feeble and flaccid, leading down to the dull brown fibres
of roots. And yet, think of it well, and judge whether of all the
gorgeous flowers that beam in summer air, and of all strong and goodly
trees, pleasant to the eyes and good for food--stately palm and pine,
strong ash and oak, scented citron burdened vine--there be any by man so
deeply loved, by God so highly graced as that narrow point of feeble
green." Words and sentences are all plain and simple and clear. Perhaps
we pause a moment at "scented citron," for the citron as we know it is a
vine bearing a melonlike fruit and we are not aware that it is
especially fragrant. But this is another plant--a tree that bears a
sweet-scented fruit not unlike the lemon. "Burdened vine" seems a trifle
obscure--why _burdened vine_? A vine carrying a weight? What weight?
The ripened clusters of purple fruit bending the swaying vines to the
warm earth while autumn tints the leaves to harmonious colors. "Burdened
vine" is a suggestive expression indeed to the person of a little
imagination who has walked through the long aisles of a thriving
vineyard. Is the passage now clear to us and perfectly understood? Does
it convey to us what Ruskin really thought?--"Tomorrow to be cast into
the oven." What a strange expression! Do we put grass into an oven? How
came Ruskin to mention such a thing? "To be cast into the oven." We have
seen "burdened vines" and we understand the "scented citron," but what
of this grass "cast into the oven"? Back in the mind of the
artist-critic lie the lessons of his childhood when an ambitious father
and a strict mother intended him for the church and trained him
carefully to a close and accurate knowledge of the scriptures. So when
he writes of the grass of the field he almost unconsciously uses the
language of the bible: "Wherefore if God so clothe the grass of the
field which today is and tomorrow is cast into the oven, shall he not
much more clothe you, O ye of little faith?" We his readers interpret
his feelings and his meaning in this only as we have learned the same
lessons.

Examples of such allusions abound throughout literature. In _The Vision
of Sir Launfal_, Lowell says:

"Daily, with souls that cringe and plot,
We Sinais climb and know it not."

With a knowledge of geography we might locate the mountain and
understand the sentence, but the tremendous power of the lines can
never be felt unless we know the story of Moses and so real