ARBOR DAY ITS HISTORY AND OBSERVANCE. 71 



BENEATH THE SHADOW OP OAKS. 



I thank heaven every summer's day of my life that my lot was humbly cast within 

 the hearing of romping brooks, and beneath the shadow of oaks, and away from all 

 the tramp and bustle of the world, into which fortune has led me in these latter 

 years of my life. I delight to steal away for days and for weeks together, and bathe 

 my spirit in the freedom of the old woods, and to grow young again lying upon the 

 brookside, and counting the white clouds that sail along the sky, softly and tran- 

 quilly, even, as holy memories go stealing over the vault of life. Donald G. Mitchell. 



QUALITY BETTER THAN QUANTITY. 



Not merely growing like a tree 



In bulk doth make man better be 



Or standing long an oak three hundred years, 



To fall a log at last, dry, bald and sear, 



A lily of a day is fairer far in May. 



Although it fall and die that night, 



It was the plant and flower of light; 



In small proportions we just beauties see 



And in short measure life may perfect be. 



[Ben Jonson. 



THE TASTE FOR TREES. 



There is something noble, simple, and pure in a taste for trees. It argues, I think, 

 a sweet and generous nature to have this strong relish for beauties of vegetation, and 

 this friendship for the hardy and glorious sons of the forest. There is a grandeur 

 of thought connected with this part of rural economy. It is worthy of liberal and 

 freeboru and aspiring men. He who plants an oak looks forward to future ages, and 



plants for posterity. Nothing can be less selfish than this. He cannot expect to sit 

 in its shade nor enjoy its shelter, but he exults in the idea that the acorn which he 

 has buried in the earth shall grow up into a lofty pile and shall keep on flourishing 

 and increasing and benefiting mankind long after he shall have ceased to tread his 

 paternal fields. Washington Irving. 



ACCORDANCE OP NATURE. 



For Nature beats in perfect tune, 



And rounds with rhyme her every rune, 



Whether she work in land or sea, 



Or hide underground her alchemy. 



Thou cans't not wave thy staff in air, 



Or dip thy paddle in the lake, 



But it carves the bow of beauty there, 



And the ripples in rhymes the oar forsake. 



The wood is wiser far than thou ; 



The wood and wave each other know. 



Not unrelated, unaffied, 



But to each thought and thing allied, 



Is perfect Nature's every part, 



Hooted in the mighty Heart. 



[Emerson. 



