OUT OF BOOHS IN FEBRUABY. 219 



come, when the moss yonder by the beech, and the 

 lichen on the fir-trunk, and the loose fibres caught in 

 the fork of an unbending bough, shall furnish forth a 

 sufficient mansion for their young. Another broad 

 cloud- shadow, and another warm embrace of sunhght. 

 All the serried ranks of the green corn bow at the 

 word of command as the wind rushes over them. 



There is largeness and freedom here. Broad as the 

 down and free as the wind, the thought can roam 

 high over the narrow roofs in the vale. Nature has 

 affixed no bounds to thought. All the palings, and 

 walls, and crooked fences deep down yonder are 

 artificial. The fetters and traditions, the routine, the 

 dull roundabout which deadens the spirit like the cold 

 moist earth, are the merest nothings. Here it is easy 

 with the physical eye to look over the highest roof. 

 The moment the eye of the mind is filled with the 

 beauty of things natural an equal freedom and width 

 of view come to it. Step aside from the trodden 

 footpath of personal experience, throwing away the 

 petty cynicism born of petty hopes disappointed. 

 Step out upon the broad down beside the green corn, 

 and let its freshness become part of life. 



The wind passes, and it bends — let the wind, too, 

 pass over the spirit. From the cloud-shadow it 

 emerges to the sunshine — let the heart come out from 

 the shadow of roofs to the open glow of the sky. High 

 above, the songs of the larks fall as rain — receive it 

 with open hands. Pure is the colour of the green 

 flags, the slender-pointed blades — let the thought be 

 pure as the light that shines through that colour. 

 Broad are the downs and open the aspect — gather the 



