THE PLEASURES OF SCIENCE 



the rocks, and that the rainbow is not painted upon 

 the clouds by some mysterious hand as a sign and 

 promise to man, and that man himself has a line of 

 descent that connects him with the lowest forms of 

 life? 



Without laying claim to being in any strict sense 

 a man of science, I yet take great pleasure in the 

 world of new truths which science offers us. I graze 

 eagerly in every one of its fields — astronomy, geol- 

 ogy, botany, zoology, physics, chemistry, natural 

 history. I do little more than graze in these fields. 

 I select what tastes good to me. I want only the 

 vital nourishing truths; for the lard, mechanical 

 facts, the minute details, the thistles of technical 

 knowledge I have little appetite. I join inquiry with 

 contemplation. I loiter about the rocks, but I carry 

 no geologist's hammer. I observe the birds, but I 

 take no notes. I admire the flowers, but I can leave 

 them on their stems; I have no herbarium to fill. I 

 am curious about the insects, I consider their ways, 

 but I make no collection. 



My science is as improfessional as my religion. 

 I tarry under the trees, muse by the streams, and 

 commune with my own soul through the living and 

 non-living forms that surround me. Science only 

 seasons my observations. If I do carry home a 

 flower, it is for its beauty, or its association; if I 

 gather a zoological specimen, it is because it has 

 more than a zoological interest. Exact knowledge is 



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