A QUIET AFTERNOON 



AFTER running hither and thither in search 

 of beauty or novelty, try a turn in the near- 

 est wood. So my good genius whispered to 

 me just now ; and here I am. I believe it 

 was good advice. 



This venerable chestnut tree, with its 

 deeply furrowed, shadow-haunted, lichen- 

 covered bark of soft, lovely grays and gray- 

 ish greens, is as stately and handsome as 

 ever. How often I have stopped to admire 

 it, summer and winter, especially in late 

 afternoon, when the level sunlight gives it a 

 beauty beyond the reach of words. Many a 

 time I have gone out of my way to see it, as 

 I would have gone to see some remembered 

 landscape by a great painter. 



There is no feeling proud in such com- 

 pany. Anything that can stand still and 

 grow, filling its allotted place and contented 

 to fill it, is enough to put our futile human 



