see the householder lifting his axe against one of them I think I should
not say, "Woodman, spare _that_ tree!" Let it go to the fire, the sooner
the better, and be out of its misery.

Not that I blame the tree, or the power that made it what it is. The
forest, like every other community, prospers--we may rather say
exists--at the expense of individual perfection. But the expense is true
economy, for, however it may be in ethics, in aesthetics the end
justifies the means. The solitary pine, unhindered, symmetrical, green
to its lowermost twig, as it rises out of the meadow or stands a-tiptoe
on the rocky ledge, is a thing of beauty, a pleasure to every eye. A
pity and a shame that it should not be more common! But the pine
_forest_, dark, spacious, slumberous, musical! Here is something better
than beauty, dearer than pleasure. When we enter this cathedral, unless
we enter it unworthily, we speak not of such things. Every tree may be
imperfect, with half its branches dead for want of room or want of sun,
but until the devotee turns critic--an easy step, alas, for
half-hearted worshipers--we are conscious of no lack. Magnificence can
do without prettiness, and a touch of solemnity is better than any
amusement.

Where shall we hear better preaching, more searching comment upon life
and death, than in this same cathedral? Verily, the pine is a priest of
the true religion. It speaks never of itself, never its own words.
Silent it stands till the Spirit breathes upon it. Then all its
innumerable leaves awake and speak as they are moved. Then "he that hath
ears to hear, let him hear." Wonderful is human speech,--the work of
generations upon generations, each striving to express itself, its
feelings, its thoughts, its needs, its sufferings, its joys, its
inexpressible desires. Wonderful is human speech, for its complexity,
its delicacy, its power. But the pine-tree, under the visitations of the
heavenly influence, utters things incommunicable; it whispers to us of
things we have never said and never can say,--things that lie deeper
than words, deeper than thought. Blessed are our ears if we hear, for
the message is not to be understood by every comer, nor, indeed, by
any, except at happy moments. In this temple all hearing is given by
inspiration, for which reason the pine-tree's language is inarticulate,
as Jesus spake in parables.

The pine wood loves a clean floor, and is intolerant of undergrowth.
Grasses and sedges,