THE MID-JUNE FLOWERS. 175 
a love for good literature. Its influence is certainly on 
the right side. 
In these mid-June days the woods stand forth in 
their glory, and are seen at their best when the wester- 
ing sun gleams athwart them, lighting them up with a 
blaze of yellow, while the valley below lies enshrouded 
in the dark shadow. How much the trees contribute 
to the beauty of a New England landscape can be com- 
prehended best by those who are familiar with treeless 
regions. It is not difficult to realize how easily in old 
days, when the world was young and our race had still 
the imagination of a child, nymph and dryad might 
people the forest shades. Our stout old Germanic an- 
cestors learned and practised in the dim depths of their 
primeval forests many of those virtues which make their 
descendants to this day the foremost nations of the 
world. There the unconquerable spirit of personal 
liberty was born. In such a spot a poet might sing: 
“Here are old trees, tall oaks and gnarled pines, 
That stream with gray-green mosses ; here the ground 
Was never trenched by spade, and flowers spring up 
Unsown, and die ungathered. It is sweet 
To linger here, among the flitting birds, 
And leaping squirrels, wandering brooks, and winds 
That shake the leaves, and scatter as they pass, 
A fragrance from the cedars, thickly set 
With pale-blue berries. In these peaceful shades— 
