34 THE TREES OF AMERICA. 



Before the window by whicli we are writing is an ash tree which is looking in 

 upon us clothed in a robe of rippling green and sunlight. Its individuality is so 

 marked that it would seem impossible not to recognize it, even if it were in the 

 midst of the forest and surrounded by thousands of its fellow-trees. And yet 

 every day we meet with those who do not recognize this difference. It is sad 

 to think that all this beauty of variety, which must have been intended mainly 

 for our enjoyment, should thus be a sealed book to most of us. It is not that 

 we do not possess powers alike, I am well convinced, that we thus differ, and 

 that to most people the myriad glories of the universe, which are spread all 

 about us, are unenjoyed ; but it is mainly because they shut their eyes and 

 close their ears against them. What is the usel is the common question. 

 We would answer, Does not He who made the ear to enjoy the choral harmo- 

 nies of sound, and the eye to see the beauty and accord of every variety of form 

 and every tint of color, know best 'i Has he given us beauty every where, and 

 the capacity to appreciate it to all, and yet commanded us to close our eyes and 

 ears against its teachings, and that we should bend our powers, so like a god's, 

 to make ourselves so like a crawling worm ] 



" Nature is the visible spirit, the spirit the invisible nature, said Schelling, 

 he who lives an immortal hero in the world of mind," wrote Professor Hasse 

 to Andersen ; " and yesterday this was rendered clear to me by your stories. As 

 you, on the one hand, penetrate so deeply into the secrets of nature, understand 

 and know the language of birds, and what the feelings of a fig tree or a daisy 

 are, so that every thing seems to be there for its own sake, and we, together 

 with our children, participate with them in their joys and their sorrows, yet 

 on the other hand, every thing is but the image of the mind, and the human 

 heart, in its infinity, trembles and beats throughout." As great and glorious 

 as is this wondrous human heart for good if it but develop its powers in 

 this direction, so powerful it seems for evil if it develop itself to this end. 



The meanest human soul, if indeed there be any difference, is an instrument 

 capable of being attuned to harmonies so grand, that in our highest moments of 

 power, we cannot even imagine the limits of its attainments. All around us 

 every where are the means for this development. " Every leaf in the immeasura- 

 ble forest, every drop of the world of waters, contains its myriads of wondrous 



