Letters to a Friend 



to grow old in, but they died ere they could 

 fade, standing together holding out their bran 

 ches erect and green as life. But they did not 

 die too soon; they lived a whole life and stored 

 away abundance of future life-principle in the 

 seed. 



After riding for two days in this autumn I 

 found summer again in the higher foothills. 

 Flower petals were spread confidingly open, the 

 grasses waved their branches all bright and 

 gay in the colors of healthy prime, and the 

 winds and streams were cool. Forty or fifty 

 miles further into the mountains, I came to 

 spring. The leaves on the oak were small and 

 drooping, and they still retained their first 

 tintings of crimson and purple, and the wrinkles 

 of their bud folds were distinct as if newly 

 opened, and all along the rims of cool brooks 

 and mild sloping places thousands of gentle 

 mountain flowers were tasting life for the first 

 time. 



A few miles farther "onward and upward" 

 I found the edge of winter. Scarce a grass 

 [46 ] 



