FOOTPATHS 225 
“ Little path I found 
Of mintes full and fennell greene; ” 
or Spenser’s 
“ Pathes and alleies wide 
With footing worne; ” 
or the path of Browning’s “ Pippa,” 
“Down the hillside, up the glen, 
Love me as I love!” 
or the haunted way in Sydney Dobell’s ballad, 
“Ravelstone, Ravelstone, 
The merry path that leads 
Down the golden morning hills, 
And through the silver meads ;” 
or the few American paths that genius has yet 
idealized, — that where Hawthorne’s David 
Swan slept, or that which Thoreau found 
upon the banks of Walden Pond, or where 
Whittier parted with his childhood’s playmate 
on Ramoth Hill. It is not heights or depths 
or spaces that make the world worth living in ; 
for the fairest landscape needs still to be gar- 
landed by the imagination, — to become classic 
with noble deeds and romantic with dreams. 
Go where we please in nature, we receive in 
proportion as we give. Ivo, the old Bishop of 
Chartres, wrote that “neither the secret depth 
of woods nor the tops of mountains make man 
blessed, if he has not with him solitude of 
