Il6 UNDER THE TREES. 



seasons we had planned this bold excursion into 

 a country which few persons have seemed to know 

 much about since the day when a poet of great 

 fame, familiar with many strange climes and 

 peoples, found his way thither and shared the 

 golden fortune of his journey with all the world. 

 Winter after winter before the* study fire, we had 

 made merry plans for tEis&quot; trip .into the magical 

 forest ; we had discussed the best methods of trav 

 eling where no roads led ; we had enjoyed in an 

 ticipation the surmises of our neighbors concerning 

 our unexplained absence, and the delightful mystery 

 which would always linger about us when we had 

 returned, with memories of a landscape which no 

 eyes but ours had seen these many years, and of 

 rare and original people whose voices had been 

 silent in common speech so many generations that 

 only a few dreamers like ourselves even remem 

 bered that they had ever spoken. We had looked 

 along the library shelves for the books we should 

 take with us, until we remembered that in that 

 country there were books in the running streams. 

 Rosalind had gone so far as to lay aside a certain 

 volume of sermons whose aspiring note had more 

 than once made music of the momentary discords 

 of her life ; but I reminded her that such a work 

 would be strangely out of place in a forest where 

 there were sermons in stones. Finally we had de 

 cided to leave books behind and go free-minded as 

 well as free-hearted. It had been a serious ques- 



