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4 on stones polished smooth by the tides coming and going, till you reach the edge of the water and tangle. Then at your
right is a rocky shelf about 6 feet high and you climb up a slippery face to find up there a steep pool, not very large round,
but full of beautiful specimens of sea weed, and clean caller saut water. I feel sure you have been up beside it. I have often
wondered how it came to be formed there. I have been home thrice since coming here, and each time I have gone up and visited
the sequestered wee hole. Last time I was not so agile as in former days, but I managed it, and sat there ruminating over
happier days till I cam near being lochit in . And should I ever go again I'll try hard to get up to it. And Lord Lauderdales
gardens, alas, nearly all gone. Villas built nearly out to the old bowling green, and our beloved Natick, Massachusetts
April 8th 1913. Dear Mr Muir- I ask your pardon for my intrusion into your busy life, but I just canna help writin'. A
friend of mine called my attention to your first article in the Atlantic Monthly, and of course I followed the others up.
What consrtains me to write is this. It is impossible for an author to realize how much his writings can sink into those of
his readers who under stand thoroughly what is written. His articles may be read by thousands, and he may know that they are
liked and appreciated, but I think it is rarely he gets a heartfelt response on a par with the feelings that possess his inmost
heart when he writes. May I make this a little clearer to you. Your first article seems a perfect description of my own
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