8 THE BEAUTIES OF NATURE CHAP. 
Happy indeed is the naturalist: to him — 
the seasons come round like old friends; to. 
him the birds sing: as he walks along, the 
flowers stretch out from the hedges, or look 
up from the ground, and as each year fades 
away, he looks back on a fresh store of 
happy memories. 
Though we can never “remount the river 
of our years,” he who loves Nature is always 
young. But what is the love of Nature? 
Some seem to think they show a love of 
flowers by gathering them. How often one 
finds a bunch of withered blossoms on the 
roadside, plucked only to be thrown away! 
Is this love of Nature? It is, on the con- 
trary, a wicked waste, for a waste of beauty 
is almost the worst waste of all. 
If we could imagine a day prolonged for 
a lifetime, or nearly so, and that sunrise and 
sunset were rare events which happened but 
a few times to each of us, we should certainly 
be entranced by the beauty of the morning 
and evening tints. The golden rays of the 
morning are a fortune in themselves, but we 
too often overlook the loveliness of Nature, 
