1902.] THE EDUCATION OF BOOKS AND OF NATURE. 289 



have often thought how much better was the philosophy of a 

 little boy I chanced to meet one day. I was gomg to the 

 train in a wild rain storm in Boston about three weeks ago 

 when I almost fell over a little figure on the great stone steps 

 near the station. I looked down rather impatient at the little 

 thing that was in the way, but as the little fellow looked up at 

 me with his elbows out of his jacket, and as I caught the ex- 

 pression of his great eyes he gave me a picture of absolute 

 content on his face. The rain was pouring down, and the 

 wind howled, while without covering from the storm he looked 

 at me and held tightly in his two hands a great orange which 

 he was sucking hard. I said to him, " child, what are you 

 doing here? You will get wet." He never stopped a minute, 

 and then I said to him, " is it good?" and he looked so con- 

 tented and satisfied I said to him " Heaven bless you," and 

 went on my way *o catch my train, and I thought as I went 

 on if he was not a heaven-sent philosopher I never saw one. 

 He might get wet, but he proposed to get, even though it 

 rained upon him, every drop of juice out of that orange. He 

 didn't propose to be interrupted a minute. There was the 

 opposite picture from the little woman who never went to 

 see the falls, and I thought if we men and women, in our 

 rushing, busy lives, would only draw a lesson from the little 

 laddie how much better it would be. If we busy men and 

 women would only stop occasionally to see the beauteous 

 things of which the world of nature is so full, and to wisely 

 draw these pleasures from the fleeting days. So often before 

 we get time to walk up the bank of the river to see the falls 

 there is crape on the door, and the chance is over forever. I 

 sometimes think it is true, as a Frenchman told me once, 

 " you Americans do not seem to take the pleasure of each day 

 as it passes. We do, because we never allow ourselves to get 

 so busy that we never have any time to loaf around." It is 

 true. They take a little time every day to walk in the park, 

 or to sit in the garden, to lounge in restful places and listen to 

 the music of birds and the laughter of their children. We 

 call them lazy, but they drink the joy out of every day. And I 

 suppose that is what Henry Van Dyke meant when he put his 

 heart to school in the woods where the wild birds sing. He 

 understood the joy and the peace that we busy men and wo- 



Agr. — 19 



