h books
of mountains and forests were ever written as his "Mountains of
California," "My First Summer in the Sierra," "The Yosemite" and "Our
National Parks." His brooks and trees are the abode of dryads and
hamadryads--they live and talk.

And when he writes of the animals he has met in his rambles, without any
attempt to put into their characters anything that does not belong to
them, without "manufacturing his data," he somehow manages to do much
more than introduce them to you; he makes you their intimate and
admiring friends, as he was. His ouzel bobs you a cheery good morning
and sprays you with its "ripple of song"; his Douglas squirrel scolds
and swears at you with rough good-nature; and his big-horn gazes at you
with frank and friendly eyes and challenges you to follow to its
splendid heights, not as a hunter but as a companion. You love them all,
as Muir did.

As an instance of this power in his writings, when I returned from the
Klondyke in 1898 the story of Stickeen had been published in a magazine
a few months before. I met in New York a daughter of the great Field
family, who when a child had heard me tell of Muir's exploit in rescuing
me from the mountain top, and who had shouted with delight when I told
of our sliding down the mountain in the moraine gravel. She asked me
eagerly if I was the Mr. Young mentioned in Muir's story. When I said
that I was she called to her companions and introduced me as the Owner
of Stickeen; and I was content to have as my claim to an earthly
immortality my ownership of an immortalized dog.

I cannot think of John Muir as dead, or as much changed from the man
with whom I canoed and camped. He was too much a part of nature--too
natural--to be separated from his mountains, trees and glaciers.
Somewhere, I am sure, he is making other explorations, solving other
natural problems, using that brilliant, inventive genius to good effect;
and some time again I shall hear him unfold anew, with still clearer
insight and more eloquent words, fresh secrets of his "mountains of
God."

The Thlingets have a Happy Hunting Ground in the Spirit Land for dogs as
well as for men; and Muir used to contend that they were right--that the
so-called lower animals have as much right to a Heaven as humans. I
wonder if he has found a still more beautiful--a glorified--Stickeen;
and if the little fellow still follows and frisks about him as in those
old days. I like to think so; and when I too cros