WAYS OF NATURE 



own lives. Unless they beget some human emotion 

 in me, — the emotion of the beautiful, the sublime, 



— or appeal to my sense of the fit, the permanent, 



— unless what you learn in the fields and the woods 

 corresponds in some way with what I know of my 

 fellows, I shall not long be deeply interested in it. 

 I do not want the animals humanized in any other 

 sense. They all have human traits and ways; let 

 those be brought out — their mirth, their joy, their 

 curiosity, their cunning, their thrift, their rela- 

 tions, their wars, their loves — and all the springs 

 of their actions laid bare as far as possible; but I do 

 not expect my natural history to back up the Ten 

 Commandments, or to be an illustration of the value 

 of training-schools and kindergartens, or to afford 

 a commentary upon the vanity of human wishes. 

 Humanize your facts to the extent of making them 

 interesting, if you have the art to do it, but leave 

 the dog a dog, and the straddle-bug a straddle-bug. 



Interpretation is a favorite word with some re- 

 cent nature writers. It is claimed for the literary 

 naturalist that he interprets natural history. The 

 ways and doings of the wild creatures are exagger- 

 ated and misread under the plea of interpretation. 

 Now, if by interpretation we mean an answer to 

 the question, " What does this mean ? " or, " What 

 is the exact truth about it ? " then there is but one 

 interpretation of nature, and that is the scientific. 

 What is the meaning of the fossils in the rocks ? or 

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