of fringed
polygalas resembles a "flock of rose-purple butterflies" alighted on the
ground; the male and female flowers of the early everlasting are "found
separated from each other in well-defined groups, like men and women
in an old-fashioned country church"; "the note of the pewee is a human
sigh"; the bloodroot--"a full-blown flower with a young one folded in
a leaf beneath it, only the bud emerging, like the head of a papoose
protruding from its mother's blanket." Speaking of the wild orchids
known as "lady's-slippers," see the inimitable way in which he puts
you on the spot where they grow: "Most of the floral ladies leave
their slippers in swampy places in the woods, only the stemless one
(_Cypripedium acaule_) leaves hers on dry ground before she reaches the
swamp, commonly under evergreen trees where the carpet of pine needles
will not hurt her feet." Almost always he invests his descriptions with
some human touch that gives them rare charm--nature and human nature
blended--if it is merely the coming upon a red clover in England--

"The first red clover head just bloomed... but like
the people I meet, it has a ruddier cheek than those at home."

When we ask ourselves what it is that makes his essays so engaging, we
conclude it is largely due to their lucidity, spontaneity, and large
simplicity--qualities which make up a style original, fresh, convincing.
His writing, whether about nature, literature, science, or philosophy,
is always suggestive, potent, pithy; his humor is delicious; he says
things in a crisp, often racy, way. Yet what a sense of leisureliness
one has in reading him, as well as a sense of companionability!

What distinguishes him most, perhaps, is his vivid and poetic
apprehension of the mere fact. He never flings dry facts at us, but
facts are always his inspiration. He never seeks to go behind them, and
seldom to use them as symbols, as does Thoreau. Thoreau preaches and
teaches always; Mr. Burroughs, never. The facts themselves fill him with
wonder and delight--a wonder and delight his reader shares. The seasons,
the life of the birds and the animals, the face of nature, the ever new,
the ever common day--all kindle his enthusiasm and refresh his soul. The
witchery of the ideal is upon his page without doubt, but he will not
pervert natural history one jot or tittle for the sake of making a
pretty story. His whole aim is to invest the fact with living interest
without in the least l