INTRODUCTION 



to Mr. Burroughs's home on the Hudson, 

 and also went with him to his boyhood 

 home far back in the Catskills. In these 

 visits we rambled and talked and saw birds 

 and found flowers together; and now and 

 then in some familiar haunt of our nature 

 lover I secured a picture of him. The 

 picture-making was never long-studied, — it 

 came in naturally with the tramping, and it 

 did not interfere in the least with our having 

 a good time. These rambles ranged through 

 all the four seasons, just as do the essays se- 

 lected for illustration, — from white winter 

 through mellow spring and the full-leaved 

 greenness of summer, around to the last 

 brown and withered days of autumn. 



Among the pleasantest of my experiences 

 I remember the evenings I spent in the little 

 bark-covered study at "Riverby," as Mr. 

 Burroughs has named his fruit farm on the 

 Hudson. The open fire blazed cheerfully, 

 and the chilly blackness of the outside night 

 was forgotten. I had my chair at one side 

 of the hearth, while on the other side sat 

 Mr. Burroughs with a big cat in his lap, 

 and the conditions seemed perfect for a de- 

 lightful evening of thinking and talking 

 with no hurry and no worry, 

 viii 



