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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..c0e76f9 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #65511 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/65511) diff --git a/old/65511-0.txt b/old/65511-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 7e186cf..0000000 --- a/old/65511-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,1525 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of This Then is Upland Pastures, by Adeline -Knapp - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: This Then is Upland Pastures - Being some out-door essays dealing with the beautiful things - that the spring and summer bring - -Author: Adeline Knapp - -Release Date: June 4, 2021 [eBook #65511] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -Produced by: Richard Tonsing and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team - at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images - generously made available by The Internet Archive) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THIS THEN IS UPLAND PASTURES *** - - - - - THIS THEN IS - UPLAND PASTURES - - BEING SOME OUT-DOOR - ESSAYS DEALING WITH - THE BEAUTIFUL THINGS - THAT THE SPRING AND - SUMMER BRING ☘ ☘ ☘ - - - By ADELINE KNAPP - -[Illustration] - -[Illustration] - - Done into a book at the Roycroft Printing Shop in East Aurora, New York - - MDCCCXCVII - - - - - Copyrighted by - The Roycroft Printing Shop - 1897 - - - - - ❧ OF THIS EDITION THERE WERE - PRINTED BUT SIX HUNDRED COPIES - ☘ EACH BOOK IS SIGNED AND NUMBERED: - THIS BOOK IS NUMBER _101_ - - - - -When the warm rains succeed winter’s driving downpours, and the young -grass begins to mantle the meadows ❦ with tender green, is the time, of -all the year, to be out of doors ❧ All the woodsy places are cool and -dripping and dim and delicious. A month later they will be not less -beautiful, perhaps, but less approachable. The things of Nature grow -sophisticated as the season advances. In the early springtime they are -frank and confiding, and willingly tell the secrets of their growth to -him who asks ✪ They have time, in these first beginnings of things, for -friendly sociability: to show their tiny roots and bulbs, and let us -study the delicate, gracious unfoldings of leaf and bud and blossom. In -a few weeks they will all be too busy, keeping up with the season’s -swift march, to stop and visit with the lovingest of human friends. - -[Illustration] - -Do we forget, from springtime to springtime, how lovely will be the -year’s awakening? Each winter of our discontent I think that I remember, -as my longing imagination looks forward, the tender charm of the -springtime wonder, yet with each recurring year it comes to me as a new -and unknown joy ❦ - -The whole world seems to welcome the new year-child. Even before the -first growths appear there is a hushed awareness throughout Nature that -moves the heart to thankfulness and remembered expectation ❦ The hope of -springtime comes without stint, and without fail, bringing each one of -us the message his heart is prepared to receive, and quickening our -purest, least sordid impulses. The best that is in us seems possible, in -the springtime. Who of us does not then dream that this best will yet -gain strength to withstand the heat and drouth of summer’s fierce -searching? We turn to Mother Nature like children who long to be good. -The worshipping instinct that lies deep within each soul goes out to -her, vesting her in that personality which we have long since pronounced -unthinkable when applied to God. There is a suggestion in the situation -that is not without a certain saving humor to relieve it from -grotesqueness. We are not far from a personal god when we send our souls -out in loving contemplation of personified Nature, yet we still go on -asking if God is, and if He is Truth. Whom do we ask, and why does the -question rise? If God is Truth, He must be universal; and to be -perceived by each soul for himself ❧ If, then, I perceive him not, -either He is not the truth or else I am simple and sincere in desiring -the truth. If He is not the truth, do I then desire human persuasion -that He is? Or, if I am not simple and sincere, who can make me so? - - -Nature will help us if we turn to her. We have filled our lives so full -of complexities and problems that it is well for us to have her annual -reminder that even without our taking thought about it the real world, -that will be here when we, with all our busyness, shall have passed from -sight, has renewed itself, and stands bidding us come and find peace. - -For Nature keeps open house for us, and even when we visit her and leave -a trail of dust and desolation behind us, like the stupid, untidy -children we are, she only sets herself, with the silent, persistent -patience of her age-wise motherhood, to cover and remove it. Down in the -canyon, this morning, among the trillium and loosestrife and wild -potato, I found the inevitable tin can left by some picnicker to mar and -desecrate the landscape, but now completely filled with soft brown mold, -and growing in it a mass of happy green wood-sorrel ❧ - -This is better than going at things with a broom, gathering them up and -removing them from one place to another, which is about as far as we -humans have progressed in our science of cleaning up ❧ I was glad to -welcome the trillium. How one loves its quaint old name of wake-robin, -fitting title for this first harbinger of spring, that comes to us even -before the robin’s note is heard. Many of our common wild-flowers have -several names, but there is none with such invariably pretty ones as all -ages have united in bestowing upon wake-robin. Birth-root, our -forefathers called it, seeing the birth of the new year in its early -blossoming, and how many generations have known it as the -trinity-flower! But ’tis best known, I think, as wake-robin, and the -very breath of spring is in the name. - -[Illustration: ❦] - - - - -A member of the great lily family is wake-robin ☙ It loves damp, shady -places and moist, rich valleys. On the Pacific Coast we do not find the -typical Eastern variety, but we have a variety of our own, tho’ -unmistakably wake-robin. Its color varies