EAETH COVERINGS 



283 



making confession in his secret soul confessing 

 to a feeling he cannot define. A little swale of 

 grass, a thistle, and a rock what is there about 

 them that cheapens the city street and the tall 

 building ? Is it anything more than that the 

 one is natural and the other is artificial ? We 

 put blocks of stone together and try to create 

 an impression of beauty such, perhaps, as 

 nature produces; but the imitation falls far 

 below the original. We rear spires and pinna- 

 cles in the air, palaces in the sun ; but they are 

 never so awe-inspiring as the mountains. We 

 flatten the Fields of Mars ; but they are not so 

 impressive as the plains. We build baubles of 

 form and color without number ; but how petty 

 they seem by comparison with nature's handi- 

 work ! A tree, a brook, or a hill yes, even a 

 flash of sunlight on a wayside flower is worth 

 them all. Honor to the work of man ; honor to 

 those who spin and carve and build ; honor to 

 the hand that rounded Peter's dome ; but what 

 of the Hand that rounded the earth and estab- 

 lished the blue dome of the sky, what of the 

 work of the Great Builder ! 



And the wealth of color nature lavishes on 

 the meadow and the pasture ! With a prod- 

 igal hand she sacrifices half a dozen hues to 



The natural 

 vs. the 

 artificial. 



The wealth 

 of colors. 



