ing to the soul of a man—his heart with hero-worship all aflame. If you have been capable of doing this, then you can conceive what fervid letters were sent, in those earlier days, from one earnest man in the distant West to that imperturbable and self-possessed man in "old Concord," and that conception will invest the next of Thoreau's letters with something deeper than the mere surface-reading shows.
Concord, July 8th, '57.
Dear Sir:
You are right in supposing that I have not been Westward. I am very little of a traveller. I am gratified to hear of the interest you take in my books; it is additional encouragement to write more of them. Though
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