush.
She knew she wasn’t going to be able to sit for very long if her
wings had decided to have a mind of their own. She stood up, slid
around the back of the bench and inched her way to the doors that
were still swinging closed from the man that had just entered. It
didn’t take a detective to see that the person who marched towards
the prosecutor’s table was a vampire. All she could see was the back
of his dark head and his broad shoulders encased in an expensive
suit.
Just as Nyx made it to the door, the vampire turned his head
towards the doors as if he was looking for something. She just
caught the confused look on the classically handsome face and
noted his broad jaw, straight nose and piercing green eyes as she
yanked on the door handle to escape with her wings beating against
the back of her knees as she sped through the door.
She didn’t care who saw her, she had one goal. Get to the file room
and hide in the furthest dusty corner of the stacks as she could.
Nyx ignored the disapproving faces of those she passed in her mad
dash, she hit the file room door and ran past a sleeping Mrs.
McCreery then pushed through another door into the room that
contained a labyrinth of files. Rows and rows of shelving twelve feet
high stretched throughout the huge room. There were so many files;
there was even a sub-basement that kept files that were hundreds
of years old.
Nyx just needed to get somewhere far enough away that no one
could hear her misery. Her wings were still having a fit and she
didn’t know if unleashing them would help or just make everything
worse.
She finally skidded to stop in the farthest corner of the room and
fumbled with the buckles and straps she was wearing, but her wings
were fighting her.
“Will you just please stop!” she pleaded to the empty room.
She expected to hear nothing but herself, but instead she heard a
deep voice answer her.
“No.”
 Chapter Three

