John Burroughs 



By Edward B. Clark 



\\'hen it became known that John Bvtrroughs, poet, was to be the guest of 

 Theodore Rooseveh, President, on the Yellowstone Park trip, someone remarked : 

 "Mr. Roosevelt will be in good company." In truth he was in good company, 

 and there is perhaps no nature lover in this land of ours who did not envy the 

 President of the United States his good luck in the prospect of a few weeks' 

 companionship wnth rare old John Burroughs. A great news agency sent broad- 

 cast the announcement that the President had chosen Mr. Burroughs as a field 

 comrade in the Yellowstone region in order that the w^riter-scientist might teach 

 him the \vays of the wild animal folk of the Rockies. There is no humor like 

 unconscious humor, and those who knew a thing or two laughed at this bit of 

 misinformation sent out by a bureau supposed to supply intelligence in a double 

 sense, ^^llen John Burroughs reached Chicago he called the attention of the 

 present writer to this newspaper statement that he was to be the teacher of 

 Theodore Roosevelt in the ways of nature. 'That was rich," said John 

 Burroughs. "^Mr. Roosevelt knows more of the natural history of the West 

 than four John Burroughs rolled into one. lie will teach me, I trust." 



T have spoken of John Burroughs as a poet. He is indeed the truest of 

 poets, though the greater part of his writings is in prose. Ilis prose has in it 

 the very essence of poetry at all times save when the poet forsakes poetic thought 

 and takes up the ever-severe science. ]\Ir. Burroughs is an exact scientist. It is 

 the general belief that the very coldness of science prevents its devotee from 

 ever feeling his system pervaded with the warmth of poetry. John Burroughs is 

 one of the living refutations of this thought. Who are the others? It will take 

 some searching to find the answer. Mr. Burroughs can turn from a scientific 

 analysis which involves the splitting of a hair, or a feather, or a leaf, and the 

 making of the layman's head to swim with Latin terms, to pen somethif.g like 

 this on the beauty of the mar.sh marigold: "Like fixed and heaped up sunshine 

 there beneath the alders, or l)eyond in the freshening fiekls." lie can tell the 

 musician in terms to his liking the ])itch and compass of a bird's song. And then 

 for him to whom the terms of music are as nothing, but in whose soul there is 

 song, he will give some such description as ihi'^ of the chant of the hermit thrush, 

 following it with an exquisite bit of rhvthmic prose: "O spheral, spheral, O holy, 

 holv ! O clear away, clear away, O clear away. The song of the hermit thrush 

 is the finest sound in nature. It suggests a serene religious beatitude. It realizes 

 a peace and a deep, solemn joy that only the finest souls may know. Listening 

 to this strain on the lone mountain top with the full moon just rounded from 

 the horizon, the ])()mp of our cities and the pr'u\c of our ci\ ilization seem cht\ip 

 and trivial." 



This description of the matchless '-img of the hermit thrush was written 

 years ago, and the last line or two of it have been plagiarized again and again. 



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