Sierra Club Bulletin 



him know, he often had to be urged to eat in order that the 

 camp-dishes might be packed to move on. And more than once 

 his companions at the table have quietly taken what was on his 

 plate while he, without noticing what had been done, kept right 

 on talking. I remember an occasion when a plate of fried trout 

 was set before him. It was well in the afternoon, and he had 

 had nothing to eat since a six-o'clock breakfast ; he had walked 

 many miles and was tired. Nevertheless, he talked continuously 

 of the forest and mountains through which he had gone, and 

 was utterly oblivious to the fact that his plate was filled and 

 emptied three times by his neighbors, while all he had taken 

 was a piece of bread and a cup of coffee. I finally told him that 

 it was time to go, and that if he would stop and eat I would do 

 the talking for a few minutes until he had finished. 



Muir was a worker. He felt that he had a task to perform 

 and little time for idling. When in the wilderness he was con- 

 tinually making observations and recording them in his jour- 

 nals. These were usually, sometimes lavishly, illustrated by 

 sketches that served to explain or emphasize the text. When at 

 home he was busy looking after his fruit ranch or engaged in 

 writing ; and, as the years went by, the latter occupation con- 

 sumed most of his time. While he did much writing, as shown 

 by his books and manuscripts, he never did it easily or with 

 pleasure, but from a sense of duty. More than once he spoke to 

 me of the difference in this respect between John Burroughs 

 and himself. Burroughs, he said, never would write except 

 when the mood was on him ; then he wrote rapidly, and sent his 

 manuscript to the press with little or no revision, while he 

 (Muir) made it his business to write every day, whether in the 

 mood or not. To him writing was laborious, if not irksome, and 

 much time was spent in smoothing, balancing, paragraphing, 

 and arranging it for the press. He possessed a surprising 

 amount of literary acumen, and usually cut out and trimmed 

 down much that he had written, saying it was a serious error to 

 dwell too long on one detail ; that the reader wearied of a single 

 theme, and should be led along by frequent changes. He had 

 never used a stenographer until a few years before his death. 

 When visiting the late E. H. Harriman at his Pelican Bay camp 

 on Klamath Lake, Mr. Harriman had urged him to dictate an 