C aspian N icolaides tried to hold himself together as the triune of

judges solemnly entered the courtroom. His fingers gripped the edge
of the desk, threatening to crack the mahogany surface to dust
under his hands.
“Is there a problem?” The whispered question came from Bayard, his
co-prosecutor.
How was he supposed to tell him that his beloved had just walked
out the door? He’d entered the room so quickly, his mind on the task
ahead of him, that he hadn’t had more than a second to even gather
his thoughts as the delicious candy scent hit him.
His cock had hardened and his heart had clenched in his chest.
There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that his beloved sat somewhere in
that courtroom. The sweet sugary scent, tinged with strawberries,
made his mouth water and any thought of remaining dignified in
court escaped his mind.
The pure lust and love that was coursing through his body could
only mean one thing. One thing he knew more than anything. The
one person he’d love for the rest of eternity, his mate above all
others was here.
And she’d just... skittered out the door. Why did she run from him?
Was it because he was a vampire? He caught a glimpse of wings so
he could only assume that she was a fairy.
It didn’t matter to him. Not that he’d ever heard of a fairy and
vampire mating. Clearly, species didn’t matter when it came to
matters of the heart.
“Yes. I need you to take over,” Caspian hissed, trying to keep his
fangs from descending in front of the judges.
“Take over? Do you really think Orrin wants me to handle this case?
I mean sure, it was his third nephew twice removed who just
happened to marry a princess. But he’s still family. Orrin won’t want
this to go badly.”
Caspian turned his flashing red eyes at Bayard. “Then make sure it
doesn’t.”
“Please be seated,” Judge Lourdes Soren said formally.
“Excuse me, Your Honors. May I please request a brief recess,”
Caspian said through gritted teeth.
“A recess? We haven’t even started,” Judge Holloway scoffed.
“I have a personal matter to attend to,” Caspian tried again feeling
like if they didn’t excuse him he might flip the table and rush out of
the courtroom after his beloved.
“Denied,” Judge Holloway replied with a flick of a wrist.
“Then if it pleases the court I need to remove myself from these
proceedings. Bayard, my co-counsel, will be taking over for the
prosecution.”
“Do you think that’s wise?” the third judge, Stefan Falkov, asked, his
eyes narrowing on Caspian.
“I’m afraid I am unable to continue at this time.” That was true.
Caspian needed to chase the woman whose scent still lingered in the
room. He had to find her immediately and consummate their union.
It didn’t matter what else was going on, or how important others
thought this case was.
“It’s your head,” Judge Falkov said dismissively. He’d clearly decided
that he’d had enough of the discussion.
Caspian barely glanced at Bayard before he curled his hands into
fists and walked out of the courtroom as slowly as he possibly could.
A vampire moving at speed could hardly be seen. But tongues would
already be wagging at his self-imposed expulsion from the
courtroom. He just hoped his Master, Orrin Nicolaides, would
understand.
Once he was in the hallway, he tracked the scent down a winding
path through the OAJ as his footsteps echoed on the marble.
Finally,he reached a room at the end of a long corridor with a sign
above that declared it to be the File Room.
A set of wooden double doors stood between him and his destiny.
He pushed open the door and his eyes immediately went to the only
person in the room. An older woman, a witch by the look of her,
snoring with her head tilted back on her chair behind one of the two
desks. He dismissed her at a glance, not a threat and most certainly
not who he was looking for.
The delicious scent continued through another set of doors into a
room that made his nose crinkle. The smell of decaying paper and
dust was probably the only thing most people smelled. But Caspian
could smell her. It was as easy to follow as if there had been a line
painted on the floor. Sugar, strawberries, and sex.
He walked on silent vampire feet now, listening for his mate. She
was in there somewhere; he could hear her breathing heavily. Just
as he turned the corner of the last stack of the room, he heard her
plead with someone to stop. It probably wasn’t directed at him, but
he answered anyway.
“No.”
There she was, in the corner of the room, struggling with the
harness she wore over her black long-sleeved blouse. She wore a
pinstripe vest that was cut out on top and hugged her ample
breasts.
Her legs were encased in straight-leg black slacks that curved over
her hips and accentuated the roundness of her ass. Her hair was cut
short, wisping over her forehead and just brushing her slightly
pointed ears. The top of her hair was a pale purple, but the ends
faded into a darker purple with just the tips flashing a color close to
silver.
She had stopped struggling, but her hands still gripped the harness
as she stared at him. Caspian drank her in, his eyes traveling up and
down her body as he felt the blood in his veins speed up. He took a
step closer and then another. His woman hadn’t moved, her eyes
were huge and she stared back at him in endless violet wonder. Her
mouth was open like she was about to say something, but nothing
came out.
“Beloved,” he growled closing the space between them. He was just
two feet from her when she threw her hand up between them.
“Hold on there, Mister. Just settle the fuck down. I think you took a
wrong turn. This aisle is M, as in Me. You want the B aisle for
Beloved. Whoever you’re looking for is probably down there.”
He took another step, breathing in her scent and letting it tingle over
his tongue. Caspian barely remembered what anything tasted like
except blood. But his human memories rushed back at the swirl of
delight battering his senses.
“Then it is you who are in the wrong aisle. You… are my beloved.”
She blinked at him, her eyelids fluttering. “No, I can’t be. I’m a fairy.
Vamps and fairies don’t mix.” It sounded like a dismissal, but that
wasn’t going to happen. “Besides, I’m having my own struggles right
now if you haven’t noticed,” she groaned, tugging at the harness at
her chest.
Caspian closed the distance between them and his beloved froze.
“What’s your name?” he said calmly, hoping to make her nervous
fluttering subside. His hand reached for the buckle and her fingers
dropped away quickly to avoid contact.
“I’m Nyx. Nyx Shae-Lynn,” she replied, licking her lips. Caspian
shuddered at the sight. He steeled himself at the rush of erotic
thoughts that battered his mind.
He flicked open the buckle then moved to the buckle that was lower,
under her breasts. His knuckles just brushed the underside of her
heavy globe before he released the latch and pushed the leather
straps over her shoulders. “I’m Caspian Nicolaides. And you are my
beloved.”
The harness dropped to the floor with a clatter of leather and metal
and Caspian was forced to take a step back as his tiny beloved
suddenly lurched forward and tripled the space she had been
occupying.
Iridescent wings sprung out behind her with a woosh! They looked
like the most beautiful stained glass, a matching pattern of angles
and shapes that were almost translucent blue and silver, edged with
black.
Nyx let out a large moan as the wings settled out, fully extended.
“Ohh,” she said, letting out a breath as though she’d been holding it
in.
The beauty before him took a moment to fully appreciate. He’d seen
fairy wings before, but they tended to be sturdier and more
weather-worn. Their colors had never been this vibrant. On closer
inspection, it was a kaleidoscope of purples and blues, the pattern
matching from wing to wing. The panels of translucent material
shimmered even in the low light of the room.
Another random document with
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essay being indicated.