from rich madder-red to -pale-pink, sometimes almost white. It grows from a thick, tuber-like -root, and the calyx has, surrounding its three red petals and three -green sepals, three broad, mottled-green leaves which, for some -unaccountable reason, our florists remove when they offer the flower for -sale. A strange whimsy, this. The poor blossoms, thus denuded, have a -bewildered, self-conscious air, such as may have been worn by the little -egg-selling woman of old, who awoke from her nap by the king’s highway -to find her petticoats shorn. Well may wake-robin thus question its own -identity. It is no longer the trillium of the forest: it is only the -trillium of commerce, a sad, unlovely object ❧ - -[Illustration] - -A bank where wake-robin lifts its bonny head is always fair to see. The -plant has certain boon companions always sure to be close at hand. The -Solomon’s seal is one of these, its roots bearing to this day the round -marks imagined by the early foresters to be none other than the seal of -Solomon, the son of David, (on both of whom be peace!) ❧ There is no -more exquisite green than the beautiful, shining leaves of this plant, -with its tiny white bells of flowers. It has a near relative almost -always growing near it, that, with singular paucity of imagination, our -botanists have called “False Solomon’s Seal.” - - -Now we reveal our mental habits through this trick we have of falsifying -plants. We say “false” asphodel, “false” rice, “false” hellebore, -“false” spikenard and mitrewort, but the falsity is in our own vain -imaginings. The plants are as true as the earth that bears them, or the -rain and the sunshine that bring them to perfection. The Solomon’s seal -is one lily, the “false” Solomon’s seal another. Man may be false, -“perilous Godheads of choosing” are his, but the wild things of the -woods are true, each in the order of its nature ❧ There are no -complexities or subtilities about wake-robin, here by the streamside. -You may see it at a glance, for its principles are brief and -fundamental, as wise old Marcus Aurelius bids us let our own be, and -yet, the plant has had its vicissitudes; has met and solved its -problems. Reasoning from analogies, time must have been when, like -others of its great family, it grew in the water, floating out its broad -leaves, lolling at ease on the surface of swampy, watery places and -still ponds. Times changed. Lands rose and waters subsided, and -wake-robin found itself in the midst of new conditions. The problem of -self-support confronted it, and the plant solved it by divesting from -its broad, sustaining sepals nutriment to enable the long, swaying stem -to meet the new demands upon it. It still loves water and seeks cool, -damp woods and deep canyons, growing beside little streams where it -lifts its face to greet the springtime. It is probably not so big as -when it rested luxuriously upon the water, but it is wake-robin, still, -and it does more than summon the birds: it calls each of us back to -Nature, bidding us keep our hearts and souls alive to see, with each -renewing of springtime, and to love afresh, the miracles of Nature’s -redemptive force. - -[Illustration: ❦] - - - - -The beauty of springtime, like the beauty of childhood, is always new. -All about me the things of Nature are still in the mystical, subtile -tenderness of their young, green growth. The golden days of autumn are -full of their own beauty. The grey days of winter’s mist and fog have -theirs, but there is something in the tender blue days of the rainy -springtime that sets the heart apraise, and ☙ brings out as nothing else -can, the meanings of leaf and bud, of flower and tree. It is raining, -now. Up above me, on the road, several picnickers who have been caught -in this April shower are hurrying to shelter ❧ They look down curiously -at me, here under the willow, and I have some misgiving as to whether -they are not setting an example that I should follow ❦ But I am sure -that it is a great mistake always to know enough to go in when it rains. -One may keep snug and dry by such knowledge, but one misses a world of -loveliness. There is, after all, a certain selective wisdom that sees -the desirability of taking the showers as they come. - - -There is something peculiarly tender and loving about an April shower. -One is so fully conscious, even while the drops are falling, that the -sun is shining behind the light clouds. And the drops themselves come -down so gently, tentatively offering themselves, as it were, to the -welcoming earth—pattering lightly on the leaves, and softly rippling the -surface of the little pool under the willows. That is a wonderful sort -of comparison the Hebrew poet gives us when he likens the teaching of -truth to the small rain upon the tender herb: the showers upon the green -grass ☙ - -The young colt in the stall, yonder, thrusts an eager head over the -half-door, and with soft black muzzle in the air, stands with open mouth -to catch the delicious trickle. The cattle on the hills seem glad of the -wetting. Even the birds have not sought shelter, and why should I? ☘ I -love to watch the leaves of the trees and plants, in the rain. They tell -us so many secrets about the life of which they are a part. Why, for -instance, does this pond lily spread out its broad, pleasant leaves upon -the water’s surface, while its cousin the brodeia has long, narrow, -grass-like leaves? Why do the leaves of the pungent wormwood, here, -stand rigidly pointing upwards, while those of this big oak are spread -out before the descending rain? - - -Watch the wormwood. See how the raindrops quiver for an instant on the -tips of the pinnate leaves, then follow one another in a mad chase down -the groove that traverses the center of each leaf. Notice that the leaf -itself rises from three ridges on the stem of the plant, and that -between these ridges lie shallow grooves down which the raindrops run to -the plant’s root. Now, we can tell from these signs what sort of a root -the wormwood has. I never pulled one of the plants, but I am sure that -if we were to do so we should find it to have a main tap-root, with no -branches. All such plants have leaves pointing upwards, and grooved -stems, admirably adapted to bring water to the