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diff --git a/37811-h/37811-h.htm b/37811-h/37811-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..999a572 --- /dev/null +++ b/37811-h/37811-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,5076 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.1//EN" "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml11/DTD/xhtml11.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> + +<head> + + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> + + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of Rambles With John Burroughs, by R. J. H. De Loach. + </title> + + <style type="text/css"> + + blockquote { + text-align:justify; + } + + body { + margin-left:10%; + margin-right:10%; + } + + .booktitle { + letter-spacing:3px; + } + + .centered { + text-align:center; + font-weight:bold; + } + + div.centered { + text-align:center; + } + + div.centered table { + margin-left:auto; + margin-right:auto; + text-align:left; + } + + .poem span.i6 {display: block; margin-left: 6em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i11 {display: block; margin-left: 11em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + + .figcenter { + padding:1em; + text-align:center; + font-size:0.8em; + border:none; + margin:auto; + text-indent:1em; + } + + .h1 { + font-size:2em; + margin:.67em 0; + } + + .h1, + .h2, + .h3, + .h4, + .h5, + .h6 { + font-weight:bolder; + text-align:center; + text-indent:0; + } + + h1, + h2, + h3, + h4, + h5, + h6, + hr { + text-align:center; + } + + .h2 { + font-size:1.5em; + margin:.75em 0; + } + + .h3 { + font-size:1.17em; + margin:.83em 0; + } + + .h4 { + margin:1.12em 0 ; + } + + .h5 { + font-size:.83em; + margin:1.5em 0 ; + } + + h5 { + margin-bottom:1%; + margin-top:1%; + } + + .h6 { + font-size:.75em; + margin:1.67em 0; + } + + hr.chapter { + margin-top:6em; + margin-bottom:4em; + } + + hr.tb { + margin:2em 25%; + width:50%; + } + + p { + text-align:justify; + margin-top:.75em; + margin-bottom:.75em; + text-indent:0; + } + + p.author { + text-align:right; + margin-right:10%; + } + + p.caption { + text-indent:0; + text-align:center; + font-weight:bold; + margin-bottom:2em; + } + + p.spacer { + margin-top:2em; + margin-bottom:3em; + } + + p.tb { + margin-top:2em; + } + + .pagenum { +/* visibility:hidden; remove comment out to hide page numbers */ + position:absolute; + right:2%; + font-size:75%; + color:gray; + background-color:inherit; + text-align:right; + text-indent:0; + font-style:normal; + font-weight:normal; + font-variant:normal; + } + + .poem { + margin-left:10%; + margin-right:10%; + margin-bottom:1em; + text-align:left; + } + + .poem .stanza { + margin:1em 0em 1em 0em; + } + + .poem br { + display:none; + } + + .poem p { + margin:0; + padding-left:3em; + text-indent:-3em; + } + + .poem p.i2 { + margin-left:1em; + } + + .poem p.i6 { + margin-left:3em; + } + + .poem span.i0 { + display:block; + margin-left:0em; + padding-left:3em; + text-indent:-3em; + } + + .poem span.i1 { + display:block; + margin-left:1em; + padding-left:3em; + text-indent:-3em; + } + + .poem span.i2 { + display:block; + margin-left:2em; + padding-left:3em; + text-indent:-3em; + } + + .smcap { + font-variant:small-caps; + } + + .tdl { + text-align:left; + } + + .tdr { + text-align:right; + padding-right:1em; + } + + .tdrfirst { + text-align:right; + padding-right:1em; + font-size:80%; + } + + </style> + +</head> + +<body> + + +<pre> + +Project Gutenberg's Rambles with John Burroughs, by Robert John De Loach + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Rambles with John Burroughs + +Author: Robert John De Loach + +Release Date: October 20, 2011 [EBook #37811] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK RAMBLES WITH JOHN BURROUGHS *** + + + + +Produced by Roberta Staehlin, David Garcia, Matthew Wheaton +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images +generously made available by The Internet Archive/American +Libraries.) + + + + + + +</pre> + +<div> + +<a id="I0"></a> +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/ill-001.jpg" width="400" height="672" alt="JOHN BURROUGHS" /> +</div> + +<h1 class="booktitle">RAMBLES WITH JOHN BURROUGHS</h1> + +<p class="h2">R. J. H. De LOACH</p> + +<p class="h4"><i>Illustrated with photographs by the Author</i></p> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/ill-title.jpg" width="200" height="256" alt="" /> +</div> + +<p class="h4">RICHARD G. BADGER</p> +<p class="h5">THE GORHAM PRESS<br /> +BOSTON</p> + +<p class="spacer"> </p> + +<p class="h5"><i>Copyright 1912 by Richard G. Badger</i><br /> +<i>All Rights Reserved</i></p> + +<p class="h6"><i>The Gorham Press, Boston, Mass.</i></p> + +<p class="spacer"> </p> + +<p class="h3">To<br /> +THE DEAR OLD<br /> +UNIVERSITY OF GEORGIA<br /> +and her Noble faculty who have ever inspired me<br /> +I dedicate this little volume</p> + +<hr class="chapter" /> + +<span class="pagenum">[5]</span> + +<h2>PREFACE</h2> + +<p>There is a longing in every student's +life some time or other to share his +pleasure with the world, and if he +happens to find himself in the proper +environment he cannot forego that pleasure. His +studies, his anxieties, his loves and his devotions +are a part of him and he cannot give himself to +the world without giving these.</p> + +<p>My personal contact with John Burroughs has +meant a great deal to me and these papers represent +in a measure what I have enjoyed, though +they come far short of what I would like them to +be. Some of them were written among his +native hills and it is hoped they will give the +flavor of his own experiences. Others were +written at odd times on trains, on boats, and in +my study here, where I have enjoyed re-reading +so many times his essays on Nature. The +qualities of the man and his papers have always +made a direct appeal to me, and I love to come +in contact with him and spend days with him.</p> + +<p>Long before they were printed in book form, +I had collected most of his poems in my old scrap +book and studied them. Their simplicity and +beauty combined with their perfect rhythm +impressed me and almost at one reading I was +able to remember them line for line.<span class="pagenum">[6]</span></p> + +<p>The names of Burroughs and Whitman are +forever linked together and one can hardly think +of one in certain relations without thinking of +the other. To the literary public they have +many ideals in common, and their bonds of sympathy +have been knit together forever in Burroughs +essays. To be associated with Burroughs +is therefore to get many interesting and valuable +hints on the life and works of Whitman. +While I write this preface Mr. Burroughs talks +with me in the evenings on the possible future +influence of Whitman on American literary methods +and criticism. The reader will not be surprised +therefore, to find in this collection of papers, +one on the relation of these two grand old men.</p> + +<p>I have not attempted to interpret John Burroughs. +He is his own interpreter and the very +best one. In writing the papers, I have had in +mind only just what he has meant to me. How +he has affected me and changed the course of my +life. How he has given me new eyes with which +to see, new ears with which to hear, and a new +heart with which to love God's great out-o'-doors.</p> + +<p>Athens, Ga. January, 1911.</p> + +<p class="spacer"> </p> + +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> + +<span class="pagenum">[7]</span> + +<div class="centered"> +<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary=""> + <tr> + <td class="tdl"> </td> + <td class="tdrfirst">PAGE</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl"><a href="#THE_SIMPLE_LIFE">The Simple Life</a></td> + <td class="tdr">11</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl"><a href="#AROUND_SLABSIDES_AND_THE_DEN">Around Slabsides And The Den</a></td> + <td class="tdr">36</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl"><a href="#JOHN_BURROUGHS_IN_THE_SOUTH">John Burroughs In The South</a></td> + <td class="tdr">48</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl"><a href="#RAMBLES_AROUND_ROXBURY">Rambles Around Roxbury</a></td> + <td class="tdr">64</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl"><a href="#THE_OLD_CLUMP">The Old Clump</a></td> + <td class="tdr">82</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl"><a href="#JOHN_BURROUGHS_AS_POET">John Burroughs As Poet</a></td> + <td class="tdr">93</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl"><a href="#JOHN_BURROUGHS_AND_WALT_WHITMAN">John Burroughs And Walt Whitman</a></td> + <td class="tdr">108</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl"><a href="#JOHN_BURROUGHS_AND_THE_BIRDS">John Burroughs And The Birds</a></td> + <td class="tdr">124</td> + </tr> +</table></div> + +<p class="spacer"> </p> + +<h2>ILLUSTRATIONS</h2> + +<span class="pagenum">[9]</span> + +<div class="centered"> +<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary=""> + <tr> + <td class="tdl"> </td> + <td class="tdrfirst">PAGE</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl"><a href="#I0">John Burroughs</a></td> + <td class="tdr">Frontispiece</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl"><a href="#I1">In the Old Barn</a></td> + <td class="tdr">16</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl"><a href="#I2">The Old Stone Wall built by Deacon Scudder</a></td> + <td class="tdr">24</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl"><a href="#I3">The Study</a></td> + <td class="tdr">32</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl"><a href="#I4">Slabsides</a></td> + <td class="tdr">40</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl"><a href="#I5">Burroughs Listening to the Cardinal in Georgia</a></td> + <td class="tdr">48</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl"><a href="#I6">At the Bars in front of The Old Burial Ground</a></td> + <td class="tdr">56</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl"><a href="#I7">Over the Site of his Grandfather's Old Home</a></td> + <td class="tdr">64</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl"><a href="#I8">Under a Catskill Ledge where he has often been protected from the rain in summer</a></td> + <td class="tdr">72</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl"><a href="#I9">A Catskill Mountain Side</a></td> + <td class="tdr">80</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl"><a href="#IA">Under the Old Grey Ledge</a></td> + <td class="tdr">88</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl"><a href="#IB">On the Summit of the Old Clump</a></td> + <td class="tdr">96</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl"><a href="#IC">Looking across the Pasture Wall</a></td> + <td class="tdr">104</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl"><a href="#ID">Stones marking Site of Thoreau's Cabin</a></td> + <td class="tdr">112</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl"><a href="#IE">Pointing out the Junco's Nest</a></td> + <td class="tdr">128</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl"><a href="#IF">My Chickadee's Nest</a></td> + <td class="tdr">140</td> + </tr> +</table></div> + +<hr class="chapter" /> + +<span class="pagenum">[11]</span> + +<h2><a id="THE_SIMPLE_LIFE"></a>THE SIMPLE LIFE</h2> + +<h3>I</h3> + +<p>The great majority of people consider +that this expression about defines a +summer outing, or a camping trip and +that is the end of it. They cannot +associate it with any form of living for they have +not tried the simple life. A few weeks in summer +they are in the habit of unfolding their tents and +going away to the mountains where they can for +a short while rid themselves of conventionalities +and try out nature. On such occasions they are +forced to do most of their own work, and hence +are primarily interested in reducing this to the +minimum. Usually those who seek this form of +the simple life are glad when the spell is over and +they are back safely in the home.</p> + +<p>Once in awhile and perhaps at long intervals, +the world gives birth to a character tuned in a +lower key than the average of us, that by virtue +of its inborn love of simplicity and lack of things +to worry over, prefers to remove the deadly weights +of the conventional and to live in harmony with +the forces of the world. In this way native +merits are allowed to expand and grow. Such +persons are meek and lowly with much humility +of spirit and usually gifted with a great capacity<span class="pagenum">[12]</span> +for love. Unconsciously they are continually +weeding out everything from their lives that +tends in any way to abate their natural forces, +and by the time they are far on the way of life +they have become entirely free from those things +that hold most of us aloof from the best the +world has to offer.</p> + +<p>The human race has given very few such +characters to the world, in fact not a great enough +number to formulate in any sense a law of the +probability and chance of their production. Diogenes +is an illustration of such a character, who +after an early life of luxury, settled upon an extremely +simple life during his later years, and +grew in wisdom and understanding in proportion +to his devotion to such life. Gilbert White after +a thorough college training refused many offers +to appointments to honorable posts in order to +live simply at the Wakes and make a complete +record of the Natural History about Selburne. +In preference to large paying positions in many +parts of the Kingdom, he chose clerical work at +very low pay that he may remain at home and +not miss any important event in the Natural +History thereabouts. Thoreau is another type +of the advocate of the simple life. He could have +remained about Concord all his days as other men +and have amounted to as little as many of them +did, if he had preferred. But instead, he deliberately +planned an experiment in plain living and<span class="pagenum">[13]</span> +high thinking. It has been thought by many +that he was an extremist, but how many of us +there are who would gladly take his claim to +immortality. His experiment was a success. +So soon as he cast off all obstacles to free thinking, +his mind seized on the things he most loved and +desired, and made him famous.</p> + +<p>Another character that belongs in this category, +and the one in whom we are the most concerned +in the present paper, is John Burroughs. Born +in one of the most beautiful sections of a great +country, and reared on a farm where he learned +first hand the secrets of nature, he has never +departed far from the simple life. At the age of +seventy-five he still finds greatest comfort away +from any human habitation, and the earth beneath—the +sky above, and nothing to mar his +inner musings. Strange to say the happiest +environment that ever comes to him is amid the +very hills where he first saw the light. Recently, +he confessed as he lifted his eyes to a Catskill +sunrise: "How much these dear old hills mean +to me! When in my playful youth little did I +think as I went along this roadway to school +every morning that some day I should fall back +upon these scenes for thought, love, inspiration! +O what a wholesome effect they have upon me!" +This I am sure is not an exaggerated statement +of the case. He really longs to get back among +the hills of his nativity on the return of summer,<span class="pagenum">[14]</span> +and so long as health and strength permits he will +'return to the place of his birth, though he cannot +go back to his youth.' There in the quiet of the +country, nestled among those beautiful hills and +valleys, he can get into the free and wholesome +open air and live as he likes, while the many +pleasant memories of his earlier days seem to act +as a lubricant to his already active mind.</p> + +<p>A simple life is not necessarily a life of idleness, +but may on the other hand be the very busiest of +lives. In fact, is the product of any mind as +wholesome, as pure, as great as it might be when +the denominator is not reduced to its lowest +terms? Let us not get the little summer visit to +the mountains confused with the larger simple +life. Very few campers on a summer vacation +ever know the real joy of a quiet life as Thoreau +lived it at Walden Pond, or as Burroughs lives it +at Slabsides in spring and at Woodchuck Lodge +in summer. Such a life as I am writing about is a +psychological condition as well as a physical environment, +and results from a choice or preference +of two or more methods of living. It carries +with it no regrets, no envy, no covetousness. +Perhaps such a life would prove impossible when +forced upon one, but happy indeed is he who, +having lived as other men, learns "to reduce the +necessities of subsistence to their lowest terms" +and proves, "that in every life there is time to be +wise, and opportunity to tend the growth of the<span class="pagenum">[15]</span> +spirit." 'Tis then and only then that he can +"share the great, sunny, joyous life of the earth, +or be as happy as the birds are! as contented as +the cattle on the hills! as the leaves of the trees +that dance and rustle in the wind! as the waters +that murmur and sparkle to the sea!"</p> + +<p>All of this I think John Burroughs has realized +if ever any man has realized it. Sitting in an +old barn about a hundred yards from Woodchuck +Lodge, his summer home, in his home-made chair, +and for his writing desk an old chicken coop with +one board-covered side, and a large piece of heavy +manila paper covering this, is the way I found +him at work. In front of the opening or barn +door was The Old Clump, the mountain of his +boyhood days to inspire, to uplift him. Even the +summer home in which he lives savors too much +of the conventional. To be absolutely free is a +consummation devoutly to be sought for—and this +he finds, experiences, cherishes. Writing at +seventy-five? Yes, thinking and writing,—but +writing, thinking and living best when living +simplest. With his dark brown wash-suit and +cap on, he is not afraid to sit or roll on mother +earth nor to climb a tree if necessary. Before +breakfast we go to gather some apples for the +table, and nothing would do but I should hold the +basket while he mounted the tree and picked the +apples. Then over the brow of the hill after +breakfast to get potatoes for dinner—but to stop<span class="pagenum">[16]</span> +long enough at the old barn for a snap-shot of +him and to learn of the junco's nest built in the +hay only six feet from his chicken-coop desk. The +bird as busy in her work rearing her young as +Burroughs writing his essays, and the two blend +beautifully in the picturesque barn. This is the +only record, he tells me, of a junco nesting under +human habitation, so I get two very good pictures +of the bird entering the nest.</p> + +<p>Only a few weeks before, he had remodeled +Woodchuck Lodge and put a rustic porch on it. +His niece, referring to Mr. Burroughs during the +time, says: "I never saw a happier person than +Uncle John was then. He would work all day +and rest well at night, and was in a happy mood +all the time. If there ever was such a thing as a +happy person on earth, I think he was then." +And nothing delights him more now than to point +out the different pieces of furniture he made with +his own hands. Every piece of it is up to the +standard of the Craftsman, and the buffet and +dining table quite tasty, while the rustic reading +table and cot showed considerable ingenuity in +the adaptation of odd-shaped pieces of bark covered +wood to man's needs. All in all, it was an excellent +piece of work, and far more picturesque +than any factory work I ever saw.</p> + +<p>This man of whom we write is in many respects +a wonderful man. His first dash into literature +was purely and simply Transcendentalism, a +<span class="pagenum">[17]</span>kind of a mixture of Emersonian philosophy and +metaphysics, and is by no means poor literature, +but perhaps far too complicated or vague for the +mental fibre of its author. So he starts from the +first again and writes about the common things +of the farm and forest. "It was mainly to break +the spell of Emerson's influence," he says, "and +get upon ground of my own that I took to writing +upon out-door themes." The selection has been +a happy one and has probably done much to recast, +as it were, the author of <i>Expression</i>—to reduce +his denominator, if not increase the numerator. +Thinking and writing on every-day themes has +induced him to almost get out and live with the +animals and plants. It has very largely been +responsible for the growth of his sane, wholesome +mind housed in such a healthy body. +Under no other conditions it seems to me could +he have given to the world "so much of sane +thinking, cool judgment, dispassionate reasoning, +so many evidences of a calm outlook upon life +and the world." In fact, could he have experienced +these things in conventional life? His +philosophy is well ripened and at the same time +wonderfully human and appreciative. Each new +book from his pen shows in every way the intense +enthusiasm of the author for the great study that +he has made his life work.</p> + +<a id="I1"></a> +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/ill-002.jpg" width="600" height="359" alt="BURROUGHS IN THE OLD BARN IN WHICH HE DOES HIS WRITING" /> +</div> + +<p class="caption">BURROUGHS IN THE OLD BARN IN WHICH HE DOES HIS WRITING</p> + +<p>We may ask, how does he spend his time in +this country home when not actually engaged in<span class="pagenum">[18]</span> +writing? Going about from farm to farm talking +to the common people about the seasons, the +crops, and perhaps now and then advising with +them on some phase of farm work, such as curing +hay or mowing grain. Sometimes he goes to the +mountains and under some ledge of rocks he will +be found studying the nature of the geological +formation of the earth. A small angled stone in +his hand, he picks into the side of the stone wall +and makes some interesting discovery. While +thus engaged, he hears in the hemlock forest behind +him lively bird notes, and suddenly turning +gets a glimpse of the author when for the first +time in that particular woods he sees the warbling +or white-eyed vireo. On his return he follows +up a stone fence for several hundred feet to get a +little study of the chipmunk, or to locate a new +flower that he happens not to have seen this +season. He knows where it ought to be, but has +not located it yet. With the growth, color, and +size of a particular species he associates its environment +and perhaps learns something new about +this too before he reaches home again. Wherever +his fancy leads him, whether it be to the trout +stream or the mountain side, he shows a wonderful +vigor, keen vision, and alert attention to the +life about him that is apparent in all his writings. +I find no other writer on Natural History themes +quite up to Burroughs in honesty and keenness +of observation, delicacy of sentiment, and eloquent +simplicity of style.<span class="pagenum">[19]</span></p> + +<p>For the past few years, Burroughs' mind has +turned to philosophy rather than Nature study—the +<i>causes of things</i> rather than <i>things</i>. This is to +be expected of one who has given the mind +opportunity for consecutive development for the +past half century. He has always been a philosopher, +but only his two last volumes of essays—<i>Ways +of Nature</i>, and <i>Leaf and Tendril</i> show the +deeper currents in his life. It is in these that we +see him much concerned about the constitution +of nature and the history of creation. His mind +has ripened to this, and it is surprising to know +how versatile he is on the structure of organic +beings, and the geological formation of the earth's +crust, and the evolution of life. Perhaps no nature +writer, ancient or modern, is so largely responsible +for the universal interest in the nature study movement +at the present time, as John Burroughs. +How many he leads to an appreciation of nature! +and how many personal friends he has among all +classes of people! Then too his writings have +recently found their way to the schools—thanks +to Miss Burt. With all his love for the freedom +of the woods and mountains, he is a sociable being, +and is thereby subject to many interruptions +from friends. But despite this he has accomplished +far more in the way of substantial writing +than the average author, and recently said that +if he keeps up his present rate he will soon have +his shelves filled with his own writings. One<span class="pagenum">[20]</span> +thing is quite conspicuous about his relation to +other people—His friends are the warmest of +friends, and whenever I have been with him, he +has had a good deal to say about them. In his +<i>Indoor Studies</i>, he confesses that he is too conscious +of persons. "I feel them too much, defer +to them too much, and try too hard to adapt myself +to them." But there is a certain influence he +has felt from friends that has, in all probability, +given him a calmer and more beautiful outlook +upon the world. Often he is invited to dine with +the rich, but always reluctantly accepts, and I +think the best part of it to him is his return to +the simple life. He says: "I am bound to praise +the simple life, because I have lived it and found +it good. When I depart from it, evil results +follow. I love a small house, plain clothes, simple +living. How free one feels, how good the elements +taste, how close one gets to them, how they fit +one's body and one's soul!"