THE LANDSCAPE BEAUTIFUL 



setts hills. The sky is often the best part 

 of the landscape. 



Every little while I have a quarrel with 

 some too honest friend about my definition 

 of the landscape. In an exhibition of 

 pictures I hung some beautiful marine 

 views (not of my own making). "Why, 

 look here," said my matter-of-fact friend, 

 "these are not landscapes ! There is no land 

 in them. They are all water!" 



Another friend of mine contributed to 

 a show of landscape photographs, and when 

 it was over said that his own prints 

 were the only landscape pictures shown: 

 the others were only sketches. 



I recognize no such limited definition. 

 For me the landscape is anything and every- 

 thing visible in the world of out-of-doors. 

 Visible, I say; yet there are times when one 

 can smell the landscape, as at hasdng time, 

 or the wheat harvest, or the spring plowing. 

 There are times when one can hear the 

 landscape, — in the pine woods; on the sand 

 beach where the breakers fall. Yes, and 

 times when the sense of feeling tells its 

 subtle, sensuous story, — as when the warm 

 August wind sweeps across the Kansas 

 prairies, or the sea breeze salts one's face, 



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