thirsty roots. The beets -and the radishes afford us capital examples of this provision ❧ - -This alfileria has another arrangement of leaf, for this same purpose. -It is a widely spreading forage-plant, with an absurdly small root. It -needs a great deal of moisture, and so its stems are thickly set with -soft, fuzzy hairs, that catch the water and convey it to the root ❧ -Growing all along the bank is the little chickweed, with its tiny white -star of a blossom. If it were not so common we should wax enthusiastic -over its beauty, and seek it for our garden borders. It has a running, -thread-like root, which receives the raindrops caught by the stem in a -single row of tiny hairs along its lower side, and sprinkled gently -down. - -[Illustration: ❧] - -[Illustration] - - - - -When a plant has a spreading root such as the willow, yonder, sends -down, the leaves spread outward and downward, from base to tip, letting -their gathered moisture down upon it. When the plant grows under water -its leaves are long and thread-like; for the supply of carbon is -limited, and they divide minutely, that the greatest possible surface -may be exposed to absorb it. If the stem grows until the leaves reach -the surface of the water they broaden and spread out, for here they get -an abundant food supply which they may freely appropriate, as none of it -need be diverted to build up a supporting stem. The water affords the -leaves ample support ❧ The grasses grow in blades for the same reason -that the plants growing under water put out slender, thread-like leaves. -The air-supply would seem abundant, but the grass-leaves are many, and -low-growing plants are numerous. So they divide and sub-divide, that -greater surface may be presented to the sunlight and the air. In this -form the blades are fittest to obtain their necessary food supply and -thus to survive. We see this same tendency in the leaves of the wild -poppy, the buttercup and all the great crowfoot family. Across the road -stretches a line of locusts, just now in dainty, snowy, fragrant -blossom. The individuality of a tree is a constant and delightful fact -in Nature. The locust is as unlike the oak or the willow as can well be -imagined, yet like them in taking on an added and characteristic -loveliness in the rain. How delicately the branches pencil themselves -against the blue and silver of the cloudy sky and the dark green of the -orchard beyond them! The leaves have such a purely incidental air. The -lines of the tree were, themselves, lovely enough in their green and -mossy wetness, to delight the eye. To deck them so laceywise in an -openwork of leaf and blossom was beneficent gratuity on the part of -Mother Nature, for the pleasing of her children. - - -Down below, where the creek widens, the sycamores have grown to great -size. How they help the heart, these gnarly giants, with the white -patches against the greys and blacks of their rough trunks! ❧ How they -spread their patches against the sky and beckon and point the beholder -upwards. The sylvan prophet bears a promise of good, and demands of -every passer-by the query of the wise old stoic: “Who is he that shall -hinder thee from being good and simple?” - -Over the rounded hill, stealing softly, in Indian file, through the -mist, a row of eucalyptus trees climb, fringing up the slopes. These -ladies of the hilltop have a fashion of growing thus, and in no other -position is their delicate, suggestive beauty more apparent. The -eucalyptus is an original genius among trees, never repeating itself. It -stands for endless variety, for strong good cheer, for faith that seeks -and reaches and goes on, never wavering ❧ It blesses as well as delights -its friends. I love its wonderful, ever varying leaves, its up-reaching, -outstretching branches, and the annual surprise of its mystic -blossoming. Each tree is distinct and individual in its growth, yet -every one is typical of the genus. - - -It is a tree of the wind and the storm. See how those in yonder group -sway and courtesy, bow and beckon, advance and retreat in the light -breeze! And the rain does such marvels to them in the way of color, -tinting the leaves into wondrous things of glistening black-and-silver, -and bringing out exquisite, evasive greens and browns, red and rose -colors, tender blues and greys, from the trunks and branches ☘ All the -things of Nature are for man’s use and joy, but perhaps they serve their -very highest use when we return God thanks for their beauty ❦ - -Yes, I am sure that there is a wisdom wiser than the prudence which -sends us in out of the rain. The flowers and the grasses teach us more -than has ever been put between the covers of books. The trees bring us -the real news of the real world long before they are crushed into pulp -and made into the paper on which is printed our morning service from the -scandal monger and the stock broker. It was heralded as a marvelous -triumph of modern ingenuity when, the other day, a forest tree was cut -down and made into paper on which the news of the world was printed and -hawked along the streets within four and one-half hours from the moment -when the axe was laid at the root of the tree. Marvelously clever, that, -but shall we ever be wise enough to bring the trees themselves to the -city, instead? If we were but able to read the message they bear, the -newspaper might go away into outer darkness, whence it sprang. - - -[Illustration] - -There is a fearful moment of reckoning before us should it ever chance -that when all our trees shall have been sacrificed on the altar of the -patron-fiend of news, the newspaper supply shall suddenly be cut off and -we find ourselves some fine morning minus our tidbits of shame and -failure and disaster, left to the companionship of our own thoughts ☘ -Dante never imagined a terror like this ❧ - -But the sun has come out again. The rain is over and gone. Only the last -treasured drops chase one another along the leaves and down the stems of -the plants. Our picnickers are venturing forth ❧ The wet blades of grass -sparkle in the sunlight. Over on the bank a ruby-throated hummer is -flying back and forth across a tiny stream that patters and splashes -against a rock. These morsels of birds love a shower-bath and this -fellow now has one exactly to his mind. The clouds have drifted down the -sky and everything seems glad and grateful for “the useful trouble of -the rain.” - -[Illustration: ❦] - - - - -Once upon a time man conceived the belief that this universe, with its -many worlds swinging through space, was created for him. He fancied that -the sun shone by day to warm and vivify him; that the stars of night -were none other than lamps to his feet; that the other animals existed -to afford him food and clothing—and sport; that the very flowers of the -field blossomed and fruited and were beautiful for his gratification. In -fact, man conceived the belief that instead of being the wise brother -and helper of this creation amidst which he moves, he was the great -central pivot upon which all revolves ☘ - -[Illustration] - -A sorry lesson, surely, for man to read into the broad, open page of -Nature’s great book. Small wonder that to him in his meanness its -message came as “the painful riddle of the earth.” But it was the best -he could do: it is the best any of us can do until we have learned the -great lesson which the ancient Wise One has written out for us—which she -will teach us, in time, through death, if we will not let her teach it -through life: the lesson that use is not appropriation; that -appropriation sets use to groan and sweat under fardels of evil ❧ - -We are learning this lesson, with a bad grace, like blundering school -boys, fumbling at our hornbook, stuttering and stammering over the -alphabet of life, the while our minds wander stupidly off to the -playthings of our unholy civilization. Perhaps some day we shall spell -out something of this riddle which we have made so painful, and with the -lesson get somewhat of the humility that comes with knowing ❧ - -But now man does not read the book of Nature to much better purpose than -he reads those other volumes, written by himself, and bought by himself, -in bulk, to adorn his libraries: portly tomes to which he may point with -pride as evidence that at least his shelves hold wisdom, tho’ his head -may never. - - -I use no figure of speech when I say that we may now buy our books in -bulk. I saw, only this morning, the advertisement of a large dry goods -“emporium” (’tis laces and literature now) wherein is announced for sale -the bound volumes of a popular magazine. “Over eight pounds of the -choicest reading, bound in the usual style—olive green.” ❧ - -Nature has olive greens, too, in styles usual and unusual, and she has -marvelous messages for her lovers, but she cannot be bought in bulk, nor -put upon shelves, nor even carried in the head until she first be -received into the heart ❧ A little flaxen haired girl brought me, this -morning, a pure white buttercup on the stem with three yellow ones. - -“See,” she said, “Here is one buttercup they forgot to paint.” ❧ - -I took the flower from her hand. I could not tell her just how it -happened that this one perianth was white, but I explained to her -something of how the others came to be yellow ☙ What we call a flower is -not, usually, the flower at all, but merely its petals. The real flower -is the cluster, in the center of the calyx, of pistils and their -surrounding pollen-bearing stamens. Away back in the ages when man had -not yet developed his æsthetic sense, perhaps even before he had learned -to make fire, the primitive flower bore only these pistils and stamens, -with a little outer protective whorl of green petals. It was fertilized -by the pollen falling upon the pistils. - - -But this was not good for the plant. Those flowers that in some way -became fertilized by pollen from other plants of the same variety, by -cross-fertilization, in fact, were healthier and stronger than those -fertilized by their own pollen. In such plants as wind-blown pollen -reached this cross-fertilization was an easy matter, but the buttercup -is not one of these. It is forced to rely upon insects for -fertilization. So the plant began to secrete a sweet drop at the base of -each green petal. Such insects as discovered this nectar and stopped to -sip were dusted with the pollen of the plant and carried it to other -flowers, where it fertilized the pistils, the insect gathering from -every blossom a fresh burden of pollen to be carried along on his -nectar-seeking round. This was very good, so far as it went, but the -flowers were pale and inconspicuous, and many of them, overlooked by the -insects, were never visited. Certain ones, however, owing to accidents -or conditions of soil and moisture, had the calyx a little larger, or -brighter colored than their fellows, and these the insects found. It -happened, therefore, if anything ever does merely happen, that the -flowers with bright petals were fertilized, and their descendants were -even brighter colored. Thus, in time, the buttercup, by the process -which, for lack of a better name, we call natural selection, came to -have bright yellow petals, because these attract the insect best adapted -to fertilize it ☙ If man’s æsthetic sense is gratified by the flower’s -beauty, why man is by so much the better off, but that man is pleased by -the bright color is not half so important to the buttercup as is the -pleasure of a certain little winged beetle which sees the shining golden -cup and knows that it means honey ☘ In the same way the lupin, yonder, -with its pretty blue and white blossoms, has developed its blue petals -because it is fertilized by the bees. They seek it as they do other -blossoms, not only for honey, but for the pollen itself, which stands -them in place of bread ☙ The very shape of the flower is due to the -visits of countless generations of this insect. The bee is the insect -best adapted to fertilize the lupin, and when he alights upon the -threshold of a blossom his weight draws the lower petal down, and -entering to suck the sweets he gets his head dusted with pollen. If a -fly were to gain entrance to the flower, he would carry away no pollen. -He is smaller than the bee, and his head could not reach it. So -honey-seeking flies alight in vain; their weight is not enough to press -the calyx open, so they may not enter and drink of its sweets. Yonder on -a blossom of the mimulus, the odd-looking monkey-plant, a honeybee