</p> + +<h3>II</h3> + +<p>Not many years after I had known Mr. +Burroughs personally, it occurred to me to look +up his literary record and see just how his years +have been spent and associate with this the fruit of +his labors. The long jump from <i>Notes on Walt +Whitman as Poet and Person</i> (1867), his first +book to <i>Leaf and Tendril</i> (1908), his last volume,<span class="pagenum">[21]</span> +marks a wonderful change in interest and study. +But the record is made, the books stand for +themselves, and we would not have it otherwise. +This is the way of nature and of her best interpreter, +John Burroughs, whose nature books +almost have the fresh and sweet flavor of wild +strawberries, and tell in unmistakable language +the author's love for and knowledge of the out-door +world in which he has spent so much of his +life. Reared in the country, he knows country +life and country people and loves them. In his +early years, his mind must have been very susceptible +to impressions of truthful observations, +which formed a setting for his after work. Of +this I think he is still conscious, judging from the +advice he gives teachers in a copy of the Pennsylvania +School Journal I happen to have before +me. "I confess, I am a little skeptical about the +good of any direct attempt to teach children to +'see nature.' The question with me would be +rather how to treat them or lead them so that +they would not lose the love of nature which as +children, they already have. Every girl and +every boy up to a certain age loves nature and has +a quick eye for the curious and interesting things +in the fields and woods. But as they grow older +and the worldly habit of mind grows upon them, +they lose this love; this interest in nature becomes +only so much inert matter to them. The boy +may keep up his love of fishing and of sport, and<span class="pagenum">[22]</span> +thus keep in touch with certain phases of nature, +but the girl gradually loses all interest in out-door +things.</p> + +<p>"If I were a teacher I would make excursions +into the country with my children; we would +picnic together under the trees, and I would contrive +to give them a little live botany. They +should see how much a flower meant to me. +What we find out ourselves tastes so good! I +would as far as possible let the child be his own +teacher. The spirit of inquiry—awaken that in +him if you can—if you cannot, the case is about +hopeless.</p> + +<p>"I think that love of nature which becomes a +precious boon and solace in life, does not as a rule +show itself in the youth. The youth is a poet in +feeling, and generally he does not care for poetry. +He is like a bulb—rich in those substances that +are to make the future flower and fruit of the +plant.</p> + +<p>"As he becomes less a poet in his unconscious +life, he will take more and more to poetry as +embodied in literary forms. In the same way, +as he recedes from nature, as from his condition +of youthful savagery, he is likely to find more and +more interest in the wild life about him. Do not +force a knowledge of natural things upon him too +young."</p> + +<p>If Mr. Burroughs had been taught nature after +the academic fashion, he would never have<span class="pagenum">[23]</span> +developed the love for the subject that is so +evident in all his out-door books. My impression +is that his early environment was best suited +to him and he was the child so "like a bulb." +He absorbed nature without having any consciousness +of what it meant. "I was born of and +among people," he says, "who neither read books +nor cared for them, and my closest associations +since have been with those whose minds have been +alien to literature and art. My unliterary environment +has doubtless been best suited to me. +Probably what little freshness and primal sweetness +my books contain is owing to this circumstance. +Constant intercourse with bookish men +and literary circles I think would have dwarfed +or killed my literary faculty. This perpetual +rubbing heads together, as in literary clubs, +seems to result in literary sterility. In my own +case at least what I most needed was what I had—a +few books and plenty of things." The +roaming over the hills and mountains and following +up trout streams was most conducive to his +life, and thus it was he spent his odd hours and +rest-days. This gave him "plenty of real things," +and just what they have meant to him you will be +able to learn from his twelve out-door volumes. +But what brought all this long string of books +out of him? How comes it that he turned to +literature as a profession? From the earliest he +had a passion for authorship, and when in the<span class="pagenum">[24]</span> +"teens" resolved to become a writer. "It was +while I was at school, in my nineteenth year," +he says, "that I saw my first author; and I distinctly +remember with what emotion I gazed upon +him, and followed him in the twilight, keeping +on the other side of the street.... +I looked upon him with more reverence and enthusiasm +than I had ever looked upon any man.... +I suppose this was the +instinctive tribute of a timid and imaginative +youth to a power which he was beginning vaguely +to see—the power of letters."</p> + +<p>By this time Mr. Burroughs had begun to see +his own thoughts in print in a country newspaper. +He also began writing essays about the same +time and sending them to various periodicals +only to receive "them back pretty promptly." +These perhaps rather conventional papers on +such subjects as <i>Genius</i>, <i>Individuality</i>, <i>A Man +and His Times</i>, etc., served a great purpose. +They tutored the author of them into his better +papers that were welcomed by the editor of the +Atlantic Monthly and other leading periodicals. +In his twenty-first year, he discovered Emerson—so +to speak—in a Chicago book-store, and says: +"All that summer I fed upon these essays and +steeped myself in them." No doubt Emerson's +essays had a wonderful influence on this young +reader and almost swamped him. They warped +him out of his orbit so far, that had he not resolved +<span class="pagenum">[25]</span>to get back upon ground of his own, we would +never have had <i>Wake Robin</i>. Emerson had +complete possession of him for a time and was +hard to shake off, but constant writing upon +out-door themes did the work, and put Burroughs +back in possession of himself.</p> + +<a id="I2"></a> +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/ill-003.jpg" width="400" height="575" alt="THE OLD STONE WALL IN FRONT OF THE BURROUGHS HOME, +BUILT BY DEACON SCUDDER. THE CATSKILLS +DIMLY SHOW IN THE DISTANCE" /> +</div> + +<p class="caption">THE OLD STONE WALL IN FRONT OF THE BURROUGHS HOME, BUILT BY DEACON SCUDDER. THE CATSKILLS DIMLY SHOW IN THE DISTANCE</p> + +<p>In the year 1863, he went to Washington +apparently to join the army, but somehow never +did. Instead of this, he received an appointment +in the Treasury, as a guardian of a vault, to count +the money that went in or came out. During this +time he had many leisure moments which he put +to good account writing his nature sketches that +make up his first nature book, <i>Wake Robin</i>. Before +he had been in the National Capital a great +while he became acquainted with the poet Walt +Whitman, and immediately fell in with him. +Whitman's poetry was not new to Burroughs who +had already developed a taste for it. The man +Whitman seemed to be an embodiment of the +poetry, <i>Leaves of Grass</i>, and Burroughs was so +greatly moved by a study of the man that he soon +began making notes of this study which resulted +in his first book—<i>Notes on Walt Whitman as +Poet and Person</i> (1867). This little volume is +one of the best, raciest and freshest books on +Whitman, and certainly is as readable as Burroughs' +later book on <i>Whitman: A Study</i>, (1896).</p> + +<p>To any man, who would rise in the world, one +thing must become evident; he must know that<span class="pagenum">[26]</span> +the idle moments must be the busiest of all. +On this basis Burroughs worked. While at his +work in the Treasury, he recalled his many experiences +in the Western Catskills, and wrote +these experiences. His Sundays and Holidays +were spent in the woods around the National +Capital that he may each season increase his +knowledge about natural history. The Atlantic +Monthly began to publish his nature papers +about 1864, the year after he reached Washington, +and has continued to do so at regular intervals +ever since. In fact at the present time that +periodical has three of Burroughs' essays yet +unpublished. <i>Wake Robin</i>, a collection of these +early nature sketches and his first book on out-door +themes, was published in 1871, just four +years after the little book on Whitman came +from the press. Perhaps we have no more readable +book on bird life than this volume of nature +sketches, which won for the writer immediate +and complete success.</p> + +<p>Mr. Joel Benton formally introduced Burroughs +to American literary people in the old Scribner's +Monthly in 1876 while his third volume, <i>Winter +Sunshine</i> (1875), was fresh in the mind of the +public. In this timely article Mr. Benton claims: +"What first strikes me in Mr. Burroughs's work, +even above its well-acquired style, is the unqualified +weight of conscience it exhibits. There +is no posturing for effect; an admiration he does<span class="pagenum">[27]</span> +not have he never mimics. We find in him, +therefore, a perfectly healthy and hearty flavor. +Apparently, he does not put his pen to paper +hastily, or until he is filled with his subject. +What has been aptly termed the secondary, or +final stage of thought, has with him full play.... +A natural observer of things, +he summons all the facts, near or remote—there +is no side-light too small—and, when the material +is all in, it seems to undergo a long incubation in +his mind; or shows at least that reflection has +done its perfect and many-sided work. Under +his careful treatment and keen eye for the picturesque, +the details get the proper artistic +distribution and stand forth in poetic guise. The +essay, when it appears, comes to us freighted +with 'the latest news' from the meadows and +the woods, and bears the unmistakable imprint +of authenticity." This is a good testimonial +from a good source, especially since it is the first +public utterance of an opinion by an authority, +on the quality of Burroughs' literary work. In +a recent letter, Mr. Benton writes: "I did not +say Burroughs was made by me, or that he remembers +the priority of my article, but that I had +the privilege and honor of being the first to write +about him." This paper, I am sure, renewed +his hopes for literary distinction and fame, and +perhaps encouraged him to greater efforts.</p> + +<p>In <i>Birds and Poets</i> (1877), we find our nature<span class="pagenum">[28]</span> +student measuring other men's observations by +his own deductions. He is beginning to branch +out in literature and note nature references in the +poets and now and then calls them to taw for +stepping beyond the bounds of truth. Here we +find Burroughs as much of a student of literature +as he is of nature, and as delightful in his literary +references as one could desire. Ten years after +his appointment, he tired of his clerkship in the +Treasury, as he resigned in 1872 to become receiver +for a broken bank in Middletown, New York. +Pretty soon after leaving Washington, he was +made bank examiner for the Eastern part of New +York State, which position he held till 1885. +Since this last date he has depended entirely on +literature and on a small farm for a livelihood. +He purchased a place up the Hudson river at +West Park about 1873 and began immediately to +build a stone mansion which he named Riverby, +and in which he has lived since its completion. +But stone houses did not prove best suited for +his literary work and he built a small bark covered +study only a few yards from Riverby in which he +has done most of his literary work. The most +active period of his literary career was when he +settled at West Park. Mention has already been +made of <i>Birds and Poets</i> (1877). The magazines +are full of his essays at this time and the volumes +come thick in the blast: <i>Locust and Wild Honey</i> +(1879), <i>Pepacton and Other Sketches</i> (1881), <i>Fresh</i><span class="pagenum">[29]</span> +<i>Fields</i> (1884), <i>Signs and Seasons</i> (1886). The +increased revenue from his books and literary +work, supplemented by his little grape farm, enabled +him to resign as Bank examiner in 1885, +as above suggested, and he has never held office +of any kind since. It was about at the age of +fifty that Mr. Burroughs seems to have developed +a considerable consciousness of literature as an +art, as a consequence of which we find him beginning +to write papers on literary criticism and +<i>Indoor Studies</i> (1889). From this time on his +nature books are written in a different key, just +as interesting but not quite as enthusiastic, and +in most of them a touch of nature philosophy. +In 1886 there appeared in the Popular Science +Monthly an essay by him under the caption, +<i>Science and Theology</i>, which showed pretty clearly +the deeper currents of his mind. This paper was +followed by others of its kind for several years +until they were collected into a volume, <i>The Light +of Day</i>, Religious Discussions and Criticism from +the Naturalist's Point of View (1900). Studies on +such themes are the logical outcome of the +growth and development of a mind like that of +Burroughs', and in the present case the papers +are accompanied with that "unqualified weight +of conscience" referred to in Mr. Benton's article +and are valuable discussions on themes that never +grow old.</p> + +<p>Again we find him delighting himself and the<span class="pagenum">[30]</span> +reading public on his out-door observations +around <i>Riverby</i> (1894), his stone house by the +Hudson, in the preface to which he expresses the +belief that this is to be his last volume of out-door +essays. <i>Whitman: A Study</i> (1896), and <i>Literary +Values</i> (1902), are books for the critic and are +fully up to the standard in that field of activity. +This book on Whitman is claimed by many +scholars to be the best criticism of Whitman yet +published. It is a strong defense of the "Good +Gray Poet" and his literary method. Beginning +with the year 1900, and perhaps a little earlier, +there developed a great demand from the public +for a larger crop of nature books and a great +many of our good writers, seeing this demand, +began to try to fill it whether they were naturalists +or not, and the consequence was that a great +many fake nature stories got before the reading +public. This, of course, bore heavily on Mr. Burroughs' +mind who had lived so long with nature +trying to understand her ways and laws, who in +1903 issued his protest against this practice in a +strong article, "Real and Sham Natural History," +in the March Atlantic Monthly of that year. +This paper brought forth a warfare between the +two schools of nature study in America, the +romantic school and the scientific or the sane +or sober school, which did not end till about 1908, +and in fact, a little fruit of the controversy still +crops out here and there in magazines and papers.<span class="pagenum">[31]</span> +In this controversy Burroughs won the battle of +his life. The main point at issue was: Do animals +have reason to any degree in the sense that man +has reason? Burroughs claimed that they do +not, and the romantic school claimed that they +do, and to prove the claim hatched up a great +many fairy tales about the animals and declared +that these statements were made from observations +under their own eyes. Before it was over, +Burroughs had won the strong support of Mr. +Frank M. Chapman, the ornithologist; Dr. Wm. +M. Wheeler, W. F. Ganong, and Mr. Roosevelt, +then the President of the United States, together +with a great many other distinguished naturalists.</p> + +<p>It was natural and fitting that Burroughs +should be the first one to come to the rescue of +popular natural history, when it seemed to be +falling into the hands of romancers, as he was and +is the dean of American nature writers and is our +best authority on the behavior of animals under +natural conditions. The result of this controversy +was the publication of <i>Ways of Nature</i> (1905), +containing all the papers which were the outcome +of the currents of thought and inquiry that the +controversy set going in his mind. The volume +contains many fine illustrations of his claims and +is a complete answer to the many attacks made +upon him by his enemies in this controversy.</p> + +<p>At the urgent request of his many friends he +collected in a volume and published his poems,<span class="pagenum">[32]</span> +<i>Bird and Bough</i> (1906), which for perfect cadence +and simple sweetness have not been surpassed +by any of our minor poems. In 1903, he went +west with President Roosevelt and spent the +month of April in Yellowstone Park studying +natural history with him. The President surprised +Mr. Burroughs in his broad knowledge +and enthusiastic study of nature. The little +volume, <i>Camping and Tramping with Roosevelt</i> +(1907), contains an account of this trip and brings +out Mr. Roosevelt's strong points as a naturalist. +During the last few years his philosophy has been +ripening and a great deal of his energy has been +spent in working out natural philosophy rather +than natural history, though he has never gotten +away from the latter. His last volume of essays, +<i>Leaf and Tendril</i> (1908), contains a resume of his +studies along this line and are, perhaps, the most +readable of all of his late books. Another volume +of papers is now in the hands of the printers, which +will likely appear in print next spring (1912).</p> + +<p>The names and dates of appearance of his +many volumes are as follows, and mark the +evolution of his mind:</p> + +<p> +1867—Notes on Walt Whitman, as Poet and Person.<br /> +1871—Wake Robin.<br /> +1875—Winter Sunshine.<br /> +1877—Birds and Poets.<br /> +1879—Locusts and Wild Honey.<br /> +<span class="pagenum">[33]</span>1881—Pepacton and Other Sketches.<br /> +1884—Fresh Fields.<br /> +1886—Signs and Seasons.<br /> +1889—Indoor Studies.<br /> +1894—Riverby.<br /> +1896—Whitman: A Study.<br /> +1900—The Light of Day.<br /> +1902—Literary Values.<br /> +1902—John James Audubon, A Biography.<br /> +1904—Far and Near.<br /> +1905—Ways of Nature.<br /> +1906—Bird and Bough.<br /> +1907—Camping and Tramping with Roosevelt.<br /> +1908—Leaf and Tendril.<br /> +</p> + +<a id="I3"></a> +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/ill-004.jpg" width="600" height="404" alt="THE DEN, BURROUGHS' STUDY NEAR HIS STONE MANSION, RIVERBY, AT WEST PARK" /> +</div> + +<p class="caption">THE DEN, BURROUGHS' STUDY NEAR HIS STONE MANSION, RIVERBY, AT WEST PARK</p> + +<p>This does not include a great many papers +that were never printed in book form, nor many +of his books and parts of them edited by other +writers. This list is a good account of a life +well spent, and treats of almost all phases of our +American natural history. In the main, Mr. +Burroughs has been a stay-at-home pretty much +all his life, though he has been about some. In +1872, he was sent to England, and returned +there of his own accord in the eighties. An account +of these visits will be found in the two +volumes, <i>Winter Sunshine</i> and <i>Fresh Fields</i>. +From Alaska, 1899, and the island of Jamaica, +1902, he brought back material for most of the +volume, <i>Far and Near</i>. In recent years he has<span class="pagenum">[34]</span> +visited the Golden West and Honolulu, an account +of which we shall doubtless see in his volume +now in press. The best part of all his travels is +undoubtedly his return to the simple life at +West Park and Roxbury, New York. His little +bark covered study near by Riverby, where he +has done so much of his writing, was his first love +up to a few years ago. At present, his Roxbury +summer home, Woodchuck Lodge, seems to be his +place of greatest interest. In either place, he +can lounge about as he sees fit and feel at ease, +as he can no where else.</p> + +<p>Wherever he goes he continues writing in his +ripe old age, and only last summer (1911), completed +eight new essays while on an extended +stay at Woodchuck Lodge. In the morning, +from eight till twelve, he does his best work, and +in the afternoon he rambles around the old place +of his birth and among his neighbors. In the +preparation of the above eight essays, he writes: +"I lost eight pounds of flesh which I do not expect +to regain." He is now beginning to "serenely +fold his hands and wait" for the inevitable end, +though the chances are he will live many years +and win many battles against Nature Fakers and +put many awkward students of nature in the +paths of righteous observation. Strong and +healthy, he can climb fences, ascend mountain +heights with very little fatigue. Writing of his +experiences with a party of friends in California,<span class="pagenum">[35]</span> +March, 1911, he says: "During the mountain +climbing the other day, I set the pace and tired +them all out. Mr. Brown, of the Dial, is sixty-six, +but he had to stop and eat a sandwich and have +some coffee before the top was reached." Not +many of the school of literary men to which he +belongs are now living. But what does he say +to this: "The forces that destroy us are going +their appointed ways, and if they turned out or +made an exception on our account, the very +foundations of the universe would be impeached." +If needs be, I am sure he can boldly and fearlessly,</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i11">"Sustained and soothed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By an unfaltering trust, approach <i>the end</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch<br /></span> +<span class="i0">About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams,"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>and if needs be, I am as well persuaded that he +can for another score of years, teach the world +how to observe nature. He is optimistic and has +always been, because he has always found plenty +to do. His friends enjoy each victory he makes, +and are glad to see so much interest center about +his name as the years roll by.</p> + +<hr class="chapter" /> + +<span class="pagenum">[36]</span> + +<h2><a id="AROUND_SLABSIDES_AND_THE_DEN"></a>AROUND SLABSIDES AND THE DEN</h2> + +<p>It was a cloudy day in December when I +made my first trip up the Hudson River to +the home of John Burroughs, and how well +I recall the invitation into the Den. On +opening the door I stood face to face with the +object of my pilgrimage, the distinguished naturalist, +a man of low stature, rather small frame, a +well formed head and sharp eyes, and much +younger in appearance than his photographs would +indicate. His hair is white, but he can read +without glasses and see birds better with the +natural eye than I can. He had on a brown +jersey wool coat or jacket, beneath which was a +vest and trousers of spotted brown and dark to +match, all of which were well set to his body and +limbs. His shoes were of cloth and rubber with +rubber bottoms. When he walked out he put +on a short gray overcoat, a small crushed brown +or gray hat, and arctic overshoes. His general +appearance would not indicate that you were with +John Burroughs, but if you got a clear view of +his face and eye, you could not mistake him for +an ordinary man.</p> + +<p>West Park, the little station on the West Shore +branch of the New York Central and Hudson<span class="pagenum">[37]</span> +River R. R., is a small village with not more than +a hundred houses, and is quiet and almost puts one +in a dreaming mood, when he thinks of being in the +land of the great Literary Naturalist, who drew +the most of his neighbors there. The Burroughs +home, popularly known as Riverby, is in perfect +keeping with the nature of the man. Hidden +from the street behind a number of evergreens, +it presents rather a secluded appearance, and is a +part <i>of</i> nature rather than apart <i>from</i> nature. +The house seems as if it sprang up from the soil, +the lower half not yet above the ground. About +twenty-five or thirty yards from the house is the +study, which is pre-eminently the place of interest +to the visitor. On entering this cozy little den—I +found Mr. Burroughs reading Evolution and +Ethics, by Huxley, and upon remarking that I +noted what he was reading, his reply was that he +had thought of writing something along that line +and he wished to see what had already been said. +"Right at this time," he said, "my mind is +rather in a chaotic condition. I am not sure just +what I shall hit upon next. I cannot definitely +plan out my writing; but rather write when the +mood comes on. I feel that I want to write on a +particular subject and just get about it."