OCR Text |
Show 271. than the streams themselves; and one might almost be pardoned in fancying they come direct from the living waters like flowers from the ground. . . . A careful naturalist knew better, of course, and found the nests where birds lived and reproduced, but "our ouzel, born on the brink of a stream, seldom leaves it for a moment." The ouzel was a model of adaptation. He was bothered neither by cold nor wet. He could fly under water as well as through the air. And he always sang, though his song was sometimes indistinguishable from the song of the cataracts. Unlike the "frost-pinched sparrows, on cold mornings," the ouzel never seemed pitiable to Muir, "not because he is strong to endure, but rather because he seems to live a charmed life beyond the reach of every influence that makes endurance necessary." No doubt there were severe tests in the life of the ouzel, but Muir could see no sign of them. Thus he was a living answer to those who viewed all of Nature as struggle. He offered Man a spiritual lesson about adaptation and divergence in Nature. For similar reasons, the Douglas squirrel was one of Muir's favorites, the wildest animal he had ever seen, birdlike, "this bright chip of nature, - this brave little voice crying in the wilderness." The squirrel entertained Muir endlessly, though was "far too self-reliant and warlike ever to be taken for a darling." Although Muir could not analyze the familial relationships between the Douglas and other squirrels, and admitted he did not know for sure what evo- |