"
We sat before the fire while Mr. Burroughs talked of nature, of
books, of men and women whose lives or books, or both, have closely
touched his own. He talked chiefly of Emerson and Whitman, the
men to whom he seems to owe the most, the two whom most his soul
has loved.
"I remember the first time I saw Emerson," he said musingly; "it
was at West Point during the June examinations of the cadets. Emerson
had been appointed by President Lincoln as one of the board of
visitors. I had been around there in the afternoon, and had been
peculiarly interested in a man whose striking face and manner
challenged my attention. I did not hear him speak, but watched
him going about with a silk hat, much too large, pushed back on
his head; his sharp eyes peering into everything, curious about
everything. 'Here,' said I to myself, 'is a countryman who has
got away from home, and intends to see all that is going on'--such
an alert, interested air! That evening a friend came to me and in
a voice full of awe and enthusiasm said, 'Emerson is in town!' Then
I knew who the alert, sharp-eyed stranger was. We went to the
meeting and met our hero, and the next day walked and talked with
him. He seemed glad to get away from those old fogies and talk with
us young men.
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