V 



s 



; 



of the miracle play to which Nature annu- 

 ally bids us welcome. Across this noble 

 playground, with its sweep of landscape 

 and its arch of sky, I often wander with 

 no companions but the flowers, and with 

 no desire for other fellowship. Here, as 

 in more secluded and quiet places, Nature 

 confides to those who love her some deep 

 and precious truths never to be put into 

 words, but ever after to rise at times over 

 the horizon of thought like vagrant ships 

 that come and go against the distant sea 

 line, or like clouds that pass along the 

 remotest circle of the sky as it sleeps upon 

 the hills. The essence of play is the uncon- 

 scious overflow of life that seeks escape 

 in perfect self-forgetfulness. There is no 

 effort in it, no whip of the will driving the 

 unwilling energies to an activity from which 

 they shrink ; one plays as the bird sings and 

 the brook runs and the sun shines not 

 with conscious purpose, but from the simple 

 overflow. In this sense Nature never works, 

 she is always at play. In perfect uncon- 

 sciousness, without friction or effort, her 

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