The other day in my walk I came upon a sap-bucket that had been left standing by the maple tree all the spring and summer.  What a bucketful of corruption was that, a mixture of sap and rainwater that had rotted, and smelled to heaven.  Mice and birds and insects had been drowned in it, and added to its unsavory character.  It was a bit of Nature cut off from the vitalizing and purifying chem-istry of the whole.  With what satisfaction I emptied it upon the ground while I held my nose and saw it filter into the turf, where I knew it was dying to go and where I knew every particle of the reeking, fetid fluid would soon be made sweet and wholesome again by the chemistry of the soil!

II

I am not always in sympathy with nature-study as pursued in the schools, as if this kingdom could be carried by assault.  Such study is too cold, too special, too mechanical; it is likely to rub the bloom off Nature.  It lacks soul and emotion; it misses the accessories of the open air and its exhilarations, the sky, the clouds, the landscape, and the currents of life that pulse everywhere.

I myself have never made a dead set at studying Nature with note-book and field-glass in hand.  I have rather visited with her.  We have walked together or sat down together, and our intimacy grows with the seasons.  What I have learned about her ways I have learned easily, almost unconsciously, while fishing or camping or idling about.  My desultory habits have their disadvantages, no doubt, but they have their advantages also.  A too strenuous pursuit defeats itself.  In the fields and woods more than anywhere else all things come to those who wait, because all things are on the move, and are sure sooner or later to come your way.

To absorb a thing is better than to learn it, and we absorb what we enjoy.  We learn things at school, we absorb them in the fields and woods and on the farm.  When we look upon Nature with fondness and appreciation she meets us halfway and takes a deeper hold upon us than when studiously conned.  Hence I say the way of knowledge of Nature is the way of love and enjoyment, and is more surely found in the open air than in the school-room or the laboratory.  The other day I saw a lot of college girls dissecting cats and making diagrams of the circulation and muscle-attachments, and I thought it pretty poor business unless the girls were taking a course in comparative anatomy with a view to some occupation in life.  What is the moral and intellectual value of this kind of knowledge to those girls?  Biology is, no doubt, a great science in the hands of great men, but it is not for all.  I myself have got along very well without it.  I am sure I can learn more of what I want to know from a kitten on my knee than from the carcass of a cat in the laboratory.  Darwin spent eight years dissecting barnacles; but he was Darwin, and did not stop at barnacles, as these college girls are pretty sure to stop at cats.  He dissected and put together again in his mental laboratory the whole system of animal life, and the upshot of his work was a tremendous gain to our understanding of the universe.