</p> + +<p>When I expressed my appreciation of his great +service in the way of interpreting nature, and +reducing life from the conventional to the simple, +he remarked at once: "I have never run after false<span class="pagenum">[38]</span> +gods, but have always tried to get at the truth of +things, and let come of it what may. I do not +believe in hiding the truth. Whatever I have +accomplished in the way of writing, I attribute +to this fact." This led me to ask him about +"Real and Sham Natural History" (an essay +written by him that appeared in the March +Atlantic, 1903). He leant back in his chair and +after a wholesome laugh, "Yes, I found it +necessary to say something about the tendency +of men like Thompson and Long who were taking +advantage of their skill as writers and their +popularity, to fool the people with those nature +myths. If they had not advertised them as truth, +it would have been all right. But when I saw that +they persisted in teaching that the stories were +true to nature, I could not stand it any longer. +I just had to expose them! I could not rest till +I had told the people that such stories were +false!" Here Mr. Burroughs grew quite spirited, +and his very manner indicated his lack of patience +with those who make an effort to falsify nature. +"I do not think that Long will ever forgive me +for telling on him, but Seton Thompson is quite +different. He seems to be all right and has shown +me much courtesy at two or three dinners in New +York. His wife, however, seems to have been +hurt worse than Thompson himself. She is a +little shy of me yet. I trust however that she +will soon be all right. I have dined with them and +she treated me very nicely."<span class="pagenum">[39]</span></p> + +<p>"Are these the only two that were offended +by the article?" I asked. "What do you think +of Miss Blanchon?"</p> + +<p>"She is a very pleasing writer, and writes +rather for the younger readers. She is generally +reliable—never says a thing that she is not convinced +is true. I have been out with her and she +has a very keen eye. She reads nature well. I +think she is a genuine nature student."</p> + +<p>"I note that in the preface to your little volume +of poems, some one could forgive you everything +but your poetry. Who was so unkind to you?"</p> + +<p>After talking at length about the polemical +essay, it interested me very much to hear Mr. +Burroughs say that after all the article was probably +of passing importance only and had likely +served its purpose, so let it drop. He had seen +good evidence of the fruit it had borne.</p> + +<p>Already it had become evident that he was +worried about this false spirit among certain +unreliable writers, and soon he began to tell me +of his new article soon to appear in Outing (and +which did appear in the February number, 1907). +He had no patience with these Fake writers, and +did not see any reason for the editors to allow +themselves to be duped in such a manner. I +shall not forget the expression he used in portraying +his efforts to deal with such writers. "I just +'spank' them good for telling such lies. I have +no patience with such writers, who doubtless are<span class="pagenum">[40]</span> +trying to follow in the steps of Long, and I cannot +content myself to remain silent. If they did not +vow that such stories were actual observations, +I could forgive them. But here is where the +danger comes." At times he showed his impatience, +then he would tell one of these unbelievable +stories, and burst into wholesome laughter. +"Nothing but lies," he said. "A bigger lie was +never told."</p> + +<p>After I had been gone for an hour to walk +around the little West Shore station, I returned +to the "Study" and found Mr. Burroughs cutting +wood for his study fire. I said to him: "You still +enjoy cutting your wood, do you?" "Yes," he +says, "I find some daily exercise aside from my +walks, necessary in order for me to keep my +health. I feel better when I take my daily exercise."</p> + +<p>"What kind of wood is this you use?"</p> + +<p>"Beech."</p> + +<p>When we had taken the wood to the study, +the time had come for us to journey over the +mountains to Slabsides, and that was what I was +eager to do. For I was anxious to see the far-famed +cabin in the woods. As we followed the +beaten pathway up the rugged mountain side, +Mr. Burroughs appeared perfectly at ease, and +would tell of the famous visitors who had come +along the same path with him to Slabsides.</p> + +<p>Nothing pleased him more than to speak of his +<span class="pagenum">[41]</span>high appreciation of President Roosevelt, and of +the day the President and Mrs. Roosevelt spent +at Riverby and Slabsides.</p> + +<a id="I4"></a> +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/ill-005.jpg" width="600" height="403" alt="SLABSIDES, THE WOODLAND RETREAT OF JOHN BURROUGHS" /> +</div> + +<p class="caption">SLABSIDES, THE WOODLAND RETREAT OF JOHN BURROUGHS</p> + +<p>"They came right along this path with me +that warm August day in 1903. The President +was full of life, and would jump and sport along +the mountain path as a child would do. I am +very much impressed with him as a man."</p> + +<p>"Do you remember the incident that occurred +between you and the Chicago editor, where he +spoke of you going to the Park to teach the +President Natural History, in reply to which +you state that President Roosevelt knew more +western Natural History than four John Burroughs +rolled into one?" "Yes, and I believe he +does with reference to that big game in the west. +You see he lived out west a great deal and has a +very keen eye. Where did you see that?"</p> + +<p>"How did you enjoy your stay in the Park +with the President?"</p> + +<p>"Oh! I had a very pleasant time except I got +quite tired often and it was cold out there. The +ground was covered with snow all the time."</p> + +<p>Directly we were beyond the loftiest part of +the mountains in a roadway, and with all the +anticipation of an enthusiast, I said, "What +clearing is that in the distance? Is that Slabsides +on the right there? O, I shall never forget +this moment!"</p> + +<p>Mr. Burroughs answered in a very quiet way:<span class="pagenum">[42]</span> +"Yes, there is the little house called Slabsides, +which you have heard so much about, and the +clearing beyond is my famous celery farm."</p> + +<p>Now we were almost in front of Slabsides and +Mr. Burroughs cast his eyes to the ground and +saw by the roadside a small flower in which he +manifested much interest, and called my attention +to it. But my eyes were fixed on the very odd, +yet beautiful house, that we were about to enter. +The thought that here is a house that nature +lovers, literateurs, college boys and girls, business +men, working men, and all classes and conditions +of humanity had made pilgrimages to see, caused +my first sight of it to sink deeply into my heart. +The house was so well suited to its environment +that one might call it Nature's own. The bark +covered slabs out of which it was built, the rustic +looking doors, floors and steps, made me happier +than anything I had ever seen, except the man +who built it and called it home. The scattered +shelves on the rustic walls filled with all kinds of +books indicated what the house was built for. +The table on one side of the room, covered with +papers of every description, and letters, the little +ink-well and goose quill pen, all contributed to my +interest in the place. On the table lay a book +containing a list of the names of visitors to Slabsides, +in which I was asked to write my name. +By this time Mr. Burroughs had found a letter +from President Roosevelt which I read with considerable<span class="pagenum">[43]</span> +anxiety. It was full of sane and healthy +thoughts.</p> + +<p>Mr. Burroughs did not fail to express his high +regard for the President.</p> + +<p>The plain open fireplace and the cooking utensils +scattered in the room were all suggestive of +Mr. Burroughs' philosophy of life; plain living and +high thinking, or as Thoreau would have it, "Lessening +the Denominator."</p> + +<p>To my surprise, there was an upstairs to Slabsides, +and the great philosopher and poet, on taking +me up in the second story of his little house, +told me that he had entertained more than a half +dozen men and women, two or three days at a +time, at Slabsides.</p> + +<p>On returning to the sitting room, we rested for +a short while, during which time I asked him some +questions on the American poets. He was at +home in that field, and freely expressed himself. +I asked what he thought of Longfellow, and if he +had ever seen him. "No," said he, "I never +had but one opportunity of seeing him, and +thinking that I might have a better some day, +neglected that, but Longfellow died before another +opportunity presented itself. I think he was a +real poet, and I like him very much. He was +not elemental like Whitman, nor as serious as +Emerson, but wrote some fine verse."</p> + +<p>"Do you enjoy your stay over here at Slabsides?"<span class="pagenum">[44]</span></p> + +<p>"Yes! But not like I did a few years ago. +Nature appeals to me here as it does nowhere +else. I built this house in order to get further +away from the conventionalities of life, and to +get a first hand acquaintance with Nature. The +Hudson is such a highway for the yachts of millionaires +of New York and other cities, that I +wanted to withdraw into the wilderness, to get +back from the river, and live close to Nature's +heart, and I bought this little place. It has given +me a great deal of pleasure, and I have never had +cause to regret the investment."</p> + +<p>Around Slabsides have been built a number of +other summer houses, probably the most interesting +one of which is that of Ernest Ingersoll, +who is a warm friend of John Burroughs, and +who bought his land from the latter on which to +build.</p> + +<p>It was of much interest to me to hear the distinguished +Naturalist tell of his celery farm, and +the ancient lake bottom in which it is located. +To the south of the little farm is a spring which +we visited at his suggestion. For the spring is +one of the integral parts of Slabsides and the +celery farm. While standing at the spring, and +discussing the little farm generally, we heard +distinctly the whistle of a bird in upper air, which +he told me was that of a pine grosbeak come down +to spend the winter. I rejoiced to hear also the +sound of the goldfinch.<span class="pagenum">[45]</span></p> + +<p>When I was leaving Slabsides, I could not help +but turn back two or three times to get another +and yet another glimpse, for I had been helped +by my visit, my soul had been enriched, and I was +loath to wind around the mountain path, beyond +the eminence behind which I could no longer see +the never-to-be-forgotten little sylvan home. I +could not help but say to the naturalist that +Thoreau and Walden Pond had been on my mind +much of the hour.</p> + +<p>Before we reached the Den, I expressed my +appreciation of "Bird and Bough," and remarked +that the poems were quite musical and suggested +the power of natural objects to incite poetic +vision, and my belief that such poetry would have +a tendency to influence the poets of the future, to +sing more songs of nature. About this time we +entered the Den again, where John Burroughs +gave free expression to his feelings in reference to +his own poems. He would have it, that there was +more truth than poetry in them, that there was +some real good natural history in them.</p> + +<p>I referred to some of his critics and what they +had said about him, and could not help but feel +deeply impressed with his wholesome view about +the whole question of literature. "These things +do not worry me at all. I take the position that +any man's writings must live by merit alone, and +the bad will drop out and the good live on. Every +writer must be judged finally, by whatever of his +writings that stand the test of time."<span class="pagenum">[46]</span></p> + +<p>Just as I heard him make these remarks I arose +to bid the great philosopher good-bye, for it was +nearing train time and I had to return to New +York that evening.</p> + +<p>The day had been an epoch making day for me. +I had long loved the writings of John Burroughs, +and had had some correspondence with him, but +now for the first time, had my fondest hope +come true. His whole air is one of pleasantness +and when he speaks he says words of wisdom. +Frequently as I sit in my study, I live that day +over, and live in the hope of making many other +pilgrimages to Riverby and to Slabsides, and of +bringing away renewed inspiration from the poet-naturalist.</p> + +<p>His conclusions in natural history are reached +after careful study and the closest observation, +and are not to be controverted. I was much +impressed with his keenness of intellect and +frank confessions. He predicted the controversy +in the school of nature writers, which was so +noticeably before the public last year, 1907-1908, +and assured me of the necessity of calling a halt on +the Fake Natural History writers, whose stories +have duped so many of the Magazine editors. +Most of these Fake writers are masters of the +English language and to their credit be it said, +are able to make the stories sound well and catch +the public mind, and if they would only advertise +them as myths, they would be of great educational<span class="pagenum">[47]</span> +value to the public, but when such myths +are held to be actual occurrences in Nature, they +destroy the usefulness of such talent, and tend to +place editors at a discount. The new writers may +consider themselves in advance of the old school +naturalists, and more in keeping with the progressive +age in which they live, but give me the man +or the school that does not trifle with facts in all +his nature pictures. Give me the man or school +that sees wisely and turns the mirror up to +nature. This is what we have in White, Thoreau +and Burroughs.</p> + +<hr class="chapter" /> + +<span class="pagenum">[48]</span> + +<h2><a id="JOHN_BURROUGHS_IN_THE_SOUTH"></a>JOHN BURROUGHS IN THE SOUTH</h2> + +<h3>I</h3> + +<p>Shall I ever forget the morning that +John Burroughs, a basket in one hand and +hand bag in the other, walked up from +the train to my house?</p> + +<p>His eyes caught a glimpse of every bird on the +ground, in the trees and in the air above, and he +would rejoice saying: "I hear the thrasher somewhere!" +"There is a robin!" "How many +jays you have down here!" "There is a tree in +full bloom; it looks like one of the plums!" These +bits of natural history made him feel at home, +and as if he were among his neighbors. Every +flower seemed to be a revelation and an inspiration +to him, and his very love for them proved a great +inspiration to me. He noted with special emphasis +that our Spring in Georgia is at least a +month earlier than theirs in New York. The +weather was ideal while Mr. Burroughs was here, +and, as a result of this, he would often, while +walking in the late afternoon, speak of the saffron +sky and of the season it foretold.</p> + +<p>When urged to feel at ease, he would reply: +"I want to invite my soul; just walk around and +take things easy. I like to saunter around." +<span class="pagenum">[49]</span>It is remarkable to see how vitally all objects of +natural history affect him now, and he 72 years +of age. They seem to be a part of him. Go to +Nature with him and you will be especially impressed +with his remarkable keenness of perception, +and ability to read and enjoy the 'fine print +and foot notes.' He looks into the secrets of +Nature and interprets them. He goes to the +woods because he loves to go. When he returns +he tells, in his essays, just what he saw and felt. +In the evenings his conversations lead up to these +things, and the philosophy of natural history. +He will be found putting two and two together +to make four, and of course when he finds that +some other writer on these matters makes five +out of two and two, he knows it and is ready to +challenge it.</p> + +<a id="I5"></a> +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/ill-006.jpg" width="600" height="357" alt="BY A SOUTHERN WOODLAND BROOK, LISTENING TO THE CARDINAL GROSBEAK" /> +</div> + +<p class="caption">BY A SOUTHERN WOODLAND BROOK, LISTENING TO THE CARDINAL GROSBEAK</p> + +<p>Few men are so prominently before the +American world of letters at this time as John +Burroughs, and any incident in his life interests +a great many people. He has long been considered +the Dean of American Nature writers, and his +essays for the past few years have been drifting +toward human interests. Now he is working +out a complete system of philosophy about human +and animal life, and is at the same time, in a +certain sense, a check upon our present crop of +Nature writers. No time in the history of any +literature has the tendency been so strong to +exaggerate about every-day occurrences, as it is at<span class="pagenum">[50]</span> +this time among American Nature writers to tell +incredible stories about our remaining wild animals +and birds. It is this unwarranted tendency +that brings forth from Mr. Burroughs such +essays as "Real and Sham Natural History," or +"The Credible and Incredible in Nature." +Under normal conditions, he is a calm, peaceful +prophet of Nature, but try to perpetrate upon +the reading public such stories as I have suggested +above, and he buckles on his sword and goes forth +to set straight the crooked paths.</p> + +<p>The difference in the time of printing the books +is not greater than the difference in the nature of +the contents of <i>Wake Robin</i> (1867), and <i>Ways of +Nature</i> (1905). The former is the plain and +simple record of the observations of an enthusiastic +lover of Nature, while the latter goes into +animal psychology and natural philosophy, without +showing any loss of enthusiasm manifested in +the first.</p> + +<h3>II</h3> + +<p>His visit through the South during the Winter +and early Spring of 1908, is rather significant, +especially among his literary and Nature-lover +friends. It is another evidence of his determination +to understand Nature under all conditions, +and removes far from us the idea that he is a +local figure like Thoreau or White.<span class="pagenum">[51]</span></p> + +<p>When it was known that Mr. Burroughs intended +to spend part of the Spring of 1908, traveling +through the South and visiting in Florida, +nothing seemed more fitting than to have him +stop in Georgia. This he consented to do, and +was with us a week beginning March 4. As +soon as he consented to visit in Georgia, an effort +was made to have him meet "Uncle Remus," +and Mr. Harris was invited to call on Mr. Burroughs, +but on account of sickness that finally +got the better of Mr. Harris and caused his death, +July 3, also on account of business details during +the combining of The Home Magazine with +<i>Uncle Remus's Magazine</i>, the two men did not +meet. In expressing his regrets, "Uncle Remus" +wrote of his debt and relation to Mr. Burroughs +as follows:</p> + +<blockquote><p>There is not in the wide world a man whom +I would rather meet than John Burroughs. He +is the only man in the country who is living the +ideal life. I have just been re-reading his essay +on Walt Whitman, and I feel closer to him than +ever. There are some details of the deal with +the Western Magazine still to settle, and I am +sorry indeed, not to be able to accept your invitation. +I thank you for thinking of me. Give Mr. +Burroughs my love.</p> + +<p class="author">Faithfully yours,<br /> +<span class="smcap">Joel Chandler Harris</span>.</p> + +</blockquote><p><span class="pagenum">[52]</span></p> + +<p>Both of these men have lived the simple life, +and yet, "Uncle Remus" thought that "Oom +John," as Mr. Roosevelt calls Burroughs, was +the only man in the country living the ideal life. +One thing is evident, no man ever enjoyed life +more than Mr. Burroughs, and as per his own +statement, work has been the secret of his happiness. +"Oh, the blessedness of work," he says, +"of life-giving and life-sustaining work! The +busy man is the happy man; the idle man is the +unhappy. When you feel blue and empty and +disconsolate, and life seems hardly worth living, +go to work with your hands,—delve, hoe, chop, +saw, churn, thrash, anything to quicken the pulse +and dispel the fumes. The blue devils can be +hoed under in less than a half hour."</p> + +<p>This, he goes on to say, is his own experience, +and therefore he has always found something to +do. Not many days ago he wrote: "I have +recently got to work again and hope to keep at +it." And he will keep at it as long as life shall +last.</p> + +<p>Mr. Burroughs was born April 3, 1837, on a +small farm amid the Catskills at Roxbury, New +York, where he lived during the early years of his +life. The love of the farm still clings to him, and +you will frequently hear him say, "Anything that +savors of the farm is very pleasant to me, and +recalls my early years at Roxbury on the old +home farm." He belongs to that class of men<span class="pagenum">[53]</span> +who got an education by working most of the +time and going to school when there was little +work to do. In order to gain his way to the +academy, he had to earn his own money, as his +parents were poor and there were nine children in +the family. To earn the necessary money, he +taught school and with the money he thus earned, +went to Ashland Academy. Afterwards, he +closed his school days at Cooperstown in 1854, +where he studied one term. Upon leaving school, +the spirit of adventure seized him, and he went +to Illinois and spent some time teaching. But +because of the girl he loved, he soon returned to +New York, and married in 1857, while teaching in +a small town in the east central part of the state. +The two have enjoyed a wide acquaintance among +the literary characters of America for the last half +century. To them has been born one child, +Julian Burroughs, who is already known in the +literary world as a Nature writer.</p> + +<h3>III</h3> + +<p>Mr. Burroughs was teaching when his first essay +was accepted and printed in the Atlantic Monthly, +November, 1860. He continued teaching till +1863, when he went to Washington City to enlist +in the army, but finding many objections to such +a life, he entered the Treasury Department in +January, 1864. Here he served in various capacities,<span class="pagenum">[54]</span> +and finally became chief of the organization +division of the Comptroller of Currency. In +1873, he resigned to become receiver of a bank in +Middletown, N. Y. He was afterwards made +bank examiner in the Eastern part of New York +state, which position he held till 1885. Since +then he has relied on his writings and his fruit +farm for a living.</p> + +<p>He has always been an optimist, and at 72 +years of age is full of sunshine. In religious belief +he is perhaps, a fatalist. He is willing to bide his +time fearlessly, for his portion. His experience +is largely a home experience, though he has been +to England twice, to Alaska once, and to the +island of Jamaica, and for the past two years has +spent his winters in California and Hawaii. +These visits have each been the inspiration for +several essays. His literary work has always +been a labor of love, and with these few exceptions, +together with several short papers on men and +literature, his essays have been the outgrowth of +his contact with Nature up on the Hudson River +and around Washington City. His books number +18 volumes of essays and one volume of poems. +Since the recent school of Nature fakers has come +so prominently into public notice, his mind has +shown remarkable activity in his efforts to hold +Nature writers to the truth. Only a few years ago +he added some land over the mountain to his +estate, and in a beautiful rich valley, about a<span class="pagenum">[55]</span> +mile from Riverby, he has built with his own +hands, out of rough bark-covered slabs, his rustic +retreat called "Slabsides." For several years +he has spent part of his time in this primitive-looking +house, which he says was built because +he wished to get back to Nature. Many books +and periodicals are in this sylvan home, and its +owner has often spent days at a time there, communing +with Nature, and taking notes on the +return of Spring, the songs of new bird visitors, +and the ways of wood folks. Nothing has ever +made so deep an impression on the writer as the +sight of Mr. Burroughs in and around "Slabsides."</p> + +<p>No man of the century has put himself in an +attitude to get more out of life than Burroughs. +His peace of mind and satisfaction with life as he +finds it and makes it, are largely responsible for +his power as a writer. No man can read his sane, +wholesome truths about Nature, men, and literature, +without growing better and more satisfied +with life, and more resigned to the ways of the +Powers that be.</p> + +<p>Most of what follows is the result of conversations +in the evenings with Mr. Burroughs on +natural history, literature and people, the three +things about which he talks very freely when +you know him. The first evening he was with +us the discussion led to his recent essay, "The +Divine Soil," and he, with a soul full of this +interesting subject, went into the matter at<span class="pagenum">[56]</span> +length, giving his idea of Man and Nature, of the +possible age of the earth, and the gradual wearing +away of the continents. As well as I remember, +he said:</p> + +<p>"It will take only about 6,000,000 years—a +brief period in the history of creation—for all the +continents to wear away, at the present rate. In +trying to indicate what is meant by the long +periods of time that it has taken for Nature to +reach the present stage of development, one +author used this figure: That it had existed and +had been forming as long as it would take to +wear away the Alps Mountains by sweeping +across them with a thin veil once every thousand +years.