80 TEE OPEN AIR. 



WILD FLOWERS. 



A FIR-TREE is not a flower, and yet it is associated 

 in my mind with primroses. There was a narrow 

 lane leading into a wood, where I used to go almost 

 every day in the early months of the year, and at one 

 corner it was overlooked by three spruce firs. The 

 rugged lane there began to ascend the hill, and I 

 paused a moment to look back. Immediately the 

 high fir-trees guided the eye upwards, and from their 

 tops to the deep azure of the March sky over, but 

 a step from the tree to the heavens. So it has ever 

 been to me, by day or by night, summer or winter, 

 beneath trees the heart feels nearer to that depth of 

 life the far sky means. The rest of spirit found only 

 in beauty, ideal and pure, comes there because the 

 distance seems within touch of thought. To the 

 heaven thought can reach lifted by the strong arms 

 of the oak, carried up by the ascent of the flame- 

 shaped fir. Bound the spruce top the blue was 

 deepened, concentrated by the fixed point; the 

 memory of that spot, as it were, of the sky is still 

 fresh — I can see it distinctly — still beautiful and full 

 of meaning. It is painted in bright colour in my 

 mind, colour thrice laid, and indelible ; as one passes 