ROBERT BURNS
It is pleasant to be able to let Dr. Holmes, who was present at the
Burns Festival, speak for himself and Lowell and Judge Hoar of Mr.
Emerson’s speech on that day. I have heard the Judge tell the story
of his friend’s success with the same delight.
“On the 25th of January, 1859, Emerson attended the Burns
Festival, held at the Parker House in Boston, on the Centennial
Anniversary of the poet’s birth. He spoke, after the dinner, to the
great audience with such beauty and eloquence that all who listened
to him have remembered it as one of the most delightful addresses
they ever heard. Among his hearers was Mr. Lowell, who says of it
that ‘every word seemed to have just dropped down to him from the
clouds.’ Judge Hoar, who was another of his hearers, says that,
though he has heard many of the chief orators of his time, he never
witnessed such an effect of speech upon men. I was myself present
on that occasion, and underwent the same fascination that these
gentlemen and the varied audience before the speaker experienced.
His words had a passion in them not usual in the calm, pure flow
most natural to his uttered thoughts; white-hot iron we are familiar
with, but white-hot silver is what we do not often look upon, and his
inspiring address glowed like silver fresh from the cupel.”
The strange part of all the accounts given by the hearers is that
Mr. Emerson seemed to speak extempore, which can hardly have
been so.
No account of the Festival, or Mr. Emerson’s part therein, appears
in the journals, except a short page of praise of the felicitous
anecdotes introduced by other after-dinner speakers.
Page 440, note 1. Here comes out that respect for labor which
affected all Mr. Emerson’s relations to the humblest people he met.
In the Appendix to the Poems it appears in the verses beginning,—
Said Saadi, When I stood before
Hassan the camel-driver’s door.

Page 441, note 1. Thomas Carlyle.

Page 441, note 2. Mr. Emerson here recalls his childhood and that
of his brothers, as in the passage in “Domestic Life,” in Society and
Solitude, that has been often referred to in these notes.
Page 443, note 1. Among some stray lecture-sheets was the
following on the scholar or poet:—
“Given the insight, and he will find as many beauties and heroes
and strokes of genius close by him as Dante or Shakspeare beheld.
It was in a cold moor farm, in a dingy country inn, that Burns found
his fancy so sprightly. You find the times and places mean. Stretch a
few threads over an Æolian harp, and put it in the window and listen
to what it says of the times and of the heart of Nature. You shall not
believe the miracle of Nature is less, the chemical power worn out.
Watch the breaking morning, or the enchantments of the sunset.”

SHAKSPEARE
The following notes on Shakspeare were written by Mr. Emerson
for the celebration in Boston by the Saturday Club of the Three
Hundredth Anniversary of the poet’s birth.
In Mr. Cabot’s Memoir of Emerson, vol. ii., page 621, apropos of
Mr. Emerson’s avoidance of impromptu speech on public occasions,
is this statement:—
“I remember his getting up at a dinner of the Saturday Club on the
Shakspeare anniversary in 1864, to which some guests had been
invited, looking about him tranquilly for a minute or two, and then
sitting down; serene and unabashed, but unable to say a word upon
a subject so familiar to his thoughts from boyhood.”
Yet on the manuscript of this address Mr. Emerson noted that it
was read at the Club’s celebration on that occasion, and at the
Revere House. (“Parker’s” was the usual gathering-place of the
Club.) The handwriting of this note shows that Mr. Emerson wrote it
in his later years, so it is very possible that Mr. Cabot was right. Mr.
Emerson perhaps forgot to bring his notes with him to the dinner,
and so did not venture to speak. And the dinner may have been at
“Parker’s.”

