THROUGH LIBRARY WINDOWS 39 



night sleeps. Out there how one wants to run 

 as when a boy and fish and swim and climb 

 trees and throw stones and race with the dog — 

 alas I age and dignity oft forbid but do not sup- 

 press the unspeakable delight of body and soul 

 in the conscious sense of sunlight and wind and 

 fragrances and melodies. Choice picture gal- 

 leries of masterpieces are ever open to him who 

 has soul-vision. Spring is an apt designer, and 

 is not the livelong year a rich colorist? To 

 give the palm for artistic grace to any part of 

 the year is folly, for nature to her lovers is al- 

 ways beautiful, always pictorial. 



So is the quiet country spot beautiful where 

 nothing goes on, where everything is finished, 

 no sound of hammer or ringing trowel, no piles 

 of stone and brick and lumber. Nothing but 

 the sweet quietude of the unbroken stillness. 

 .Our garden often seems like this to us. It is 

 so thoroughly countrified. Here the very whis- 

 pers of nature are soothing, her voices are 

 melodious, the aroma of her pines and spruces 

 are so pungent, the music that comes from 

 breezes playing through shrubs and trees is in- 

 describably plaintive yet pleasant. 



There is a bit of our garden known as the 

 "Den." The Arno flows across the lower cor- 

 ner of our lot for about fifty feet and cuts off a 



