38o 



THE GUIDE TO NATURE 



lers only a few I see, but I hear the 

 thin, high-pitched notes of the yellow 

 warblers as they flit about in the top 

 of a thorny locust. A Maryland yellow 

 throat sings from the thicket of under- 

 brush. The common myrtle warbler 

 is on duty cleaning up the leaves of a 

 white oak. The yellow patches of his 

 coat showing plainly; one on the 

 crown, another on the rump, and one 

 on either side of his breast. From a 

 clump of isolated trees on the edge of 

 the wood, I hear the Black-burnian's 

 song. Like a miniature Baltimore ori- 

 ole, his black and rich orange uniform 

 attracts one's attention. His song, like 

 others of his kind, is fine and rather 

 shrill. "Tsee, tsee, tsee" he sings, — 

 not sweet, but rather inspiring. A red- 

 start flies across the trail. The rich 

 salmon illuminating the shadows like 

 a lightning bug that starts his fire in 

 the darkness after sundown. 



The calls of the woodfolk would lead 

 me on and on into the very heart of the 

 big woods, but duty calls and I must 

 retrace mv steps homeward. A vaga- 

 bond am I, but one more secret of the 

 wild is mine. When the call comes 

 again, I shall heed it, for joy. peace and 

 rest come from following it. 



Trees and Friends. 



BY GERTRUDE O. PALMER, LAWRENCE, 

 KANSAS. 



"If thou art worn and hard beset 

 With sorrows that thou wouldst forget, 

 If thou wouldst read a lesson that will keep 

 Thy soul from fainting and thy soul from 



sleep, 

 Go to the woods and hills! — No tears 

 Dim the sweet look that Nature wears." 



Longfellow — "Sunrise on the Hills." 



However lonely and far from home 

 and friends we may be, we are never 

 really friendless if we can have the 

 companionship of a tree, — a full grown 

 tree that has had a chance to express 

 itself completely. As one approaches 

 the shelter of the wide-spreading bran- 

 ches, he is conscious of a comforting 

 presence, of a cordial welcome, which 

 casts from him his care and worry and 

 makes his spirit glad. The branches 

 which beckoned at his approach, nov.- 

 in their swaying and rustling, murmur 

 words of comfort and sympathy to 

 him ; they move about as if to make 

 him comfortable and whisper in his ears 

 words which he feels he alone can un- 

 derstand. There he can rest and gain 



back strength and courage for the con- 

 test of life. 



From his comfortable seat at the 

 foot of the tree he looks out at the 

 other trees of the woods and pastures, 

 the hillside and the river-bank, seeing 

 in their varying sizes and forms the 

 characteristics of his many friends. 



That small, rounded box-elder tree 

 and its neighbor, the compact little 

 quince, make him think of one or two 

 comfortable, self-satisfied, materialistic 

 friends of his whose thoughts and 

 needs never transcend their circum- 

 scribed, limited range. 



But out in the middle of the pasture 

 stands a tall, wide-spreading oak, which 

 speaks to him of another friend, — 

 deep-natured, broad-sympathied, and 

 high-minded, strong, symmetrical and 

 noble. 



Near-by, on the river-bank gracefully 

 bending and swaying, is a weeping- 

 willow, or rather in his mind's eye, that 

 languid, artistic, dependent friend of 

 his, no less dear to him than the tall 

 great oak. Under its silvery tresses is 

 offered a shelter more secluded and 

 charming than under any other ; a view 

 of the world more softened and beau- 

 tiful. 



But far away on the hill-side, towers 

 another tree, another friend, whose 

 gift of comfort and shelter is not by 

 protection but by a message of inspira- 

 tion, — the tall and slender pine, like 

 his mystic, aspiring, poetic frend. In- 

 deed his willow speaks to him in poetic 

 music, but in soft and gentle music of 

 the heart, not like this one whose songs 

 are sung from the cool, strong heights 

 of the spirit. The true pine when given 

 room to grow, offers no broad recep- 

 tion hall at its feet, but spreads low, 

 wide branches to the ground, forbid- 

 ding the intimac}' of the willow and the 

 oak. When seeking its company, one 

 pauses near it at a proper distance 

 from its' prickly-leaved branches, o'" 

 lies in the shade behind it, listening in 

 rapt meditation to the harp high up in 

 its top, — to the lyric or ode of his friend 

 who lives constantly in the higher life 

 of things, or who if looking down sees 

 the lower only from above. In the 

 spicy scent of the cool, soft breezes 

 that blow through the branches, one 

 breathes of his atmosphere of inspira- 

 tion of keen spiritual life ; he indeed 

 offers his gift of love, the highest of all 