ALEXANDER VON HUMBOLDT

The Boston Society of Natural History celebrated the One
Hundredth Anniversary of the birth of Humboldt. Dr. Robert C.
Waterston presided at the Music Hall, where Agassiz made the
address. In the evening there was a reception in Horticultural Hall.
The occasion was made memorable by the Society by the founding
of a Humboldt and Agassiz scholarship in the Museum of
Comparative Zoölogy in Cambridge.
Poems by Dr. Holmes and Mrs. Howe were read. Professor E. J.
Young and Dr. Charles T. Jackson gave reminiscences of Humboldt;
Colonel Higginson, the Rev. Dr. Hedge and others spoke. Mr.
Emerson’s remarks are taken from an abstract given in the account
of the celebration published by the Society.

WALTER SCOTT
Although Mr. Emerson, in the period between 1838 and 1848
especially, when considering the higher powers of poetry, spoke
slightingly of Scott,—in the Dial papers as “objective” and “the poet
of society, of patrician and conventional Europe,” or in English Traits
as a writer of “a rhymed travellers’ guide to Scotland,”—he had
always honor for the noble man, and affectionate remembrance for
the poems as well as the novels. In the poem “The Harp,” when
enumerating poets, he calls Scott “the delight of generous boys,” but
the generosus puer was his own delight; the hope of the generation
lay in him, and his own best audience was made up of such. In the
essay “Illusions,” he says that the boy “has no better friend than
Scott, Shakspeare, Plutarch and Homer. The man lives to other
objects, but who dare affirm that they are more real?” In the essay
“Aristocracy,” he names among the claims of a superior class,
“Genius, the power to affect the Imagination,” and presently speaks
of “those who think and paint and laugh and weep in their eloquent
closets, and then convert the world into a huge whispering-gallery, to
report the tale to all men and win smiles and tears from many
generations,” and gives Scott and Burns among the high company
whom he instances.
Mr. Emerson’s children can testify how with regard to Scott he
always was ready to become a boy again. As we walked in the
woods, he would show us the cellar-holes of the Irish colony that
came to Concord to build the railroad, and he named these deserted
villages Derncleugh and Ellangowan. The sight recalled Meg
Merrilies’ pathetic lament to the laird at the eviction of the gypsies,
which he would then recite. “Alice Brand,” the “Sair Field o’ Harlaw,”
which old Elspeth sings to the children in The Antiquary, and
“Helvellyn” were again and again repeated to us with pleasure on
both sides. With special affection in later years when we walked in
Walden woods he would croon the lines from “The Dying Bard,”—

“Dinas Emlinn, lament, for the moment is nigh,

When mute in the woodlands thine echoes shall die.”

Perhaps he had foreboding for his loved woods, beginning to be

desecrated with rude city picnics, and since burned over repeatedly
by the fires from the railroad,—

“When half of their charms with Cadwallon shall die.”

Of this poem he wrote in the journal of 1845:—

“‘Dinas Emlinn’ of Scott, like his ‘Helvellyn,’ shows how near to a
poet he was. All the Birmingham part he had, and what taste and
sense! Yet never rose into the creative region. As a practitioner or
professional poet he is unrivalled in modern times.” Yet he
immediately adds, “In lectures on Poetry almost all Scott would be to
be produced.”
Page 463, note 1. Mr. Emerson took especial pleasure in the
passage in the Lord of the Isles where the old abbot, rising to
denounce excommunicated Bruce to his foes, is inspired against his
will to bless him and prophesy his triumph as Scotland’s deliverer.
Mr. Emerson, writing in his journal in 1842 of his impatience of
superficial city life, during a visit to New York, alludes to the renewed
comfort he had in the Lord of the Isles:
“Life goes headlong. Each of us is always to be found hurrying
headlong in the chase of some fact, hunted by some fear or
command behind us. Suddenly we meet a friend. We pause. Our
hurry and empressement look ridiculous.... When I read the Lord of
the Isles last week at Staten Island, and when I meet my friend, I
have the same feeling of shame at having allowed myself to be a
mere huntsman and follower.”
His boyish love for the Lay of the Last Minstrel remained through
life. As we walked on Sunday afternoons he recited to his children
the stanzas about “the custom of Branksome Hall,” and the passage
where the Ladye of Branksome defies the spirits of the flood and fell;
and the bleak mile of road between Walden woods and home would
often call out from him

“The way was long, the wind was cold,

The Minstrel was infirm and old,” etc.

