THE POINT OF 

 VIEW 



Nature is in herself a perpetual invitation: the 

 birds call, the trees beckon and the winds whisper 

 to us. After the unfeeling pavements, the yielding 

 springy turf of the fields has a sympathy with the 

 feet and invites us to walk. It is good to hear 

 again the fine long-drawn note of the meadow- 

 lark — voice of the early year, — the first blue- 

 bird's warble, the field-sparrow's trill, the untamed 

 melody of the kinglet — a magic flute in the wil- 

 derness — and to see the ruby crown of the be- 

 loved sprite. It is good to inhale the mint crushed 

 underfoot and to roll between the fingers the new 

 leaves of the sweetbrier; to see again the first 

 anemones — the wind-children, — the mandrake's 

 canopies, the nestling erythronium and the spring 

 beauty, like a delicate carpet; or to seek the clin- 

 tonia in its secluded haunts, and to feel the old 

 childlike joy at sight of lady's-slippers. 



It is worth while to be out-of-doors all of one 

 day, now and then, and to really know what is 



