58 MY WOODLAND. 



furred tenants of the place come to drink and 

 bathe — I certainly have a preemption claim upon 

 this timber-tract. For, while I sometimes meet a 

 man with a gun on his shoulder, or the legal 

 owner prowling about in search of trespassers, I 

 am the only person, so far as I know, who haunts 

 the retreat for pure love of it and its natural 

 resources. 



But I do not believe that the feeling of owner- 

 ship is only on my side. At least, I wonder some- 

 times if the woodland itself does not feel that I 

 belong to it, "such mutual recognition, vaguely 

 sweet, there is between us." It seems to fold its 

 arms about me, whisper its secrets into ray ear, 

 and with a mute caress of special fondness, say : 

 ''' I am thine, and thou art mine." Sometimes in 

 the early spring time, when I tliread my way along 

 its winding paths, it seems to entreat me thus : 

 " Pluck this anemone, and wear it on your heart, 

 and may its white petals be the symbol of our love 

 for each other." 



In my rambles a feeling of profound pity some- 

 times comes over me — pity for those unhappy 

 beings who are cooped up in the crowded city, liv- 

 ing in the narrow rectangle of four walls, and who 

 do not own such a woodland. While I am a little 



