136 UNDER THE TREES. 



miracle of freshness. On this particular morning 

 we had strayed long and far, the silence and soli 

 tude of the woods luring us hour after hour with 

 unspoken promises to the imagination. We had 

 come at length to a place so secluded, so remote 

 from stir and sound, that one might dream there of 

 the sacredness of ancient oracles and the revels of 

 ancient gods. 



Rosalind had gathered wild flowers along the 

 way, and sat at the base of a great tree intently 

 disentangling her treasures. With that figure be 

 fore me, I thought of nearer and more sacred 

 things than the old woodland gods that might have 

 strayed that way centuries ago ; I had no need to 

 recall the vanished times and faiths to interpret the 

 spirit of an hour so far from the commonplaces of 

 human speech, so free from the passing moods of 

 human life. The sweet unconsciousness of that 

 face, bent over the mass of wild flowers, and akin 

 to them in its unspoiled loveliness, was to that 

 hour and place like the illuminated capital in the 

 old missal ; a ray of color which unlocked the dark 

 mystery of the text. When one can see the loveli 

 ness of a wild flower, and feel the absorbing charm 

 of its sentiment, one is not far from the kingdom of 

 Nature. 



As these fancies chased one another across my 

 mind, lying there at full length on the moss, I, too, 

 seemed to lose all consciousness that I had ever 

 touched life at any point than this, or that any 



