i 7 2 THE FACE OF THE FIELDS 



As an essayist, — as a nature-writer I ought to 

 say, — Mr. Burroughs's literary care is perhaps 

 nowhere so plainly seen as in the simple archi- 

 tecture of his essay plans, in their balance and 

 finish, a quality that distinguishes him from 

 others of the craft, and that neither gift nor 

 chance could so invariably supply. The common 

 fault of outdoor books is the catalogue — raw 

 data, notes. There are paragraphs of notes in 

 Mr. Burroughs, volumes of them in Thoreau. 

 The average nature-writer sees not too much of 

 nature, but knows all too little of literary values; 

 he sees everything, gets a meaning out of no- 

 thing; writes it all down; and gives us what he 

 sees, which is precisely what everybody may see ; 

 whereas, we want also what he thinks and feels. 

 Some of our present writers do nothing but feel 

 and divine and fathom — the animal psycho- 

 logists, whatever they are. The bulk of nature- 

 writing, however, is journalistic, done on the 

 spot, into a note-book, as were the journals of 

 Thoreau — fragmentary, yet with Thoreau often 

 exquisite fragments — bits of old stained glass, 

 unleaded, and lacking unity and design. 



No such fault can be found with Mr. Bur- 



