To be intimate with Nature is as important to the investigator as the ability to technically classify the things found therein.

In this connection we copy, by permission, the words of Olive Thorne Miller, from the "School Room Methods and Nature Study:"

"Recognizing a bird on sight or hearing, knowing his nest and eggs, when he arrives in the spring, and when he departs in the fall, does not by any means imply that one is acquainted with the bird himself. All these facts are easily acquired; they have been set down in the books these many years.

But who so really desires to know the little being so beautifully enshrined; to see his home ways with his mate and little ones; to find out his personal habits; his likes and dislikes; his tastes; his disposition; in a word his personality, for him is something very different from book study. He must go into the field and observe for himself; for well as we may know our common birds by sight, glibly as we can explain their anatomy, give their scientific names, and their place in our classification, of their lives and habits we are in almost total ignorance.

This is a field of inquiry as fascinating as it is fresh and unexplored. Nothing but the greed of collecting and the passion for classifying, could so long have blinded men to the charm of studying life instead of death, the individual instead of the skin. And this is the beautiful work left for us to do, to make the world acquainted with the lives of our little brothers in feathers.

For this work are needed, patience that knows no fatigue, accuracy of observation, enthusiasm that scorns such trifles as wet feet, torn garments, insect bites and stings, burning sun or blistering wind, and above all-lacking which all else is useless — truthfulness that will report correctly, without exaggeration or coloring. To one possessing these qualities a whole world of delight is open.

Nor is this world so difficult to enter as it seems at first. Science — whose help is needed — has, to be sure, shrouded itself in technicalities, buried its facts under scientific terms, and hidden its names in a dead language. But all this, which perhaps was necessary, can be got over. With a little courage, and some perseverance, this bristling array of difficulties may be broken through, and the charming goldfinch be as lovely and bewitching under the name of Spinus tristis, as of thistle bird, or yellow bird.

How shall we go to work? This is the first question always. Let me give you a few hints: Some fine morning dress yourself in modest-hued array, dull olive of medium shade best; discard all conspicuous details of costume; take off ribbons and veils, and all fluttering things; reject the spring hat with its eccentricities of flowers, fruits, feathers, or general fluffiness, and put on a plain shade hat, as near the color of the dress as possible; leave parasol, bag or basket and book all at home. Slip into a flat pocket on the outside of your gown or coat, a small note book with sharpened pencil attached to it, and suspend by narrow ribbon around the neck, so that it will hang above the waist and be ready for instant use, an opera glass without its case. On your left arm carry a light folding camp stool — and start out.

Bid adieu to your friends, and go alone, for the temple of Nature can never be entered in crowds, nor even in pairs. Turn your steps to the best place you know of; an old orchard, a grove with underbrush near a house, a ravine, a swamp, or the edge of woods. Walk slowly and leisurely along, with little noise of footsteps, and without swinging arms.

Arrived in your chosen spot look sharply around for the flitting forms of the birds. When you see one, stop at once; quietly slip your stool off your arm and sit upon it, with as little motion as possible. If you place it against a tree trunk, to furnish a back, you can be comfortable in that one position an hour without moving.