brace the shrub oak with its scanty garment of 

 leaves rising above the snow, lowly whispering to 

 me, akin to winter thoughts, and sunsets, and to all 

 virtue. Covert which the hare and the partridge 

 seek, and I too seek. Rigid as iron, clean as the at- 

 mosphere, hardy as virtue, innocent and sweet as a 

 maiden is the shrub oak. In proportion as I know 

 and love it, I am natural and sound as a partridge. 

 I felt a positive yearning toward one bush this after- 

 noon. There was a match found for me at last. I 

 fell in love with a shrub oak. 



Journal, ix, 145. 



