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Samuel Johnson held a very similar opinion, and David A. Wasson considered Emerson's "Problem" one of the great poems of the century. These men were all poets themselves, though they did not make a profession of it, and in that character were quite equal to Matthew Arnold, whose lecture on Emerson was evidently written under unfavorable influences.
"Wasson would have gone on, if I had been the one to go down. The hardest part of it all was waiting for the storm to cease, not knowing where you were hidden that nearly drove me insane." "I understand; uncertainty is harder to bear than anything else. Shall I tell you now what happened to me?" "Yes," tenderly, "as much, or as little as you please."
"None to hurt; come straight over the end of that sand spit, and then swerve about a dozen feet to the right to keep out of a hole. The water won't go to a horse's belly. Try it, Wasson, you ought to know me." "You 're 'Brick' Hamlin, ain't you?" "A good guess, Sam; come on."
He probably saved the ship, and the lives of all on board, for a terrific storm arose immediately afterwards, the worst he had ever known, such as only a sober captain could possibly have weathered. There never was a better seaman when he was himself, so Wasson said.
But I fooled you that time, Len Molick, and I'll fool you again. Now I want to know something else. Is Whitey Wasson the only one who told you I that I wasn't Mr. Carson's son?" For the life of him Dave could not help the falter that crept into his voice. "Yes; he's the only one who told me," was Len's sullen answer. "How did he find out about it?" "Huh! How should I know? Ask him!"
That a man should do wrong for the sake of money or some material advantage was conceivable to him he had known instances of that; but that any man should so stand in his own light both for this world and the next, was a moral incongruity which he could not understand. Wasson would not withdraw from his position, but followed it up the next Sunday by a still more energetic statement.
He was, in his way, as perfect an artist as Hawthorne, while he differed from him as the sea does from the land. He was more like Emerson in his mental methods, and was a man of action. While he took the same interest in public affairs as Wasson, the slavery question was the only point on which the two could ever agree.
Neither were they such complete masters of their subject. Like Carlyle he required suitable auditors to bring him forth at his best: but while Carlyle was mightiest when, his hearers were opposed to him Wasson always needed a somewhat sympathetic audience. If he saw unfriendly faces around him his ideas became congealed and his discourse controversial.
Behind him, down there in the hollow, were huddled the horses of his outfit, scarcely distinguishable from where he stood. If he should venture farther off, he might never be able to find a way back again. Even in the gray light of dawn he could see nothing distinctly a dozen yards distant. And Wasson had the compass. This was the thought which brought him tramping back through the drifts Wasson!
Wasson wrote to the author of "Waiting," on receiving the first autograph copy of it ever written: Worcester, Dec. 22,1862. Mr. Burroughs, My Dear Sir, I beg your pardon a thousand times for having neglected so long to acknowledge the letter containing your vigorous verses. Excess of work, and then a dash of illness consequent upon this excess, must be my excuse by your kind allowance.
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