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S.A. NAT., VOL. XV. 
The Study and Love of Nature. Sept. 20th., 1934. 
As they grow older they find that this love of native hills 
and plains will grow stronger and stronger, until it becomes one 
of the deepest feelings in their hearts. An English poet has said: 
“God gave all men all earth to love, 
And since man’s heart is small, 
Ordained he, one spot should be 
Beloved over all.” 
We may ask: why is it that people love the earth, the rocks, 
the trees and the birds of their home land so well? Perhaps 
the answer is: Because they know them so well, so closely. 
This brings us to an important point. The more study we give 
to nature, the more pleasure we receive from her in return; the 
more we grow to know of her, the more our love grows. We 
usually associate study with books and with teachers. I want 
to emphasize the fact that Nature is one of the most wonderful 
as well as one of the kindest of teachers. Further, Nature is 
not only a teacher, but also a book—the greatest of all books, a 
volume full of beauty and humour and interest and inspiration 
A great poet has said: 
* In Nature’s infinite book of secrecy a little I can read.” 
An “infinite book”! This means that it is a book that 
never comes to an end, and it is also a book of which the study 
never tires us. It is called also a book of secrecy. Nature’s 
book is not always easy to read: still, everyone can read some 
part of it, and if at times we learn some new thing, something 
new to us or to everyone, some secret of Nature, about bird, 
or leaf, or wave, or rock, or cloud. 
\\e speak also of Nature as a Teacher; and she is indeed 
a patient and kindly teacher. She asks little; she sets no tasks; 
she gives no punishments; all she requires from us is our interest, 
that we notice the trees, the birds, and their nests, the flowers 
and their colours, forms, and habits; the glory of the clouds, 
the beauty of the waves, the colour and form of all natural things. 
Happy indeed are those of our readers who live by the sea: 
“The sea is a jovial comrade, 
He laughs wherever he goes, 
His merriment shines in the dimpling lines 
That wrinkle his hale repose.” 
