326 AROUND AN OLD HOMESTEAD. 



brick rows and asphalt, my heart has always longed for 

 a sight of God's meadows and the open sunshine among 

 the grass. 



My instincts for wild life are so strong that had 

 I been a primitive man I imagine I would have helped 

 the race along considerably. I like to walk through 

 the parks whenever I am in cities, for the waving of the 

 trees' leafy branches in the breeze brings thoughts of 

 the wide, sweet freedom of the country beyond. Espe- 

 cially is the dark mystery of trees to be felt in a city 

 in the gloom of night, even though the trees are sur- 

 rounded by wire railings and their poor roots suffocated 

 under hot pavements. 



"But this you may know, that as long as they grow, 

 Whatever change may be, 

 You never can teach either oak or beech 

 To be aught but a greenwood tree." 



There is much truth to those lines of Peacock's. There 

 is always a little of primitive, natural grace, with a 

 smack of pure wildness to it, still to be seen, even in 

 city parks. Such experiences as this in Shelley's "Epi- 

 psychidion" are perhaps not common now to dwellers in 

 cities, but are none the less enviable : 



"The spotted deer bask in the fresh moon-light 

 Before our gate, and the slow, silent night 

 Is measured by the pants of their calm sleep." 



Lines like these, we say, thrill us in the reading, and 

 we lament the departure of the old wild forest life. 

 But, happily, if we seek it, something of that fresh life 

 of Nature can yet be seen in the busy cities, atrophied 

 and bloodless as life Is there, life that was once so true 



