172 THROUGH LIBRARY WINDOWS 



rest from the hot sun or hide away from some 

 hateful shrike or spiteful king-bird or make of 

 its shade a trysting place or find a perch where 

 they can pour forth their matchless songs, or 

 better still, to plant their home nest and rear 

 their young. 



One may know a tree scientifically, give its 

 Latin name, describe its habitat, tell all about 

 its leaf work, its growth and expansion and 

 seeding, and yet not know the tree. Love is 

 the interpreter of nature. A tree is greater 

 than all its parts. Its parts may be tabulated 

 making a fine report, its pictures may be most 

 captivating but a tree is grander by far than 

 all this. It has an individuality of life and feel- 

 ing, it has a being and is so human, it is a 

 friend. Nature is never cold and pulseless and 

 enigmatical to a sympathetic heart. Sit here 

 under these oaks and elms, now more than a 

 hundred years old, how strangely they affect 

 you; instinctively, you think of other days for 

 here are three generations and more of people 

 and time and history and family incidents, busi- 

 ness transactions, love affairs, gossipy news of 

 by-gone years, all so crowded with interest and 

 yet all these secrets are locked and sealed for 

 nature is no tell-tale! 



We have been out under the trees all day. 



