sand. That this New England " bream " was a 

 percoid, and not a cyprinoid as is the English 

 bream, and that it had a dozen Latin names given 

 by as many authors from Linne down, did not in- 

 terest him. He knew the birds as creatures to be 

 met in various places, each with habits of its own, 

 and its seasons of going and coming. This, ra- 

 ther than anatomy, was to him a matter of inter- 

 est and importance. To-day such facts are found 

 to have a bearing on philosophical zoology quite 

 equal in importance to anatomical structure. Tho- 

 reau did not add greatly to our knowledge of 

 wild life, but he did that which is of equal merit, 

 showed how delightful was the pursuit of such 

 knowledge, and, in a measure, how it might be 

 attained. 



For many readers, perhaps for most, there is 

 too little natural history in his books, too much 

 of other matter. As we read, we feel at times a 

 wish that he would sooner reach his conclusions 

 on philosophical or political questions, because 

 we are sure they will be followed by some bright 

 reference to a bird or beast, simply phrased, yet 

 so cunningly that the creature stands before us. 

 Anybody can say or write, " I see a fox," but in 

 Thoreau's books these same words are so framed 

 in other matter that the animal leaps into view, 

 and we see it dart over the snow, daintily carry- 

 ing its splendid brush, perhaps looking partly over 

 its shoulder at us, and leaving footprints that dot 

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