That the Catskills have proved an inspiration to Mr. Burroughs
cannot be doubted. Possibly we should never have had him as a nature
writer at all, had he spent his impressible youthful years in a less
favored locality. It is, however, a curious fact that the town which
produced this lover of nature also produced one other man of
national fame, who was as different from him as could well be
imagined. I refer to Jay Gould. He was born in the same town and in
the same part of the town, went to the same school, saw the same
scenes, was a farm boy like Burroughs, and had practically the same
experiences. Indeed, the two were a good deal together. But how
different their later lives! It seems easy to grant that environment
helped make the one; but what effect, if any, did that beautiful
Catskill country have on the other?

There are two seasons of the year when Mr. Burroughs is particularly
fond of getting back to his old home. The first is in sap-time, when
maple sugar is being made in the little shack on the borders of the
rock-maple grove. The second is in midsummer, when haying is in
progress. Both occasions have exceptional power for arousing
pleasant memories of the past, though such memories have also their
touch of sadness. In his early years he helped materially in the
farm work while on these visits; but latterly he gives his time to
rambling and contemplation. He once said to me, in speaking of a
neighbor: "That man hasn't a lazy bone in his body. But I have lots
of 'em--lots of 'em."

This affirmation is not to be interpreted too literally. He has made
a business success in raising small fruits, and his literary output
has been by no means meagre. I might also mention that in youth he
was something of a champion at swinging the scythe, and few could