Page 465, note 1. The Bride of Lammermoor was the only dreary
tale that Mr. Emerson could abide, except Griselda.
Journal, 1856. “Eugène Sue, Dumas, etc., when they begin a
story, do not know how it will end, but Walter Scott, when he began
the Bride of Lammermoor, had no choice; nor Shakspeare, nor
Macbeth.”
Page 467, note 1. Journal. “We talked of Scott. There is some
greatness in defying posterity and writing for the hour.”
 SPEECH AT THE BANQUET IN HONOR OF THE
CHINESE EMBASSY
When the Chinese Embassy visited Boston in the summer of 1868
a banquet was given them at the St. James Hotel, on August 21. The
young Emerson, sounding an early note of independence of the
past, had written in 1824:—

I laugh at those who, while they gape and gaze,

The bald antiquity of China praise;—

but later he learned to revere the wisdom of Asia. About the time
when the Dial appeared, many sentences of Chinese wisdom are
found in his journal, and also in the magazine among the “Ethnical
Scriptures.”

REMARKS AT THE ORGANIZATION OF THE

FREE RELIGIOUS ASSOCIATION
In the spring of 1867, a call for a public meeting was issued by
Octavius B. Frothingham, William J. Potter and Rowland Connor “to
consider the conditions, wants and progress of Free Religion in
America.” The response was so large as to surprise the committee,
and Horticultural Hall was completely filled on May 30. Rev. Octavius
B. Frothingham presided. The committee had invited as speakers
the Rev. H. Blanchard of Brooklyn from the Universalists, Lucretia
Mott from the Society of Friends, Robert Dale Owen from the
Spiritualists, the Rev. John Weiss from the Left Wing of the
Unitarians, Oliver Johnson from the Progressive Friends, Francis E.
Abbot, editor of the Index; and also David A. Wasson, Colonel T. W.
Higginson and Mr. Emerson. The meeting was very successful and
the Free Religious Association was founded.
Mr. Emerson’s genial and affirmative attitude at this meeting was
helpful and important. He wished the new movement to be neither
aggressive towards the beliefs of others, nor merely a religion of
works, purely beneficently utilitarian. Doubtless there were many
young and active radicals strong for destructive criticism. Mr.
Emerson wished to see that in their zeal to destroy the dry husk of
religion they should not bruise the white flower within. His counsel to
young men was, “Omit all negative propositions. It will save ninety-
nine one hundredths of your labor, and increase the value of your
work in the same measure.”
Page 479, note 1. In the journal of 1837 he said, “Why rake up old
manuscripts to find therein a man’s soul? You do not look for
conversation in a corpse.” And elsewhere, “In religion the sentiment
is all, the ritual or ceremony indifferent.”

SPEECH AT THE SECOND ANNUAL MEETING OF

THE FREE RELIGIOUS ASSOCIATION
Page 486, note 1. Mrs. Julia Ward Howe writes of Mr. Emerson,—
“He knew from the first the victory of good over evil; and when he
told me, to my childish amazement, that the angel must always be
stronger than the demon, he gave utterance to a thought most
familiar to him, though at the time new to me.”[L]
Page 488, note 1. In the essay on Character (Lectures and
Biographical Sketches), he says, “The establishment of Christianity
in the world does not rest on any miracle but the miracle of being the
broadest and most humane doctrine.”
“The word Miracle, as pronounced by Christian churches, gives a
false impression; it is Monster. It is not one with the blowing clover
and the falling rain.”—“Address in Divinity College,” Nature,
Addresses and Lectures.
Page 490, note 1. Mr. Emerson’s doctrine was not to attack
beliefs, but give better: “True genius will not impoverish, but will
liberate.” In a letter to one of his best friends who had joined the
Church of Rome he said, perhaps in 1858: “To old eyes how
supremely unimportant the form under which we celebrate the
justice, love and truth, the attributes of the deity and the soul!”
Page 491, note 1. Dr. Holmes, in his tribute to his friend, after his
death, read before the Massachusetts Historical Society, said:—
“What could we do with this unexpected, unprovided for,
unclassified, half unwelcome newcomer, who had been for a while
potted, as it were, in our Unitarian cold greenhouse, but had taken to
growing so fast that he was lifting off its glass roof and letting in the
hail-storms? Here was a protest that outflanked the extreme left of
liberalism, yet so calm and serene that its radicalism had the accents
of the gospel of peace. Here was an iconoclast without a hammer,
who took down our idols from their pedestals so tenderly that it
seemed like an act of worship.”

