Henry Adams 



my own ; and because, after all, the 

 odor of youth and the pine forests is 

 a little sacred, like the incense of the 

 mass. We had ideals then, ambi- 

 tions, and a few passions, which 

 faded with time, and are dead, even 

 though they may not be buried ; and 

 his are not mine to handle. They 

 were as fresh and exciting as the air 

 of the Rocky Mountains, and the 

 smell of the camp-fires in which we 

 talked till the night grew tired of us. 

 All that had long vanished, and both 

 of us were elderly and not very gay 

 fragments of the past, when we took 

 our last vacation, which shall serve 

 for a picture of him, or the back- 

 ground of one, for he always seemed 

 to make his background alive, and a 

 part of himself. 



On the first day of January, 1894, 

 I received the following letter in 

 King's handwriting, always a rare 



thing to receive, and just then par- 



11 



161 



