Conway_The Wilderness of Henry Bugbee

The Wilderness of Henry Bugbee

Conway, Daniel W.

The Journal of Speculative Philosophy, New Series, Volume 17,Number 4, 2003, pp. 259-269 (Article)

Published by Penn State University PressDOI: 10.1353/jsp.2003.0051

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The Wilderness of Henry BugbeeDANIEL W. CONWAY

Pennsylvania State University

With whatever knowledge we truly stand forth, we stand forthbeyond the frontier of knowledge, beyond, indeed, where wehave been. Only so do we find out where we have always been,in all creation, a true wilderness.

—Henry Bugbee, The Inward Morning

It seems to me that every time I am born, the wilderness is bornanew; and every time I am born it seems to me that then, if ever,I could be content to die.

—Henry Bugbee, The Inward Morning

The concept of wilderness bears an unusual share of the philosophicalburden assumed by Henry Bugbee in The Inward Morning. This ambi-tious book in fact trades on two senses of wilderness, which, thoughcertainly related, are by no means identical. On the one hand, Bugbeeregularly appeals to a sense of wilderness that resonates familiarly withpopular appreciations of the North American Western frontier. Readersare likely to find themselves very much at home in the wilderness set-tings he so eloquently describes and in the yearnings for spiritual com-munion they evoke. On the other hand, Bugbee also trades on a senseof wilderness that bespeaks a distinctly Eastern provenance and sensi-bility. This sense of wilderness discloses reality as a depthless mystery,which calls to us and conveys the unresolved fluency of our existence.This latter sense of wilderness is likely to strike many readers as for-eign, especially since Bugbee does not exclusively associate it withplaces and spaces that are typically recognized as “wild.” As we shallsee, in fact, he does not restrict this latter sense of wilderness to any

The Journal of Speculative Philosophy, Vol. 17, No. 4, 2003.Copyright © 2003 The Pennsylvania State University, University Park, PA.

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particular characteristics of geographical designation, much less to those thatmost strongly evoke the former sense of wilderness.

The imperfect balance that Bugbee strikes between these two senses of wilder-ness attests not only to the novelty of his project, but also to the difficultiesinvolved in incorporating certain elements of Eastern spirituality into his phe-nomenological observations. The interplay between these two senses of wilder-ness is occasionally conflicted, even dissonant, and thus accounts in part for theuneven rhythm of Bugbee’s philosophical explorations. Our reception of TheInward Morning consequently depends to a great extent on our capacity (or will-ingness) to appreciate wilderness in the two, not-yet-fully-integrated senses thathe employs. As sympathetic readers, in fact, we may inherit from Bugbee thetasks of advancing the synthesis of these two senses of wilderness and negotiat-ing the competing demands they place upon us.

I

Throughout The Inward Morning, Bugbee appeals to an extremely familiar senseof wilderness. In many of his journal entries, he either states or implies that wildnature comprises those uncultivated places and spaces wherein human beingshave not yet obviously attempted to alter the cycles of nature to suit their ownpurposes.

Some of Bugbee’s favorite images of wild nature rely, predictably, on the starkbackdrop of the Western frontier of North America. One could easily concludefrom his reflections that he was most at home while exploring remote mountains,fishing obscure lakes and streams, and generally seeking isolation (and freedom)from the usual markers of human cultivation. In a passage that could have beencommissioned by the Canadian Travel Bureau, he recalls,

It was in the fall of ‘41, October and November, while late autumn prevailedthroughout the northern Canadian Rockies, restoring everything in that vastregion to a native wildness. Some part of each day or night, for forty days, flur-ries of snow were flying. The aspens and larches took on a yellow so vivid, sopure, so trembling in the air, as to fairly cry out that they were as they were,limitlessly. And it was there in attending to this wilderness, with unremittingalertness and attentiveness, yes, even as I slept, that I knew myself to have beeninstructed for life, though I was at a loss to say what instruction I had received.1

Like Thoreau, Bugbee regularly invokes the engulfing vastness of the NorthAmerican West to remind us of the deep spiritual longings that technology,progress, and material comforts have consistently failed to satisfy.2 Again like


Thoreau, Bugbee presents this Western frontier as a promising site of connec-tion to, or communion with, a numinous spirituality.3

In appealing to this familiar sense of wild nature, Bugbee happily aligns him-self with those environmental hyperopes who champion a macroscopic, or “pic-ture-postcard,” view of wilderness. This is the wilderness that is faithfullyrepresented by towering spires, snow-capped peaks, breathtaking expanses, blaz-ing sunsets, noble predators, and pristine potable waters. It is the view of wilder-ness that has enthused preservationists and conservationists alike, inspired theSierra Club coffee-table book series, and lured tree-huggers and RV-enthusiastsinto the woods—often in uncomfortable proximity to one another. And this isalso the view of wilderness that advertisers continually feed to house-, beltway-,and pavement-bound urbanites in the sclerotic metropolitan centers of the EasternUnited States.

