as only the Lord's own works are free, with the music
of the wind in the great pine-tops; the gracious, infinite sky revealing
itself through their tracery; the columnar trunks swaying now like a
ship's masts. How at evening the setting sun glows through their black
shafts; how ethereal the light that then fills the spaces of the wood;
how the stars look down through the branches in the living stillness of
the night! A few steps, and below us in the hollow we see the city, all
its commonplaceness charmed away, the vulgar noises of the streets
blended in a soft murmur. Not one human life moves in those streets,
commonplace and vulgar though it may seem, but has its own charm and
beauty, if we could find the right view-point, or if our sight went deep
enough.

Across a plowed field darts in swift zigzag a gleam of blue; then,
perched on a fence-rail, sends a thrilling song. The bluebird is the
true voice of early spring, as is the bobolink of later spring.
Bobolinks and apple-blossoms come together in the prodigal time of May.
Our Northern spring is the most arrant of coquettes,--the most delicious
in allurement, the swiftest in retreat. One day she seems to pour her
whole heart out to us, and we think she is ours once and for all; next
day she pelts us with sleet; buffets, freezes us; she--nay, she is gone,
and we never shall see her again; it is the sourest shrew in the whole
sisterhood of the year that has come in her stead! But the true lover
thinks not so. He knows her woman's heart,--coying it a little, holding
back her treasure till she sees if her worshiper be faithful, to pour it
out all unstinted at the last, when May's perfect bridal day shall usher
in the full and fruitful marriage blessing of the year.

On this June morning, place yourself here, under the shade of this noble,
wide-spreading apple-tree on a garden lawn. Last night the earth was
washed by showers, and a thunder-storm cleared the air. This morning a
fresh northwest wind breaks the clouds, and opens pure, sweet depths of
sky. Around us the flowers of early summer are blooming. Over the grass
trip the young birds, mottle-breasted robins and bluebirds; the trees
ring with frequent song; from the barnyard comes cheery cackle and cluck,
and the chickens stray forth to investigate the secrets and riches of the
world. A catbird pours out an opera in which he takes all the parts in
succession, and the voice of the wind rises and falls in my