I believe that John Muir’s name is destined to be immortal through his
writings on mountains, forests, rivers, meadows and the sentiment of the
animal and plant life they contain. I believe that no one else has ever
lived with just the same sentiment toward trees and flowers and the
works of nature in general as that which John Muir manifested in his
life, his conversations and his writings.
In the splendid journey which I had the privilege of taking with him to
Alaska in 1896 I first became aware of his passionate love of nature in
all its forms and his reverence for it as the direct handiwork of the
Creator. He retained from his early religious training under his father
this belief, which is so strongly expressed in the Old Testament, that
all the works of nature are directly the works of God. In this sense I
have never known any one whose nature-philosophy was more thoroughly
theistic; at the same time he was a thorough-going evolutionist and
always delighted in my own evolutionary studies, which I described to
him from time to time in the course of our journeyings and
conversations.
It was in Alaska that he quoted the lines from Goethe’s “Wilhelm
Meister” which inspired all his travels:
Keep not standing fixed and rooted,
Briskly venture, briskly roam;
Head and hand, where’er thou foot it,
And stout heart are still at home.
In each land the sun doth visit,
We are gay whate’er betide,
To give room for wandering is it
That the world was made so wide.
Another sentiment of his regarding trees and flowers always impressed
me: that was his attributing to them a personality, an individuality,
such as we associate with certain human beings and animals, but rarely
with plants. To him a tree was something not only to be loved but to be
respected and revered. I well remember his intense indignation over the
proposal by his friend Charles S. Sargent to substitute the name
_Magnolia fœtida_ for _Magnolia grandiflora_ on the ground of priority.
He quoted Sargent as saying, “After all, ‘what’s in a name?’” and
himself as replying, “There is everything in the name; why inflict upon
a beautiful and defenseless plant for all time the stigma of such a name
as _Magnolia fœtida_? You yourself would not like to have your own name
changed from Charles S. Sargent to ‘the malodorous Sargent.’”
John Muir’s incomparable literary style did not come to him easily, but
as the result of the most intense effort. I observed his methods of
writing in connection with two of his books upon which he was engaged
during the years 1911 and 1912. He came to our home on the Hudson in
June, 1911, after the Yale commencement, where he had received the
degree of LL.D. on June 21. He brought with him his new silken hood, in
which he said he had looked very grand in the commencement parade. On
Friday, June 21, he was established in Woodsome Lodge, a log cabin on a
secluded mountain height, to complete his volume on the Yosemite. Daily
he rose at 4.30 o’clock, and after a simple cup of coffee labored
incessantly on his two books, “The Yosemite” and “Boyhood and Youth.” It
was very interesting to watch how difficult it was for him. In my diary
of the time I find the following notes: “Knowing his beautiful and easy
style it is very interesting to learn how difficult it is for him; he
groans over his labors, he writes and rewrites and interpolates. He
loves the simplest English language and admires most of all Carlyle,
Emerson, and Thoreau. He is a very firm believer in Thoreau and starts
my reading deeply of this author. He also loves his Bible and is
constantly quoting it, as well as Milton and Burns. In his attitude
toward nature, as well as in his special gifts and abilities, Muir
shares many qualities with Thoreau. First among these is his mechanical
ability, his fondness for the handling of tools; second, his close
identification with nature; third, his interpretation of the religious
spirit of nature; fourth, his happiness in solitude with nature; fifth,
his lack of sympathy with crowds of people; sixth, his intense love of
animals.” Thoreau’s quiet residence at Walden is to be contrasted with
Muir’s world-wide journeyings from Scotland to Wisconsin; his penniless
journey down the Mississippi to Louisiana, Florida, across Panama, and
northward into California in its early grandeur; his establishment of
the sawmill, showing again his mechanical ability, as a means of
livelihood in the Yosemite; his climbs in the high Sierras and discovery
of still living glaciers; his eagerness to see the largest glaciers of
Alaska and his several journeys and sojourns there; his wandering all
over the great western and eastern forests of the United States; his
visits to special forests in Europe; his world tour, without
preconceived plan, including the wondrous forests of Africa, Australia,
New Zealand and Asia. Finally, his very last great journey.
When starting out on this South American journey, from which I among
other friends tried to dissuade him, he often quoted the phrase, “I
never turn back.” Although he greatly desired to have a comrade on this
journey and often urged me to accompany him, he finally was compelled to
start out alone, quoting Milton: “I have chosen the lonely way.” On July
26 I said good-by to this very dear friend, leaving him to work on his
books and prepare for the long journey to South America, especially to
see the forests of Araucaria. I know that at this time he had little
intention of going on to Africa. It was impulse that led him from the
east coast of South America to take a long northward journey in order to
catch a steamer for the Cape of Good Hope.
Among the personal characteristics which stand out like crystal in the
minds and hearts of his friends were his hatred of shams and his scorn
of the conventions of life, his boldness and fearlessness of attack,
well illustrated in his assault on the despoilers of the Hetch Hetchy
Valley of the Yosemite, whom he loved to characterize as “thieves and
robbers.” It was a great privilege to be associated with him in this
campaign. But certainly his chief characteristic was his intimacy with
nature and passionate love of its beauties; also, I believe, his
marvelous insight into the creative powers of nature, closely interwoven
with his deep religious sentiments and beliefs. Like John Burroughs in
many of his characteristics, in others he was totally different, and
these differences I attribute to the racial antecedents of the two men,
as studied in the “Racial Soul of John Burroughs.”
There were published in the New York _Evening Mail_ some verses by
Charles L. Edson with which I would close this all too brief tribute:
John o’ the mountains, wonderful John,
Is past the summit and traveling on:
The turn of the trail on the mountain side,
A smile and “Hail!” where the glaciers slide,
A streak of red where the condors ride,
And John is over the Great Divide.
John o’ the mountains camps to-day
On a level spot by the Milky Way;
And God is telling him how He rolled
The smoking earth from the iron mold,
And hammered the mountains till they were cold,
And planted the Redwood trees of old.
And John o’ the mountains says: “I knew,
And I wanted to grapple the hand o’ you;
And now we’re sure to be friends and chums
And camp together till chaos comes.”
[Illustration:
HOWARD CROSBY BUTLER
]
HOWARD CROSBY BUTLER
1872–1922
Like Theodore Roosevelt, Butler was a man of many talents and each
talent was in the nature of a surprise to his friends. Under his
extremely quiet and gentle personality lay force of idealism and of
resolution, of courage and persistence which led him to great heights
as investigator, teacher, and explorer. It is in respect to this last
talent only that this “Impression” is written, because I spoke in the
memorial service at Graduate College with others who dwelt on his
other talents. As an archæological explorer Butler showed his
resourcefulness and powers of command in the most remarkable way.
Bedouins, Arabs, native Turks yielded to his quiet and persuasive
power, though he rarely raised his voice above a low monotone. Again
we turn to the language of Dante and of Homer to express appreciation
of this great man.