XVI 



THE GUIDE TO NATURE— ADVERTISEMENTS 



LITERAK 



«€>©23®<S®' 



NOTICES 



l.\ the Beauty of Meadow and Mountain. 



By Charles Coke Woods. New York City : 



The Methodist Book Concern. 

 An attractive book, well printed on high 

 grade paper and profusely illustrated. It 

 pleasingly mingles knowledge and senti- 

 ment. The author has brought both head 

 and heart, and both in earnest, to the study 

 of nature. The arrangement is good, the 

 dainty little sketches are appropriate, the 

 whole spirit of the work not only is raptur- 

 ous in stimulation for the love of nature 

 but it sets one to thinking and incites a de- 

 sire to know. Much good poetry is scattered 

 through the volume. 



The American Annual of Photography, 

 1918. Edited by Percy Y. Howe. 57 

 East Ninth Street, New York City: 

 George Murphy, Incorporated. 

 This annual visitor is welcomed by the 

 enthusiastic photographer. It teems with 

 specimens of expert work, with text that 

 tells the reader what to do, how to do it, 

 and how to approach the w r ork in the right 

 spirit. For the photographer that cares 

 only for a souvenir, and snaps everything 

 indiscriminately, this book will be of bene- 

 fit in showing him the error of his ways, and 

 in getting him started in paths that are 

 really photographic. But for the camerist 

 who cares for his art, who loves photog- 

 raphy for itself as well as the mere por- 

 trayal of something the book is a delight 

 not only because it is informing but because 

 it is stimulating and satisfying to profes- 

 sional pride. 



Down the Year. Bv C. DuFay Robertson. 

 New York City: Methodist Rook Concern. 



Tf I were riding on a trolley car in a for- 

 eign city far away from all my friends, I 

 could perhaps sit and admire the personal 

 beauty and geniality of strangers, I could 

 gaze from one to another and note the good 

 points of their attire, the color of their 

 hair, the expression of their faces, and listen 

 to their conversation one with another, but 

 I do not believe that I could love those 

 people just as the Lord made them, with- 

 out making at least some effort to know 

 some specific details about them. T should 

 like, before giving my heart to them, to 

 know some of their characteristics. 



Yet here is Mr. Robertson who loves 

 nature as he might love a stranger. He 

 makes no effort to know the finer, detailed, 

 loveable characteristics. He savs: 



"This writer is no botanist, or entomolo- 

 gist, or meteorologist, or scientist of any sort 

 whatever. He loves the good world as 

 God made it, and the year, to him, is a 

 pathway of delight. He cannot tell you the 

 Latin names of flowers and birds and in- 

 sects, nor the scientific words for 'cloud' 

 and 'snowflake' and 'raindrop;' but he loves 

 to look at these things and finds them well- 

 worth looking at." 



It is not Latin names that make the scien- 

 tist. If one merely gazes at a cloud, at a 

 raindrop, he is to a certain extent a metero- 

 logist. The author has filled a good book 

 with praises of nature and so far as it goes 

 it is good praise. The reviewer can only 

 say that the book, in a eulogistic sort of 

 way and so far as it goes, is praiseworthy. 



By the Sea. 



BY CAROLINE CI. ARK HINTON, NEW YORK 

 CITY. 



1 walked by the sea alone, 



And the sun upon the sea 



Was reflected in my eyes, 



And in my ears 



Beat the pulse of its surging depths. 



At night I came again to the sea, 



Darkness and starlight brooded above. 



Peace entered my soul, 



And my heart was glad 



As I walked by the sea with God. 



Rhymes of a Nature Student. 



The camel is a curious bird: 



Its wings are in its heels. 

 It scoots across the desert sands 



No matter how it feels. 



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The fly has three thousand eyes, 



A man but two; 

 That makes one hard to swat 



For me and you! 



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Little skeeter fly away 



Come and bite some other day! 



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The snake he takes but little room 



And does a lot of good; 

 He catches bugs and rats and mice 



And uses 'em for food. 



The poor little bee 



Who lives in a tree 

 That shades the rippling river 



Works all its days 



A nd never plays, 

 And has but one arrow in its quiver. 



— D. C. S. 



