A JOURNEY TO NATURE 



Attica caught the feast of Demeter and mingled 

 jewels with the sheaves in joyful celebration. But 

 man could not, even in his Grecian moods, when 

 he loaded Ceres with poppies and gems, do more 

 than mimic with his stage properties the whelming 

 brilliancy and necromancy of such a morning. 



Ceres is preserved to us only in philology. 

 She comes to us through Germany as Hertha, out 

 of which grew our word &quot; earth,&quot; and it is the 

 earth that flashes her with all her gems across our 

 vision after the late rains. The largesse of it at 

 six o clock in the morning is dazzling. Every 

 tendril wears a tiara. The currant bushes, that 

 could never decorate themselves with anything 

 more pretentious than strings of garnets, now blaze 

 with diamonds and burn with rubies. The mean 

 est weed that grows is heavy with diadems. There 

 is nothing so poor that it cannot throw back an 

 iridescent greeting to the sun. 



This prismatic jubilate only lasts half an hour. 

 The winds come up and gather the queen s jewels, 

 and the shadows creep along and put out the 

 lights. But even then, one ceremonial merges 

 into another in confluent evanescences. Nothing 

 that is beautiful stays. Even the shadows, that 

 have such a rich wine-coloured depth at this time, 

 pull themselves out in a cycle, and the cool winds 

 are hastening seaward. The very charm of it is 

 its transitoriness. The queen does not always sit 

 on exhibition with her jewels on. It is well that 

 man cannot stay the festival. He would fasten 

 it, if he could, and make a museum or a mauso- 



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