IN THE FOREST OF ARDEN. 151 



with the olive standing in friendly neighborhood, 

 our home in Arden seemed at the same time part 

 of the Forest and part of ourselves. If it had 

 grown out of the soil, it could not have fitted into 

 the landscape with less suggestion of artifice and 

 construction ; indeed, Nature had furnished all the 

 materials, and when the simple structure was com 

 plete she claimed it again and made it her own 

 with endless device of moss and vine. Without, it 

 seemed part of the Forest ; within, it seemed the 

 visible history of our life there. Friends came and 

 went through the unlatched door ; morning broke 

 radiant through the latticed window ; the seasons 

 enfolded it with their changing life ; our own 

 fellowship of mind and heart made it unspeakably 

 sacred. Love and loyalty within ; noble friends at 

 the hearthstone ; soft or shining heavens above ; 

 mystery of forest and music of stream without : 

 this is home in Arden. 



VIII. 

 .... books in the running brooks. 



IN the days before we went to Arden, Rosalind 

 and I had often wondered what books we should 

 find there, and we had anticipated with the keenest 

 curiosity that in the mere presence or absence of 

 certain books we should discover at last the final 

 principle of criticism, the absolute standard of lit- 