</p> + +<p>"What progress man is making upon the earth! +At the present rate, he will soon be able to harness +the winds, the waves of the sea and even the tide +waters. He will store up electricity in batteries +to be used at his will. All these things will become +necessary when the population grows out +of proportion to our present resources. No +doubt man's progress will be as great in the future +as it has been in the past, and just what he will +be found doing when all the present supplies of +Nature are exhausted, no one can tell. One +thing becomes evident, he will learn to use much +of the energy that is now lost. Necessity will +soon become the mother of many inventions.</p> + +<p>"The largeness of the Universe has always +<span class="pagenum">[57]</span>been a subject of much thought for me. I like to +think that we are making our voyage on such a +large scale. The Heaven and Hell that we used +to hear so much about, are no longer considered +the one up and the other down. There is no up +nor down in Nature, except relative to our own +earth. The farthest visible star, so many million +times a million miles away, is only a short distance +in infinite space, from which we could doubtless +see as much further, and as many more worlds as +we now see from our old earth. I like Whitman +because his largeness puts one in tune with +Nature in the larger sense. No other poet with +which I am acquainted, gives one such large and +wholesome views about the world in which we +live."</p> + +<a id="I6"></a> +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/ill-007.jpg" width="400" height="663" alt="AT THE BARS IN FRONT OF THE OLD HOME BURIAL GROUNDS" /> +</div> + +<p class="caption">AT THE BARS IN FRONT OF THE OLD HOME BURIAL GROUNDS</p> + +<h3>IV</h3> + +<p>On the following evening, which was the evening +of March 5, Mr. Burroughs entered fully into +a discussion of Emerson, Thoreau and Whitman. +His conversation ran about as follows:</p> + +<p>"Thoreau was somewhat eccentric and did +not reach a large class of people like Emerson, +who always savored of youth, and stimulates all +who read him. Thoreau was original, however, +and his books breathe the breath of real things. +Whitman was larger than Thoreau, and encompassed +the whole world, instead of a little nook of<span class="pagenum">[58]</span> +the woods like Walden Pond. He used to breakfast +with us on Sunday mornings when we lived +in Washington, and he never reached our house on +time for meals. Mrs. Burroughs would fret and +worry and get hot while the breakfast would get +cold. One moment she would be at the door +looking down the street, another she would be +fanning with her apron, wishing that man would +come on. Presently, Walt could be seen, and he +would swing off the car, whistling as if a week was +before him in which to get to his breakfast. To +have him in our home was a great pleasure to us. +He always brought sunshine and a robust, vigorous +nature. Once Mrs. Burroughs had prepared +an extra good meal, and Walt seemed to enjoy it +more than usual. After eating most heartily he +smiled, saying: 'Mrs. Burroughs knows how to +appeal to the stomach as Mr. Burroughs does to +the mind.' I often saw him on the front of a +horse car riding up the streets of Washington. +Far down the street, before I could see his face, +his white beard and hair could be seen distinctly. +He usually rode with one foot upon the front +railing, and was with Peter Doyle, a popular +cab driver, oftener than he was with any one +else. Doyle was a large Irishman with much +native wit, and was a favorite of Whitman's.</p> + +<p>"The Atlantic is my favorite of American +periodicals, and I like to see my papers printed in +it. It seems always to hold to a very high<span class="pagenum">[59]</span> +standard of excellence. I remember well when +the magazine was launched in November of 1857. +I was teaching at the time, and having purchased +a copy, in the town in which I was teaching, I +returned home and remarked to Mrs. Burroughs +that I liked the new magazine very much and +thought it had come to stay. Somehow, the contents +made me feel assured of its success. I was +married in September before the magazine +appeared in November. My first essay was +printed in the Atlantic in November of 1860, +three years after it had been launched. I was +very proud, indeed, when I had received the +magazine and found my own work in print in it. +The essay was 'Expression' and was purely +Emersonian. Now I knew it would never do for +me to keep this up, if I hoped for great success. +This essay was so like Emerson, that it fooled +Lowell, the editor of the Atlantic, and Mr. Hill, +the Rhetorician, who quoted a line from it giving +Emerson as the author. (Here Mr. Burroughs +laughed.) You know, it was not customary to +sign names to articles written for periodicals in +those days. I was so much worried about this +Emersonian mask that I resolved to lay it off. +So I began to write of things that I knew about, +such as birds and flowers, the weather and all +out-door Nature. I soon found that I had hit +upon my feet, that I had found my own.</p> + +<p>"The title of my first book was 'Notes on<span class="pagenum">[60]</span> +Walt Whitman as Poet and Person,' and was +published in 1867. Later I wrote a book on +'Whitman: A Study.' Since I first turned attention +to Whitman, he has never released hold upon +me. I found a more wholesome air in his than in +any other poetry, and when I met him and learned +to love him, his attractive personality strengthened +my love for his writings. He is the one mountain +in our American Literary Landscape. There are +some beautiful hills.</p> + +<p>"I don't seem to be in a mood to write poetry. +One cannot write when he thinks to do so. He +must have a deep consciousness of his message, if +he would say something that will hold water. +Probably I shall find my muse again some day; +I don't know.</p> + +<p>"I have always been a lover of the farm. I am +a man of the soil. I enjoyed the smell of that +manure as we passed up the road today. It +recalled my early days when I used to put it out +on the farm. Anything that savors of the farm +and of farm life is pleasant to me. Nothing makes +me happier than my annual visits back to my old +home in the Catskills. When Mrs. Burroughs +and I decided to buy a home and move away from +Washington, I could not decide just where +would be best for us to settle, so we thought to get +near New York and at the same time as near the +old home as possible. We have enjoyed our life +at Riverby very much, and it is convenient in<span class="pagenum">[61]</span> +every way. We have a great many visitors, and +like to see them come.</p> + +<p>"At this time America has no great writer, but +many who use pretty English. They seem to +have no great message. Stedman wrote well, but +his essays always savored too much of the mid-night +oil. They read as if the best of his energy +had been spent in something else, and the tired +mid-night hours turned to literary work. They +are not fresh like Lowell's essays. I do not think +anything he wrote has lasting qualities, with the +possible exception of two or three poems. Aldrich +wrote sweet verse, but it is sweet in the +sense that a peach or a plum is sweet. It has no +fast colors. Trowbridge is one of our best +present-day writers, and much of his work will be +unknown to the next generation. He is a man of +attractive personality and exceptionally pleasing +manners. Mrs. Burroughs and I have, for a long +time, enjoyed his friendship. As for my own +writings, I sometimes wonder just how they have +affected people, and what my life has meant. I +have always hoped that some would be helped +by my books. A short time ago, I had a letter +from a preacher in the upper part of New York +state, who had just finished a book on 'The Gospel +of Christ,' and he asked me if I would write a +book on 'The Gospel of Nature.' After I received +the letter and began to think about the matter, I +was much perplexed as to whether there is a<span class="pagenum">[62]</span> +gospel of Nature. I have since then written +something along the line suggested, but I do not +know whether it will ever appear in print. It is +always interesting to have suggestions from any +one about what I should write. Writing is more a +product of the soul than of the will.</p> + +<p>"I once asked President Roosevelt what he +would do when he left the White House. He +replied quickly: 'Oh, I'll find plenty to do. Don't +worry about that.' And he will find plenty to +do. He is a man of intense activity, and will always +be happiest when he is busiest. I admit +that he takes large liberties as the executive of +the nation, but he is a natural leader and controller +of men. When he sets his head to do a thing, he +keeps digging away till it is done. He is full of +resources. I have just received a letter from +him consenting to be interviewed by my friend, +William Bayard Hale. Hale is a good man, and +will give a most reliable account of his visit to the +White House."</p> + +<p>John Burroughs, who is destined to be called +"the good gray naturalist," is a man who enters +freely into the life of those who admire him and +his writings. Recently it was my delight to read +and discuss one of his short poems, "The Return," +with Mrs. Burroughs, and I could not resist the +temptation to remark that Mr. Burroughs must +have been homesick for the old place when he +wrote it.<span class="pagenum">[63]</span></p> + +<p>The wife said: "Yes; you have no idea how +true that is! Mr. Burroughs often goes back to +his old home at Roxbury, up in the Catskills, and +walks over the farm and through the woods +where he used to go when he was a boy, and he +always tells me how sad it makes him feel. I +sometimes think that he would like to live his +life over, he has so many fond memories and +pleasant recollections of his early life."</p> + +<p class="h3"><span class="smcap">The Return</span></p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He sought the old scenes with eager feet,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The scenes he had known as a boy,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Oh, for a draught of those fountains sweet,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And a taste of that vanished joy!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He roamed the fields, he wooed the streams,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">His schoolboy paths essayed to trace;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The orchard ways recalled his dreams,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The hills were like his mother's face.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">O sad, sad hills! O cold, cold hearth!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In sorrow he learned this truth—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One may return to the place of his birth,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">He cannot go back to his youth.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<hr class="chapter" /> + +<span class="pagenum">[64]</span> + +<h2><a id="RAMBLES_AROUND_ROXBURY"></a>RAMBLES AROUND ROXBURY</h2> + +<h3>I</h3> + +<p>To one who is interested in the most +beautiful things in nature a day trip up +the Hudson by boat in mid-summer is +a real treat. Here you get a general +idea of the palisades and are far more impressed +with their beauty and significance than is possible +when taking a hurried trip by rail. You are +constantly shifting the scenes from hill to hill, +from mountain to mountain and from outline to +outline, each scene characterized by its particular +fascinating beauty, till you reach the climax as +you approach the Highlands. Here you get the +best the Hudson has to offer, and you almost feel +suddenly lifted above yourself as you approach +these round mountain peaks clad in dark and +light green, and reflected almost as perfectly in +the calm gentle flowing river.</p> + +<p>An additional charm is added to the trip as +you approach West Park, a small station on the +West Shore Railroad, about five miles above +Poughkeepsie, the home of John Burroughs, the +great literary naturalist, the interpreter of Nature, +the delightful man of many parts. From the +<span class="pagenum">[65]</span>boat you can see Riverby, his stone house, and the +small bark covered study near by. Perhaps if he +were here, we could see him in the little summer +house overlooking the river, taking his mid-day +rest. But he is back at the old home farm in the +western Catskills, at Roxbury, enjoying again the +scenes of his boyhood, or better, as he himself puts +it, "drinking from the fountains of his youth." +From time to time, he goes back to his native +heath and rambles over his favorite boyhood +haunts, and climbs the hills and stone walls he +used to climb. He was born in a farm house in +one of the valleys just above the little town of +Roxbury, to the northwest, on one of the best +farms in that part of the state of New York, and +the homing instinct appeals to him no more than +the desire to get back to the farm he helped +develop, and to enjoy the free open air of the hills +and mountains.</p> + +<a id="I7"></a> +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/ill-008.jpg" width="400" height="680" alt="EATING RASPBERRIES ON THE SITE OF HIS GRANDFATHER'S +HOUSE, LONG SINCE TORN AWAY" /> +</div> + +<p class="caption">EATING RASPBERRIES ON THE SITE OF HIS GRANDFATHER'S HOUSE, LONG SINCE TORN AWAY</p> + +<p>"Well, you did come didn't you," are the first +words he spoke as I stepped off the afternoon +train from Kingston Point. Yes, he was there +and what a warm and welcome hand-shaking he +gave me! Soon plans were perfected for our +journey up the hill from the railway station to +Woodchuck Lodge, a farm house where Mr. +Burroughs keeps house of late years while he +visits his old home. This house is on the south +and west edge of his brother's farm, in the direction +of the station, and is a comfortable place for his<span class="pagenum">[66]</span> +summer work. He thinks that he will fit it up and +spend part of every summer in it as long as he +lives. John Burroughs had been tramping all +day with some friends, and but for his vigor of +manhood, would have been too tired to meet the +train that afternoon, but one of the party said he +was right in for meeting the train, and never +thought of yielding the task to another. When +he gets back among his native hills he is no longer +aged, despite his gray hairs, nor does he credit his +own lines, "One may go back to the place of his +birth, He cannot go back to his youth." Here he +is back to his youth and it is not to be denied. +He is as optimistic as any young man ever was.</p> + +<p>With all his optimism, however, there are many +sad hints mingled. Before we had reached Woodchuck +Lodge, he pointed many scenes of his +childhood, and said in a little undertone: "These +are the scenes upon which my eyes first opened, +and I sometimes think I would not mind if they +closed for the last time upon them. I would not +mind if I come to the end of my journey right here +among these hills." As we went slowly up the +hillside, he began pointing out the many places of +interest about the town, among which was the +Roxbury Academy, a large two-story frame building, +that he longed to attend as a young man but +never did. The academy looked about as it did +sixty years ago, and was conducted practically +along the same lines. Many modern ideas and<span class="pagenum">[67]</span> +methods had crept into the curriculum, but the +tendency was to stick to the traditions of the +past. "This little brook here used to be a +famous trout stream when I was a boy. Many +are the times I have fished up and down it when +a bare-foot boy, and have caught some fine fish in +it too. They are all about gone now, so many +people have moved in and taken the timber from +the valley of the brook, and have fished it out. +We shall go up by the edge of that pond and +follow the trail around the upper end of it, instead +of going around the roadway. In this way we +can make our walk some shorter." His mind +wandered from one thing to another as he led the +way up the hill. Now he would be pointing out +some interesting flower or plant, now some bird +or nest, and in it all he found joy and, as truly, +shared it with me.</p> + +<p>The small artificial pond we were passing was +stocked with fish, and I was told by the keeper +had a half million trout in it. Pointing back +toward the town Mr. Burroughs said: "Over there +is the famous Gould Memorial Church, built by +Helen Gould, and just to the left of the church you +will see the Gould home, in front of which is a +beautiful park." As we approached the upper +end of the pond he saw a gopher run up +a tree and disappear in a hollow, a sight +he had never witnessed before, and he +remarked with some pride: "One never gets too<span class="pagenum">[68]</span> +old to learn. I thought I knew the gopher pretty +well, but this is the first time I ever saw one +hide himself in a tree after that manner." +About this time a hyla sounded his familiar note +in a small tree just across the brook, and Mr. +Burroughs hastened to that part of the bog and +lingered about this tree till we heard a vesper +sparrow singing his evening hymn on the stone +wall just beyond the bog. "I never tire of such +music as that. The vesper sparrow sings for me +many months in the year and has been doing so +as long as ever I can remember, but its music is +as fresh and sweet today as it was the first time I +ever heard it. There is something strange about +the constancy of nature and the inroads she +makes upon one's mind and soul." It would +hardly be a mistake to say that the appeal which +nature makes to John Burroughs has kept before +him all these years high ideals and a great purpose, +and has been responsible for his success as a +writer. He has been constant in his love for and +devotion to nature, but has had to wait (and he +has done it patiently) for the great welcome the +world is now giving him. His circle of admirers +was very much restricted for many years during +the beginnings of his literary career, but he kept +before him the lessons of nature, and never lacked +for enthusiasm to reflect truth when the appeal +came.</p> + +<p>The afternoon was beautiful. As we approached<span class="pagenum">[69]</span> +Woodchuck Lodge the shadows were +growing long and dim, and the sky was beginning +to turn saffron, but there was some signs of discontentment +in the weather, which did not fail to +bring fruit before morning, for there was a strong +wind from the east before mid-night, which brought +clouds with a little sprinkling of rain and a considerable +drop in temperature before morning. +The walk had ended and we were tired, but how +refreshing was the shredded wheat and fresh +sweet milk, the home-made loaves, the maple +cookies (Mr. Burroughs' boyhood favorites) and +the beautiful white honey. This repast was fit for +a king, and served in this simple manner, tasted +better than it would have on any king's table. +Whatever else he was doing, once in awhile I +could hear him sigh: "I get so home sick for these +dear old scenes of my early days! I cannot stay +away from them long at a time! I come back +every year and spend some time following up the +paths I helped to make around the old home +place! Mrs. B. used to come with me, but she +doesn't enjoy it now like she did years ago. It +is the best of tonics for me."</p> + +<p>After the evening meal, Mr. Burroughs took me +over to the old Burroughs' home, where his brother +now lives, and who could have experienced greater +pleasure than I, when it was announced that I was +to occupy Uncle John's room for the time of my +stay! To think that I should look out from the<span class="pagenum">[70]</span> +windows that he looked from, and would see the +scenes that inspired him so much during the +formative period of his life, was all joy to me. +To know the interesting family of his brother, and +to sleep under the roof that had for so many years, +brought happiness to the man whom I had gone +far to see, these were experiences that add much +to one's resources of life. Here in this beautiful +valley among the hills of the western Catskills, +nestled the village in which grew the boy who +now, at seventy three years young, brings people +from all parts of the world to his door. A man +who has put man and Nature on good terms and +brought happiness to thousands of homes. No +wonder he sighs for the hills and for the home of +his youth! They gave him his first love for +Nature.</p> + +<p>His interest in the affairs of the farm was keen. +He would ask his nephew: "How is your crop of +oats turning out? Aren't you afraid to leave the +shocks in the field too long? I should think they +would begin to rot. When are you going to cut +the field up by the road?" Nothing of interest +about the farm escaped his attention, and though +his interest was altogether a personal interest, +you would think he was getting half the revenue +of the crop.<span class="pagenum">[71]</span></p> + +<h3>II</h3> + +<p>Before going to the woods and mountains the +next morning, Mr. Burroughs showed me a copy +of the Atlantic Monthly containing his essay, +"Expression," published in November, 1860, and +asked if I cared to read the essay. I found it +interesting and as perfect a piece of work as +John Burroughs ever did. It begins: "The law of +expression is the law of degrees,—much, more, +most.... There is no waste material in a +good proverb; it is clear meat like an egg,—a +happy result of logic, with the logic left out, and +the writer who shall thus condense his wisdom, +and as far as possible give the two poles of thought +in every expression, will most thoroughly reach +men's minds and hearts." Thus ends the first +paragraph of the essay, and it continues to abound +in Transcendentalism to the end. The following +is the last and much quoted paragraph: "Johnson's +periods act like a lever of the third kind, the power +always exceeds the weight raised." It is filled +with proverbs and brilliant thought. Perhaps it +is Emersonian, but certainly it is different from +anything Emerson ever did. It is so entirely +different from anything else Burroughs did that +one can hardly feel while reading it that he is +following after the author of "Wake Robin," or +"Winter Sunshine." It is so well done, however, +that one cannot help but feel that if he had given<span class="pagenum">[72]</span> +himself over to that form of literature, he would +have rivaled Emerson, or any other writer, in that +field of expression.</p> + +<p>Wake Robin, though keyed in a much lower +tone than the essay, is as fresh as the morning +dew, and sparkles as much, and we cannot help +but feel that Mr. Burroughs did the proper thing +when he came down from his high perch of Transcendentalism.</p> + +<p>After breakfast was over, and the chores were +done, we prepared for the morning tramp in the +hills. Our itinerary, which had already been +mapped out by Mr. Burroughs, lead down the +road by the old home farm and up the lane beyond +to the south and east. In the corner of a meadow, +to the right of the road beyond the Burroughs' +house, is an old family grave yard, and when we +reached this, Mr. Burroughs stopped and gave a +little history of the farm and of several of the +people who had been planted there in the city of +the dead. "Ezra Bartram owned this farm before +father, and sold it to father. Bartram built the +house in which I was born. When I was a young +boy father built the house you see down there now. +Edna Bartram, the grand-daughter of Ezra, was +my first sweetheart and I recall now just how she +looked." We entered the old grave yard from +the bars in the stone fence, and Mr. Burroughs +had much pleasure reading the names and telling +of the people who were buried there. When he +<span class="pagenum">[73]</span>came to the name of Jeremiah Dart, he recalled +that he had three sons, Dave, Abe and Rube, and +that Rube once worked for his father. The +Scudders were teachers and preachers. The +Corbins were successful farmers and respectable +people. "Deacon Jonathan Scudder had a farm +joining father's farm on the southwest, and well +do I remember how straight he was. The Deacon +built that fence over there beyond our farm, and +I can see him now as straight as a rod, picking up +stones in that pasture. He never bent except at +the hips. How he ever built that wall is a puzzle. +But he was forever going through the pasture +picking up stones and putting them on the fence +one by one. He was thrifty and always had +things done right about him." Mr. Burroughs +went on across the grave yard and came to a +name that interested him a great deal. "Nath +Chase was the first to introduce top-knot chickens +in our community, and O how I wanted some of +those chickens!"