IReturn to Mature 



lUe terrarum mihi praeter omnis 

 Angulus ridet. 



IT is growing difficult, even in the quiet- 

 est nooks of the country, to find a primi- 

 tive wood, a grove standing just as nature 

 made it, with not an ax-mark, not any 

 evidence of man's destructive meddling, 

 above or below, on the ground or amid the 

 branches on high. When such a boscage 

 is come upon, however, the distinction of 

 its air betrays its age and its vital splen- 

 dor, as we sometimes see unquenchable 

 youthfulness illuminate the countenance of 

 an octogenarian, suggesting an inner source 

 of perpetual renewal. 



The soil in which, from the beginning, 

 trees have flourished, fallen, and decayed, 

 where leaves have moldered for untold 

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