14 Naturalist at Large 



the young Crown Prince of Bavaria into a rather deep 

 fountain, and for this, naturally, we got the devil. 



I recall that when we visited the Zoo at Frankfurt am 

 Main, the keeper reached into a cage, opened a tiny box, 

 parted the cotton wool — and there, curled up, was a 

 pigmy lemur. He said it was the smallest of all the mon- 

 key family. I can see the little beast now in my mind's 

 eye — a tiny, gray, fuzzy ball scarcely larger than a 

 mouse. The event came back to my mind the other day 

 when I put a lovely little mounted specimen of Microcebus 

 on exhibition. 



The cholera got so bad that we hurried back to America, 

 and I cannot think of any events that played much part in 

 my wishing to become a naturalist by profession until 

 1898, when I had typhoid fever. My brother Rob and I 

 both had typhoid fever twice. In those days, no one knew 

 the difference between typhoid and paratyphoid — which, 

 I suspect, accounts for our unusual misfortune. 



After the first of these illnesses I was shipped to Eau 

 Gallie, Florida, where my grandmother had a winter home. 

 Grandmother, born Sarah Elizabeth Warren, was an ex- 

 traordinary character. She was the best shot with rifle or 

 shotgun I ever knew, and she threw as pretty a salmon or 

 trout fly as my brother Frederick. She was devoted to 

 Thoreau, and went to Keene Valley to hear Dr. Thomas 

 Davidson lecture on philosophy. I once met him at her 

 house in Paterson, New Jersey. He said, "Where there are 

 two Toms together, the older is a fool." I felt sheepish but, 

 curiously enough, remembered the remark. 



Grandmother was a born naturalist. She loved the out- 

 of-doors, and with her I made my first memorable excur- 