</p> + +<a id="I8"></a> +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/ill-009.jpg" width="400" height="618" alt="RESTING UNDERNEATH A CATSKILL LEDGE WHERE HE HAS +OFTEN BEEN PROTECTED FROM THE RAIN IN SUMMER" /> +</div> + +<p class="caption">RESTING UNDERNEATH A CATSKILL LEDGE WHERE HE HAS OFTEN BEEN PROTECTED FROM THE RAIN IN SUMMER</p> + +<p>From this grave yard we went over the hill to +the east, following the public road, till we came +to a large patch of raspberries on the left of the +road, which were growing in a hole surrounded by +heaps of stone and brickbats. Mr. Burroughs +did not tell me why his fancy led him there, but I +knew when he told me that his father was born +there, and that it was his grandfather's place. +He was loath to leave here, but sat down on one<span class="pagenum">[74]</span> +of the old timbers in the centre of the place where +the house stood and ate raspberries for some +time. "How delicious these berries are! Far +better it seems to me than any cultivated berries +that ever grew." Having said this, he gave me a +handful that I might try those he himself was +gathering. From this place we went to the site +of his grandfather's barn, where Mr. Burroughs +discovered a few years ago his father's initials cut +in a slab of stone. "These letters, 'C. A. B.' +stand for Chauncey A. Burroughs, my father, +born in 1803, who must have cut them here +many, many years ago. I was very glad to +make the discovery."</p> + +<p>Just as we began our journey toward the +nearby woods, he pointed out to me the little +red school on the edge of the opposite hillside, +where he got most of his education. "That +school and the grounds about it, are about as +they were when I was in school there over sixty +years ago. The house was painted red then as it +is now, and on some of the old seats I can see where +some of my schoolmates cut their names." The +call of a sharp shinned hawk attracted our attention +from the school house, to the woods. Now we +halted for several moments in the lower edge of +the meadow. Mr. Burroughs thought they must +have found some prey and that we might see what +it was if we kept still and quiet. But the hawks +went across the valley in the direction of the<span class="pagenum">[75]</span> +school house and we never saw what was the +cause of the disturbance.</p> + +<p>Going south from here, we came to some +beautiful woods, at the bottom of which flowed a +clear cool brook. At the upper edge of the hill +was an outcrop of stratified rock. This was of +the greatest interest to the naturalist, who, just +back from the petrified forests of Arizona and the +Yosemite valley, where he had enjoyed the companionship +of John Muir, was chuck full of Geology +and the Geological history of the earth. "You can +see the effects of water in this perfect stratification +here," he would say, as he pointed out the leaves +of stone so perfectly marked there in the hillside. +"If we could just roll back the pages of history a +few millions of years, we could read some interesting +and wonderful stories of the formation of +Mother Earth's crust. Just look at the wave +marks of the sea along the edges of the hill! How +I wonder if old Triton did not have a great task +allaying the waves that folded these pages! O +what a small part man plays in the history of the +earth! The creature of the hour and a mere speck +on the face of nature." There is a sadness and +sweetness in the associations with a man like this, +and I could not help but think of Wordsworth's +little poem as I listened to John Burroughs tell +about his idea of the earth in its relation to man, +and of how little man studies Mother Earth.<span class="pagenum">[76]</span></p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"The world is too much with us; late and soon,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Little we see in Nature that is ours;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This sea that bears her bosom to the moon;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The winds that will be howling at all hours,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And are upgathered now like sleeping flowers;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For this, for everything, we are out of tune;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It moves us not.—Great God! I'd rather be<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A pagan suckled in a creed outworn;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So might I, standing on this pleasant lea,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or hear old Triton blow his wreathèd horn."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>There is kept before your mind the unquestionable +seriousness of the influences of cosmic forces; +the effects of an intimate relationship with Nature. +Burroughs always sees the better and larger side +of things. You never hear any of the nature +prattle so common among the less serious students.</p> + +<p>At this moment the red-eyed vireo burst in +full song only a few feet from us and a Rubenstein +would not have commanded our attention quicker. +"The little fellow is doing almost the work +of two," said the naturalist, so fluent was the song. +He came within close range and softened down +into a low mellow song, whereupon Mr. Burroughs +remarked: "His audience is not quite as large as +he first thought, so he is tuning his harp down<span class="pagenum">[77]</span> +accordingly." Here we came into the settlement +roadway and returned to the Lodge for +dinner.</p> + +<h3>III</h3> + +<p>In the afternoon, we set out early from Woodchuck +Lodge for a long tramp through the pasture +south of the Burroughs farm and in the direction +of the Nath Chase farm. Back through the woods +between the Lodge and the old farm, were scattered +apple trees, which had some apples on them. +Mr. Burroughs told something of the history of +some of these apple trees, that they had been +grafted many years ago by his father, and that +others had been planted by the cattle as they +followed the pathway through this pasture. +There were signs that the gray squirrels had +been eating the apples. We saw several piles of +chips and a few apple seeds scattered on the wall +fence, which the squirrels had chosen for a festal +hall. On this wall, the naturalist would lean and +look off over the hills toward the town of Roxbury, +and tell of the neighbors who had settled this field +and that. His mind sometimes seemed to be on,</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i6">"Far-off things,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And battles long ago."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Suddenly he looked around and said: "It's sweet +to muse over one's early years and first experiences.<span class="pagenum">[78]</span> +I was just thinking of the many times I +had gone through these woods. But O, how I +dislike to see these trees cut down for wood, +when so many are already down and rotting. +This patch of woods extended to the bottom of +the hillside, when I was a boy, and I think it was +much prettier then than it is now." A very +interesting piece of natural history pointed out to +me beyond this pasture, was the tendency of +birch to trace its roots over large areas of stone +almost barren of soil. It has a preference for +rocky places. The root of this tree will sometimes +trace a small crevice in the stone twenty or thirty +feet and does not seem to reach into any soil +throughout its whole length.</p> + +<p>At the edge of the flat grass covered hill beyond +the pasture, was a perpendicular wall of several +feet in height,—the outcrop of the same stratification +of stone we had observed during the earlier +part of the day. A number of birch roots had +reached all the way down to the bottom of this +ledge and fastened themselves in the soil below. +Several phoebe nests had been built on the +shelves of rock along under the ledge, which the +naturalist pointed out to me. Under one ledge +that extended over at least twelve feet, was a +phoebe's nest that Mr. Burroughs thought had +been there for more than a quarter of a century. +On the table of rock beneath the nest was a pile of +waste ten or twelve inches in height, and there<span class="pagenum">[79]</span> +was enough material in the nest itself to build +more than a dozen phoebe's nests. The place +was so inaccessible to other animals, that the +birds took advantage of this, and doubtless made +of it hereditary property, handing it down from +generation to generation since its discovery.</p> + +<p>Passing on down through the Scudder pasture +toward the lower woods, to the south, we met a +lad herding cattle for the night, and after a few +words with him, we turned to the left and went +up the side of a steep hill through a deep hemlock +forest. This was a pretty hard climb, and I kept +looking for Mr. Burroughs to stop and blow a +little, but not a bit of it. He took the lead and +kept up the climb without even a hint of exhaustion. +In fact, I had begun to wish that he would +stop and rest for a moment, when pointing up to +a white wall of stone he said, "There is the Old +Gray Ledge. It looks like a white house from +here. This is one of the most beautiful places +you will find in this part of the Catskill mountains, +and O, the times I have come here for rest and +study!" There is a rough broken surface of +rock wall at least seventy-five feet high, all +covered with moss and lichens, and almost as +gray as whitewash on a stone house. In the +hemlocks toward the valley from here, are hundreds +of fine timber trees, and we could hear among +them nut-hatches, chickadees and titmice. We +spent almost an hour about this beautiful place,<span class="pagenum">[80]</span> +discussing in a friendly way, neighbors and people, +great and small. Our next task was to get to the +top of the Old Gray Ledge, which we did by going +a little distance south and picking the place that +showed the least resistance. The woods on the +top of the Ledge were level and consisted of much +shrubbery and some large hardwood trees and a +few hemlocks and pines. We soon came out of +the woods to the west and entered a pasture on +the Nath Chase farm, from which we could see +across the beautiful valley to the south and many +mountain peaks, among which were a few that +Mr. Burroughs said he could see from the top of a +mountain by Slabsides, down at West Park. +This was the connecting link between the old and +the new home.</p> + +<p>Turning around, we could see to the north +across the valley, in which was the Burroughs +farm and the Old Clump beyond. There was a +swift breeze from the northeast and the air was +quite cool for the early part of August. But +after our climb up The Old Gray Ledge, it was +quite wholesome and renewed our strength. The +pure swift mountain breeze fitted well with my own +feelings, for I had begun to feel the effects of a +steady pull up the hill and needed oxygen and +ozone. But best of all, I had enjoyed the day +with the man who brought the pleasures of the +woods and the mountains to me, and I felt that I +had been blest. I had felt the sympathies and +<span class="pagenum">[81]</span>love of a strong poetic pulse. I had a glimpse of +something that,</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">"Made the wild blood start<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In its mystic springs,"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>and I wondered if we have any greater heights to +look forward to! I wondered if we should ever +find in the trackless paths of eternity a joy that +would eclipse this! I thought I had learned +"that a good man's life is the fruit of the same +balance and proportion as that which makes the +fields green and the corn ripen. It is not by some +fortuitous circumstances, the especial favor of +some god, but by living in harmony with immutable +laws through which the organic world has +evolved, that he is what he is." We reached the +Lodge just as the sun was going down, and soon +the evening meal was over. I went back across +the hill to the old home for the night, and as I +passed down the road way, I called to mind many +things that had interested me during the day. +After I had retired for the night and sleep had +been induced, the joys, the pleasures, the happiness +of the day, haunted me in my dreams, and I +knew that I had 'staid my haste and made delays, +and what was mine had known my face.'</p> + +<a id="I9"></a> +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/ill-010.jpg" width="400" height="593" alt="A CATSKILL MOUNTAIN SIDE WHERE THE PHŒBE BUILDS" /> +</div> + +<p class="caption">A CATSKILL MOUNTAIN SIDE WHERE THE PHŒBE BUILDS</p> + +<hr class="chapter" /> + +<span class="pagenum">[82]</span> + +<h2><a id="THE_OLD_CLUMP"></a>THE OLD CLUMP</h2> + +<p>It is Sunday morning, and the mists are +beginning to roll away and the summer sun +of August just beginning to smile once more +upon a world of beauty and of love, after +the ugly days during the latter part of the week. +The cattle are lowing to the north and to the +south, and the shadows of the clouds are floating +o'er the meadows less swiftly. The mountain +peaks are clearing up after their cloud-baths. +When I reached the Lodge in the early morning, +I found John Burroughs preparing breakfast, and +I brought the water and the wood and stirred +the malted wheat while he prepared some other +foods.</p> + +<p>After the meal was over, I read the papers and +walked around in neighboring meadows, while +Mr. Burroughs went down to the home farm for a +pail of milk. The flickers were playing in the +corner of the pasture to the south, and the goldfinches +seemed to be feeding their young in the +large apple trees across the road, but I never +found a nest. To the west I saw an indigo bird +flitting about some shrubbery by the stone fence, +which attracted me that way. I thought perhaps +something had disturbed the birds' nest, but I<span class="pagenum">[83]</span> +looked in vain for some vindication of my suspicion.</p> + +<p>By this time, Mr. Burroughs had returned and +all were ready to begin our climb to the summit +of the Old Clump, the mountain most beloved +of all by the naturalist, and the one about which +he speaks oftenest. His father's farm extends +far up the southeast side of this mountain and, +of course, he played on and about it when he was +a young boy. The face of this mountain doubtless +made inroads on his character, and stimulated +him to a love of nature. For on the summit of it, +he sits or rolls and dreams of former—and he +almost thinks better—days.</p> + +<p>Here on the summit of this mountain is where +Mr. Burroughs wrote, "Mid-summer in the Catskills," +August, 1905, which is possibly the best +poem he ever wrote, with the exception "Waiting." +Just as we had left the Lodge, we came to a tree +under which was a large boulder. The naturalist +mounted this boulder and sat for a moment +sighing: "How many times, I have played upon +this rock when I was a boy. I remember mother +used to look this way when she did not find us +about the house." Below this boulder, two of +the small boys in the party found a vesper sparrow's +nest, in which we all became interested, but +in order to get back to dinner we must be away +and up the mountain. To go straight up the side +of the Clump would have been a hard climb, so<span class="pagenum">[84]</span> +we went angling across toward the east, and after +passing the boys' sleeping place in the trees, we +turned back to the north and west, following the +old pathway that leads from the Burroughs farm +to the mountain top. Not far had we followed +this path before we came to a spring flowing with +cool, clear water, and nestled in the side of the +mountain. Here we all quenched our thirst, +Mr. Burroughs taking the lead. "Many times +have I quenched my thirst here at this spring," +he said. "The Naiads have welcomed me here +for more than sixty years, and still they guard +this sacred fountain for me. Narcissus meets me +here every summer with refreshing beauty after +my hard pull up the mountain. I still join the +great god Pan in making love to the wood nymphs +hereabouts. O, there are so many ways of getting +happiness in these places." Imagine how delightful +it was to hear the voice of John Burroughs as +he told these stories of his love for these his native +scenes! There was every indication that he was +experiencing much happiness as he recalled his first +walks up the mountain and of his first sight of that +spring.</p> + +<p>The mountain woods were beautifully decked +with flowers everywhere, the <i>antenaria</i> perhaps +taking the lead so far as numbers go. This was +particularly plentiful about the top of the mountain. +Soon we were on the highest peak from +which we could see the many neighboring peaks<span class="pagenum">[85]</span> +in all directions, and the blue folds of the ridges, +layer upon layer for many miles to the south and +east. What a fine view-point! The exhilaration +of the mountain air, how much it means after a +long hard climb! Down in the valley are markings +of the farms with the long straight stone +fences, so delicate and so finely drawn! The +panoramic view of the valleys present the colorings +and fine markings of maps on the pages of a +book, but much more beautiful, and in these parts +more perfect. The liquid depths of air and long +vistas are a feast to the eyes.</p> + +<p>I was anxious to know where Mr. Burroughs +was nestled on this lofty peak when he wrote the +poem of which mention has been made, and asked +him to point out the place when we reached it. +"It is over near the northeast edge of the summit, +and we shall soon be there." As we pushed our +way between two large boulders where, Mr. +Burroughs told us it had long been the custom for +young men to kiss their girls as they helped them +through there, and of the many he, himself, had +kissed there, we came to a large open grassy spot. +Here the naturalist sat down and rolled over in +the grass, indicating that he had at last reached +home. About twenty paces off toward the eastern +edge of the mountain top, was a large flat rock, +almost as level as a table top, just beneath which +was a fine growth of large trees, the tops of which +were a little above the table of stone. "Here," he<span class="pagenum">[86]</span> +said, "is where I began writing 'Midsummer in +the Catskills'."</p> + +<p>The poem begins as follows:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"The strident hum of sickle bar,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like giant insect heard afar,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Is on the air again;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I see the mower where he rides<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Above the level grassy tides<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That flood the meadow plain."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>"I remember," he says, "on that day I saw, in +the field toward the Betsy Bouton place, the +cradlers walking through the fields of grain, and +it made a deep impression on me."</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"The cradlers twain with right good will,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Leave golden lines across the hill,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Beneath the mid-day sun.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The cattle dream 'neath leafy tent<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or chew the cud of sweet content<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Knee-deep in pond or run."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>We could see the cattle in the nether pasture +on the old Burroughs' home place, and my mind +was full of the above lines which I had committed +to memory when they were first printed.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"The dome of day o'erbrims with sound<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From humming wings on errands bound<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Above the sleeping fields."<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[87]</span></div></div> + +<p>What a picture of bees in the upper air freighting +honey from field to hive and storing it away +for the winter supply! The two following stanzas +perhaps interpret the beauty of the situation +better than any other part of the poem:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Poisèd and full is summer's tide<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Brimming all the horizon wide,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In varied verdure dressed;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Its viewless currents surge and beat<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In airy billows at my feet<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Here on the mountain crest.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Through pearly depths I see the farms,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where sweating forms and bronzèd arms<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Reap in the land's increase;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In ripe repose the forests stand<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And veilèd heights on every hand<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Swim in a sea of peace."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>The truth of these lines lay out before us. +There lay the grain in the fields where the +cradlers had reaped in the land's increase. There +stood the veiled heights on every side which John +Burroughs named beginning on the right: Table +mountain, Slide mountain, Double Top mountain +and Graham. From the front of Woodchuck +Lodge he had already named for us Bald Mountain, +Hack's Flats, Schutle's and the one we were +now on. Truly they were all veiled heights<span class="pagenum">[88]</span> +as we viewed them from the summit of the Old +Clump.</p> + +<p>As I loitered about among the boulders on the +mountain I became much interested in the names +cut in the large boulders of people who had lived +in the Burroughs community, and seeing that +Mr. Burroughs himself was also interested in +them, I began to ask him about them, and I +copied many of them in my note book. Nothing +pleased the Naturalist better than to tell of the +people who used to be his neighbors, and I think +he remembered them all. As we looked out +again across the valley, his eyes got a glimpse of +the old Betsy Bouton place, and he recalled that +she was a widow who had one daughter and two +sons. "These were the laziest human beings I +ever saw,—these boys. They would sit up by +the fire and mumble, while the mother brought in +the wood and the water, and cooked the meals, and +the daughter would do the milking. Nothing +could the mother get out of them, but to sit around +the open fire and grumble at their hard lot, and +that they had so much to do. She used to have a +hard time getting them up and ready for school."</p> + +<p>From here we could see the vicinity of the +little red school house where John Burroughs had +gone to school sixty years before, and he told of +his experience with Jay Gould. Jay paid him +for writing an essay, and he paid Jay eighty cents +for a grammar and an algebra. "These were my +<span class="pagenum">[89]</span>first grammar and algebra, and I paid for them +with the money I had earned selling sugar from +my individual boiling pan in the sugar bush. I +shall tell you about it and show you where I +boiled the sugar, as we go down that way."</p> + +<a id="IA"></a> +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/ill-011.jpg" width="400" height="668" alt="UNDER THE OLD GRAY LEDGE" /> +</div> + +<p class="caption">UNDER THE OLD GRAY LEDGE</p> + +<p>He enjoyed telling of one certain student—a +schoolmate of his who had long curly hair. "His +hair was as curly as you ever saw and turned +under at the bottom. O, how I longed to have my +hair look like his did! I thought it was the +prettiest hair I ever saw grow."</p> + +<p>Our descent from the mountain top was easy. +We followed the path to the right coming down, +and the decline was a little more gradual. The +upper Burroughs pasture extended almost half-way +up the mountain side. It was separated from +the lower pasture by a stone wall. I never saw +so many stones and small boulders in one place as +I saw in this lower pasture. The ground was +almost covered. There was certainly a much +larger crop of these than of grass. Here I thought +Deucalion and Pyrrha must have failed to convert +stones into people, but continued throwing, even +to the tiring of Jupiter's patience. Rolling them +down the long steep hill afforded some fine sport +for us. Mr. Burroughs told of a very interesting +incident in his early life. "I remember," he said, +"when I was a young chap I used to roll stones +down this hill very often. One day I got a large, +round boulder high up the mountain side and turned<span class="pagenum">[90]</span> +it loose with a good push. Those bars down +there had just been finished by father and had +cost him considerable work and worry. The stone +was heavy and was almost a disc, and had gathered +considerable momentum as it neared the base of +the hill, and ran directly into the bars and literally +knocked them to pieces. Perhaps I could not +have remembered the incident so well if this had +been all, but as a further reminder, father gave me +a pretty severe lashing. I remember how out of +patience he was at my carelessness."