A PLAN OF WORK. 39 



To show me the character of a flower, it is presented to 

 me dry, discolored, and spread out on the leaf of an herb- 

 ary. Who can discover the queen erf the flowers in a 

 dried rose? In order to its being" an object at once of 

 love and philosophy, it must be viewed when, issuing 

 from the cleft of a humid rock, it shines on its native 

 verdure, when the zephyr sways it on a stem armed with 

 thorns." 



Nothing can take the place of personal contact with nature. 

 No great naturalist has learned his lessons from books 



only. 



Agassi z had learned more about fishes before he ever 

 saw a fish-book, than he found in the book after he got it. 



Audubon lived in the woods and learned the voices of 

 all the birds, and could tell them also by their flight. 



Gilbert White wrote charming letters about the swal- 

 lows under his eaves, the cricket on his hearth and the 

 old tortoise that lived in his kitchen-garden. 



W. W. Bailey braves the frosts of winter, and rambles 

 by the icy brooks, or through the snow-carpeted aisles 

 of the naked forest, to see what nature does when sum- 

 mer is ended. He writes: 



"The pretty little stream is bordered by a fringe of 

 white ice, under which we can see great bubbles press, 

 squeezing themselves into very curious forms. The 

 stream murmurs some pleasant story of the summer 

 violets. On its still pools float leaf-gondolas of curious 

 patterns. Great fern-feathers, unwithered by the frost, 

 droop over the brook, and velvety mosses cushion the 

 shores." 



These men understand Nature, They enter into the 

 spirit of her mighty, throbbing life, and interpret the 

 secrets of her wondrous love. 



And if you have ever known what it is to feel a great 



