ne on the alert for discoveries
of all kinds, and prompts one to suspect every leafy covert and to peer
into every wooded recess with the expectation of surprising Nature as
Actaeon surprised Diana--in the moment of uncovered loveliness. On the
other hand, when one lounges by the hour in the depths of the forest,
or sits, book in hand, under the knotted and familiar apple tree, on a
summer afternoon, the faculty of observation is lulled into a dreamless
sleep; one ceases to be far enough away from Nature to observe her; one
becomes part of the great, silent movements in the midst of which he
sits, mute and motionless, while the hours slip by with the peace of
eternity already upon them.

When I reached the end of my walk, and paused for a moment before
retracing my steps, I was conscious of the inexhaustible richness of
the world through which I had come; a thousand voices had spoken to me,
and a thousand sights of wonder moved before me; I was awake to the
universe which most of us see only in broken and unintelligent dreams.
Through all this realm of truth and poetry men have passed and repassed
these many years, I said to myself; and I began to wonder how many of
those now long asleep really saw or heard this great glad world of sun
and summer! I began slowly to retrace my steps, and as I reached the
summit of the hill and looked beyond I saw the cattle standing
knee-deep in the brook that loiters across the fields, and I heard the
faint bleating of sheep borne from a distant pasturage.

These familiar sights and sounds touched me with a sudden pathos; there
is nothing in human associations so venerable, so familiar, as the
lowing of the home-coming kine and the bleating of the flocks. They
carry one back to the first homes and the most ancient families. Older
than history, more ancient than civilisation, are these familiar tones
which unite the low-lying meadows and the upland pastures with the fire
on the hearthstone and the nightly care of the fold. When the shadows
deepen over the country-side, the oldest memories are revived and the
oldest habits recalled by the scenes about the farm-house. The same
offices fall to the husbandman, the same sights reveal themselves to
the housewife, the same sounds, mellow with the resonance of uncounted
centuries, greet the ears of the children as in the most primitive ages.

The highway itself stands as a memorial of the most venerable customs
and the most ancient races