</p> + +<p>Passing through these bars we went through +the sugar maple bush, that had longer than he +could remember, supplied the family with syrup +and sugar. The old vat and the furnace were +there and the shell of a house to ward off the cold +winds of April,</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"While smoking Dick doth boil the sap."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>I was thinking of <i>Spring Gladness</i>, and <i>The Coming +of Phoebe</i>,</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"When buckets shine 'gainst maple trees<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And drop by drop the sap doth flow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When days are warm, but nights do freeze,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And deep in woods lie drifts of snow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When cattle low and fret in stall,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Then morning brings the phoebe's call,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'Phoebe, Phoebe, Phoebe'."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>As we came down to the roadway that leads +from the old farm to Woodchuck Lodge, Mr. Burroughs<span class="pagenum">[91]</span> +pointed out to us a junco's nest just outside +the road. This nest had afforded him much +pleasure during his present stay up at Roxbury, +as he saw it two or four times a day, as he passed +by on his way to his brother's home for milk. +On the crest of the hill between the two houses—the +old home and Woodchuck Lodge—I stopped +and looked for several moments at the place of +the naturalist's birth, and at the farm, with all the +beautiful meadows and pastures, for I knew that +I would not see them again soon. When it was +told me that all these meadows and woods and +stone walls, look now as they did sixty and more +years ago, I could understand how a country lad, +born and reared among such scenes, could grow +into a great naturalist. I could now enjoy and +understand some of the qualities of his literary +productions. The country was a new one to me +and altogether unlike any I had seen, but having +tasted of it through the medium of good literature, +I was prepared to make the best of my opportunity +to study it. What particularly impressed +me, and what was so different from the +scenes of my childhood, was the buckwheat fields +dotting the meadows here and yonder, and the +long straight stone fences marking the meadows +and hillsides. "These walls were built by a +generation of men that had ginger," Mr. Burroughs +said, "a quality so much lacking these +days."<span class="pagenum">[92]</span></p> + +<p>No words could express the happiness that had +come to me during the week that I was rambling +through the Catskills. While going down through +the meadow in front of Woodchuck Lodge, on my +way to the railroad station, I seemed to be flooded +with memories of a happy experience. These +memories still haunt me and may they continue +to do so even unto the end of time. I had +learned better than I ever knew, that "this +brown, sun-tanned, sin-stained earth is a sister +to the morning and the evening star," and that +it has more of beauty and love written on it +than has ever been read by all the poets in the +distant ages past; that there are still left volumes +for the interpreter. I had taken a little journey +in the divine ship as it sailed over the divine +sea. I had heard one talk of the moral of +the solar system,—of its harmony, its balance, +its compensation, and I thought that there is +no deeper lesson to be learned.</p> + +<hr class="chapter" /> + +<span class="pagenum">[93]</span> + +<h2><a id="JOHN_BURROUGHS_AS_POET"></a>JOHN BURROUGHS AS POET</h2> + +<p>A few years ago Herr Brandes, the great +French critic, in commenting upon the +method of criticism used by Saint +Beuve, sounded a pretty harsh note +to the old school of critics, on method and material +in poetry, which in a measure explains what I am +about to say of the poetry of John Burroughs. +"At the beginning of the century," he says, +"imagination was considered the essential quality +in poetry. It was his capacity of invention which +made the poet a poet; he was not tied down to +nature and reality, but was as much at home in +the supernatural as in the actual world. But as +romanticism, by degrees, developed into realism, +creative literature, by degrees, gave up its fantastic +excursions into space.... It exerted +itself even more to understand than to invent."</p> + +<p>An observer cannot fail to see in modern poetry +a tendency to beautify objects of nature, and facts +of science. Past ages were taken up with the +heroic, the legendary in poetry. Legends were +creations of the mind and in turn subjects for all +poetic effort. Some moral and spiritual lesson +or truth, must be taught by the introduction of +ideals drawn purely from imagination. Such an<span class="pagenum">[94]</span> +ideal was many times created for the special lesson +at hand. The Homeric poems, Virgil's Aeneid, +Dante's Divine Comedy and Milton's Paradise +Lost, are all poems of this character. They are +founded on the unknown and the unknowable, +yet they bring to us suggestions that inspire us +and make us better for having read them. Milton +never knew how Paradise was lost, nor even that +it ever was lost. Dante did not know the history +of the departed soul, nor did Homer and Virgil +know what part the gods and heroes played in +the fall of the city of Troy, nor has the riddle of +the origin of the Latin and Greek races ever been +written. Yet such themes give us pleasure when +they come from the great poets, who actually +believed what they were writing to be true, and +the poems themselves will live forever.</p> + +<p>We have reached a new order of things in the +present era of the world's history, and we must +look to something else for poetic inspiration, as +well as to interpret the origin of things in the +light of the last word on evolution. The minor +poets have about worn these old themes threadbare, +and the public mind is beginning to look to +something else for entertainment. People are +now seeking the poetic interpretation of facts +of science and of nature, and the poet of the future +will have the peculiar task of giving us new eyes +with which to see truth, instead of leading us +into fields of fancy.<span class="pagenum">[95]</span></p> + +<p>John Burroughs is an interpreter of this latter +kind. He has gone to nature with the poet's eye, +and has needed no fiction to get us interested in +what he is trying to tell us. The facts need only +to be seen with the poet's eyes to make them +beautiful, and he has translated them in terms of +the human soul, without having to create beings +of fancy to interest us while he tells the message. +This is what differentiates his prose and poetry +from the poetry of the past. It is true, he ranges +from the commonplace to the sublime, but in +it all with unfaltering devotion to truth, which +should be the aim of every poet and is the aim of +every true poet, despite the claims of some that +literature is only to entertain, and should never +be taken seriously. If it is not serious, it is not +literature, and if it is serious, it will always have, +as its entering wedge, some fundamental truth. +The whole aim of Burroughs is to lead humanity +into the proper method of interpreting the truths +of nature, and if all his poetry is not the best, he +has sacrificed poetry rather than truth and owns +up to it like a man. He says: "My poetry is not +the free channel of myself that my prose is. I, +myself, do not think that my poetry takes rank +with my prose." His best poetry takes rank +with his or any body's prose. Replying to some +questions with reference to <i>Mid-summer in the +Catskills</i>, Mr. Burroughs says: "It was an attempt +to paint faithfully, characteristic mid-summer<span class="pagenum">[96]</span> +scenes of that locality. I do not think it +ranks high as poetry, but it is true. The genesis +of such a poem, or of any poem, is hidden in the +author's subconsciousness." Perched on a mountain +top that overlooked the beautiful valleys +amid the Catskill mountains, and seeing the +many activities of farm life in August, Mr. Burroughs +saw the beauty and simplicity of the +situation, and could not forego his duty of telling +it to the world.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"The strident hum of sickle-bar,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like giant insect heard afar,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Is on the air again;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I see the mower where he rides<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Above the level grassy tides<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That flood the meadow plain."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>From beginning to end the poem paints the +rural life amid the Catskills in its busiest season, +and associates with it all the best in Nature. +It is literally a poet's vision of his own country, +after many years absence from the fields he +paints. How many times he himself has gone.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">"Above the level grassy tides,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That flood the meadow plain,"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>but perhaps without seeing the beauty that the +scene now brings to him.</p> + +<a id="IB"></a> +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/ill-012.jpg" width="400" height="672" alt="ON THE SUMMIT OF THE OLD CLUMP, LOOKING IN THE VALLEY +BELOW "WHERE SWEATING FORMS AND BRONZED ARMS +REAP IN THE LAND'S INCREASE"" /> +</div> + +<p class="caption">ON THE SUMMIT OF THE OLD CLUMP, LOOKING IN THE VALLEY BELOW "WHERE SWEATING FORMS AND BRONZED ARMS REAP IN THE LAND'S INCREASE"</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum">[97]</span></p> +<p>Far different from this is his first poetry, which +is the expression of a youth groping in the dark +for some unknown god, with his only guide that +of faith in the world, faith in himself and faith in +his fellowman. He says of his early poem: +"Waiting was written in 1862, during a rather +gloomy and doubtful period of my life. I was +poor, was in doubt as to my career, did not seem +to be able to get hold of myself, nor to bring +myself to bear upon the problems before me. +Yet underneath all was this abiding faith that I +should get what belonged to me; that sooner or +later I should find my own. The poem was first +printed in the old Knickerbocker Magazine of +New York, in the fall of 1862. I received nothing +for it. I builded better than I knew. It has +proved a true prophesy of my life."</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Serene I fold my hands and wait,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Nor care for wind, nor tide, nor sea;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I rave no more 'gainst Time or Fate,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">For lo! my own shall come to me.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"I stay my haste, I make delays,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">For what avails this eager pace?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I stand amid the eternal ways,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And what is mine shall know my face.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Asleep, awake, by night or day,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The friends I seek are seeking me;<span class="pagenum">[98]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">No wind can drive my bark astray,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Nor change the tide of destiny.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"What matter if I stand alone?<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I wait with joy the coming years;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My heart shall reap where it hath sown,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And garner up its fruits of tears.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"The waters know their own, and draw<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The brook that springs in yonder heights;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So flows the good with equal law<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Unto the soul of pure delights.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"The stars come nightly to the sky;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The tidal wave unto the sea;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor time, nor space, nor deep, nor high,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Can keep my own away from me."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>It is this willingness to wait the results of his +efforts without fretting or worrying, to which Mr. +Burroughs owes his success. This I think, is what +has toned and sweetened his prose and poetry, +and makes him so readable. He looks for +truth and finds it, and lets it ripen into expression +in his mind, and we get the good after the +smelting process has completed its work, and the +dross all worked off. The above poem has been a +true prophesy of his life. His own has come to +him, and he is now experiencing the richest reward +for his long years of waiting and patience. If<span class="pagenum">[99]</span> +too much success comes to us in the beginning +of any career, the career is most likely to suffer, +or possibly better, we are likely to develop a little +vain glory and never return to the proper attitude +to truth and service. Mr. Burroughs in his plain +simple way has been 'still achieving, still pursuing,' +and has long since learned 'to labor and to wait.' +His attitude toward his work is almost as pleasant +as the work itself. Never in a hurry—though he +always manages to get much done. The melancholy +days have been 'few and far between' with +him, though we do see some few sad but wholesome +lines in his poetry. These almost sound +like some homesick visitor in a foreign land. +The following from the poem, "In Blooming +Orchards," is a good illustration of this:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"My thoughts go homeward with the bees;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I dream of youth and happier days—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of orchards where amid the trees<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I loitered free from time's decrees,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And loved the birds and learned their ways.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Oh, orchard thoughts and orchard sighs,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Ye, too, are born of life's regrets!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The apple bloom I see with eyes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That have grown sad in growing wise,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Through Mays that manhood ne'er forgets."<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[100]</span></div></div> + +<p>"The Return" is another of his poems in which +this longing for the days of his youth crops out:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"O sad, sad hills! O cold, cold hearth!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In sorrow he learned this truth—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One may go back to the place of his birth,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">He cannot go back to his youth."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Again in "Snow Birds" he says:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Thy voice brings back dear boyhood days<br /></span> +<span class="i1">When we were gay together."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>His contact with out-door life and his habits of +observation are unmistakably those of a poet. +"In the rugged trail through the woods or along +the beach we shall now and then get a whiff of +natural air, or a glimpse of something to</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">"Make the wild blood start<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In its mystic springs."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Burroughs says himself, 'the very idea of a +bird is a symbol and a suggestion to the poet. +How many suggestions to the poet in their flight +and song! Indeed, is not the bird the original +type and teacher of the poet, and do we not +demand of the human thrush or lark that he +shake out his carols in the same free manner as +his winged prototype?... The best<span class="pagenum">[101]</span> +lyric pieces, how like they are to certain bird-songs!—clear, +ringing, ecstatic, and suggesting +that challenge and triumph which the outpouring +of the male bird contains.' Again he says 'Keats +and Shelly have pre-eminently the sharp semi-tones +of the sparrows and larks.'</p> + +<p>But what shall we say of Burroughs? His +poetry is somewhat matter-of-fact, like the songs +of the Indigo bunting and the Thrushes, and we +cannot help but feel that the songs of these birds +had the effect on him that Burns speaks of in one +of his letters: "I never hear the loud, solitary +whistle of the curlew in a summer noon, or the +wild, mixing cadence of a troop of gray plovers in +an autumnal morning, without feeling an elevation +of the soul like the enthusiasm of devotion or +poetry." Verily he has achieved his purpose. +'He has brought home the bough with the bird +he heard singing upon it. His verse is full of the +spirit of the woods and fields; the winds of heaven +blow through it; there is the rustle of leaves, the +glint of sunlight; the voices of the feathered folk +are present. One finds himself in touch with out-doors +in every line.' O, what a blessing when +one can drink from the great fountain of Nature! +When one can be so inured with the larger and +more wholesome truths of the universe that he +forgets to fret and to make records of the negative +forces of the world! This we claim is pre-eminently +true of Burroughs. He tells truths about<span class="pagenum">[102]</span> +Nature in his simple, musical verse, and almost +vindicates Wordsworth's definition of poetry: "The +breath and finer spirit of all knowledge," or "The +impassioned expression which is in the countenance +of all science." I would almost say of him +what Dryden said of Chaucer: "He is a perpetual +fountain of good sense." Perhaps Mr. Dowden, +in speaking of Coleridge's poetry, comes nearer +than any one else to the truth about Burroughs' +poetry. "These poems contemplate and describe +Nature in a resting and meditative temper. +There is no passionate feeling in their delight. +The joy he has in the beauty of the world is the +joy of dreaming, often only a recollected joy in +what he has seen. He found in poetry, paths of +his imagination. The pensiveness, the dying fall, +the self-loving melancholy, are harmonized by +him with Nature." Thoreau says in one of his +books: "Very few men can speak of Nature with +any truth. They overstep her modesty somehow +or other, and confer no favor." The richest +flavor in the poetry of John Burroughs is the +flavor of truth, and 'beauty is truth, truth beauty.' +Unlike Thoreau, he never forgets his fellowmen, +nor has he ever failed to find beauty in man as +well as in Nature.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"He sees the mower where he rides<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Above the level grassy tides<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That flood the meadow plain,"<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[103]</span></div></div> + +<p>and writes a poem. He dislikes the conventional +in man no less than he dislikes the conventional +in poetry, but man unaffected is as beautiful as +the Nature that surrounds him.</p> + +<p>A few years ago when Mr. E. H. Harriman +took a number of friends to Alaska on what was +known as The Harriman Alaska Expedition, +John Burroughs was selected as a purely literary +man to write a narrative of the Expedition. In +addition to the story of the trip, Mr. Burroughs +was so inspired with the new scenery of those +Borean Hills that the muse seized him and the +result was three of his best poems: <i>To the Oregon +Robin</i>, <i>To the Golden Crown Sparrow of Alaska</i>, +and <i>To the Lapland Longspur</i>. Since that trip in +1899, he has written no verse, I believe, except +<i>The Return</i>. Before then he was an irregular +contributor of poetry to the current magazines +since the appearance of <i>Waiting</i>, in 1862. He +says now that he does not seem to be in a mood +for poetry, but that he may find his muse again +some day. The total number of his poems in +print amounts to only thirty-five and none of +them are lengthy. The longest of all is his very +life which is to me one continuous poem. His +verses are only sparks from the life in which they +grew, and never rise to the height of the fountain +head.</p> + +<p>Perhaps one way to test a poet is to measure +him by the number of single line poems that can<span class="pagenum">[104]</span> +be found in his poetry; lines that make the real +poem of a number of verses. Pope thought that +a long poem was a contradiction of terms, and we +certainly know many references in the poets to +suggestive lines that are almost poems in themselves. +Wordsworth's <i>Solitary Reaper</i> contains +one or two passages of this kind.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Perhaps the plaintive numbers flow<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For old, unhappy, far-off things,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And battles long ago."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>or the following from the <i>Ode</i>:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Our noisy years seem moments in the being<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the eternal Silence."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Another of his most exquisite lines is,</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"And the stars move along the edges of the hills."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Walter Pater finds in Wordsworth's poetry an +extraordinary number of these short passage +poems, which he called 'delicious morsels.' Coleridge +says of Wordsworth: "Since Milton, I know +of no poet with so many felicitous and unforgetable +lines." Many critics have found these +suggestive lines in the poets, and I find Words<span class="pagenum">[105]</span>worth +full of them. The lines of this kind that I +find in the poetry of John Burroughs are rather +numerous for the amount of poetry he gave to +the world, and some of them are as fine as the +language has.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Like mellow thunder leagues away,"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"I hear the wild bee's mellow chord,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In airs that swim above,"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Once more the tranquil days brood o'er the hills,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And sooth earth's toiling breast,"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"The dome of day o'erbrims with sound<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From humming wings on errands bound,"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Pausing in the twilight dim,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hear him lift his evening hymn,"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Again from out the garden hives<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The exodus of frenzied bees;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The humming cyclone onward drives,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Or finds repose amid the trees."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Then waiting long hath recompense,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And all the world is glad with May."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>"Oh, skater in the fields of air," he says of the<span class="pagenum">[106]</span> +swallow. How well this expresses the flight of +the swallow!</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"The robin perched on treetop tall<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Heavenward lifts his evening call."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Forth from the hive go voyaging bees,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Cruising far each sunny hour."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>There are many passages of this kind in his +poems and they express the moods of Nature, +perhaps as well as it is possible for them to be put +in words. In <i>Arbutus Days</i>, he uses the following +figure to paint a spring day:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Like mother bird upon her nest<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The day broods o'er the earth."