The Life of the Fly 



of my first mental awakening, I have felt 

 drawn towards the things of nature, or, to re- 

 turn to our catchword, I have the gift, the 

 bump of observation.' 



After the details which I have already given 

 about my ancestors, it would be ridiculous to 

 looi<^ to heredity for an explanation of the fact. 

 Nor would any one venture to suggest the 

 words or example of my masters. Of scien- 

 tific education, the fruit of college-training, I 

 had none whatever. I never set foot in a lec- 

 ture-hall except to undergo the ordeal of ex- 

 aminations. Without masters, without guides, 

 often without books, in spite of poverty, that 

 terrible extinguisher, I went ahead, persisted, 

 facing my difficulties, until the indomitable 

 bump ended by shedding its scanty contents. 

 Yes, they were very scanty, yet possibly of 

 some value, if circumstances had come to their 

 assistance. I was a born animalist. Why 

 and how? No reply. 



We thus have, all of us, in different direc- 

 tions and in a greater or lesser degree, char- 

 acteristics that brand us with a special mark, 

 characteristics of an unfathomable origin. 

 They exist because they exist; and that is all 

 that any one can say. The gift is not handed 

 down: the man of talent has a fool for a son. 

 i6o 



