Next in importance to the divine profusion of water, light and 

 air, those three physical facts which render existence possible, may 

 be reckoned the universal beneficence of grass. Lying in the sun- 

 shine among the buttercups and dandelions of May, scarcely higher 

 in intelligence than those minute tenants of that mimic wilder- 

 ness, our earliest recollections are of grass; and when the fitful 

 fever is ended, and the foolish wrangle of the market and the 

 forum is closed, grass heals over the scar which our descent into 

 the bosom of the earth has made, and the carpet of the infant be- 

 comes the blanket of the dead. 



'Grass is the forgiveness of Nature^her constant benediction. 

 Fields trampled with battle, saturated with blood, torn with the 

 ruts of cannon, grow green again with grass, and carnage is for- 

 gotten. Streets abandoned by traffic become grass-grown, like 

 rural lanes, and are obliterated. Forests decay, harvests perish, 

 flowers vanish, but grass is immortal. Beleaguered by the sullen 

 hosts of winter it withdraws into the impregnable fortress of its 

 subterranean vitality and emerges upon the solicitation of spring. 

 Sown by the winds, by wandering birds, propagated by the subtle 

 horticulture of the elements which are its ministers and servants, 

 it softens the rude outlines of the world. It invades the solitude 

 of deserts, climbs the inaccessible slopes and pinnacles of moun- 

 tains, and modifies the history, character and destiny of nations. 

 Unobtrusive and patient, it has immortal vigor and aggression. 

 Banished from the thoroughfares and fields, it bides its time to 

 return, and when vigilance is relaxed or the dynasty has perished 

 it silently resumes the throne from which it has been expelled 

 but which it never abdicates. It bears no blazonry of bloom to 

 charm the senses with fragrance or splendor, but its homely hue 

 is more enchanting than the lily or the rose. It yields no fruit 

 in earth or air, yet should its harvest fail for a single year famine 

 would depopulate the world. -John James Ingalls. 



Consider what we owe to the meadow grass, to the covering of 

 the dark ground by that glorious enamel, by the companies of 

 those soft, countless, and peaceful spears of the field. Follow but 

 a little time the thought of all that we ought to recognize in those 

 words. All ^spring and summer is in them the walks by silent 

 scented paths, the rest in noonday heat, the joy of the herds and 

 flocks, the power of all shepherd life and meditation; the life of 

 the sunlight upon the world, falling in emerald streaks and soft 

 blue shadows, when else it would have struck on the dark mould 

 or scorching dust; pastures beside the pacing brooks, soft banks 

 and knolls of lowly hills, thymy slopes of dawn overlooked by the 

 blue line of lifted sea; crisp lawns all dim with early dew, or 

 smooth in evening warmth of barred sunshine, dented by happy feet, 

 softening in their fall the sound of loving voices. John Ruskin. 



