The Washington herald., 1913-11-09
Former President Tells Of His Visit to California Mssis-
sippi, and Yellowstone Park k-Taks with John
Burroughs and John Muir.

There are men who love out-of-doors
who yet never open a book; and other
men who love books but to whom the
great book of nature is a sealed volume,
and the lines written therein blurred
and iIlegfble. Nevertheless, among those
men whom I have known, the love of
books and the love OF outdoors. in their
highest expressions, have usually gone
hand in hand. It is an affectation for
the man who is praising outdoors to
sneer at books.
Usually the keenest appreciation Of
what is seen In nature is to be found In
those who have also profited by tho
boarded and recorded wisdom of their
fellow-men. Love OF outdoor life, love
of simple and hardy pastimes, can be
gratified by men and women who do not
possess large means, and who work
hard; and SO can love Of good books
not of good bindings and Of first editions,
excellent enough in their way but sheer
luxuries-I mean love OF reading books,
owning them IL possible of course, but,
IL that is not possible. getting them
from circulating library.
Love of Seasons.
Sycamore Hill takes its name from the
old Sycamore Mohannis, who, as chief
Of his little tribe, signed away his rights
10 the land two centuries and a half ago
The house stands right on the top of the
hin, separated by fields and belts Of
woodland from all other houses, and
looks out over the bay and the sound
We see the sun go down beyond long
reaches of land and of water. Many birds
TtWHH2N
in the pastures and the woods near by,
and of course in winter guIIs, looms, and
wild fowl frequent the waters Of the
bay and the sound.
We love all the seasons; the SHOWS and
hare woods of winter; tho rush of grow
ing things and the blossom spray of
spring; the yellow grain, the ripening
fruits and tasseled corn. and the deep,
leafy shades that are heralded by "the
green dance Of summer" and the sharp
fall winds that tear the brilliant banners
year.
Days Spent in Skin.
The sound is always lovely. In the
summer nights we watch il from the |
piazza, and see the lights of the tall Fall |
River boats as they steam steadily by.
Now and then we spend a day on II. the |
skiff, or perhaps with one OF the boys /
TO pull an extra pair Of oars; We land |
for lunch at noon under wind-beaten /
oaks on the edge of a low blum, or /
among the wild plum bushes on a spit OF /
white sand. while the sails OF the coast
ing schooners gleam in the sunlight, and
the tolling Of the bell-buoy comes land
ward across the waters
Ions Island Is not as rich in flowers as
the valley of the Hudson. Yet there are
many. Early in April there is one hill
side near US which glows like a tender
flame with the white of the bloodroot.
About the same time We find the shy
mayfiower, the trailing arbutus; and al
though We rarely pick wild flowers one
member of the household always plucks
4 little bunch of mayiowers to send to
l friend working in Panama, whose soul
hungers for the Northern spring.
Then there are shadblow and delicate
anemones, about the time of the cherry
blossoms; the brief glory Of the apple
orchards follows: and then the throng-
ing dogwoods I'LL the forests with their
radiance; and so flowers follow flowers
until the springtime splendor closes with