28 SYLVAN SECRETS, 



thinkers. This world is a material one, and, 

 hate materialism as we justly may, it is af- 

 fected most by material forces. One sees this 

 more plainly when one is at a distance from 

 the world, shut up, so to speak, in the heart 

 of nature, where one may be secure in peep- 

 ing forth to watch 



With an eye serene 



The very pulse of the machine. 



Hence, reading Ruskin in the open air of the 

 pine woods, with the blue gulf of Mexico pur- 

 ring at your feet, is quite different from perus- 

 ing him in a closely-curtained and overheated 

 library. While my friend was reading yes- 

 terday, in the mellowest tones imaginable, 

 and while I was watching a steamer trail a 

 dim line of smoke along the wavering hori- 

 zon, lo! the first mocking-bird song of the 

 season came rippling forth from a neighbor- 

 ing thicket of wax-myrtle bushes. You know 

 these myrtles bear thick bunches of fragrant, 

 oily berries, from which the people of this re- 

 gion formerly made wax for candles used by 

 Catholics in certain church and funeral for- 

 malities. We forgot Ruskin in giving our 

 ears over to this fresh music bubbling from 

 the well-spring of nature. Think of it, a gen- 

 uine gush of bird-song on the second day of 

 February! And such a song, too! bright, 

 airiose, full of spirit, and yet rich and deep 

 almost too melancholy at times, running 

 through a hundred changes in as many sec- 

 onds, and filling the whole wood with mel- 

 ody. It is very unusual for a mocking-bird 

 to sing so early as this, but the weather has 

 been superb, and already the violets are bloom- 

 ing blue and white all through the forests 

 along this coast. My friend threw aside the 



