The passion for autograph collecting was now leading Edward to read the
authors whom he read about. He had become attached to the works of the
New England group: Longfellow, Holmes, and, particularly, of Emerson.
The philosophy of the Concord sage made a peculiarly strong appeal to
the young mind, and a small copy of Emerson's essays was always in
Edward's pocket on his long stage or horse-car rides to his office and
back.
He noticed that these New England authors rarely visited New York, or,
if they did, their presence was not heralded by the newspapers among
the "distinguished arrivals." He had a great desire personally to meet
these writers; and, having saved a little money, he decided to take his
week's summer vacation in the winter, when he knew he should be more
likely to find the people of his quest at home, and to spend his
savings on a trip to Boston. He had never been so far away from home,
so this trip was a momentous affair.
He arrived in Boston on Sunday evening; and the first thing he did was
to despatch a note, by messenger, to Doctor Oliver Wendell Holmes,
announcing the important fact that he was there, and what his errand
was, and asking whether he might come up and see Doctor Holmes any time
the next day.
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