IN THE FOREST OF ARDEN. i^ 



all the ages one unbroken growth ; I felt the meas 

 ureless calm, the sublime repose, of that uninter 

 rupted expansion of form and beauty, from flower 

 to star and from bird to cloud ; I felt the mighty 

 impulse of that force which lights the sun in its 

 track and sets the stars to mark the boundaries of 

 its way. Unbroken repose, unlimited growth, in 

 exhaustible life, measureless force, unsearchable 

 beauty who shall feel these things and not know 

 that there are no words for them ! And yet in 

 Arden they are part of every man s life ! 



And all the time Rosalind sat weaving her wild 

 flowers into a loose wreath. 



&quot; I must not take them from this place,&quot; she said, 

 as she bound them about the venerable tree, as one 

 would bind the fancy of the hour to some eternal 

 truth. 



&quot; Yesterday,&quot; she added, as she sat down again 

 and shook the stray leaves and petals from her 

 lap &quot; yesterday was the first day of my life : to 

 day is the second.&quot; 



It is one of the delights of Arden that one does 

 not need to put his whole thought into words there ; 

 half the need of language vanishes when we say 

 only what we mean, and what we say is heard with 

 sympathy and intelligence. Rosalind and I were 

 thinking the same thought. Yesterday we had 

 discovered that an open mind, freedom from work 

 and care and turmoil, make it possible for people 

 to be their true selves and to know each other. 



