THE ART OF SEEING THINGS 



converge in this way, but to the eye run parallel to 

 one another. There is another fact: this fan-shaped 

 display of converging rays is always immediately 

 in front of the observer; that is, exactly between 

 him and the sun, so that the central spoke or shaft 

 in his front is always perpendicular. You cannot 

 see this fan to the right or left of the sun, but only 

 between you and it. Hence, as in the case of the 

 rainbow, no two persons see exactly the same 

 rays. 



The eye sees what it has the means of seeing, 

 and its means of seeing are in proportion to the love 

 and desire behind it. The eye is informed and 

 sharpened by the thought. My boy sees ducks on 

 the river where and when I cannot, because at cer- 

 tain seasons he thinks ducks and dreams ducks. 

 One season my neighbor asked me if the bees had 

 injured my grapes. I said, "No; the bees never 

 injure my grapes." 



" They do mine," he replied; " they puncture the 

 skin for the juice, and at times the clusters are 

 covered with them." 



"No," I said, "it is not the bees that puncture 

 the skin; it is the birds." 



"What birds?" 



"The orioles." 



"But I have n't seen any orioles," he rejoined. 



" We have," I continued, " because at this season 

 we think orioles; we have learned by experience 

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