and bronze. In its day the Acropolis may have 

 been glaring and crude in tone; the raw marble, 

 fresh from the quarry, needed these centuries to 

 subdue and mellow it. It has acquired a tender 

 beauty unknown to that classic day which saw it 

 in its splendor. Some such service has been ren- 

 dered to the pasture stone and the ledge. When 

 the Archaean granite was poured out from the 

 depths it must have worn a new and crude look, 

 albeit so fresh and clean. Then it was but so 

 much raw feldspar and quartz and mica. But it 

 has long been wooed by the air and the water, by 

 moss and lichen; the years have lent it beauty, 

 softened its curves, rounded its angles and brought 

 it the richness of age. 



Boulders are sometimes clothed with a larger 

 growth. I have in mind one, from whose apex 

 springs a maple at least half a century old. It lies 

 at the head of a swamp, and in autumn this tree 

 is always one of the first to turn. In August when 

 the tupelos show signs of change, the maple is 

 already glowing with color. The tree springs from 

 the very summit of the rock while its main root 

 reaches through a split some fifteen feet to the 

 earth. Looking across the swamp, it appears to 



