STALKING THE WILD GRAPE 



soothing, wrapping my senses in a 

 dreamy delight. 



He who would attempt to classify and 

 define the perfume that drifts through 

 the pasture from the bloom of the fox- 

 grape may. I only know that it makes 

 me dream of pipes of Pan playing in 

 the morning of the world, while all the 

 wonder creatures of the old Greek 

 myths dance in rhythm and sing in soft 

 undertones, and the riot of young life 

 bubbles within them. 



The pasture, indeed, could ill afford to 

 lose the pious incense from the sweet- 

 fern's censer, the fragrance of the altar 

 candles of the bayberry, and the subtle 

 essence of the sweet-gale. These are 

 the holy incense of the church of out-of- 

 doors, and it is well that we should al- 

 ways find them when we come to wor- 

 ship; yet he who would dare all to steal 

 45 



