60 Indian Summer 



soil may spot our clothing, or, sinking deeper, 

 stain the immaculate whiteness of our igno- 

 rance. Nature is like a spelling-book, as 

 Thoreau has suggested, but put our spelling- 

 book in the hands of a Hottentot and what 

 does he find ? We are too generally Hot- 

 tentots in this regard ; adepts at misinterpre- 

 tation, or, fearing a lurking devil in every 

 shadow, huddle in the glaring light and dis- 

 tort every straight line and rob of beauty 

 every one with a graceful curve. The pages 

 of nature's spelling-book may be smeared, 

 rumpled, and dog's-eared, too often they 

 are, but how often are they seriously stud- 

 ied ? We hold it upside down, or study the 

 title-page and turn away, posing as philoso- 

 phers. It is well to dig, but all the bones 

 in a quarry will not make a naturalist of you 

 if they are merely bones, and the mind's eye 

 cannot see them reclothed in the flesh. This 

 is thumbing the book and never learning to 

 spell even a-b, ab. So far Thoreau was 

 right. But this is Indian summer and no 

 time to preach or grumble, but to meditate. 

 This golden renaissance will teach you a 

 great deal upon one condition : you must be 

 passive and let the knowledge come to you. 



