ten "Hamlet," or Wordsworth the "Ode on Immortality;" not that
which they have accomplished but that which they are in themselves
gives these names a lustre in Arden such as shines from no crown of
fame in the outer world. Rosalind and I had dreamed that we might meet
some of those whose words had been the food of immortal hope to us, but
we almost dreaded that nearer acquaintance which might dispel the
illusion of superiority. How delighted were we to discover that not
only are great souls, really understood, greater than all their works,
but that the works were forgotten and nothing was remembered but the
soul! Not as those who are fed by the bounty of the king, but as kings
ourselves, were we received into this noble company. Were we not born
to the same inheritance? Were not Nature and life ours as truly as
they were Shakespeare's and Wordsworth's? As we sat at rest under the
great arms of the trees, or roamed at will through the woodland paths,
the one thought that was common to us all was, not how nobly these
scenes had been pictured and spoken, but how far above all language of
art they were, and how shallow runs the stream of speech when these
mysterious treasures of feeling and insight are launched upon it!

IX

. . . every day
Men of great worth resorted to this forest.

The friendship of Nature is matched in Arden with human friendships, as
sincere, as void of disguise and flattery, as stimulating and
satisfying. There are times when every sensitive person is wounded by
misunderstanding of motives, by lack of sympathy, by indifference and
coldness; such hours came not infrequently to Rosalind and myself in
the old days before we set out for the Forest. We found unfailing
consolation and strength in our common faith and purpose, but the
frigidity of the atmosphere made us conscious at times of the effort
one puts forth to simply sustain the life of his ideals, the charm and
sweetness of those secret hopes which feed the soul. What must it be
to live among those who are quick to recognise nobility of motive, to
conspire with aspiration, to believe in the best and highest in each
other? It was to taste such a life as this, to feel the consoling
power of mutual faith and the inspiration of a common devotion to the
ideals that were dearest to us, that our thoughts turned so often and
with such longing to Arden. In such moments we opened with delight
certain books which were full of the joy