FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 33 



derful variety of angle and curve, of nigged 

 strength and graceful flexibility ; the deeply 

 scored trunks of the strong and massive 

 oaks, the smooth bark of the beeches, with 

 their pendulous branches, the sharp spines 

 of the honey locust a veritable &quot;monkey 

 puzzle &quot; or natural cat-teazer, and the cork- 

 wiuged twigs of the liquidamber. 



And over the hillsides is that delicate 

 warm glow of the young branches of this 

 year s growth, which will become richer as 

 the spring draws on, and life comes nearer 

 and nearer to the surface, until a tender juicy 

 green spray overspreads them all, gradually 

 shrouding their delicate limbs from honest 

 as well as vulgar eyes. This beauty of the 

 trees comes to me as a revelation each day, 

 &quot; new every morning and fresh every even 

 ing,&quot; and I am sure that we ought to be 

 of finer stuff than others, who have the 

 privilege of seeing it, and seeing it against 

 the limpid sky, not cut into squares and 

 triangles and trapezes and dodecagons and 

 whatnots formed by street lines and house 

 roofs, but the very vault of heaven, resting 

 with the softest, gentlest touch upon the 

 distant hills, and throwing over us its wide 

 protecting arch. 



NOVEMBER 11, 1893. 