This is not to say, of course, that Bugbee is unappreciative of less conspicu-ous manifestations of wild nature. For reasons that will soon become clearer, histaste in wilderness ran surprisingly catholic. In addition to his devotion to therugged, mountainous regions of the North American West, he also displays achildlike fascination with the useless, forgotten, and ordinary bits of wild nature.This is the microscopic view of wilderness that is represented by destituteswamps, ruined sand farms, stubborn weeds, harmless microfauna, and unen-dangered species. Here Bugbee pledges his allegiance to the awe-deflating placescelebrated by those environmental myopes who revel in the commonplace won-ders of wild nature. He vividly describes his memories of “swamping,” a school-boy pastime that involved tramping about the nearby swamps in late winter,aimlessly smashing the ice and plumbing the murky depths of the pooled water.Framed by gray skies and brisk winds, the scene whispered of death and deso-lation. “It was not particularly pleasant,” Bugbee recalls. “But,” he continues,“there was no mistake about the gladness of being in the swamp or the imma-nence of the wilderness there.”4

In fact, it turns out, Bugbee was able to partake of wilderness almost every-where he traveled. He equally appreciated the macroscopic wonders revered byenvironmental hyperopes and the microscopic miracles treasured by environ-mental myopes. He found wilderness while rowing, while standing watch in theSouth Pacific, while angling for trout, while stranded in a snowstorm, and whilesaving a drowning stranger. One suspects that he also found wilderness in theapproach and arrival of his own death.

Bugbee’s catholic taste in wild things reflects his unique, and occasionallyunwieldy, understanding of wilderness. While he is obviously drawn to placesand spaces that anyone might regard as wild, he also believes that we can accesswilderness from virtually any set of geographical coordinates, including thosehyperurbanized places that some environmental purists have left for dead.According to Bugbee, that is, wilderness need not be understood to exist only in

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DANIEL W. CONWAY262

opposition to (or exclusion from) sites of cultivation and civilization. In fact,some of his most instructive transactions with wilderness take place in sites char-acterized by serial cultivation.

Bugbee is aware, of course, that sites like these are not usually recognized aswild. (How many other rowers discovered wilderness in the rhythmic strokesthey applied to the glassy surface of the water?) This lack of popular consensuspoints not only to the uniqueness of Bugbee’s experience, but also to the limita-tions of our familiar sense of wilderness. It has become customary, I believe, toconceive of wild nature as immediately and unmistakably recognizable as such.It is no coincidence, I further believe, that this familiar sense of wilderness ignitesintense, quasi-religious experiences of personal limitation and insignificance. Ifwilderness typically presents itself as a brute, irresistible force, then how can wepossible ignore it or refuse its intensity?

While intuitively appealing for any number of reasons, this sense of wilder-ness is also extremely narrow and artificial. By definition and intent, it excludesfrom the domain of “wilderness” most of the places and spaces that most of uswill ever inhabit. This familiar understanding of wilderness thus depicts wildnature as necessarily residing at a distance—both spatial and conceptual—frommost of us. From Bugbee’s perspective, the main problem with this conceptionof wilderness is that it that it encourages the conviction that we can (and there-fore should) do nothing to prepare ourselves to behold wild nature. If wildernessis understood as an overwhelming, irresistible force, then the only contributionrequired of us is to place ourselves in its proximity. Once there, we expect wilder-ness to perform in its entirety the labor of captivation that will make possible ourtransient experience of communion with it. Such is its native power, we com-monly presume, that we expect wilderness to engulf us simply and completely,regardless of our current mood, temperament, or state of mind.

