December 



able writers of this class is that last and best 

 prose-poet of our times, Mr. John Burroughs, 

 a sort of high-priest in Nature's temple, a ver- 

 itable seer. The atmosphere of one of his 

 books is as refreshing as a week's outing \ his 

 descriptions are panoramic, the delicacy of 

 sentiment and felicity of expression unsur- 

 passed, with here and there a subtle turn in the 

 phrase that sparkles like a jewel. Combining 

 scientific accuracy with a poet's intensity of 

 feehng, he is too well balanced and too honest 

 ever to allow a fact to be distorted in order to 

 extract therefrom a finer sentiment. His writ- 

 ings rest upon a solid foundation of rugged com- 

 mon-sense, and are wTitten in a w^arm, trans- 

 parent and invigorating style, without a taint 

 of self-consciousness. 



Like the best landscape pictures, his works 

 seem to have been produced out-of-doors. The 

 song of birds and aroma of flowers echoes and 

 exhales from every page — an inimitable tran- 

 script of nature. With keen intellect, sensitive 

 spirit, wide experience, and deep sympathies, 

 a commanding and lovable personality stands 

 behind his works, re-enforcing all that he ut- 

 ters. To his writings more than to any other 

 of the same class are Thoreau's words applica- 



