Ill 



SCIENCE 



IN my excursions into nature, science plays a 

 part, but not the leading part; it is like a silent 

 monitor and friend who speaks when spoken to. 

 Or I may say that I carry it in the back of my head 

 and only now and then in the front. I do not go forth 

 as an ornithologist taking note of the birds, nor as a 

 botanist taking note of the flowers, nor as a zoologist 

 studying the wild creatures, nor as a biologist, peep- 

 ing and prying into the mysteries of life, but as a 

 nature-lover pure and simple, who gathers much 

 through sympathy and observation. 



I am committed to no specific object; my walk is 

 satisfactory if I fail to add a particle to my store 

 of nature knowledge. 



Oh, the wisdom that grows on trees, that mur- 

 murs in the streams, that floats in the wind, that 

 sings in the birds, that is fragrant in the flowers, 

 that speaks in the storms the wisdom that one 

 gathers on the shore, or when sauntering in the 

 fields, or in resting under a tree, the wisdom that 

 makes him forget his science, and exacts only his 

 love how precious it all is ! 



Love of nature does not depend upon exact 

 knowledge, though exact knowledge has its value. 

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