CHAPTER VII 



MIGRATION 



TO write honestly and with conviction anything 

 about the migration of birds, one should one- 

 self have migrated. 



But not every millionaire who in the autumn goes 

 in his private car to Palm Beach and returns in the 

 spring can claim fellow feeling with the migrant 

 birds, although there is a firm basis of communion. 

 A single night in a lighthouse or in the torch of the 

 Statue of Liberty might conceivably be a better 

 preparation. But somehow or other we must dehu- 

 manize ourselves, feel the feel of feathers on our 

 body, and the wind in our wings, and finally know 

 what it is to leave luxury and safety, and yield to 

 the compelling instinct, age-old, at the moment 

 seemingly quite devoid of reason and object. 



In any case the chief pleasure either in thinking 

 or writing is pragmatic. The more I can sink my six 

 feet to the stature of an ant, the more right have I 

 to attempt to interpret an ant's feelings and emo- 

 tions ; if I can feel scaly instead of skinny, can know 

 a wave and a coral reef intimately from beneath 

 as well as above, so much better may I hope to sense 

 the joys and sorrows of any poor fish. 



I have been lost alone in an airplane at night, I 



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