1 8 UNDER THE TREES. 



for a moment before retracing my steps, I was con 

 scious of the inexhaustible richness of the world 

 through which I had come ; a thousand voices had 

 spoken to me, and a thousand sights of wonder 

 moved before me ; I was awake to the universe 

 which most of us see only in broken and unintelli 

 gent dreams. Through all this realm of truth and 

 poetry men have passed and repassed these many 

 years, I said to myself ; and I began to wonder 

 how many of those now long asleep really saw or 

 heard this great glad world of sun and summer ! 

 I began slowly to retrace my steps, and as I reached 

 the summit of the hill and looked beyond I saw 

 the cattle standing knee-deep in the brook that 

 loiters across the fields, and I heard the faint 

 bleating of sheep borne from a distant pasturage. 



These familiar sights and sounds touched me 

 with a sudden pathos ; there is nothing in human 

 associations so venerable, so familiar, as the lowing 

 of the home-coming kine and the bleating of the 

 flocks. They carry one back to the first homes and 

 the most ancient families. Older than history, 

 more ancient than civilization, are these familiar 

 tones which unite the low-lying meadows and the 

 upland pastures with the fire on the hearth-stone 

 and the nightly care of the fold. When the 

 shadows deepen over the country-side, the oldest 

 memories are revived and the oldest habits recalled 

 by the scenes about the farm-house. The same 

 offices fall to the husbandman, the same sights re- 



