FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. Ill 



because the hill slopes in that direction, 

 and partly that the sun, which dominates 

 our life, may at some time on every bright 

 day send its purifying rays into each of 

 its rooms. If the wild flowers of the field 

 need the caressing touch of the sunlight, 

 how much more do we, of the larger and 

 fuller, if not nobler and more beautiful 

 growth ! 



So I mounted the hill, and climbed the 

 bars into the meadow. (I do not readily 

 become accustomed to this term as applied 

 to elevated grounds and hillsides. In the 

 Middle States I have only heard it used in 

 relation to valley lands.) Notwithstanding 

 the drought, the grass is well grown, but I 

 found it perfectly dry, though the night was 

 not cloudy. I remember that a certain 

 writer whose interesting essays I have re 

 cently read, apparently speaking with au 

 thority, tells us that the dew ascends from 

 the soil, and in part is exuded directly by 

 the grass and other plants. If this be true, 

 and the ninth edition of the Encyclopedia 

 Uritannica does not confirm it, I do not 

 wonder that the grass was not wet. All 

 the soil in holes dug to-day in which to 

 plant some belated fruit and shade trees, 

 was found to be dry and crumbling. 



