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 
feeling, 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 written in a warm, 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- 
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