As Bugbee sees it, however, simply presenting oneself for assimilation by anengulfing intensity only reinforces the limitations of our familiar sense of wilder-ness. Seekers of genuine communion with nature must actually transact withtheir surroundings. In particular, he explains, they must endeavor to immersethemselves in the reality of the settings they occupy:

I think of immersion as a mode of living in the present with complete absorp-tion; one has the sense of being comprehended and sustained in a universal sit-uation. The absorption is not a matter of shrunken or congealed attention, nota narrowing down or an exclusion. One is himself absorbed into a situation, orby it, and the present which is lived in does not seem accurately conceivableas a discrete moment in a series. The present in question seems to expand itselfextensively into temporal and spatial distances.5

As this passage implies, the communion Bugbee seeks (and recommends) withnature promises to deliver far more than what the typical experience of wilder-


ness involves. As he explains, in fact, the discipline of immersion enables us topenetrate to the very nature of reality itself:

Our experience of the world involves us in a mystery which can be intelligibleto us only as a mystery. The more we experience things in depth, the more weparticipate in a mystery intelligible to us only as such; and the more we under-stand our world to be an unknown world. Our true home is wilderness, eventhe world of every day.6

Here it becomes clear that the task of philosophy is not to fashion a home for us in ahostile or indifferent world, but to immerse us in the reality of the place that sustainsus. In so immersing ourselves, we actually return to our original home—in wilderness.

II

Bugbee’s account of immersion appeals to the second sense of wilderness thatinforms The Inward Morning. This second sense of wilderness is far less famil-iar, and far less typical, than the first, and the relationship between them is notimmediately apparent. It is not at first clear, in fact, why the second sense hewishes to invoke even merits the designation of “wilderness.” Why does he notavoid confusion and find another name for it? This second sense of wildernessfurthermore reflects the influence on his thinking of various traditions of Easternspirituality, most notably Taoism and Zen Buddhism.7

What Bugbee apparently wishes to convey here is that reality itself is bestdescribed as a depthless mystery that we can never hope to fathom. Reality is“wild” in that it altogether lacks the structure, order, design, and purpose thatwould enable us to come to know it. This second sense of wilderness thus inti-mates a reality that is formless, nameless, and potentially indistinguishable fromnothingness. What we customarily take to be real is in fact nothing more than anartificial superstructure of prejudice and supposition, which, through overlap-ping processes of habituation, have become fixed in our experience. We havecome to “know” our world, that is, only on the basis of unsupported generaliza-tions, convenient simplifications, and outright falsifications.

Bugbee thus presents this second sense of wilderness as place- and space-independent. If, as he suggests, we may immerse ourselves in the reality of anyplace, then we may enter (or re-enter) wilderness from virtually anywhere. Thismeans that we maintain access to wilderness in the second sense even when weare unable to place ourselves in proximity to wilderness in the first sense. Ratherthan rely on wilderness in the first sense to engulf us in the irresistible sweep ofits intensity, we may create wilderness in the second sense wherever we mighthappen to be.



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According to Bugbee, this second way of understanding wilderness corre-sponds to the “wilderness of things appearing just as they are”8—not as isolable,discrete objects, but as interconnected moments and currents within a shiftingfield of existence. He thus writes,

But instead of things being fixed points of reference from which and to whichattention proceeds in a succession of steps and stops, there is no stopping, pre-cisely because each and every thing is a consummation of fluency. And ourminds, in the Zen manner of speaking, are gourds dancing on the waves,resilient, flexible, swift and apt. There is this bathing in fluent reality whichresolves mental fixations and suggests that our manner of taking things hasbeen staggeringly a matter of habituation.9

As this passage confirms, the goal of immersion is to dissolve the fixed pointsand acquired habits of our everyday experience, thereby delivering us to thewilderness of an undetermined, unbounded reality.

This is not to suggest, however, that the decision to immerse oneself in anyparticular place need be arbitrary. All places and spaces hold the power to claimour deepest allegiances, but only a very few actually ever do so. Although Bugbeebelieves that wilderness is potentially accessible from any set of geographicalcoordinates, his most memorable experiences of wilderness are catalyzed by hisimmersion in places that virtually anyone would recognize as “wild.” In partic-ular, as we have seen, he tends to record his immersion in familiar wildernesssettings located throughout the North American West. These are the places thatclaimed him most profoundly, and to which he felt summoned to return. In fact,he expressly links the second sense of wilderness to the condition of having beenclaimed: “Wilderness is reality experienced as call and explained in respondingto it absolutely.”10

By characterizing the experience of wilderness as “call,” Bugbee softenssomewhat the brute mystery of our existence. Although we are always at sea inthe fluency of reality, we may also find a home in wilderness if we “respondabsolutely” to its call. The potential dangers involved in doing so are mitigatedby the countervailing appeal of homecoming. By actively transacting with wildnature (as opposed simply to yielding or surrendering to it), we may recover ournative wildness.

