"To read Muir. . . is to be with a tempestuous soul
whose units are storms and mountain ranges and
mighty glacial- moraines, who strides excitedly along
the bare tops of ragged peaks and rejoices in their
vastness and awfulness, who cries, "Come with me
along the glaciers and see God making landscapes !". . .
As one reads him, one feels one's soul expanding,
one's horizons widening, one's hands reaching out
for the infinite." — Fred Lewis Pattee
(History of American Literature Since 1870 (New York: The
Century Company, 1915) .
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