Heard on the Hill-Side. 



BUT little that we meet with bears a very close 

 inspection. A gem without a flaw does not 

 flash from every ringer ; but he is unwise who 

 spends his days hunting for the world's defects. 

 The face of the long, low bluff^ that every one 

 calls a hill-side, is not perfect The moss is in 

 patches, the trees crooked, the bare earth shows 

 in spots, and is gullied and wrinkled where we 

 would have it smooth. The springs flow as 

 they choose and make here a swamp and leave 

 it a desert there. Tell the whole truth, and the 

 face of the long, low bluff is a veritable eye- 

 sore. Is it? Even during these early April 

 mornings I find it a very gate of Paradise, if 

 not that fabled garden of delight. Others can 

 find fault if they will, and much joy come to 

 them. But while yet the day was very young 

 the sun peeped over the roof of my neighbor's 

 barn, and in response to the assuring warmth 

 64 



