Te Lay of he Band 
— zodlogists, botanists, geologists, —look upon nat- 
uralists, and others who love birds and fields, as of 
a kind with those harmless but useless inanities who 
collect tobacco tags, postage stamps, and picture 
postal cards. Sentiment is not scientific. 
I have a biological friend, a professor of zodlogy, 
who never saw a woodchuck in the flesh. He would 
not know a woodchuck with the fur on from a mon- 
goose. Not until he had skinned it and set up the 
skeleton could he pronounce it Avctomys monax with 
certainty. Yes, he could tell by the teeth. Dentition 
is a great thing. He could tell a white pine (s¢vobus) 
from a pitch pine (vzgzda) by just a cone and a 
bundle of needles, —one has five, the other three, 
to the bundle. But he would n’t recognize a columned 
aisle of the one from a Jersey barren of the other. 
That is not the worst of it: he would not see even 
the aisle or the barren, — only trees. 
As we jogged along recently, on a soft midwinter 
day that followed a day of freezing, my little three- 
year-old threw his nose into the air and cried: “Oh, 
fader, I smell de pitch pines, de scraggly pines, — 
’ou calls em Joisey pines!” And sure enough, around 
a double curve in the road we came upon a single 
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