The story is our story. Only here and there, however, are we able to read a line, a paragraph, never a full page of the wonderful tale, but if it be not true that the same life which is in us is also, in kind, throughout all Nature, then I see no reason why human beings should take any interest in Nature, or feel any sympathy with her processes. But the very possibility of our taking interest in the life of Nature, of our feeling true sympathy with it, is evidence of our unity with the least of her creatures. We may not wrest from Nature all her secrets, but we cannot go to her in simplicity of spirit and come away empty-hearted. That which baffles us but increases our love; for something of her teaching lies hidden even in the mystery. The same Love that brought the Christ child to earth is in the woods to-day, informing it with beneficent purpose for our strengthening and teaching. A very wise man once told me that all life comes from protoplasm, and that if we but knew the conditions we could make the protoplasm. Not a bad idea, that; but if, some day, we should stumble upon the conditions, make the protoplasm, set it agoing and exploit it in the newspapers, we may be sure that there would come a day when the wonder would again be beyond our comprehension. Life itself is a greater mystery than its causation. If we could understand even such a comparatively small matter as a bird’s way of looking at life, how much of marvel would clear itself in our minds! We cannot understand even that, however. We can only, after all, love and reverence the things of Nature as they seem to us good and helpful, and come into the use through recognition of the beauty. They are facts, as we, ourselves, are facts, and in reality we understand them about equally well as we understand our own hearts and lives. A wee humming-bird flew about my head yesterday, poised, on swift wings, directly before my face, and I looked into his bright, fearless eyes. I do not know what he thought of me; but neither do I know, really, what I thought of him. Our lives touched, for the brief instant of that glance, and through him came to me a thought of human love. I was better for the encounter, and I do not think that he was worse.