I
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?
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.
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." 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.
[Illustration: BY A SOUTHERN WOODLAND BROOK, LISTENING TO THE CARDINAL
GROSBEAK]
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 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.
The difference in the time of printing the books is not greater than the
difference in the nature of the contents of _Wake Robin_ (1867), and
_Ways of Nature_ (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.