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>To him the common things are all beautiful +and if we only have the eyes to see with, they are +made beautiful for us by him. Recognizing the +fate of every insincere book, he declares: "Only +an honest book can live; only absolute sincerity +can stand the test of time. Any selfish or secondary +motive vitiates a work of art, as it vitiates a +religious life. Indeed, I doubt if we fully appreciate +the literary value of staple, fundamental +human virtues and qualities—probity, directness, +simplicity, sincerity, love." He is probably not +an inspired poet, but I shall claim for him that he<span class="pagenum">[107]</span> +is an honest singer, a sincere interpreter of Nature, +and every virtue referred to in the above quotation +he has woven into <i>Bird and Bough</i>. What +he says of another we can appropriately say of +him: "This poet sees the earth as one of the orbs, +and has sought to adjust his imagination to the +modern problems and conditions, always taking +care, however, to preserve an outlook into the +highest regions."</p> + +<a id="IC"></a> +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/ill-013.jpg" width="400" height="679" alt="LOOKING ACROSS THE PASTURE WALL IN THE DIRECTION +OF THE NATHAN CHASE FARM" /> +</div> + +<p class="caption">LOOKING ACROSS THE PASTURE WALL IN THE DIRECTION OF THE NATHAN CHASE FARM</p> + +<hr class="chapter" /> + +<span class="pagenum">[108]</span> + +<h2><a id="JOHN_BURROUGHS_AND_WALT_WHITMAN"></a>JOHN BURROUGHS AND WALT WHITMAN</h2> + +<p>A certain publisher, who honored very +much Walt Whitman, could have +paid him no higher tribute than to +have closed the preface to Whitman's +Poems as follows: "To have met Whitman was a +privilege, to have been his friend was an honor. +The latter was mine; and among the many reminiscences +of my life, none are to me more pleasing +than those which gather about the name of 'The +Good Grey Poet'."</p> + +<p>John Burroughs was for thirty years the intimate +friend and constant associate of Walt Whitman, +and I have heard him say that those were +among the most pleasant years of his life. All +who ever knew Whitman, and became in any way +intimate with him, have practically the same to +say of him. No writer ever unfolded himself +and his greatness more completely than Whitman, +and yet we have a great many excellent critics +who are pretty harsh on him. This we believe is +so, because the critics have not read the poet +aright. They have failed to get out of the poems +what was put in them. Whitman is not a poet +according to classical standards, but as a "Creator" +he is.<span class="pagenum">[109]</span></p> + +<p>Emerson says of his poetry: "I find it the +most extraordinary piece of wit and wisdom that +America has yet contributed." Julian Hawthorne +says of it: "Original and forceful, Whitman +cannot be judged by ordinary literary standards. +His scornful trampling upon all metrical rules, +and his freedom in treating of matters, usually +passed in silence, have so far been a decided +barrier to the approval of his work."</p> + +<p>Professor Underwood of the California University +has the following good word for the poet: +"Pupils who are accustomed to associate the +idea of poetry with regular classic measure in +rhyme, or in ten-syllabled blank verse or elastic +hexameter, will commence these short and simple +prose sentences with surprise, and will wonder +how any number of them can form a poem. But +let them read aloud with a mind in sympathy +with the picture as it is displayed, and they will +find by Nature's unmistakable response, that the +author is a poet, and possesses the poets' incommunicable +power to touch the heart."</p> + +<p>Professor Pattee of the Pennsylvania State +College, on the other hand says: "It is certainly +true that to the majority of readers, 'Leaves of +Grass', contains a few good things amid a disgusting +mass of rubbish.</p> + +<p>"Whitman is confessedly the poet of the body. +His book is not upward. He grovels in the earthly +and disgusting parts of human life and experience. +His egotism is remarkable.<span class="pagenum">[110]</span></p> + +<p>"All the great poets have looked away from +their disgusting surroundings and fleshly fetters, +into a world of their creation that was bright and +ethereal, but Whitman cries: 'I am satisfied with +the perishable and the casual.' This alone would +debar him from the company of the great masters +of song."</p> + +<p>Professor Newcomer of Stanford University, +divides honors by offending and defending:</p> + +<p>First: "It deliberately violates the rules of art, +and unless we admit that our rules are idle, we +must admit Whitman's defects."</p> + +<p>Second: "It is diffuse, prolix."</p> + +<p>Third: "This is perhaps the most that can be +charged—he was needlessly gross."</p> + +<p>Fourth: "The innovations in his vocabulary +are inexcusable."</p> + +<p>In the following, he as faithfully defends the +poet.</p> + +<p>First: Of the charged egotism: "It was not to +parade himself as an exceptional being, but rather +as an average man to hold the mirror up to other +men and declare his kinship with them."</p> + +<p>Second: "Taking Whitman simply at his own +valuation we get much. The joys of free fellowship, +the love of comrades, none has sung more +heartily or worthily. And his courage and optimism +are as deep as Emerson's."</p> + +<p>Third: "He became the truest laureate of the +war, and of Lincoln the idol of the people."<span class="pagenum">[111]</span></p> + +<p>Fourth: "Comerado this is no book. Who +touches this touches a man! As such, therefore, +the book must go down to posterity, not a perfect +song, but a cry vibrant still with the feeling of +the man who uttered it."</p> + +<p>Professor Newcomer closes his estimate by the +declaration that Whitman stands for the American +people, but not in the sense that Washington or +Lincoln or Lowell does, and that his office was +somewhat like one who stands by and cheers +while the procession goes by. He thinks that +Whitman did not sit in the seats of the mighty.</p> + +<p>Charles W. Hubner is much more charitable +and in fact just, with our poet of the body. He +says: "Proclaiming the sanctity of manhood and +womanhood, the power and eminence of God +within us and without us; the divine relationship +of body and soul; the eternalness of spirit and +matter, he aims to teach us that all of these are +manifestations of the Almighty spirit, present +within and without all things, and out of whom +all created things have come." How far this +critic removes Whitman from the class of those +who stood by and cheered while the procession +moved on! Hubner makes him a <i>real teacher</i> +and revealer of divine laws and eternal truth.</p> + +<p>Joel Chandler Harris has also given a vivid +picture and a most wholesome interpretation of +Whitman: "In order to appreciate Whitman's +poetry and his purpose, it is necessary to possess<span class="pagenum">[112]</span> +the intuition that enables the mind to grasp in +instant and express admiration, the vast group of +facts that make man—that make liberty—that +make America. There is no poetry in the details; +it is all in the broad, sweeping, comprehensive +assimilation of the mighty forces behind them—the +inevitable, unaccountable, irresistible forward +movement of man in the making of the republic." +These estimates pro and con could be multiplied +indefinitely.</p> + +<p>How much more beautiful it is to face this new +force in American poetry and deal with it justly, +than to stand off and bark like some of our lesser +critics have done and are doing! A recent comment +upon Whitman says he has come to stay, +and we must make up our minds to study him +and to dispose of him by getting in sympathy +with him, rather than by decrying him. This +seems the just way, and the only safe way to deal +with any great original force in literature.</p> + +<p>John Burroughs has undoubtedly interpreted +Whitman better than any other critic, and unquestionably +owes Whitman more than any one +else. He has found in the poet what so many +others have found in Burroughs. "Whitman +does not to me suggest the wild and unkempt, as +he seems to do to many; he suggests the cosmic +and the elemental.... He cherished +the hope that he had put into his 'Leaves', some +of the tonic and fortifying quality of Nature in +<span class="pagenum">[113]</span>her more grand and primitive aspects." From +Whitman, I am constrained to believe, Burroughs +has drawn much of his primitive strength as a +writer. Whitman opened the book of Nature +to him, and led him into a certain wilderness of +beauty. At twenty, Burroughs began to read +Whitman's poems, and says of them: "I was +attracted by the new poet's work from the first. +It seemed to let me into a larger, freer air than I +found in the current poetry.... Not a poet +of dells and fells, but of the earth and the orbs." +He knew that he had found in Whitman a very +strong and imposing figure, but he was doubly +reassured when he came upon the statement +from the English critic, John Addington Symonds, +that Whitman had influenced him more than any +other book except the Bible,—more than Plato, +more than Goethe.</p> + +<a id="ID"></a> +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/ill-014.jpg" width="400" height="628" alt="THE PILE OF STONES MARKING THE SITE OF THOREAU'S +CABIN, BY WALDEN POND" /> +</div> + +<p class="caption">THE PILE OF STONES MARKING THE SITE OF THOREAU'S CABIN, BY WALDEN POND</p> + +<p>It was about the year 1858, when Burroughs +first began reading Whitman and five years after +that, in 1863, when Burroughs moved to Washington, +the two men began to cultivate each other +and were frequent companions till Whitman +moved to Camden in 1873.</p> + +<p>The friendship of the two men became so +beautiful and grew so sacred, till Mr. Burroughs +visited him every year in Camden, from 1873 till +1891, when he saw the poet for the last time. +Whitman also visited Mr. Burroughs, who had +gone back up the Hudson in 1873, and built his +home at West Park, New York.<span class="pagenum">[114]</span></p> + +<p>The peculiar mountain wilderness around Slabsides +induced the Naturalist to name the woods +about his home, Whitman Land, and now you +will hear him speak of the border of "Whitman +Land," when he approaches Slabsides. I have +sometimes thought that Whitman's influence on +him, more than Thoreau's, induced him to retreat +to the woods and build Slabsides, where he could +"follow out these lessons of the earth and air." +So much of this elemental power or force has he +seen in Whitman, that he honestly, and probably +justly, thinks him "the strongest poetic pulse +that has yet beat in America, or perhaps in +Modern times." A study of the poet is to him +an application of the laws of Nature to higher +matters, and he pleads guilty to a "loving interest +in Whitman and his work, which may indeed +amount to one-sided enthusiasm." But this is +honest, real, and not affected.</p> + +<p>After a long study of the art of poetry and the +artists, together with a thorough appreciation of +form and beauty in all art, Burroughs declares +there is once in a great while "born to a race or +people, men who are like an eruption of life from +another world, who belong to another order, who +bring other standards, and sow the seeds of new +and larger types; who are not the organs of the +culture or modes of their time and whom their +times for the most part decry and disown—the +primal, original, elemental men. It is here in my<span class="pagenum">[115]</span> +opinion that we must place Whitman; not among +the minstrels and edifiers of his age, but among +its prophets and saviors. He is nearer the sources +of things than the popular poets—nearer the +founder and discoverer, closer akin to the large, +fervent, prophetic, patriarchal men, who figure +in the early heroic ages. His work ranks with +the great primitive books. He is of the type of +the skald, the bard, the seer, the prophet." In +another place, Burroughs thinks that one can +better read Whitman after reading the Greeks, +than after reading our finer artists, and I have +found this true.</p> + +<p>We cannot wonder that he finds Whitman +"the one mountain in our literary landscape," +though, as he appropriately says there are many +beautiful hills. Tall and large, he grew more +beautiful in his declining years, and "the full +beauty of his face and head did not appear till he +was past sixty." However he was dressed, and +wherever he was, one could not fail to be impressed +"with the clean, fresh quality of the man." +To me, his poems have this same clean, fresh +quality, and I never read one of them that I don't +feel far more satisfied with my lot.</p> + +<p>Whitman says: "I do not call one greater and +one smaller. That which fills its place is equal +to any." To him, as to any prophet of the soul, +greatness is filling one's place, and the poor get +as much consolation out of this almost, as they do<span class="pagenum">[116]</span> +from Christ's beatitude: "Blessed are the poor +for they shall inherit the earth." To make a +world, it takes many kinds of individuals, and +Whitman did not rank them severally according +to money, culture and social position. If a man +filled his place, he was equal to any one else, for +that is the whole duty of man.</p> + +<p>He did not grovel in the earthly and disgusting, +as one of our "artistic" critics has said above. He +alluded to many things that the over-nice could +call disgusting, but he saw and painted only the +beautiful in it all. For an instance that happens +to come to my mind, he alludes to the battle of +Alamo, but overlooks the military display, the +common part of the slaughter. This may be +found in any battle, and why Alamo and Goliad, +if only to picture an army! Certainly there were +more imposing dress parades than that. But +after Fannin had surrendered and had accepted +honorable terms that were offered by the Mexican +General Urrea, Santa Anna orders the entire +body of United States Soldiers executed, and on +that bright and beautiful sunshiny Palm Sunday, +they were marched out upon the neighboring +prairie and shot down in cold blood, and their +bodies committed to the flames! Such a horrible +picture has not been recorded elsewhere in the +history of this republic. What then does Whitman +say?<span class="pagenum">[117]</span></p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Tis the tale of the murder in cold blood of four hundred and twelve young men.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Retreating, they formed in a hollow square, with their baggage for breastworks;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nine hundred lives out of the surrounding enemy's, nine times their number was the price they took in advance;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their colonel was wounded and their ammunition gone;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They treated for an honorable capitulation, received writing and seal, gave up their arms, and marched back prisoners of war.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They were the glory of the race of rangers;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Matchless with horse, rifle, song, supper, courtship,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Large, turbulent, generous, handsome, proud, and affectionate,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bearded, sunburnt, drest in the free costume of hunters,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not a single one over thirty years of age.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The second First-day morning they were brought out in squads and massacred—it was beautiful early summer;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The work commenced about five o'clock, and was over by eight.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">None obeyed the command to kneel;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some made a mad and helpless rush—some stood stark and straight;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A few fell at once, shot in the temple or heart—the living and dead lay together;<span class="pagenum">[118]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The maimed and mangled dug in the dirt—the newcomers saw them there;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some, half-killed, attempted to crawl away;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">These were despatched with bayonets, or battered with the blunts of muskets;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A youth not seventeen years old seiz'd his assassin till two more came to release him;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The three were all torn, and covered with the boy's blood.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">At eleven o'clock began the burning of the bodies:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That is the tale of the murder of the four hundred and twelve young men."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>After reading this picture of the horrible battle +or slaughter at Goliad, who wonders that the +battle cry at San Jacinto was, "Remember the +Alamo!" or "Remember Goliad!" And still less +do we wonder that the Mexicans, while scattered +after the battle could be heard on all sides, "Me +no Alamo!" "Me no Goliad!" Our poet has +given the best picture we shall ever get of the +Alamo and Goliad. The burden of his big, warm +heart was to portray in vivid colors, the tragedy +of the four hundred and twelve young men, and +how manly they suffered.</p> + +<p>John Burroughs has observed from the notes of +Mr. Charles W. Eldridge, that Emerson was not +only an admirer of Whitman, but that every year<span class="pagenum">[119]</span> +from 1855 to 1860, he sought Whitman in his +Brooklyn home. The two men were together +much, but Walt never sought Emerson. When +he was invited by Emerson to Concord, he refused +to go, perhaps because he feared that he would +see too much of that "literary coterie that then +clustered there, chiefly around Emerson."</p> + +<p>Burroughs is also responsible for the suggestion +that Whitman burst into full glory at one bound, +and his work from the first line is Mature. At +the age of thirty-five, a great change came over +the man and his habits were different thereafter. +His first poem, "Starting from Paumanook," outlines +his work, observes Burroughs, and he fulfills +every promise made.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"I conned old times;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I sat studying at the feet of the great Masters,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now, if eligible, O that the great Masters might return and study me!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The Soul:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Forever and forever—longer than soil is brown and solid—longer than water ebbs and flows.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I will mate the poems of materials, for I think they are to be the most spiritual poems—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And I will mate the poems of my body and mortality,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For I think I shall then supply myself with the poems of my Soul, and of immortality."<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[120]</span></div></div> + +<p>And so he did. As perfect as the last or any +part of his work is the first. But the poet is true +to himself and to the great undertaking.</p> + +<p>In what particular qualities does Whitman +differ from the other poets? Especially the poets +who conform to the traditions of the past.</p> + +<p>"When Tennyson sends out a poem," observes +Burroughs, "it is perfect, like an apple or +a peach; slowly wrought out and dismissed, it +drops from his boughs, holding a conception or +an idea that spheres it and makes it whole. It +is completed, distinct and separate—might be +his, or might be any man's. It carries his quality, +but it is a thing of itself, and centers and depends +upon itself. Whether or not the world will hereafter +consent, as in the past, to call only beautiful +creations of this sort, <i>poems</i>, remains to be seen. +But this is certainly not what Walt Whitman +does, or aims to do, except in a few cases. He +completes no poems apart from himself. His +lines or pulsations, thrills, waves of force, indefinite +dynamic, formless, constantly emanating +from the living centre, and they carry the quality +of the Author's personal presence with them in a +way that is unprecedented in literature."</p> + +<p>The more I read Whitman the more I am +drawn to him, and feel the greatness of the man. +His poems have meant to me recently, what +Emerson's Essays meant to me as a younger man. +In about the same way they affect me now, only +my love for the poems grows with each reading.<span class="pagenum">[121]</span></p> + +<p>It is well to recall that so much was John +Burroughs inspired by his early contact with +Whitman that his first book was, <i>Notes on Walt +Whitman, as Poet and Person</i>, which was printed +in 1867. A little later, in 1877, he renewed his +study of the poet, in his last essay in <i>Birds and +Poets</i>. The title of the essay is "The Flight of +the Eagle," and is one of Burroughs' best papers. +Still later, in about 1895, he wrote his final word +on Whitman, in his volume, <i>Whitman: A Study</i>. +This last volume is a complete interpretation of +the poet. The poems of the man are given full +treatment, and it is perhaps the best defense of +Whitman in print.</p> + +<p>The publishers of these books have long expected +to get John Burroughs to write a biography +of Whitman, but his many other literary activities, +have combined to banish their hopes, and +in his stead, Mr. Bliss Perry, in 1905, was asked to +write the biography, which was published in 1906.</p> + +<p>In recent years, Whitman has been gaining +pretty general acceptance, and most of the papers +in current literature expose his merits. His +enemies are growing fewer and fewer, and those +who still survive are not so bold. They are on +the defensive instead of the offensive. He is such +a potent factor in the present day literature of +America, that our only conclusion is that he is +with us to stay, and the sooner we learn to 'Walk +the open road' with him, the better will we be<span class="pagenum">[122]</span> +prepared for the future critic of American literature.</p> + +<p>Bliss Perry thinks that on account "of the +amplitude of his imagination," and "the majesty +with which he confronts the eternal realities," +instead of the absolute perfection of his poems, +he is bound to a place somewhere among the +immortals.</p> + +<p>Mr. Perry has made a critical study of Whitman, +and his judgment and conclusions are charitable +and will stand. No critic can ever give an adequate +conception of Whitman's poems. As he, +himself said, "They will elude you." In order +to understand in any degree his eccentricities and +his poetic freedom, one must go to the poems and +read them as a whole. One will either turn away +from them for a breath of air, or he will be forever +won by them.</p> + +<p>I happened to be among the latter class, and I +must agree with his most enthusiastic critics, that +he is a real poet, and one of the few that make +you think and feel. Most of our other American +poets have said some pretty things in verse but +are not elemental. They lack the "high seriousness," +the all-essential quality of a real poet. +This quality we cannot fail to recognize in Whitman, +from the beginning to the end, if we tolerate +him.</p> + +<p>Mr. Stedman's paper on Whitman, though less +readable than Burroughs', and far more labored<span class="pagenum">[123]</span> +than Mr. Perry's, contains many excellent +estimates of Whitman's democracy, and a lover +of Whitman cannot afford to be ignorant of his +fine judgments. He thinks that Whitman is well +equipped as a poet—having had such genuine +intercourse "With Nature in her broadest and +minutest forms."</p> + +<hr class="chapter" /> + +<span class="pagenum">[124]</span> + +<h2><a id="JOHN_BURROUGHS_AND_THE_BIRDS"></a>JOHN BURROUGHS AND THE BIRDS</h2> + +<p>One day while I was at West Park, +John Burroughs and I had started +over the mountains to Slabsides, and +just as we had crossed the railroad we +noticed a small flock of English sparrows in some +nearby trees. We both halted suddenly and +after a moment's silence he said: "I think the +English sparrow will eventually develop some +form of song. Listen to that suppressed sound +so near to song! I have often wondered if all +birds do not develop song by degrees, and if so, +how long it takes or has taken such birds as the +thrushes, the song sparrows and the wrens to +develop their songs. Bird songs have always +been an interesting study to me." It would be +hard for me to conceive of one of his books being +complete without some mention of bird life in it. +I am sure he would not attempt to complete a +Nature book and leave birds out of it.