To be sure, “responding absolutely” to the call of wilderness will exact aheavy toll. We will experience the recession of our autarkic individuality, the dis-sipation of our causal efficacy, and the blurring of the familiar boundaries of per-sonal identity. We will exchange our hard-won certainties for the non-negotiableambiguity of an unfathomable mystery. We will surrender the precious ego-con-sciousness of Western spirituality and take on the fluid, intersubjective con-sciousness that is emblematic of many forms of Eastern spirituality. Wild naturewill appear to us not so much as the sheltering womb presented by Emerson and


Thoreau, but as an unbounded sea, the aimless currents of which we must some-how learn to follow.

As we immerse ourselves in this sea, its unpredictable movements will grad-ually become our own, such that we may temporarily misplace any differencesseparating ourselves from the swells that buoy us. To advance Bugbee’s own bor-rowed image, we might picture our minds not merely as “gourds dancing on thewaves,” but as actually indistinguishable from the waves themselves.

III

These two senses of wilderness are neither identical nor entirely unrelated.Wilderness enthusiasts regularly report being “drawn” to particular settings, evenif they tend not to respond “absolutely” to the calls they receive. Indeed, it is notparticularly difficult to imagine, or even to anticipate, the convergence of thesetwo senses in a dialogical relationship with wilderness. As we will see in the finalsection of this essay, Bugbee’s goal is to prepare us to take up our disowned part-nership with wild nature.

It is no coincidence that so many of Bugbee’s favorite images of wild natureinclude depictions of unimpeded flows of water: heaving seas, rushing rivers,mortal rapids, babbling brooks, and sedulous streams. It was in proximity to wildwater, in fact, that he was most likely to confront reality “point-blank,” as he putsit.11 But one need not share Bugbee’s affinity for moving waters to appreciatethe relationship he detects, and the connection he hopes to cement, between thetwo senses of wilderness that inform The Inward Morning. Although his attrac-tion to moving waters is irreducibly personal, it is neither entirely accidental norexclusively subjective. These untamed surface flows provide him with tangiblereminders of the underlying fluency of reality itself. Much as Thoreau claimedthat we are drawn westward by the “subtle magnetism in Nature,”12 so Bugbeeobserved that many of us are naturally drawn to wild flows of water. They aremarkers of our fluent reality.

Bugbee’s attraction to moving waters thus suggests that these two senses ofwilderness are intimately related. He apparently believes, in fact, that our morefamiliar sense of wilderness can serve as a prelude or introduction to the lessfamiliar sense of wilderness as call. As his affinity for moving waters indicates,our familiar understanding of wilderness not only reminds us of the fluent real-ity of our existence but also invites us to immerse ourselves in it.

It is here that East most obviously meets West in Bugbee’s philosophicalexplorations. He apparently wishes to connect our familiar, occidental sense ofwilderness with an Eastern sensibility, which, he believes, might free us frommental fixation and the prejudice of habit. This Eastern sensibility, pertaining tothe fluent reality of our existence, finds its most promising home in close asso-



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ciation with our more familiar sense of wilderness—hence his use of the term“wilderness” to describe both senses. We should not be surprised, then, that hisown most successful attempts at immersion take place in familiar wildernessareas. If his own experience is representative, then such areas may provide uswith our most promising points of entry into the Eastern sensibility he hopes tocultivate. Whereas the spiritually evolved practitioner of Taoism or ZenBuddhism may be able to attain a heightened state of consciousness from anyplace and at any time, we may require the staging afforded us by the grandexpanse of the North American West. In availing himself of this staging, Bugbeethus promotes a convergence of the two senses of wilderness that inform hisphilosophical explorations.

