picture is full of colour, of spaciousness, of "go." How 

 far off and deep the sky appears! How melodious is 

 the tossing, wailing rustle of the giant tree! How 

 sweet in my ear, as I sit amid the hardback, is the 

 sudden little whistle as a gust sweeps down even into 

 my lowly shelter! In such a mood I am asking no 

 questions of Nature; I am humble before the spectacle, 

 content to observe why the Psalmist said that the Lord 

 maketh the clouds his chariot. My imagination is ex- 

 panded; my soul goes up to ride upon the racing cumuli! 



He appointed the moon for seasons: 



The sun knoweth his going down. 

 Thou makest darkness, and it is night; 



Wherein all the beasts of the forest do creep forth. 

 The young lions roar after their prey, 



And seek their meat from God. 

 The sun ariseth, they get them away, 



And lay them down in their dens. 

 Man goeth forth unto his work 



And to his labour until the evening. 



What a simple statement this is of the rotation of 

 the hours, and yet how all-sufficient, in certain of our 

 moods, even to this day ! A mile or two back from the 

 coast in the old Narragansett country of Rhode Isl- 

 and, amid the pitchpines and oaks, there is a fresh- 

 water pond of great beauty. Here on its shores until 

 a generation ago the last of the Narragansetts had 

 their reservation, their council-ring, and their school - 

 house. The pond still bears the name they gave it, 



