The Poetic Interpretation of Nature 37 
danger in such teaching. It tends to looseness of ideas. It makes the mind 
discursive. It does not fix and fasten the attention to the subject-matter. It 
is unscientific. The child could learn poetry by the yard, he said, and yet 
not know how many toes the bobolink has, nor the shape and size of its 
wings. The pupil gains no comparative knowledge of bird with bird. The 
poem is untrue. The bobolink is not “drest”: he has no clothes. He 
has no wife : he is mated, not wed. 
I could only reply that the bobolink’s toes have little relation to men’s 
lives, however much they may have to bobolinks’ lives ; but the bobolink 
may mean much to men’s lives. To a man pursuing science for science’s 
sake — and I wish there were more — the toes are important; but these 
men are desirous of information, whereas I am seeking a fresh and firmer 
hold on life. To be sure, I should study the bobolink before I studied the 
poem, if possible ; but I should want a real bobolink, not a stuffed specimen. 
If I were obliged to choose between lessons on stuffed bobolinks and the 
poem, I should take the poem : there is more bobolink in it. 
The other day a young man wanted me to recommend him as a teacher 
of one of the sciences in a public school. He explained that he had had a 
complete course in this and in that ; he could teach the whole subject as 
laid down in the books; he knew the methods. It was evident that he 
was well drilled. He had acquired a fund of well-digested but unrelated 
facts. These facts were carefully assorted and ticketed, and tucked away in 
his mental cupboard, as embroidered napkins are laid away in a drawer. 
Poor fellow ! Mere details have little educative value. 
I like the man who has had an incomplete course. A partial view, if • 
truthful, is worth more than a complete course, it lifeless. If the man has 
acquired a power for work, a capability for initiative and investigation, an 
enthusiasm for the daily life, his incompleteness is his strength. How much 
there is before him! How eager his eye! How enthusiastic his temper! 
H e is a man with a point of view, not a man with mere facts. This man 
will see first the big and significant things; he will grasp relationships; he 
will correlate ; later he will consider the details. He will study the plant 
before he studies the leaf or germination or the cell. He will discover the 
bobolink before he looks for its toes. He will care little for mere “methods.” 
This is the age of fact, and this is well. But it may be also the age of the 
imagination. P'act is not to be worshiped. The life which is devoid of 
imagination is dead ; it is tied to the earth. There need be no divorce of 
fact and fancy ; they are only the poles of experience. What is called the 
