WAYS OF NATURE 



a long shoot of a honeysuckle that came in through 

 a crack of my imperfectly closed window last sum- 

 mer. It came in looking, or rather feeling, for some- 

 thing to cling to. It first dropped down upon a pile 

 of books, then reached off till it struck the window- 

 sill of another large window; along this it crept, its 

 regular leaves standing up like so many pairs of 

 green ears, looking very pretty. Coming to the end of 

 the open way there, it turned to the left and reached 

 out into vacancy, till it struck another window-sill 

 runm'ng at right angles to the former; along this it 

 traveled nearly half an inch a day, till it came to the 

 end of that road. Then it ventured out into vacant 

 space again, and pointed straight toward me at my 

 desk, ten feet distant. Day by day it kept its seat 

 upon the window-sill, and stretched out farther and 

 farther, almost beckoning me to give it a lift or to 

 bring it support. I could hardly resist its patient 

 daily appeal. Late in October it had bridged about 

 three feet of the distance that separated us, when, 

 one day, the moment came when it could maintain 

 itself outright in the air no longer, and it fell to the 

 floor. "Poor thing," I said, "your faith was blind, 

 but it was real. You knew there was a support some- 

 where, and you tried all ways to find it." This is 

 Nature. She goes around the circle, she tries every 

 direction, sure that she will find a way at some 

 point. Animals in cages behave in a similar way, 

 looking for a means of escape. In the vineyard I 

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