



seen them run breathlessly up the long 

 slope, and then suddenly turn and rush 

 pell-mell down again. If the wind had 

 only stopped for a moment its endless 

 gossip with the leaves, I am sure I should 

 have heard the gleeful shouts, the sportive 

 cries, of these vagrant flowers whose spell 

 is rewoven over every generation of chil- 

 dren, and whose unstudied beauty and joy 

 recall, with every summer, some of the 

 clews which most of us have lost in our 

 journey through life. Even as 1 write, I 

 see the white and yellow heads tossing to 

 and fro in a mood of free and buoyant 

 being, which has for me, face to face with 

 the problems of living, an unspeakable 

 pathos. 



What a depth of tender colour fills the 

 arch of heaven as its bends over this play- 

 ground of the blooming and beauty -laden 

 forces of Nature! The great summer 

 clouds, shaping their courses to invisible 

 harbours across the trackless aerial sea, 

 love to drop anchor here and slowly trail 

 their mighty shadows, vainly groping for 

 43 



ifm 