ADDRESS AT THE OPENING OF THE CONCORD

FREE PUBLIC LIBRARY
The Town of Concord, in the year 1782, chose a committee of ten
leading citizens to give instructions to its selectmen. The third of the
seventeen articles proposed by them read thus: “That care be taken
of the Books of Marters and other bookes, and that they be kept from
abusive usage, and not lent to persons more than one month at one
time.” This indicates the root of a town library. A constitution of a
Library Company, dated 1784, is extant. In 1806 a Social Library was
incorporated, which was merged in the Town Library in 1851. The
books were kept in a room in the Town House which was open for
borrowers on Saturdays.
William Munroe, son of a Concord tradesman who vied with the
Thoreaus in the manufacture of lead pencils, after leaving the
Concord schools went into business, and later into the manufacture
of silk. His intelligence and force of character secured prosperity. He
loved Concord, and, to use his own words, “desired to testify my
regard to my native town by doing something to promote the
education and intelligence, and thus the welfare and prosperity of its
people.” He gave to Concord a lot of land in the heart of the town
and a building for a Free Public Library, which, with great care and
thoroughness, he had built thereon and duly furnished; and made
handsome provision for care of the land and the extension of the
building later. He added a generous gift for books of reference and
standard works. The town thankfully accepted the gift, placed their
books in it, and chose their library committee. On a fine autumn day
in 1873, the library was opened with public ceremonies. Mr. Munroe
in a short and modest speech explained his purpose; Mr. H. F. Smith,
on behalf of the new library committee, reported its action and the
gifts which had poured in; Judge Hoar received the property on
behalf of the Board of Corporation, and Mr. Emerson, but lately
returned with improved health from his journey to the Nile, made the
short address. Writing was now very difficult for him, but the
occasion pleased and moved him, and his notes on books and on
Concord, and the remembrance of his friends the Concord authors
but lately gone, served him, and the day passed off well.
Page 498, note 1. The Gospel Covenant, printed in London in
1646, and quoted by Mr. Emerson in the “Historical Discourse.”
Page 499, note 1. Major Simon Willard, a Kentish merchant was
Peter Bulkeley’s strong coadjutor in the founding of Concord. He
also is alluded to in the “Historical Discourse.”
Page 500, note 1. These extracts are from the diary of Miss Mary
Moody Emerson.
Page 500, note 2. This letter was written not long after the death of
John Thoreau, Henry’s dearly loved brother, and also of little Waldo
Emerson, to whom he became greatly attached while he was a
member of Mr. Emerson’s household.
Page 501, note 1. Mr. Emerson here speaks for others. He could
not read Hawthorne because of the gloom of his magic mirror, but
the man interested and attracted him, though even as neighbors they
seldom met.
Page 506, note 1. Mr. Emerson notes that this is an allusion to the
“Harmonies of Ptolemy.”
 THE FORTUNE OF THE REPUBLIC
In 1863, during the dark days of the Civil War, before the tide had
fully turned in the field, while disaffection showed itself in the North,
and England and France threatened intervention, Mr. Emerson gave
a hopeful lecture, the basis of the present discourse, on the Fortune
of the Republic. After the war it was adapted to the new and happier
conditions. On the 30th of March, 1878, six years after Mr. Emerson
had withdrawn from literary work, and but four years before his
death, he was induced to read the lecture in the Old South Church,
in a course planned by the committee, to save the venerable
building. The church was filled, Mr. Emerson’s delivery was good,
and he seemed to enjoy the occasion. It was probably his last
speech in public, and so fitly closes the volume.
Page 513, note 1. This passage occurred in the early lecture:—
“It is the distinction of man to think, and all the few men who, since
the beginning of the world, have done anything for us were men who
did not follow the river, or ship the cotton, or pack the pork, but who
thought for themselves. What the country wants is personalities,—
grand persons,—to counteract its materialities, for it is the rule of the
universe that corn shall serve man, and not man, corn.”
Page 519, note 1. Here followed: “What we call ‘Kentucky,’ or
‘Vallandigham,’ or ‘Fernando Wood’ is really the ignorance and
nonsense in us, stolid stupidity which gives the strength to those
names.... It is our own vice which takes form, or gives terror with
which these persons affect us.”
Page 520, note 1. This refers to a young Massachusetts scholar,
of promise and beauty, whom Mr. Emerson had been pleased with,
as a fellow voyager. He soon was corrupted by politics. Coming up,
at a reception, to shake hands with Mr. Emerson he was thus
greeted: “If what I hear of your recent action be true, I must shake
hands with you under protest.” Soon after, this aspirant for power
attended the dinner given to Brooks after his cowardly assault on
Sumner; but the moment the Emancipation Proclamation had been
approved by the people, he became an ornamental figurehead at
Republican and reform gatherings.
Page 520, note 2. From the last scene of Cynthia’s Revels, by Ben
Jonson.
Page 521, note 1. “The one serious and formidable thing in Nature
is a will.”—“Fate,” Conduct of Life, p. 30.
See also “Aristocracy,” in Lectures and Biographical Sketches, p.
50.
Page 524, note 1. Ben Jonson, The Golden Age Restored.
Page 526, note 1.

