46 JOURNAL AND PROCEEDINGS 



forget awhile himself and man, and all the cares of life, in the inex- 

 haustible beauty and glory of Nature, and of the God who made and 

 controls her. 



Let us walk, side by side, in imagination, with a naturalist in his 

 daily ramble ; let us blend our mind with his, to receive those 

 impressions which he feels, to share the train of reflection that comes 

 crowding on his mind, as the affinities of objects lead his ideas to 

 wander from the leafiness of the Temperate to the exuberant foliage 

 of the Torrid Zone. We approach a woodland ; how inspiriting are 

 the odors that breathe from the upland turf, from the rock-hung 

 flower, from the hoary and solemn pine. Deep, and dark, and still, 

 are the shadows of the surrounding trees and bushes. The green 

 leaves seem to infuse into our hearts a portion of their happiness as 

 " they clap their hands in glee," and the joyous birds make melody 

 all around. Here let us pause and gather a single blade of grass, 

 and examine for a minute quietly, its narrow sword-shaped strip of 

 fluted green. Ruskin says of this : " Nothing, as it seems, there, 

 of goodness or beauty. A very little strength, and a very little tall- 

 ness, and a few delicate long lines meeting in a point ; not a perfect 

 point, either, but blunt and unfinished ; by no means a creditable or 

 apparently much cared for example of Nature's workmanship ; made, 

 as it seems, only to be trodden on to-day, and ' to-morrow to be cast 

 into the oven.' " And yet, think of it well, and judge, whether of all 

 the gorgeous flowers that beam in summer air and of all strong and 

 goodly trees, pleasant to the eyes, or yielding fruit, stately palm and 

 pine, strong ash and oak, scented citron, or burdened vine, there be 

 any by man so deeply loved, by God so highly graced, as that 

 narrow point of feeble grass. And well does it fulfil its mission. 

 Consider what w^e owe merely to the meadow grass, to the covering 

 of the dark ground by that glorious enamel, by the companies of 

 those soft and" countless spears. The fields : follow forth but for a 

 little time, the thought of all we ought to recognize in these words. 

 All spring and summer is in them ; the walks by silent paths, the 

 rests in noonday heat ; the joy of herds and flocks, the sunlight 

 falling in emerald streaks and soft blue shadows, where else it would 

 have struck upon the dark mould or scorching dust ; pastures beside 

 the babbling brooks ; soft banks and knolls of hills, thymy slopes of 

 down, overlooked by the blue line of the distant sea-crisp lawns, all 



