A NEW book by John Burroughs, needs but to be mentioned, to bring to mind fancies of spicy odors, the balmy breath of trees trees and flowers, bird-songs,and the varied rustle and stir of wild life. The freshness and charm of nature are reflected in every page, as the verdant fringes that border still waters are mirrored on their face. Mr. Burroughs's latest work, "Signs and Season" (Houghton, Mifflin & Co.), is the same in style and character as the six volumes which have preceded it. They are as like as the seasons which succeed each other—and as diverse. There is a newness in each beautiful day, as though it were the first which ever dawned upon the earth. There is a perennial vigor and raciness in the soul of a man living close to nature, which are never lessened or changed. John Burroughs allies himself so intimately with the living things in the woods and fields that he has become akin to them in spirit,—simple in aim, unconventional in feeling, clear in vision, patient in effort, and unaffected and poetical in utterance. He keeps to a single line of study in harmony with his instincts. It has been his desire to know but a few things, and to know them well; and the value of such a course is declared openly in every pace of his writing. It has given him a genuine culture which the most scholarly admire, and wonder at withal. The essays in the present collection treat of birds and beasts and plants and phases of the seasons and the weather, each under some apt and pithy title. There are thirteen of them, all idyllic in form, and as replete with beauties as a summer sky or a sunny landscape.