If we cannot somehow have a professor of Felicity we are undone. Perhaps Nature herself will aid. Her presence will certainly make for felicity by enlarging her pupil for a time from the cloistered life which modern towns and their infinite conveniences and servitudes encourage. Tolstoy has said that in the open air “new relations are formed between pupil and teacher: freer, simpler and more trustful”; and certainly his walk on a winter night with his pupils, chatting and telling tales (see _The School at Yasnaya Polyana_, by Leo Tolstoy), leaves an impression of electrical activity and felicity in the young and old minds of that party which is hardly to be surpassed. And how more than by Nature’s noble and uncontaminated forms can a sense of beauty be nourished? Then, too, the reading of great poetry might well be associated with the study of Nature, since there is no great poetry which can be dissevered from Nature, while modern poets have all dipped their pens in the sunlight and wind and great waters, and appeal most to those who most resemble them in their loves. The great religious books, handed down to us by people who lived in closer intercourse with Nature than many of us, cannot be understood by indoor children and adults. Whether connected with this or that form of religion or not, whether taken as “intimations of immortality” or not, the most profound and longest remembered feelings are often those derived from the contact of Nature with the child’s mind. Of health, though there are exactly as many physicians as patients, it is unnecessary to say anything, except that one of the pieces of knowledge--I do not speak of information--which science has left to us is that movement and the working of the brain in pure air and sunlight is good for body and soul, especially if joy is aiding.