just -had this same experience. The bumblebee is the only insect that is large -enough to reach the pollen in this blossom, and so its doors will open -only to him. Botanists tell us that all this great family, to which -belong the various peas blossoms and their cousins, were once -five-petaled plants, but natural selection has brought about their -present shape, which is an admirable protection against the depredations -of small insects that could only rob but could not fertilize the -flowers ❧ - -[Illustration] - -Blue is the favorite color of the honeybee, and next to blue he prefers -red. So bee blossoms are blue or red. - - -Most of our small white flowers are fertilized by insects that fly at -night. This is the reason why white blossoms are more fragrant than -their bright-hued sisters. Bright colors could not be seen at night, but -the fragrance of the white flowers, always more noticeable by night than -by day, serves the same end—to attract the useful insects. This is an -essential part of Nature’s wonderful plan. The flower lives by giving ☙ - -There is an endless fascination in this page which Nature opens out -before us, in her upland pastures. A wise teacher once told me his -experience with a restless, unmanageable boy ☙ “I could do nothing with -him,” the teacher said, “until I got him interested in field life.” One -day this boy went off on a holiday tramp, returning the day following. -His teacher asked him what he had seen, and this is what he remembered -of his outing: “I camped in a field for the night,” said he, “and I saw -a bee light on a poppy and crawl in. The poppy shut up and caught him. -Next morning I woke up early and watched, and by and by the poppy opened -and the bee came out.” ☙ There are those who might have missed the -sacred significance of such a narrative, but that teacher was a very -wise man and he knew that the reading lesson given him then was a page -from his rough boy’s soul-life, and he conned it with reverent delight. -Life together was more real for them both after that day. - - -The keener our realization of the human love that is in the flowers, in -the trees, in all the wild life about us, the richer is our humanity, -the fuller our reception of life and love, the more thoughtful our use -of all the things of Nature becomes ❧ Once I saw an oriole weaving some -bits of string into his nest. He hung head downwards, by one string, -from a projecting branch, and worked, for nearly an hour, with beak and -claws. Then he flew away, triumphant. Later I saw his nest and -understood his action. He tied two pieces of string together in a very -respectable sort of knot: had wound the long cord thus obtained in and -out among the meshes of his nest and then, giving it a half-hitch about -a twig, had brought the free end up and tied it securely to another -small branch ❧ - -I felt grateful for what that bird had accomplished. All human -achievements seemed to me worthier after seeing him do this thing. -Nature teaches us so much if we will but keep still long enough to let -her: if we will only empty ourselves of conceit and knowingness, and get -rid of the notion that all things, Nature included, are made for us. We -are not the lords of creation. We are only a small part, albeit the -highest part, of it all, and the better we learn this lesson the better -men and women we shall become. - -[Illustration: ❦] - -[Illustration] - - - - -I was sitting here beside the stream, watching the bees swarm in and out -at the entrance to their hive, when Hercules passed by. “Come and watch -the bees,” I called as he passed. “They are interesting.” ☘ - -He stood and studied the busy workers, intent upon the business of their -miniature society ☘ - -“I wonder,” he said at last, “if our human reason shall ever evolve a -system half so perfect as the one that mere instinct has taught these -feeble insects.” As I was silent he continued: - -“Well, at all events, I can learn one lesson from the bees, and be about -my business. If society is ever to be freed from its burdens every soul -must do its full duty. One life wasted means a whole world hindered just -that much.” And Hercules was gone to his labors ❧ - -How fearful we all are of wasting our lives, yet so rarely fearful for -the results of the ceaseless activity with which we crowd them ❦ But -Hercules’ words are full of suggestiveness. Is our boasted human reason -really less adequate to the needs of our life than is what we call the -instinct, this thing that looks so much more reasonable than our reason, -of the lower orders? What if, after all, we are making a desperate -mistake in supposing that it is this faculty which we call reason that -distinguishes us from the brute creation? - - -It is because the bees and the other dumb creatures have nothing more -than this measure of reason which we call instinct, that it serves them -perfectly. Man has something else, that draws him higher; that prompts -him further. But alas for us! With the destiny to live perfectly as -human beings, we yet long for the restrictions through which we may live -perfectly as the beasts. We seek our lessons from the brutes while the -Eternal waits to teach us. We cannot live like the beasts. The divine -human spark within us will not let us. We must live higher than they or -we shall live lower, for our perfection of order is infinitely higher -than theirs, and our failure immeasurably lower than they can sink ❧ - -But we go on, we modern Athenians, seeking to ameliorate the conditions -we have brought upon society by our own stupid disobedience and -inhumanity, and only now and then do we have a faint suspicion that our -newest thoughts are but mere rephrasings of ideas old as thought -itself ❧ - -Men get these new sets of phrases and dress therein the ideas that -underlie the universe. We apply the terms of science to the old faiths -and think we have invented a new religion. We find new names for God -Himself, and believe ourselves to have discovered a new life-principle ☙ -Loving the neighbor becomes enlightened altruism, and lo, faith is born -anew, with a subtiler power to redeem the world. - - -[Illustration] - -Hercules is a Socialist. He always spells society with a great S, and he -declares in the present state of Society