raduate student
at Yale, expressing the hope that he can see Mr. Burroughs at Slabsides
in April: "There is nothing I want to say--but for a while I would like
to be near him. He is my great good teacher and friend.... As you know,
he is more to me than Harvard or Yale. He is the biggest, simplest, and
serenest man I have met in all the East."

I suppose there is no literary landmark in America that has had a more
far-reaching influence than Slabsides. Flocks of youths and maidens from
many schools and colleges have, for the past fifteen years, climbed the
hill to the rustic cabin in all the gayety and enthusiasm of their young
lives. But they have seen more than the picturesque retreat of a
living author; they have received a salutary impression made by the
unostentatious life of a man who has made a profound impression on his
day who has made a profound impression on his day and age; they have
gone their separate ways with an awakened sense of the comradeship it
is possible to have with nature, and with an ennobling affection for the
one who has made them aware of it. And this affection goes with them
to whatever place on the globe their destinies carry them. It is
transmitted to their children; it becomes a very real part of their
lives.

"My dear John Burroughs--Everybody's dear John Burroughs," a friend
writes him from London, recounting her amusing experiences in the study
of English birds. And it is "Everybody's dear John Burroughs" who stands
in the wide doorway at Slabsides and gives his callers a quiet, cordial
welcome. And when the day is ended, and the visitor goes his way down
the hill, he carries in his heart a new treasure--the surety that he has
found a comrade.

Having had the privilege for the past twelve years of helping Mr.
Burroughs with his correspondence, I have been particularly interested
in the spontaneous responses which have come to him from his young
readers, not only in America, but from Europe, New Zealand, Australia.
Confident of his interest, they are boon companions from the start. They
describe their own environment, give glimpses of the wild life about
them, come to him with their natural-history difficulties; in short,
write as to a friend of whose tolerant sympathy they feel assured. In
fact, this is true of all his correspondents. They get on easy footing
at once. They send him birds, flowers, and insects to identify;
sometimes live animals and birds--skylarks have been sent fro