CHAPTER VII 



WIIvSON, THE MAN 



He who would enter into the spirit of any man's 

 work must first understand something of the man. 

 One should know his Boswell if he would enjoy 

 to the fullest his Johnson; Charles Lamb and 

 "Old Fitz" are as delightful in themselves as in the 

 "Essays of Elia" or the Rubaiyat of Omar. 

 Even the frailties of a Bacon or a Byron must be 

 remembered for the light that we gain for the 

 understanding of what they have written. Indeed, 

 for myself I must confess that there are some men 

 who mean more to me than their books. With 

 all my love for the Defense of Poesy and the 

 Arcadia, I would sooner throw the last existing 

 copies of them both into the fire than have the world 

 forget that Sir Philip Sidney had Hved; and the 

 personalities of Phillips Brooks and William Gil- 

 more Simms hold a dearer place in my own heart 

 than any printed pages that survive them. Even 

 the records of some men's faces mean a great deal 

 to us. Who does not love the kindly smile of 

 Emerson or the dreamy eyes of Hawthorne? 

 What lover of literature is there who does not 

 con over the features of his favorite author as he 

 would over those of a dear friend ? We shall lose 

 none of our admiration for our Alexander Wilson 

 if we will introduce him to ourselves, for his life 

 is as full of courage, of heroic strivings, of lofty 

 aspirations, of patriotism and of love as it could 



