y the rustle of the leaves,
and to awake, without memory of care or pressure of work, to a day that
had brought nothing more discordant into the Forest than the singing of
birds. We rose exhilarated and buoyant, and breakfasted merrily under
a great oak; sometimes we lingered far on into the morning, yielding
ourselves to the spell of the early day when it no longer proses of
work and duty, but sings of freedom and ease and the strength that
makes a play of life. Often we strayed without plan or purpose, as the
winding paths of the Forest led us; happy and care-free as children
suddenly let loose in fairyland. We discovered moss-grown paths which
led into the very heart of the Forest, and we pressed on silently from
one green recess to another until all memory of the sunnier world faded
out of mind. Sometimes we emerged suddenly into a wide, brilliant
glade; sometimes we came into a sanctuary so overhung with great masses
of foliage, so secluded and silent, that we took the rude pile of
moss-grown stones we found there as an altar to solitude, and our
stillness became part of the universal worship of silence which touched
us with a deep and beautiful solemnity. Wherever we strayed the same
tranquil leisure enfolded us; day followed day in an order unbroken and
peaceful as the unfolding of the flowers and the silent march of the
stars. Time no longer ran like the few sands in a delicate hourglass
held by a fragile human hand, but like a majestic river fed by
fathomless seas. The sky, bare and free from horizon to horizon, was
itself a symbol of eternity, with its infinite depth of colour, its
sublime serenity, its deep silence broken only by the flight and songs
of birds. These were at home in that ethereal sphere, at rest in that
boundless space, and we were not slow to learn the lesson of their
freedom and joy. We gave ourselves up to the sweetness of that
unmeasured life, without thought of yesterday or to-morrow; we drank
the cup which to-day held to our lips, and knew that so long as we were
athirst that draught would not be denied us.

XI

. . . every of this happy number
That have endur'd shrewd nights and days with us,
Shall share the good of our returned fortune,
According to the measure of their states.

There is this great consolation for those who cannot live continually
in the Forest of Arden: that, having once proven one's citizenship
there, one can return at will. Those wh