we can take no thought for -individuals ☘ “The individual may perish,” he says, in moments of -eloquence, “but the integrity of Society must be jealously -maintained.” ☙ - -I wonder, as I sit here watching the bees, whether Society might not, -after all, find easement from its ails if each individual of us, myself -and Hercules included, should pay strict attention to our individual -business of growing, or becoming humanized? ✪ - -Just here at my hand a bee has alighted and is burying its nose in a -clover blossom. Here is an example of a life that is lived only for -Society, yet so important is the individual in the opinion of this -highly perfected body social, that I have seen half a dozen bees, when a -laden worker has arrived at the hive opening, weighted down, too -exhausted to do other than drop, helpless, upon the threshold, rush to -its assistance, relieve it of its heavy load and help it to pass within -to gather strength for further effort. The strict individualist -complains, in turn, of the bees because they have no individual life; no -existence separate from the hive. This is true, but what higher -individuality can any creature desire than is comprised and summed up in -the divine opportunity to bring his individual gift to the common store? - - -I have picked the clover blossom that the bee just left. Beside it are -growing other blossoms, and I gather a couple. They are the veriest -wayside weeds—dandelion and dog-fennel—but they are important because -they are typical representatives of the largest order in the floral -kingdom; an order which, although it was the last to appear in the -vegetable world, has outstripped every other and leads them all today. -Botanists call it the Composite Order. Its members are really floral -socialists, just as Hercules and the rest of us who believe that -government is an order of nature, and good for the race, are human -socialists, whether we know it or not. - - -But most of us hold a mistaken idea about the relation of the individual -to the whole. We are apt to theorize that it is the duty of the -individual to keep the whole in order, and a good many of us are fully -convinced that the world owes us a living. So it does, and it behooves -each one of us to be faithful in discharging his individual share of the -aggregate debt ❧ Nature has a whole page about that in her wonderful -volume ❧ - -Take, for instance, this clover. What we call the blossom is, in -reality, many blossoms ☙ Look at the mass under a glass. You will see -that the clover head is made up of numerous minute cups in a compact -cluster. Each cup is a perfect blossom. As we now see it in the clover -it is a tiny tube, but it once possessed five slender petals which are -now united ☙ The little pointed scollops that rim the cup suggest these -petals. Now, the tiny cup is descended from a five-petaled ancestor, -growing upon its individual stem and depending upon insects for its -fertilization. The flower was small, however, and many of them must have -been overlooked by the insects ❧ - -But those blossoms that, growing very close together, formed little -clusters, were more conspicuous than the solitary ones, and were -discovered, visited for their honey and incidentally fertilized by the -winged freebooters. These blossoms bore fruit and their descendants -inherited the social instinct prompting them to draw together that each -might give the other its help and co-operation in attracting the -insects. So, by degrees, the co-operative habit became fixed in the -clover, and in many other plants, until the compositæ became a botanical -fact. In other words, the individuals formed a body social of their own, -growing from a compact cluster from a common stem, each giving and -receiving, constantly, its use and share in the common life. The -many-petaled flowers found it inconvenient to arrange themselves in the -composite order, and so, as we see in the clover, the petals have -pressed closely together and united to form a tube-shaped flower, and as -the tubular form is best adapted to receive fertilization by the bee, -which insect is the most useful to the clover blossom, that form has -been perpetuated in this plant. - - -Thus by the simple process of each individual giving itself to the -common life, the mutual protection and development of the whole, this -order of plants has become the largest in the floral kingdom. The -compositæ have circled the globe. They fill our hothouses and flourish -in our gardens; they greet us by the dusty road, and in the summer -woods. The lovely golden-rod, the sturdy asters, the aristocratic -chrysanthemums, the dainty daisies all belong to this great order. So -does helianthus, the big, beaming sunflower. - - -It is quite true that each blossom of the compositæ has given its life -to the race. But what if, after all, life with our fellows is a giving -instead of the receiving we are wont to think it? ❧ What if, after all, -the true outlook upon Society will one day show us that our neighbor is -put here that we may have the great, the inestimable joy of living for -him? ❧ - -All matter is made up of molecules, Science tells us, and there is -another Voice as of one having authority, which tells us that One hath -made of one blood all nations of men for to dwell upon the face of the -earth ❧ - -[Illustration] - -We humans are but larger molecules in the body social. We live only in -so far as the common life flows through us. We never fully, in our -plans, and by a wonderful provision of Divine Wisdom we cannot give one -another that which is really and unmistakably our own. No human thought, -even, ever traveled a straight course from one human soul to another and -was received exactly as it was sent. We live our lives each within the -molecular envelope of his individual body, and we can no more mix, in -reality, than the molecules mix. We live only in the flux and reflux of -the Life of all, and only as we pass this on have power to receive. - - -It is when life is fullest that we turn to our fellows. Those of us who -are true know that then we need them most, and so, our real drawings -together are in order that we may give. We know this in that secret part -of us where lies what most of us call our human weakness, but we are -faithless to the knowledge, and choose to live on a lower plane, within -that outer circle which we call knowing ☙ We think we come together to -receive, but who of us does not know the emptiness of death that lies in -such coming? We are all a little better than this. In secret we know -that it is more blessed to give than receive, but we are ashamed of the -knowledge ❦ - -We are less simple and true than the dandelion, the dog-fennel and the -sweet-clover here in the grass. The small common blossoms grow so -cheerily one is glad to come back to them. It is true that not one wee -tube or strap or head in any cluster could have much life outside the -aggregate blossom, but the integrity and perfection of each is an -essential factor in the integrity and perfection of the whole. The tiny -single flower that I can pull from this dandelion seems but an -insignificant speck, but, by and by, could it have been let alone, it -would, its ripeness and perfection attained, have taken to itself wings -and sailed fluffily off upon the breeze to renew its life perhaps a -thousand miles from here. Seeing it float through the air a poet might -have found it a theme for a sonnet. A scientist might have seen -universal law embodied in its structure, or a seer have reasoned from it -to life eternal. - - -[Illustration] - -Yet, but for the co-operation of its fellows in the body floral, it -could not have lived any more than, save for its fellows, what we know -as the dandelion could have lived. The law of co-operation, like all of -Nature’s laws, makes for rightness and fitness all along the line ⚜ She -teaches us, with ever-repeated emphasis, the lesson of independence of -kind. The isolated being is, everywhere, the comparatively helpless -being. The tree growing by itself in the open field often attains to -more symmetrical perfection and beauty than the tree in the crowded -forest, but woodmen tell us that the forest tree makes better timber ☙ - -We must live with and for our fellows, but he does this best who, in the -quiet order of the common life, opens widest his soul to the Source -thereof, and growing to the full stature of a man helps on to perfection -what should be that composite flower of the race, our human -civilization. - -[Illustration: ❦] - -[Illustration] - - - - -The little spring here gushes up and then sweeps away along a stony bed -overgrown with brakes and tares. On its margin, amid a tangle of wild -blackberry, I have come upon a forest of scouring-rush ☙ - -It is a quaint growth. I love to put my face close to the earth and, -looking through the rushes’ green stems, to fancy myself a wee brownie, -wandering among a ☘ dense wilderness of pines. The development of the -miniature trees is an interesting process ❦ First the ground is covered -with slender brown fingers ❧ thrusting up through the soil. These grow -rapidly, and in a few days spread out their brief, verticillate branches -to the breeze, as proudly as any great tree might do. Here is a tiny -finger just pointing upward; yonder towers the giant of the lilliputian -forest, fully half-a-foot high. “Scouring-weed,” says the farmer, -contemptuously, “they aint no good. Some call ’em horsetail.” - - -In fact, the queer, witchy little things have a number of names: -candle-rush, scouring-rush, horsetail, and their own proper appellation, -equisetum. I have gathered a number of the little trees and they lie -side by side in my palm while my mind tries to recall a few of the facts -that go to make up the plant’s wonderful history. Our grandmothers used -to strew their floors with it, that no careless tread might soil the -snowy boards. They used it, as well, for scouring, hence its name. Those -who seek correspondences between the natural and physical kingdoms find -the rush an emblem of cleansing, and this is precisely the office which, -since earliest creation, it has filled for the world. For our -scouring-rush was not always the puny, insignificant thing we see it. It -belongs to the carboniferous age. It has nothing to do with our modern -civilization. It had reached its highest perfection and entered upon its -downward career before man appeared on the earth. Its progenitors -flourished with the giant ferns, the great, rank mosses, and all the -rest of the carbon-storing vegetation. A mighty tree was our little rush -in those days, growing several hundred feet tall and spreading out its -huge whorls of branches in every direction. So we find it today, in the -anthracite beds of the eastern slope. What happened to it that we should -know it, living, as this degenerate creature of the bog? - - -In the carboniferous age the air surrounding the earth was much warmer -than at present, warmer than we find it in the tropics. The great mass -which constitutes this globe was not yet cool enough to support any very -high forms of life. There were no trees, as we now understand the word, -and there was very little animal life. Beetles crawled about, spiders -and scorpions, and salamanders big as alligators, but there were no -mammals, no birds ❧ The world was in twilight, reeking with moisture, -steaming in the warm air which it filled with all sorts of noxious -gases. It rained aquafortis and brimstone, and the sweating earth sent -these up again in deadly fog-banks of poisonous vapor ❧ - -[Illustration] - -These were the conditions that our big rush loved. Its huge spongy stem -and branches drank in life from the death-laden atmosphere. Its great -creeping rootstocks soaked it up from the morass beneath and the rush -grew luxuriantly. Its office was indeed a cleansing one, to purify the -atmosphere and make it fit to sustain animal life. In time, as the huge -primeval trees reached maturity, they died, and the mighty stems fell -back in the bog. Then came some great upheaval, some cataclysm of nature -such as we find everywhere recorded in her rocky books. The land rose or -sank, and the rocks and debris of the sea floor were thrown upon the -decaying vegetation. It was pressed and compressed beneath this weight. -The fronds of the huge ferns; the tall stems of the giant rushes; the -monstrous club-mosses, and the primeval forest became a peat-bog. Still -greater pressure—a longer lapse of aeons, and the peat became coal. - - -We