JFor Ceacl)er0 and ^tuUentfi^ 



How to Conduct Field Classes 



BY FLORENCE MERRIAM BAILEY, Washington, D. C. 



S far back as 1886, when the Audubon movement 

 was just beginning, the Smith College girls took 

 to 'birding. ' Before the birding began, however, 

 behind the scenes, the two amateur ornithologists 

 of the student body had laid deep, wily schemes. 

 "Go to," said they; "we will start an Audubon 

 Society. The birds must be protected ; we must persuade the girls 

 not to wear feathers on their hats." "We won't say too much 

 about hats, though," these plotters went on. " We'll take the girls 

 afield, and let them get acquainted with the birds. Then, of inborn 

 necessity, they -will wear feathers never more." So these guileful 

 persons, having formally organized a Smith College Audubon Society 

 for the Protection of Birds, put on their sunhats and called, "Come 

 on, girls ! " This they did with glee in their hearts, for it irked them 

 to proclaim, "Behold, see, meditate upon this monster evil," while it 

 gave them joy to say, "Come out under the sun-filled heavens and 

 open your soul to the song of the Lark." 



This, then, was the inspiration of the bird work that started up 

 and spread so surprisingly, and was carried on with such eager 

 enthusiasm in those early days at Smith. And this must be the in- 

 spiration of all successful field work, wherever it is done. A list of 

 species is good to have, but without a knowledge of the birds them- 

 selves, it is like Emerson's Sparrow brought home without the river 

 and sky. The true naturalist, like Audubon, will ever go to nature 

 with open heart as well as mind. 



Feeling this, the organizers of the Smith work persuaded John 

 Burroughs to come to give it an impetus. When he took the girls 

 to the woods at five o'clock in the morning, so many went that the 

 bird had often flown before the rear guard arrived, but the fine 

 enthusiasm of the man's spirit could not be missed. No one could 

 come in touch with it without realizing that there was something in 

 nature unguessed before, and worth attending to. And when the 

 philosopher stood calmly beside a stump in the rain, naming uner- 

 ringly each bird that crossed the sky, the lesson in observation, 

 impressive as it was, was not merely one in keenness of vision. His 

 attitude of stillness under the heavens made each one feel that ' by 



{83) 



