60 MY WOODLAND. 



I fear some of my readers may think, from what 

 has been said, that my woodland is an exceptionally 

 beautiful and romantic spot ; but that is not tlie 

 case. To many eyes it would seem a very ordinary 

 tract of timber. There are no rocky glens or 

 grottoes, no sequestered dingles, no purling brooks, 

 no dark, solitary gorges, to lend variety to the 

 haunt. For the most part it is a level area, with 

 here and there a slight dip or basin, where ponds 

 are formed in w^et weather and where the birds 

 often come to drink and bathe. A large part of 

 the woodland is covered with a thick growth of 

 underbrush, from w^hich the saplings and tall trees 

 lift their stems, as if growdng from a deep soil of 

 verdure that breaks forth again in emerald on the 

 swaying branches lifted to the sky. A slightly 

 human aspect is given to the place by several 

 grass-grown and leaf-strewn wagon roads, seldom 

 used, that wind through the thickets, in man}'- 

 spots beneath archways of foliage and between 

 colonnades of tree-trunks. A few paths worn by 

 some four-footed animals wdnd through the tangle- 

 wood, and render one's j)rogress somewhat less 

 difficult. 



To the appreciative rambler this sylvan retreat 

 is by no means commonplace ; it is nothing less 



