84 MAJOR JOHN F. LACEY 



there its reclamation from nature is permanent. No 

 moss or ivy attempts to heal the scar as it does in the 

 north of Europe or in the British Isles. 



Nothing is so beautiful as that product of the forest — 

 a running stream. It is a living thing, always sparkling 

 either in sunlight or moonlight and never growing old. 

 To the poet it says : 



Men may come, and men may go, 

 But I go on forever. 



The brook that Horace describes in his journey to 

 Brundusium still flows in the same banks, and seems like 

 a living creature, speaking of the poet of nearly two 

 thousand years ago. But in the land of Holy Writ the 

 brook was no such type of constancy. In Job the brook 

 is described as an emblem of deceit, frozen up in winter 

 and dried up in summer. 



My brethren have dealt deceitfully as a brook, and as a stream 

 of brooks they pass away. . . The paths of their way are 

 turned aside : they come to nothing and perish. 



In a few old churchyards on the eastern shore of Mary- 

 land may be seen some of the giant oaks which were old 

 when Captain John Smith anchored at Jamestown. They 

 are wonderful and beautiful specimens of the primeval 

 woods. They are numerous enough to make us long for 

 grandeur that has passed away. 



In the mountains of Judea a few walled acres contain 

 all that is left of the great cedars of Lebanon of Solo- 

 mon 's day. They are but a small reminder of the glory 

 of the past. 



We should not mistake mere weather for climate, but 

 in recent years there have been many indications that the 

 destruction of our forests has wrought a change in our 

 climate. 



A few successive years of drought have tended to 

 awaken interest in the rainmaker, and there is no rain- 



