ACCORDING TO SEASON 



Among fallen, moss-grown tree-trunks we find 

 the clover-like leaflets and pink-veined flowers of 

 the true wood-sorrel. These flowers are strikingly 

 large in proportion to the rest of the plant. The 

 pale green foliage is singularly fresh and delicate. 

 One is not surprised to learn that it was a favorite 

 plant of the old Italian painters, and that its dainty 

 symmetry appealed especially to Fra Angelico. 



So frequent and enchanting are the revelations 

 which await us these days that, to the man or 

 woman with unburdened mind and enlightened 

 vision, a country ramble is one of the most perfect 

 of pleasures. Then there are days when the odor- 

 laden winds seem to have some narcotic power, 

 lulling to inertia all energy and ambition ; days 

 when the drowsily witnessed voyage of a butter- 

 fly, or the half-heard song of a wood-thrush, or 

 even the dreamy consciousness of the rhythmical 

 development of life about us — the measured suc- 

 cession of bud, flower, and fruit — seems a sufficient 

 end in itself. 



It is easier to resist this influence if we keep to 

 the road. Once we are led away by some wind- 

 ing pretence of a path, each leafy curve of which 

 is more enticing than the last, we are apt to yield 

 ourselves to the simple charm of being. But on 

 the road we are more practical, more self-con- 

 scious. We cease entirely to be self-conscious only 



92 



