I carried his valise to the boat-landing--I was in the
seventh heaven of delight."
"I saw him several years later," he continued, "soon after
'Wake-Robin' was published; he mentioned it and said: 'Capital
title, capital!' I don't suppose he had read much besides
the title."
"The last time I saw him," he said with a sigh, "was at Holmes's
seventieth-birthday breakfast, in Boston. But then his mind was
like a splendid bridge with one span missing; he had--what is it you
doctors call it?--/aphasia/, yes, that is it--he had to grope for his
words. But what a serene, godlike air! He was like a plucked eagle
tarrying in the midst of a group of lesser birds. He would sweep
the assembly with that searching glance, as much as to say, 'What
is all this buzzing and chirping about?' Holmes was as brilliant
and scintillating as ever; sparks of wit would greet every newcomer,
flying out as the sparks fly from that log. Whittier was there,
too, looking nervous and uneasy and very much out of his element.
But he stood next to Emerson, prompting his memory and supplying the
words his voice refused to utter. When I was presented, Emerson
said in a slow, questioning way, 'Burroughs--Burroughs?' 'Why, thee
knows /him/,' said Whittier, jogging his memory with some further
explanation; but I doubt if he then remembered anything about me.
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