Eschenbauch, Peter 'Pat'

He will live on through all the students he taught literature to.

:-(

Good travels, Esch.

Whole weeks and months of my summer life slide away in thin volumes like mist and smoke, till at length, some warm morning, perchance, I see a sheet of mist blown down the brook to the swamp, and I float as high above the fields with it. I can recall to mind the stillest summer hours, in which the grasshopper sings over the mulleins, and there is a valor in that time the bare memory of which is armor that can laugh at any blow of fortune. For our lifetime the strains of a harp are heard to swell and die alternately, and death is but "the pause when the blast is recollecting itself."

from "Wednesday" in "A Week on the Concord and Merrimack Rivers", by H. D. Thoreau