154 UNDER THE TREES. 



which in the outer world most men know only 

 by report, in Arden each one knows for himself. 

 The stories of travelers cease to interest us when 

 we are at last within the borders of the strange, 

 far country. 



Books are, at the best, faint and imperfect tran 

 scriptions of Nature and life ; when one comes to 

 see Nature as she is with his own eyes, and to 

 enter into the secrets of life, all transcriptions be 

 come inadequate. He who has heard the mysteri 

 ous and haunting monotone of the sea will never 

 rest content with the noblest harmony in which the 

 composer seeks to blend those deep, elusive tones ; 

 he who has sat hour by hour under the spell of the 

 deep woods will feel that spell shorn of its magical 

 power in the noblest verse that ever sought to con 

 tain and express it ; he who has once looked with 

 clear, unflinching gaze into the depths of human 

 life will find only vague shadows of the mighty 

 realities in the greatest drama and fiction. The 

 eternal struggle of art is to utter these unutterable 

 things ; the immortal thirst of the soul will lead it 

 again and again to these ancient fountains, whence 

 it will bring back its handful of water in vessels 

 curiously carven by the hands of imagination. But 

 no cup of man s making will ever hold all that 

 fountain has to give, and to those who are really 

 athirst these golden and beautifully wrought vessels 

 are insufficient ; they must drink of the living 

 stream. 