</p> + +<p>One of our first American Bird Societies, which +was organized in 1900, was named after him, but +I am not sure that this ever pleased him, as he +was not an ornithologist in any restricted sense, +and he certainly sees how much better it is for +the organization to have been renamed and after<span class="pagenum">[125]</span> +Audubon, our greatest Ornithologist. Whenever +I have been with him, and a bird of any kind +appeared in sight or in hearing, he was sure to +observe it first, and has been the means of sharpening +my eyes and ears. Each of the little stories +that follow, has been the result directly, or indirectly, +of my walks in the woods with him. +No school library is quite complete without a +copy of his Wake Robin as it savors of that +peculiar delight with which out-door life imbues +him, as no other book he ever wrote, and I must +say, puts one in tune with Nature as no book +with which I am acquainted. The two essays +<i>Spring at the Capitol</i> and <i>The Return of the Birds</i>, +give one the true spirit of the Naturalist, and have +the best spirit of the out-door world in every +paragraph and sentence.</p> + +<p>Mr. Sharpe rightly thinks that Burroughs is +more than a scientist, for he is always hiding his +science in love and genuine interest, though he +is generally true to the facts. As an evidence of +his genuineness he refuses to go to Nature in +'the reporter fashion, but must camp and tramp +with her' in order for the truth to sink in and +become part of him. Then he gives up only that +which has clung to him, and certainly we do not +find in his writings anything but the reflection +of some phase of Nature. Go to the fields and +the mountains with him, and you will soon be +impressed that he is on speaking terms with bird<span class="pagenum">[126]</span> +life in almost every detail. This sincerity has +impressed me as much as his ability to see and +read Nature.</p> + +<p class="h3"><span class="smcap">The Tragedy of the Chickadee's Nest</span></p> + +<p>Usually when I find a bird's nest in a conspicuous +place, I have a peculiar feeling that the +bird has not chosen wisely, but I suspect that +most birds that are on good terms with man, +choose to brave his presence rather than risk +themselves further away from man, and out +where birds of prey and animals dangerous to +them, are accustomed to go. They seem to think +that man will do to trust, while they know that +Nature knows no other law but struggle and +destruction.</p> + +<p>The little nest about which I am now to tell +was in an old decayed fencepost about three +feet from the ground on the south side of the +lane that leads down through the pasture and +to the lake beyond. It was easily accessible to +all that passed along the lane, and besides, the +chickadee is so motherly in her habits and so +innocent of all that is going on about her, that one +can see her on the post or even in the door of the +little house almost any time. The interest I +had taken in the nest, caused me to frighten her +away many times as I passed down the lane on +my morning and afternoon walks. I thought<span class="pagenum">[127]</span> +that I would by this means train her to be a little +more cautious, but she seemed to take my warning +as a joke and finally became so gentle that I +could almost put my hand on her.</p> + +<p>When I knew that many of the day laborers +had discovered my nest and had become somewhat +curious about it, I began to entertain grave +doubts as to whether the brood would ever come +off. For very few people have a real love for +birds and bird-life, and most people rather delight +to tell of their brutality to the bird kingdom, when +they were smaller. Many times have I sat and +listened to men tell of how many bird nests they +broke up when they were boys, and they seemed +to think that a boy could spend his time no +better. Some of my neighbors have large collections +of birds' eggs that were taken in this spirit, +and I think they belong to that class of 'Oologists,' +spoken of by Burroughs as the worst enemies of +our birds, 'who plunder nests and murder their +owners in the name of science.'</p> + +<p>While I was out one morning for my usual +walk, my attention was attracted by an unusually +joyful song, "<i>Chickadee-Dee, Chickadee-Dee</i>," in +rapid succession, a little softer and sweeter than +I had heard from my black cap this season, and +I decided to see if there was not some love-making +going on. As Seton-Thompson says, I 'froze' +for a few moments and saw what it all meant. +The mother bird was building her nest in the<span class="pagenum">[128]</span> +post to which I have already referred. The male +bird did not appear till three days after, but how +interested he was when he did come upon the +scene. When these little birds decided to neighbor +with me my heart rejoiced, for I had often +during the winter seen the vacant home and +wondered if it would be occupied in the summer, +and if so by whom. As soon as I knew that my +chickadees were really to stay I thought to myself: +Well I shall have one good neighbor at least. +On the morning of the 26th of April, I looked into +the nest to see what progress was being made with +the new home, and found the female bird on, +but she made no attempt to fly away. I went +away whistling and at the same time thinking +that I should soon see some fledgelings with open +mouths for food, and that I would in all probability, +have the pleasure of giving them a morsel +occasionally. To aid the mother in this way +helps to get in sympathy with bird life. For +then we feel that we have become partly responsible +for their health and daily <i>bread</i>. I had often +aided mother birds in feeding their young, though +I do not remember to have rendered such service +to chickadees. I have, however, known for a +long time that chickadees are noted for their +gentleness and fearlessness. When they meet +honesty they are always ready to make friends +and will cheer you with their little familiar ditty, +but they seem to divine evil, and will get on the +<span class="pagenum">[129]</span>other side of the tree from the boy that carries a +sling-shot. Nature seems to have taught them +what and whom to fear.</p> + +<a id="IE"></a> +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/ill-015.jpg" width="400" height="673" alt="POINTING OUT THE JUNCO'S NEST BY A MOUNTAIN ROADSIDE" /> +</div> + +<p class="caption">POINTING OUT THE JUNCO'S NEST BY A MOUNTAIN ROADSIDE</p> + +<p>I shall never forget how provoked I was, when +I passed down the lane on Monday morning, May +4th, and found that some vandal had been there +and robbed and partially destroyed the nest on +Sunday, the day before. I was cross all day and +could not collect myself. Everything in my +office went wrong and what little work I did that +day had to be done over later. This little nest +had meant a great deal to me, and the most interesting +stage of its development had not yet been +reached. If it had been any other nest probably +it would not have affected me so seriously or +grieved me so much, but this little family had, in +a measure, become a part of my own family, and +I had a most tender feeling for it. The poor +mother bird I saw in some small oaks not far +from the wrecked home and I watched her for a +long time, that I might see just what emotions +she would express to me. The sadness of her +song chickadee-dee, chickadee-dee, was evident, +but she uttered these words in rapid succession. +The following seemed to be her feeling:</p> + +<p class="h3"><span class="smcap">Soliloquy of the Chickadee</span></p> + +<p>"Alas! How fallen is man! I never yet have +given cause for complaint, nor cost man anything.<span class="pagenum">[130]</span> +My deeds have been deeds of kindness. I am +calm and peaceful among my neighbors, and have +ever loved man's humanity. Never did I think +that such a fate as this awaited me at the hand of +man whom I have cheered all seasons of the year, +in May and December alike, as he has gone forth +to and from his daily labor. Had this misfortune +been brought on by some cat or mink or weasel, +or even by some of my bird enemies, I could have +reconciled myself to it. But I have been man's +best friend and he knows it. My numberless +ancestors have been among man's best supporters. +My dream has been, during these many +days of toil and care, to watch my happy little +family of birds grow up in the ways of chickadees, +that they too could soon be able to go forth prepared +for the battle of life and partake of the +great feast of insects and worms and insect eggs, +so abundant over there in the orchards and lawns +and to which all farm crops would become a prey +without us.</p> + +<p>"But alas! My hopes are blighted and my +dream turned into a nightmare. Only one egg +pipped, so I could glimpse the little mouth beneath! +A ray of sunshine! A consummation +devoutly to be wished for! My little ones breaking +through those prison walls, soon to become +my companions!</p> + +<p>"Today it is all over. A funeral dirge instead +of songs of joy and gladness! Some vandals have<span class="pagenum">[131]</span> +wrecked my home and destroyed my prospective +little ones! I almost wish they had taken me too. +What have I done to cost me this? You said +you would protect me, O man! Are you doing +it? Have I proved unworthy of your good will +and friendship? My record will bear me witness +before any court in the land."</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>Presently the male bird came upon the spot, +but had very little to say. What little he did +say seemed to be very consoling to the mother +bird. As he receded to the thick of the pasture +again, the mother bird began anew her low melancholy +song. How can we ever reconcile such +thoughtless deeds with the higher forms of civilization! +But we must return to the nest. It was +not entirely destroyed, and I gathered the remains, +which contained two eggs covered in the +litter torn from the walls of the nest. I sawed +off the post just below the nest cavity and put it in +my office. The eggs were white with brownish +red spots. The nest was made of fibrous roots, +jute fiber lined with hair. Dr. Bachman found +one made of fine wool, cotton and some fibres of +plants, containing pure white eggs, the nest being +in a hollow stump about four feet from the +ground. It is safe to say that the chickadee is a +resident bird throughout the United States and +is rather abundant in the Southern states.</p> + +<p>I have often thought that we could make ourselves<span class="pagenum">[132]</span> +far happier if we studied birds aesthetically, +rather than economically, but it seems that we +shall for a long time to come, count the worth of +any factor in Nature by utilitarian methods. If +we must do so, let us see what kind of showing +our chickadee makes for herself. Let us see just +what relation she bears to plant life. Edward H. +Furbush finds that the chickadee feeds upon tent +caterpillars and their eggs; both species of the +cankerworm moth and their larvae; codling +moths with their larvae; the forest tent caterpillar, +and the larva chrysalis and imago of the +gypsy and brown tail moths. They also eat the +lice and their eggs of the apple and willow. We +see then that a great deal can be said in their +favor. Another thing so favorable to our little +friend is that of all his or her habits of life, we +know of nothing bad. All that can be said is in +her favor, more than can be said of many of us.</p> + +<p>The sad story of my chickadee's nest will suggest +to all thinking people the reason why so +many of our valuable birds are so rapidly vanishing +or diminishing in numbers, and the urgent +need for an immediate check upon our wreckless +slaughter. Upon a careful count in several parts +of the country it has been found that birds are a +natural check upon insect pests, and not to protect +and welcome them is to foster the growth of these +pests. The fate of this little nest is likewise the +fate of many thousand nests annually, of useful<span class="pagenum">[133]</span> +birds. Who could ever estimate the gallons of +innocent blood shed at the hands of the untrained +and wilfully evil bands of boys roving the woods +on the Sabbath!</p> + +<p class="h3"><span class="smcap">Robins</span></p> + +<p>Recently in a letter to the Burroughs' Nature +Study Clubs of a Southern state John Burroughs +wrote:</p> + +<blockquote><p>"If your club can help to send back the +robin to us in the spring with his breast unstained +with his own blood, but glowing with +the warmth of your shining and hospitable land, +I shall rejoice that it bears my name."</p></blockquote> + +<p>The people in the Northern United States have +courted favor with the robin and in every way +possible protect him, and are always ready to +welcome him back after the winter is over, and in +fact, the robin is to be praised for his summer +popularity as much as he is to be pitied for his +winter treatment in the south. One writer says +his return to the north 'is announced by the newspapers +like that of eminent or notorious people +to a watering place, as the first authentic notification +of spring.' There, where robins are appreciated, +they become quite tame and build and raise +their young in the orchards and about the houses.<span class="pagenum">[134]</span> +Birds are not altogether unlike people in that +they never forget favors. They always know in +what sections of country they are welcomed.</p> + +<p>When robin redbreast returns south, he comes +driven by the chilly blasts of the Ice King of the +north, and I regret to say has to face the Southern +people with fear and trembling. Parents allow +boys to take guns and go out and kill anything +legally or illegally, and such boys always develop +the brutal and barbarous instinct of murder—taking +innocent blood. The following I clipped +from the locals of a weekly newspaper in the +Southern part of Georgia:</p> + +<p>"They have about succeeded in killing all the +robins out at 'Robin's Roost,' near Robert's Mill. +Thousands of these birds had been flying to a ford +near there to roost, and they offered fine sport for +those who like shooting."</p> + +<p>The reporter of the above seemed to count it a +success to kill all the robins. Moreover he +affirms that killing them is fine sport. This spirit +of slaughter is no doubt born in us, but it does +seem that we could teach the young how to love, +to protect, and to enjoy rather than to kill! kill! +kill! Some boys I know can hardly bear to see a +live bird of any kind, but are perfectly at ease if +they can kill something. They take some weapon +with them as religiously as they take their books +to school, in order that nothing escape them. +They are always hoping to see some form of bird<span class="pagenum">[135]</span> +life to persecute or slaughter. Our public schools +are beginning to interest themselves in bird protection, +and I am glad to say, have accomplished +great good wherever they have tried to teach +simple lessons of bird life to school children.</p> + +<p>The robin is too valuable to exterminate as he +feeds upon noxious weed seeds and injurious +insects, and usually has a good appetite and +certainly never eats useful plants in the south. +His practical value to Orchards and Agriculture +generally, should be impressed upon parents and +a love for him impressed upon the younger minds. +When we cannot appeal through either of these +channels, we should arouse the sympathy of the +public. Robins ordinarily come south to spend +the winter, as the weather is much warmer and +they get a greater food supply. But in 1905, a +small flock of them wintered near Lake Forest, +Illinois. This I think was due to the fact that +the birds did not care to face their enemies of the +South. In that section of country from Lake +Forest to Waukegan, Illinois, not a robin had +been shot for several years past. The birds +knew their friends and preferred to brave the +Northern winter with them, rather than come +down south where our youths are forever running +through the woods with gun on shoulder ready +to take life.</p> + +<p>Burroughs says: "Robin is one of our most +native and democratic birds; he is one of the<span class="pagenum">[136]</span> +family (in the north) and seems much more to +us than those rare exotic visitors with their distant +and high-bred ways." The carol of the +robin is very inspiring as you hear him:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Heavenward lift his evening hymn,"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>or perhaps when you first wake in the morning +at early dawn, and listen to his love song, as he +perches on some treetop in the edge of a nearby +woods. How rich his red breast looks from such +a perch just as the sun comes above the horizon +and reflects its first rays against him! Just one +experience like this in the whole year, how much +it would add to life's pleasures! "With this +pleasing association with the opening season, +amidst the fragrance of flowers and the improving +verdure of the fields, we listen with peculiar +pleasure to the simple song of the robin. The +confidence he reposes in us by making his abode +in our gardens and orchards, the frankness and +innocence of his manners, besides his vocal +powers to please, inspire respect and attachment, +even in the truant schoolboy, and his exposed +nest is but rarely molested," says Nuttall, who +writes eloquently of the robin.</p> + +<p>The robin sings in autumn as well as in spring, +and his autumn song is by no means inferior to +his spring song, and I have always loved the old +song, <i>Good-bye to Summer</i>, because of the special +tribute to the robin's song, the chorus of which +goes,<span class="pagenum">[137]</span></p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"O, Robin, Robin, redbreast!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O, Robin, Robin, dear!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O, Robin, sing so sweetly,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the falling of the year!"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>It is rather interesting to note, however, that +they usually sing in concert when they return +south in the autumn. You can hear them in +great numbers singing while feeding around a +patch of <i>Ilex glabra</i>, the berries of which afford +them considerable food in mid-winter. I love +to welcome them back to the south in the autumn, +and to hear their beautiful concert song.</p> + +<p class="h3"><span class="smcap">Blackbirds</span></p> + +<p>It is rather remarkable to note how easy it is +to cultivate the friendship of birds, even birds +that are ordinarily quite wild. When I used to +go to my office in the early morning, I always +scattered a few handfuls of grits around the back +window that I might accommodate some of my +special friends to a breakfast, and it required only +a short time for me to win the confidence of so +many birds that I had to limit them to quite a +short breakfast. At first no blackbirds came +near me or my place of business. Soon they +would sit on nearby trees and return to the +grounds immediately after I returned from the yard +back into the house. I had among my daily<span class="pagenum">[138]</span> +visitors not less than three or four hundred of +these welcome friends. They would play around +in the yard very amusingly and pick at each +other much like children and afforded me much +amusement and many pleasant moments in the +course of a week.</p> + +<p>Blackbirds have very little music in them or +rather get very little out of themselves. John +Burroughs has this to say of their music: "Their +voices always sound as if they were laboring under +a severe attack of influenza, though a large flock +of them heard at a distance on a bright afternoon +of early spring produce an effect not unpleasing. +The air is filled with crackling, splintering, spurting +semi-musical sounds, which are like pepper +and salt to the ear." I really enjoy the mingled +sounds produced by a great congregation of them, +and often follow a flock of them down the creek +side to their favorite resting place, just to hear +them. They are always in great flocks here +during the winter, and sometimes when feeding +along on a hillside, the rear ranks marching over +the bulk to the front in rapid succession, present +an appearance somewhat like heavy waves of the +sea, and one a short distance looks on with admiration +and even surprise, to see such symmetry and +uniformity in their movement.</p> + +<p>One cannot fail to appreciate how much good +a great flock of them do in a day as they move +across a field covered with noxious grass and<span class="pagenum">[139]</span> +weed seeds. They seem to form an army in order +to co-operate with man in every possible way to +balance up the powers of nature. Weeds prevent +crops from growing. Every seed that germinates +in the soil and is allowed to grow, if only for a +short while, tends to exhaust the soil. If the +birds get these seeds in winter before germination +begins, the useful plants will have a much larger +fund of food from which to draw. Once in a +while our blackbirds get a little grain and the +farmer condemns them and looks upon them +only with a murderer's eye. The birds do a +hundred times more good than evil, and should +not be condemned on such slight provocation. +Their hard fare during the winter makes them +rush into the fields sometimes in spring and get a +taste of grains useful to man, but surely they +should be pitied rather than censured, and so +long as I can get them to depend on me for help, +I am going to put out a mite for their breakfast. +With sorrow I bid them good-bye each spring, +but with renewed delight I hail with joy their +return in autumn with their young.</p> + +<p class="h3"><span class="smcap">The Nuthatch</span></p> + +<p>Could I ever be satisfied were I located in some +nook of this old earth where the voice of the +nuthatch is not heard once in a while! His simple +song—I speak of the white-breasted nuthatch<span class="pagenum">[140]</span>—beats +time to my daily routine of laboratory and +field work and its very simplicity adds dignity to +my little friend's life. All will easily recognize +this useful little neighbor. His coat is of light +blueish gray above, with a crown, nap, and upper +back black. His tail and wings have black +markings, while his lower parts and sides of head +are white in the main. It is remarkable to find +the nuthatch so ready to make friends with us, +when he is generally considered a forest bird in +this part of the country.</p> + +<p>I see two or three of them near my office every +day, and take much delight in my study of them +and their habits. They have a peculiar way of +perching, head downward, on the trunk of a tree +and go that way most of the time. A small +white-breasted bird on the trunk of a tree with +head downward, is pretty good evidence that it +is the nuthatch. This attitude is so natural +that the older ornithologists—Audubon and Wilson—claim +that they sleep in that position. I +am not prepared to affirm or deny the rumor as +my study of this bird, and all other birds, is restricted +to their daylight comedies and tragedies, +though I do often hear certain members of bird +families singing at all hours of the night during +certain seasons.</p> + +<p>His song is, as above stated, quite simple only +one note repeated over and over—konk-konk, +konk-konk, two strokes generally in rapid succes<span class="pagenum">[141]</span>sion—a kind +of a nasal piping, or as one bird lover +has said: "A peculiar, weird sound, somewhat like +the quack of a duck, but higher keyed and with +less volume, having a rather musical twang."</p> + +<a id="IF"></a> +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/ill-016.jpg" width="400" height="604" alt="MY CHICKADEE'S NEST" /> +</div> + +<p class="caption">MY CHICKADEE'S NEST</p> + +<p>During the winter months he finds much time +to search about on the ground for food, and consequently +his crop is at such time partly filled +with noxious weed seeds. In spring and summer, +he searches all round the trunks and branches of +trees for small insects and insect eggs, and as +you approach him to study him he seems entirely +unconscious of your presence, which I have +thought almost approaches human affectation, +and I wonder if this is not one of the alluring +arts of the white-breasted nuthatch. Birds, in +some way or other, express almost all human +attributes, love, hate, anger, joy, sorrow, if we +only are able to read them, and it is not unreasonable +to assume that they are sometimes affectatious. +The Southern mocking bird certainly +seems to border vanity sometimes.</p> + +</div> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Rambles with John Burroughs, by +Robert John De Loach + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK RAMBLES WITH JOHN BURROUGHS *** + +***** This file should be named 37811-h.htm or 37811-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/7/8/1/37811/ + +Produced by Roberta Staehlin, David Garcia, Matthew Wheaton +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images +generously made available by The Internet Archive/American +Libraries.) + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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