72 UNDER THE TREES. 



the retreating steps of summer across the fields. 

 Great masses of brilliant woodbine cover the stone 

 walls and hang from the trees along the fences. 

 The corn, cut and stacked in orderly lines, is not 

 without its transforming touch of color ; and while 

 the trees still wait for the coronation of the year 

 Nature seems to have passed along this path and 

 turned it into a royal highway. As it approaches 

 the woods, one gets glimpses of the village spires in 

 the distance, and find a new charm in this border 

 land between sunlight and shadow, between solitude 

 and the companionship of human life. A little dis 

 tance along the edges of the woods, with an oc 

 casional detour of the path into the shades of the 

 forest, brings one to the spring. A great, rudely- 

 cut stone marks the place, and makes a kind of 

 background for the cool, limpid pool into which a 

 few leaves fall from the woods, but which belongs 

 to the open sky and fields. There is certainly no 

 more gentle, reposeful scene than this ; so secluded 

 from the dust and whirl of cities and thoroughfares, 

 and yet so near to ancient homes, so sweet and life- 

 giving in its service to them, so often and so 

 eagerly sought at all seasons and by men of all 

 conditions. Here oftenest come the restless feet 

 of children, and their shouts are almost the only 

 sounds that ever break this solitude. 



To me there is something inexpressibly sweet 

 and refreshing in the familiar and yet unfailing 

 loveliness of this place. The fields are always 



