frightened me. But soon I was reminded of the moving forest in Macbeth . The man bowed beneath the load was hidden from view, and the boy directly behind was sweating under a load as big as that of his father. ‘ Awafy! ’ (Allah give you strength), I said, greeting them. ‘And increase of health to you,’ they replied. I then asked the boy how far down do they have to go for their brushwood, and laying down his load on a stone to rest, he points below, saying, ‘Here, near the river.’ But this ‘Here, near the river’ is more than four hours’ walk from the village.—Allah preserve you in your strength, my Brothers. And they pass along, plodding slowly under their overshadowing burdens.
A hard-hearted Naturalist, who goes so deep into Nature as to be far from the vital core even as the dilettante, might not have any sympathy to throw away on such occasions. But of what good is the love of Nature that consists only in classification and dissection? I carry no notebook with me when I go down the wadi or out into the fields. I am content if I bring back a few impressions of some reassuring instance of faith, a few pictures, and an armful of wild flowers and odoriferous shrubs. Let the learned manual maker concern himself with the facts; he is content with jotting down in his notebook the names and lineage of every insect and every herb.
“But Man? What is he to these scientific Naturalists? If they meet a stranger on the road, they pass him by, their eyes intent on the breviary of Nature, somewhat after the fashion of my priests, who are fond of praying in the open-air at sundown.
No, I do not have to prove to my Brothers that my love of Nature is but second to my love of life. I am interested in my fellow men as in my fellow trees and flowers.
‘The beauty of Nature,’ Emerson again, ‘must always seem unreal and mocking until the landscape has human figures, that are as good as itself.’