That however was hardly possible in the America of that
time. He was not a philosopher in the modern sense, but he was in the
ancient sense--a disciple of Pythagoras, dropped down from the pure
Grecian sky into the restless turmoil of the nineteenth century. He
wished to discover everything anew for himself, instead of building upon
the discoveries of others. His conversations, usually in the parlors of
some philanthropic gentlemen, were made up partly of Pythagorean
speculation and partly of fine ethical rhapsody which sometimes rose to
genuine eloquence. They served to interest neophytes in the operations
of their own minds, and the more experienced found much the same
satisfaction in it as in Emerson's discourses. He was an excellent
speaker; confident, quick-witted and conciliatory. I remember a very
eloquent address that he delivered at an anniversary meeting in 1868,
and at an anti-slavery convention, where Garrison and Phillips fell out,
Mr. Alcott made the best speech of the occasion, discriminating between
the two leaders in a just and sensible manner.
He was memorable for shrewd observations. He said once to a lady who was
fretting because the clergyman did not cone in time, "Meanwhile, Mrs.
D., there is providence." Of a good-humored young radical who wished to
make war on all conventional forms, religious and political parties, he
remarked, "Unless our friend changes his ideas he will not be the happy
man at forty that he is now;" and the saying came true.
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