Old John Burroughs

"IT is seven o'clock in the morning. I am writing this at Slab-Sides, & out through the climbing Morning Glories, upon which the dew yet sparkles, I see Old John Burroughs working intently in the garden. He is hatless and coatless, and his tumbled snow-white hair & beard, from this distance, seem like an aureole as he leans over at his work. The sun, peeping over the mountain top, seems to caress him. Its rays fall upon him like a benediction. He is the center of the picture; all around him is the green growing celery; & outside of this little valley, fenced in by nature's forest, rise the hills, emerald at the base, growing purple at the top — crowned by white mist — with here & there fierce jutting gray crags, as though to show by antithesis that this scene of sweet peace has not always been." -- Elbert Hubbard