24 UNDER THE TREES. 



studied beauty and joy recall, with every summer, 

 some of the clews which most of us have lost in our 

 journey through life. Even as I write, I see the 

 white and yellow heads tossing to and fro in a mood 

 of free and buoyant being, which has for me, face 

 to face with the problems of living, an unspeakable 

 pathos. 



What a depth of tender color fills the arch of 

 heaven as it bends over this playground of the 

 blooming and beauty-laden forces of nature ! The 

 great summer clouds, shaping their courses to in 

 visible harbors across the trackless aerial sea, love 

 to drop anchor here and slowly trail their mighty 

 shadows, vainly groping for something that shall 

 make them fast. The winds, that have come roar 

 ing through the woodlands, subdue their harsh 

 voices and linger long in their journey across this 

 sunny expanse. It is true, they sing no lullabies as 

 in the hollow under the hill where they themselves 

 often fall asleep, but the music to which they move 

 has a magical cadence of joy in it, and sets our 

 thought to the dancing mood of the flowers. 



Sometimes, on quiet afternoons, when the great 

 world of work has somehow seemed to drop its 

 burdens into space, and carries nothing but rest 

 and quietude along its journey under the summer 

 sky, I have seen a pageant in the open fields that 

 has made me doubt whether a dream had not taken 

 me unawares. I have seen the first sweet flowers 

 of spring rise softly out of the grass where they 



