152 WOODLAND IDYLS. 



large white oaks, arranged in an obtuse angle. 

 Grand specimens of their kind are they, their 

 great limbs thrust out horizontally on all sides, 

 thus furnishing a grateful shade at any hour 

 of these torrid July days. A peculiar pleasing 

 gray, bedecked near the base with numerous 

 lichens, is the bark of these trees. Corn-cobs 

 and other refuse scattered about them show that 

 squirrels delight to rest on their branches and 

 look out adown the valley to the south and west. 



Beneath these oaks, close up to their boles, 

 dwell, if any place hereabouts, the genii of in- 

 spiration. Here at least shall I seek them and 

 for a little time each day beg the privilege of 

 their genial company. Genial and genii what 

 the relation ? Are the genii always genial ? Do 

 they not sometimes glower upon me as I ap- 

 proach? Does not my mind and body have to 

 be congenial, that is have a certain vigor or be 

 in a certain condition, a receptive mood before 

 the genii will come freely forth to meet me? 



Lying beneath the middle one of the oaks am 

 I and gazing skyward through its branches. The 

 stars are up there, yet mine eyes cannot pierce 

 the ether blue and make them out. The mem- 

 ories are in my cerebral cells; the experiences 

 are behind my years; the knowledge of things 

 that were, the belief of things that are to be are 

 with me, yet I cannot sift and separate, sort 

 and combine as I could were the genii enthusi- 



