8 THE BEAUTIES OP NATURE chap. 



Happy indeed is the naturalist : to him 

 the seasons come round like old friends ; to 

 him the birds sing : as he walks along, the 

 flowers stretch out from the hedges, or look 

 up from the ground, and as each year fades 

 away, he looks back on a fresh store of 

 happy memories. 



Though we can never " remoimt the river 

 of our years," he who loves Nature is always 

 young. But what is the love of Nature ? 

 Some seem to think they show a love of 

 flowers by gathering them. How often one 

 finds a bunch of withered blossoms on the 

 roadside, plucked only to be thrown away ! 

 Is this love of Nature ? It is, on the con- 

 trary, a wicked waste, for a waste of beauty 

 is almost the worst waste of all. 



If we could imagine a day prolonged for 

 a lifetime, or nearly so, and that sunrise and 

 sunset were rare events which happened but 

 a few times to each of us, we should certainly 

 be entranced by the beauty of the morning 

 and evening tints. The golden rays of the 

 morning are a fortune in themselves, but we 

 too often overlook the loveliness of Nature, 



