274 VIRGINIA 



mon look. When we see an azalea shrub 

 or even an apple-tree in bloom, we seem to 

 see the very object of its being. The flower 

 calls for no ulterior result, though it may 

 have one ; its fruit is in itself. But a blos- 

 soming blueberry bush, no matter of what 

 kind, looks like a plant that was made to 

 bear something edible, a plant whose end is 

 use rather than beauty. 



If the forenoon had been indolent, the 

 noonday hour was more so. I descended 

 the hill by a way different from any I had 

 yet taken, and found myself at the foot in 

 a public road running through a cultivated 

 valley. The day was peculiarly comfort- 

 able, with a bright sun and a temperate 

 breeze, — ideal weather for such inactivities 

 as I was engaged in. Coming to an old 

 cherry-tree, I rested awhile in its shadow. 

 A farmhouse was not far off, with apple- 

 trees before it, a barn across the way, and 

 two or three men at work in the sloping 

 ploughed field beyond. To one as lazy as I 

 then was, it is almost a luxury to see other 

 men hoeing or ploughing, so they be far 

 enough off to become a part of the land- 

 scape. Near the barn stood a venerable 