If this is what Bugbee is up to, then his project is as audacious as it is origi-nal. We North Americans, who have long sought to experience—and to voice—a primal sense of connection to something older, grander, and holier thanourselves, might immerse ourselves more completely in the mystical spiritual-ity that emanates from our wilderness. Rather than continue to take our bearingsfrom other cultures and traditions, we may someday look instead to wilderness,especially the wilderness of the Western frontier. If Bugbee’s project is success-ful, moreover, then wilderness may yet serve as the mystical, unifying core of aspiritual tradition that successfully blends the process-sensibility of Eastern reli-gions with the object-sensibility of Western science and ontology. To put thepoint bluntly: Wilderness may yet become our Tao, our nameless unifying prin-ciple and unquenchable source of mystery and wonder.13

In this light, The Inward Morning is perhaps best appreciated as an experi-ment in spiritual husbandry. In particular, Bugbee wishes to graft an Eastern sen-sibility onto a more familiar, Western experience of wilderness. The aim of thisexperiment is to nurture the rooting and growth of this exotic transplant, so thatit might eventually alter the spiritual landscape of Western (and particularly NorthAmerican) philosophy. The new, nourishing fruit that he hopes to coax from hisexperimental hybrid must emerge from a plant that is also recognizably Western.If successful in this endeavor, he might hope that his exotic transplants will some-day grow as tall and broad as a California redwood, as hearty and resilient as theaspens that sway in the snow-swept Rockies.

IV

Bugbee returned to the theme of wilderness in his 1974 essay, “Wilderness inAmerica.” In this essay, he endeavors to communicate the results of his attempt“to ponder anew the potential significance [wilderness] might yet hold withinthe shaping of our destiny as a people.”14 Rejecting the standard (i.e., utilitarian)arguments for the protection of designated “wilderness areas,” he instead pro-


motes an appreciation of wilderness prior to any consideration of its potentialuses. He thus explains:

In wilderness the partnership of man and nature dawns on our surmise—priorto all undertaking and use to which nature may lend. The partnership seems tobe a dialogic affair, in which we are charged with responsibility in the waythings come to mean, having been placed in that way. Even as the things of theplace command attention in the presencing of the world they are discovered tous from within the depth of responsiveness in confirmation of our mutualitywith them.15

Bugbee thus recommends wilderness as the transactional setting in which wemight reevaluate the most basic principles and commitments that guide our com-munal endeavors. In dialogue with wilderness, he proposes, we may actuallydetermine the true breadth of our responsibilities to nature. By attending in par-ticular to the terms of our disowned “partnership” with nature, we might learnto attend more intimately to ourselves and to one another. For his own, very dif-ferent reasons, then, Bugbee agrees with Thoreau that our salvation lies in wilder-ness.16 As he explains,

True solitude is as a wellspring of communal life; its return affords measure ofwhat has become of communal life, perhaps most closely in the dissipation ofone’s own resolutions, the forgetting of one’s whence and whitherto. For wilder-ness puts our standard of living to the test. What can stand to the mutuality ofman and nature can be affirmed in the relations between men.... And withoutrespect for nature man cannot stand, not even in the mutual regard of men.17

What we stand to gain from a partnership with nature is precisely what we sup-posedly have been seeking all along: a nonsubjective, immanent standard of asustainable way of life. The “test” to which we might “put our standard of liv-ing” is that of wilderness itself, to which Bugbee assigns an ethical priority.

Wilderness commands this priority insofar as it supports the solitude thatBugbee identifies (and recommends) as “a wellspring of communal life.” Periodicreturns to solitude would enable us to accept our partnership with wild nature,which would in turn furnish us with a model for our relationships with otherhuman beings. Bugbee thus implies that sustainable human communities are pos-sible only as outgrowths of an antecedent partnership with wild nature. Beforewe can attend meaningfully to the “preservation” of wilderness, that is, we mustenter into dialogue with it.

Hence the irony of our current estrangement from wild nature: We have setaside designated “wilderness” areas so that we or our descendants will be in aposition to enjoy (or otherwise dispose of) them, provided that we or they everdetermine how to enjoy these areas without also destroying them. According to



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Bugbee, however, our most promising opportunity to arrive at this determinationactually lies in an ongoing dialogue with wild nature. In “protecting” thesewilderness areas, we thus prevent ourselves from evaluating our standard of liv-ing, which in turn limits our capacity to protect anyone or anything.

