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We know this much about it, and not the wisest man 
that ever lived knows much more. 
For though the wise men know just what things go 
to make up this material, and though they themselves 
can put together these same things, they can no more 
make life, or understand the making of it, than can 
you or I. 
But. when we get a good hold of the idea that this 
material is contained in all living things, then we begin 
to feel this; we begin to feel that men and women, 
boys and girls, big animals and little insects, trees and 
“flowers, wayside weeds and grasses, the ferns and rushes 
of the forest, the gray lichens of the cliffs and fences, 
the seaweeds that sway in the green rock pools, and 
living things so tiny that our eyes must fail to see 
them, —that all these are bound into one by the tie of 
that strange and wonderful thing called life; that they 
are all different expressions of one mysterious, magnifi- 
cent idea. 
While writing that last sentence, I almost forgot that 
I was writing for boys and girls, or indeed for any one 
but myself; and I am afraid that perhaps you have 
very little idea of what I am talking about. 
But I will not cross it out. Why not, do you suppose? 
Because I feel almost sure that here and there among 
you is a girl or boy who will get just a little glimmering 
idea of what I mean; and perhaps as the years go by, 
that glimmer will change into a light so bright and clear 
as to become a help in dark places. 
But the thought that I hope each one of you will carry 
home is this,— that because this strange something 