She spawneth men as mallows fresh.

“Nature,” II., Poems.

See also the “Song of Nature,” in the Poems.

Page 526, note 2. In the earlier lecture was this passage:—
“The roots of our success are in our poverty, our Calvinism, our
thrifty habitual industry,—in our snow and east wind, and farm-life
and sea-life....
“There is in this country this immense difference from Europe, that,
whereas all their systems of government and society are historical,
our politics are almost ideal. We wish to treat man as man, without
regard to rank, wealth, race, color, or caste,—simply as human
souls. We lie near to Nature, we are pensioners on Nature, draw on
inexhaustible resources, and we interfere the least possible with
individual freedom.”
Page 527, note 1. In the “Historical Discourse” in this volume, Mr.
Emerson tells of the evolution of the town-meeting of New England
and its working excellence, and of the latter also in “Social Aims” and
“Eloquence,” in Letters and Social Aims.
Page 540, note 1.
For you can teach the lightning speech,
And round the globe your voices reach.

“Boston,” Poems.

Page 541, note 1.

I will divide my goods;

Call in the wretch and slave:
None shall rule but the humble,
And none but Toil shall have.

“Boston Hymn,” Poems.

Page 544, note 1. The following passages came from the earlier
lecture:—
“I must be permitted to read a quotation from De Tocqueville,
whose censure is more valuable, as it comes from one obviously
very partial to the American character and institutions:—
“‘I know no country in which there is so little true independence of
opinion and freedom of discussion as in America’ (vol. i., p. 259).”
“I am far from thinking it late. I don’t despond at all whilst I hear the
verdicts of European juries against us—Renan says this; Arnold
says that. That does not touch us.
“’Tis doubtful whether London, whether Paris can answer the
questions which now rise in the human mind. But the humanity of all
nations is now in the American Union. Europe, England is historical
still. Our politics, our social frame are almost ideal. We have got
suppled into a state of melioration. When I see the emigrants landing
at New York, I say, There they go—to school.
“In estimating nations, potentiality must be considered as well as
power; not what to-day’s actual performance is, but what promise is
in the mind which a crisis will bring out.”
“The war has established a chronic hope, for a chronic despair. It
is not a question whether we shall be a nation, or only a multitude of
people. No, that has been conspicuously decided already; but
whether we shall be the new nation, guide and lawgiver of all
nations, as having clearly chosen and firmly held the simplest and
best rule of political society.
“Culture, be sure, is in some sort the very enemy of nationality and
makes us citizens of the world; and yet it is essential that it should
have the flavor of the soil in which it grew, and combine this with
universal sympathies. Thus in this country are new traits and
distinctions not known to former history. Colonies of an old country,
but in new and commanding conditions. Colonies of a small and
crowded island, but planted on a continent and therefore working it in
small settlements, where each man must count for ten, and is put to
his mettle to come up to the need....
“Pray leave these English to form their opinions. ’Tis a matter of
absolute insignificance what those opinions are. They will fast
enough run to change and retract them on their knees when they
know who you are....
“I turn with pleasure to the good omen in the distinguished
reception given in London to Mr. Beecher. It was already prepared by
the advocacy of Cobden, Bright and Forster, Mill, Newman, Cairnes
and Hughes, and by the intelligent Americans already sent to
England by our Government to communicate with intelligent men in
the English Government and out of it. But Mr. Beecher owed his
welcome to himself. He fought his way to his reward. It is one of the
memorable exhibitions of the force of eloquence,—his evening at
Exeter Hall. The consciousness of power shown in his broad good
sense, in his jocular humor and entire presence of mind, the
surrender of the English audience on recognizing the true master. He
steers the Behemoth, sits astride him, strokes his fur, tickles his ear,
and rides where he will. And I like the well-timed compliment there
paid to our fellow citizen when the stormy audience reminds him to
tell England that Wendell Phillips is the first orator of the world. One
orator had a right to speak of the other,—Byron’s thunderstorm,
where