If Bugbee is right, then our well-intentioned reliance on political legislationhas actually thwarted our efforts to foster ecological awareness. The “true soli-tude” he recommends as a “measure” of our existence may be impossible toachieve in a protected wilderness area. In such a setting, how likely is it that wewill hear the call of the wild, much less respond to it? And if we hear no call,then we are likely to persist in our self-serving belief that a partnership with wildnature is either impossible or frivolous.

In this light, it would appear that our efforts to protect designated “wilder-ness” areas have more to do with our own needs for self-protection. In settingaside these areas for future disposition, we postpone the fateful moment of self-reckoning that a partnership with wild nature would require of us. AlthoughBugbee does not say so, I believe he would agree that we can trace our currentenvironmental crisis in large part to our abiding wish not to hear (and, so, not toheed) the call of wilderness. For whatever reasons, we continue to recoil fromthe dependency and vulnerability that are implied by a genuine partnership withnature. We continue to suspect that the sacrifice required of such a partnershipwill prove to be debilitating, even fatal, to us. We thereby deny ourselves the“inward morning” that might otherwise herald the dawning of a genuine part-nership with wild nature.18

Notes1. Henry Bugbee, The Inward Morning, 140.2. Henry David Thoreau, “Walking,” 609.3. Thoreau, “Walking,” 613.4. Bubgee, The Inward Morning, 43.5. Ibid., 51–52.6. Ibid., 76.7. Feenberg, Rothenberg, and Strong all document the influence on Bugbee of the Zen

Buddhism of D. T. Suzuki.8. Bugbee, The Inward Morning, 106.9. Ibid., 52.

10. Ibid., 128. For an examination of Bugbee’s account of the “call,” see Daniel Conway,“Answering the Call of the Wild,” 9–15.

11. Bugbee, The Inward Morning, 17212. Thoreau, “Walking,” 607.13. In a back cover blurb to the 1999 edition of The Inward Morning, Huston Smith hails it as

“the most ‘Taoist’ Western book” he knows, “Thoreau’s Walden not excepted.” Smith’s decision toplace the adjective “Taoist” in quotes strikes me as a timely admonition that no Western book shouldbe considered authentically Taoist, either in provenance or inspiration.

14. Bugbee, The Inward Morning, 614.15. Ibid., 619, italics added.16. Thoreau, “Walking,” 613.17. Bugbee, “Wilderness in America,” 620.


18. This essay was originally prepared for the 2000 meetings of the International Association forEnvironmental Philosophy. I am grateful to my fellow panelists—Doug Anderson, Ed Mooney, andBruce Wilshire—for sharing their enthusiasm for the thought and life of Henry Bugbee. I am alsograteful to an anonymous referee for the Journal of Speculative Philosophy.

Works CitedBugbee, Henry. 1974. “Wilderness in America.” Journal of the American Academy of Religion 42

(4): 614–20. ———. 1999. The Inward Morning: A Philosophical Exploration in Journal Form. Athens:

University of Georgia Press.Conway, Daniel. 1999. “Answering the Call of the Wild: Walking with Bugbee and Thoreau.” In

Wilderness and the Heart: Henry Bugbee’s Philosophy of Place, Presence, and Memory, ed.Edward F. Mooney, foreword by Alasdair MacIntyre. Athens: U of Georgia P. 3–17.

Feenberg, Andrew. 1999. “Zen Existentialism: Bugbee’s Japanese Influence.” In Wilderness and theHeart: Henry Bugbee’s Philosophy of Place, Presence, and Memory, ed. Edward F. Mooney,foreword by Alasdair MacIntyre. Athens: U of Georgia P. 81–91.

Rothenberg, David. 1999. “Melt the Snowflake at Once! Toward a History of Wonder.” InWilderness and the Heart: Henry Bugbee’s Philosophy of Place, Presence, and Memory, ed.Edward F. Mooney, foreword by Alasdair MacIntyre. Athens: U of Georgia P. 18–31.

Strong, David. 1999. “The Inward Wild.” In Wilderness and the Heart: Henry Bugbee’s Philosophyof Place, Presence, and Memory, ed. Edward F. Mooney, foreword by Alasdair MacIntyre.Athens: U of Georgia P. 92–112.

Thoreau, Henry David. 1950.”Walking.” In Walden and Other Writing of Henry David Thoreau, ed.Brooks Atkinson. New York: The Modern Library, 597–632.



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Conway_The Wilderness of Henry Bugbee