THE ART OF SEEING THINGS 



aild references. There is coarse print and fine 

 print; there are obscure signs and hieroglyphics. 

 We all read the large type more or less apprecia- 

 tively, but only the students and lovers of nature 

 read the fine lines and the footnotes. It is a book 

 which he reads best who goes most slowly or even 

 tarries long by the way. He who runs may read 

 some things. We may take in the general features 

 of sky, plain, and river from the express train, but 

 only the pedestrian, the saunterer, with eyes in his 

 head and love in his heart, turns every leaf and 

 peruses every line. One man sees only the migrat- 

 ing water-fowls and the larger birds of the air; 

 another sees the passing kinglets and hurrying 

 warblers as well. For my part, my delight is to 

 linger long over each page of this marvelous record, 

 and to dwell fondly upon its most obscure text. 



I take pleasure in noting the minute things about 

 me. I am interested even in the ways of the wild 

 bees, and in all the little dramas and tragedies that 

 occur in field and wood. One June day, in my 

 walk, as I crossed a rather dry, high-lying field, 

 my attention was attracted by small mounds of 

 fresh earth all over the ground, scarcely more than 

 a handful in each. On looking closely, I saw that 

 in the middle of each mound there was a hole not 

 quite so large as a lead-pencil. Now, I had never 

 observed these mounds before, and my curiosity 

 was aroused. "Here is some fine print," I said, 

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