In the Christmas Woods. 



like, but by what long process of evolution has 

 come from that common ancestor the miniature 

 forests of the mosses on yonder rocks, the ferns 

 clothing the banks, the wild begonia here at my 

 feet, the osiers yonder in the stream, the towering 

 redwoods themselves, who can tell ? 



The story is our story. Only here and there, 

 however, are we able to read a line, a paragraph, 

 never a full page of the wonderful tale, but if it be 

 not true that the same life which is in us is also, in 

 kind, throughout all Nature, then I see no reason 

 why human beings should take any interest in 

 Nature, or feel any sympathy with her processes. 

 But the very possibility of our taking interest in 

 the life of Nature, of our feeling true sympathy with 

 it, is evidence of our unity with the least of her 

 creatures. We may not wrest from Nature all her 

 secrets, but we cannot go to her in simplicity of 

 spirit and come away empty-hearted. That which 

 baffles us but increases our love; for something of 

 her teaching lies hidden even in the mystery. The 

 same Love that brought the Christ child to earth is 

 in the woods to-day, informing it with beneficent 

 purpose for our strengthening and teaching. 



A very wise man once told me that all life 

 comes from protoplasm, and that if we but knew 

 the conditions we could make the protoplasm. Not 

 a bad idea, that ; but if, some day, we should 

 stumble upon the conditions, make the protoplasm, 

 set it agoing and exploit it in the newspapers, we 

 may be sure that there would come a day when the 



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