While I was researching Sargent, I stumbled on a little story from a 1915 article, and it highlighted the personality differences between the ebullient John Muir and the very serious Bostonian: Charles Sprague Sargent
On a fall trip to the Southern mountains, Muir and Sargent were climbing the hilltops. Here's what happened according to Muir:
"We climbed slope after slope through the trees till we came out on the bare top of Grandfather Mountain.
There it all lay in the sun below us, ridge beyond ridge, each with its typical tree-covering and color, all blended with the darker shades of the pines and the green of the deep valleys. . . .
I couldn't hold in and began to jump about and sing and glory in it all.
Then I happened to look round and catch sight of [Sargent] standing there as cool as a rock, with a half-amused look on his face at me, but never saying a word.
Muir asks Sargent, “Why don't you let yourself out at a sight like that?”
“I don't wear my heart upon my sleeve,” Sargent retorted.
Muir cried, “Who cares where you wear your little heart, man? There you stand in the face of all Heaven come down on Earth, like a critic of the universe, as if to say,
“Come, Nature, bring on the best you have: I'm from BOSTON!’”


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Charles Sprague Sargent
Charles Sprague Sargent