oduced by the sudden burst into
greenness of the trees that peep over some suburban garden wall, or by
the sunlight falling, by a happy fortune, on pool or flower. Much of
course depends upon the inner mood; there are days when it seems
impossible to be thrilled by anything, when a perverse dreariness holds
the mind; and then all of a sudden the gentle and wistful mood flows
back, and the world is full of beauty to the brim.

Here, if anywhere, in this town of ancient colleges, is abundant
material of beauty for eye and mind. It is not, it is true, the simple
beauty of nature; but nature has been invoked to sanctify and mellow
art. These stately stone-fronted buildings have weathered like crags
and precipices. They rise out of dark ancient embowered gardens. They
are like bright birds of the forest dwelling contentedly in gilded
cages. These great palaces of learning, beautiful when seen in the
setting of sunny gardens, and with even a sterner dignity when planted,
like a fortress of quiet, close to the very dust and din of the street,
hold many treasures of stately loveliness and fair association; this
city of palaces, thick-set with spires and towers, as rich and dim as
Camelot, is invested with a romance that few cities can equal; and then
the waterside pleasaunces with their trim alleys, their air of ancient
security and wealthy seclusion, have an incomparable charm; day by day,
as one hurries or saunters through the streets, the charm strikes
across the mind with an incredible force, a newness of impression which
is the test of the highest beauty. Yet these again are beauties of a
sensational order which beat insistently upon the dullest mind. The
true connoisseur of natural beauty acquiesces in, nay prefers, an
economy, an austerity of effect. The curve of a wood seen a hundred
times before, the gentle line of a fallow, a little pool among the
pastures, fringed with rushes, the long blue line of the distant downs,
the cloud-perspective, the still sunset glow--these will give him ever
new delights, and delights that grow with observation and intuition.

I have spoken hitherto of nature as she appears; to the unruffled, the
perceptive mind; but let us further consider what relation nature can
bear to the burdened heart and the overshadowed mood. Is there indeed a
vis medicatrix in nature which can heal our grief and console our
anxieties? "The country for a wounded heart" says the old proverb. Is
that indeed true?