“‘Jura answers from his misty shroud

Back to the joyous Alps who call to him aloud.’

“The young men in America to-day take little thought of what men
in England are thinking or doing. That is the point which decides the
welfare of a people,—which way does it look? If to any other people,
it is not well with them. If occupied in its own affairs, and thoughts,
and men, with a heat which excludes almost the notice of any other
people,—as the Jews, as the Greeks, as the Persians, as the
Romans, the Arabians, the French, the English, at their best times
have done,—they are sublime; and we know that in this abstraction
they are executing excellent work. Amidst the calamities that war has
brought on our Country, this one benefit has accrued,—that our eyes
are withdrawn from England, withdrawn from France, and look
homeward. We have come to feel that

“‘By ourselves our safety must be bought;’

to know the vast resources of the continent; the good will that is in
the people; their conviction of the great moral advantages of
freedom, social equality, education and religious culture, and their
determination to hold these fast, and by these hold fast the Country,
and penetrate every square inch of it with this American civilization....
“Americans—not girded by the iron belt of condition, not taught by
society and institutions to magnify trifles, not victims of technical
logic, but docile to the logic of events; not, like English, worshippers
of fate; with no hereditary upper house, but with legal, popular
assemblies, which constitute a perpetual insurrection, and by making
it perpetual save us from revolutions.”
 FOOTNOTES
[A] Mr. Emerson believed the “not” had been accidentally
omitted, and it can hardly be questioned that he was right in his
supposition.
[B] Vol. ii., pp. 424-433.
[C] The Genius and Character of Emerson; Lectures at the
Concord School of Philosophy, edited by F. B. Sanborn. Boston:
James R. Osgood & Co., 1885.
[D] Correspondence of Carlyle and Emerson, vol. i., pp. 260,
261.
[E] Epistle of Paul to Philemon, i. 16, 17.
[F] See the report of this speech in Redpath’s Life of Captain
John Brown. Boston: Thayer & Eldridge, 1860.
[G] “Review of Holmes’s Life of Emerson,” North American
Review, February, 1885.
[H] Richard Henry Dana; a Biography. By Charles Francis
Adams. Houghton, Mifflin & Co., 1890. In chapter viii. of this book
is a very remarkable account of John Brown and his family at their
home at North Elba in 1849, when Mr. Dana and a friend, lost in
the Adirondac woods, chanced to come out upon the Brown
clearing and were kindly received and aided.
[I] While waiting for the services to begin, Mr. Sears wrote some
verses. The following lines, which Mrs. Emerson saw him write,
were a prophecy literally fulfilled within three years by the Union
armies singing the John Brown song:—

“But not a pit six feet by two

Can hold a man like thee;
John Brown shall tramp the shaking earth
From Blue Ridge to the sea.”

[J] In the very interesting work The Influence of Emerson,

published in Boston in 1903, by the American Unitarian
Association.
 [K] See note 3 to page 63 of the “Historical Discourse.”
[L] “Emerson’s Relation to Society,” in The Genius and
Character of Emerson, Lectures at the Concord School of
Philosophy, edited by F. B. Sanborn. Boston: J. R. Osgood & Co.,
1885.
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