spelling, simply because
these slips will discredit your thought in the eyes of superficial
critics.

You understand, of course, that I speak above of the general public--not
of the finer natures, who will welcome you with warm hands.

I fear that the results of my reading will not correspond to your
wishes, and that it was hardly worth your while to send me your MS. But
I am obliged to you for informing me of your existence, for I augur good
for my country from the discovery of every such intelligence as yours,
and I pledge to you my warm interest and regard.

Very cordially yours,

David A. Wasson

Worcester, Sept. 29, 1862,

My Dear Mr. Burroughs,--

To the medicine proposition I say. Yes. A man of your tastes and mental
vigor should be able to do some clean work in that profession. I know
not of any other established profession that allows a larger scope of
mind than this. There is some danger of materialism, but this you have
already weaponed yourself against, and the scientific studies that come
in the line of the profession will furnish material for thought and
expression which I am sure you will know well how to use.

I am glad if my suggestions about your essay proved of some service to
you. There is thought and statement in it which will certainly one day
come to a market. The book, too, all in good season. Life for you
is very long, and you can take your time. Take it by all means. Give
yourself large leisure to do your best. I am about setting up my
household gods in Worcester. This makes me in much haste, and therefore
without another word I must say that I shall always be glad to hear from
you, and that I am always truly your friend.

D. A. Wasson

Of the early nature papers which Mr. Burroughs wrote for the New York
"Leader," and which were grouped under the general title, "From the
Back Country," there were five or six in number, of two or three columns
each. One on "Butter-Making," of which I will quote the opening passage,
fairly makes the mouth water:--

With green grass comes golden butter. With the bobolinks and the
swallows, with singing groves, and musical winds, with June,--ah, yes!
with tender, succulent, gorgeous June,--all things are blessed. The
dairyman's heart rejoices, and the butter tray with its virgin treasure
becomes a sight to behold. There lie the rich masses, fold upon fold,
leaf upon leaf, fresh, sweet, and odorous, just as the ladle of the
dairymaid dipped it