The Bay of the Band 
wrote one of these new nature students, who hap- 
pened also to be a college student, “and we went 
for our usual Saturday’s birding into the woods. 
The chestnuts were ripe, and we gathered a peck 
between us. On our way home, we discovered a 
small bird perched upon a cedar tree with a worm in 
its beak. It was a hummingbird, and after a little 
searching we found its tiny nest close up against the 
trunk of the cedar, full of tiny nestlings just ready 
to fly.” 
This is what they find, many of these who are 
caught up by the movement toward the fields; but 
not all of them. A little five-year-old from the village 
came out to see me recently, and while playing in the 
orchard she brought me five flowers, called them by 
their right names, and told me how they grew. Down 
in the loneliest marshes of Delaware Bay I know a 
lighthouse keeper and his solitary neighbor, a farmer : 
both have been touched by this nature spirit; both 
are interested, informed, and observant. The farmer 
there, on the old Zane’s Place, is no man of books, like 
the rector of Selborne, but he is a man of birds and 
beasts, of limitless marsh and bay and sky, of ever- 
lasting silence and wideness and largeness and eter- 
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