"
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.
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