burn them now, in our grates, the progenitors of these feeble things -lying here, limply, in my palm. Is it not, as I said, a wonderful -history the frail thing has. A degenerate stock, botanists call it. So -are its cousins the ferns degenerate, with no botanical Nordau to sound -warning against them. But degenerates tho’ they all are, they have still -the spirit of the pioneer. They dwell in the outposts of vegetable -civilization. We do not find them flourishing where Nature is in her -gentlest moods ❦ Once, down in the crater of an active volcano, -half-a-mile from any soil, growing from a sulphur-stained black-lava -floor, I found a clump of waving green ferns, as high as my head, -spreading out their broad fronds as though to cover and hide the -terrible nakedness of the unfinished earth. A thousand years from now a -grain-field may spread where now those frail green plumes have just -begun their gracious work. - - -This clothing of the earth and the cleansing of the air are the tasks -the giant rushes helped to perform for the young world. During the -process the rank gases of the atmosphere were gradually stored up within -their great stems. Liberated, now, in our grates and retorts they give -us heat and light. Then, the atmosphere becoming purer, the earth cooled -and life sustaining, new growths appeared. All the conditions were -improved, but the improvement meant death to the big rush. It was -starving. It could not find food in the thin air. Its roots could not -suck up enough moisture to sustain life. It became smaller and smaller. -Flowers and seeds it had never borne. It now gave up its leaves. Between -every two whorls of branches on the scouring-rush we find a little -brown, toothed sheath encircling the stem. In the days of the plants’ -prosperity each of these teeth was a leaf, but now the rush can maintain -no such extravagance as leaves, so there remain only these poor -survivals. The stem is hollow, and is divided, between the whorls of -branches, into closed sections, or joints. It has also an outer ring of -hollow tubes, through which moisture is drawn up from the soil, to feed -the branches. The rush is a little higher order of creation than the -fern, but it is a cryptogram; that is, a plant never bearing true seeds, -but propagating by spores ❧ - -And so, fallen upon hard lines, chilled, stunted by the cold, but having -a brief span of life when the spring rains have made the earth wet and -warm, and before the summer heat has come to wither it, we have our -scouring-rush only a few inches high. - -[Illustration: ☘] - -[Illustration] - - - - -And this branched stem which we see is not fertile. ’Tis enough for it -to support its waving green feather. The fertile stems are not branched. -They appear above the earth, pale and shrinking; put forth no branches, -but live a brief season, develop their spores and disappear ❧ - -The growth of the scouring-rush seems to me to show something beautiful, -as well as interesting. There is a certain light-hearted gaiety in the -waving, tree-like thing which makes one forget that it is a degenerate -stock, and doomed to destruction. Still a little work remains for it to -do: still some waste places and miasmatic bogs to be cleansed and -purified, and so the little rush grows on, the merest shadow of its once -opulent self. I am sure that the last horsetail to be seen on earth will -grow just as breezily, as greenly and as cheerily as any now waving in -this make-believe enchanted forest at my feet ❧ - -And who knows what may be the fate of that which was the real life of -that ancient plant—the forces of light and heat set free in our furnaces -and forges, to begin, again, their office of ministering use? ❧ - -Did the giant rush die? Does anything die? Ages have seen the rushes -fall and pass from sight, to wake to glorious light in the leaping -flames. We see leaves fall each year and turn to mold from which other -life-forms spring. There will be other poppies, next year, where yonder -orange-red blossoms nod in the breeze. The waving grain, already headed -out and bowing under its burden of raindrops, was but a few months since -a mere handful of dry kernels. They were cast upon the ground, and they -died, if that tossing sea of green is death. We see these things -recurring upon every side of us, yet we still go up and down the earth -demanding of prophet, priest and poet: “If a man die shall he live -again?” ☙ - -A far cry from the little sprigs of scouring-rush in my hand? But Life -is a far cry, from Everlasting through Eternity, and who shall say, of -the least of these, its manifestations, “It is no good?” - -[Illustration: ❦] - -[Illustration] - - - - -Down among the watercresses, an hour ago, studying the movements of a -mammoth slug, I was startled by a shadow that fell directly across my -hands. At the same moment there was an excited flurry and scurrying to -shelter, among a tuneful mob of song-sparrows who, all unmindful of my -presence, were teetering close beside me upon the tall mustard stalks -that swayed beneath their weight ❧ - -[Illustration] - -Looking upward I saw, between me and the sun, a pigeon-hawk soaring on -motionless wings in the freedom of the upper air. I watched him with a -joy that had no touch of envy, as he circled widely against the sky, -rising, falling, swerving, returning, with scarcely a dip of the strong, -outstretched wings ☙ High though he poised, my thought could reach him; -strong though his flight, my fancy could follow and outstrip him. He, -high above the mountain-tops, gazed downward to the earth. His thoughts, -his desires were here. To materialize them he mounted the air. With my -feet upon the earth; with no palpable pinions wherewith to climb the -ether, yet have I moments of being, more trusty than he, a creature of -the sky ☙ - - - - -Something of this ☘ passed through my brain as I watched the circling -hawk. Once, with a flash of his strong wings, he made a downward turn -and, swift and still, he dropped earthward ❧ Then, as if frustrated in -whatever had been his design, he wheeled again and climbed as swiftly up -the air ☙ - -I like that phrase as describing the flight of a bird. It is so -literally what the creature does. A bird is not superior to gravitation. -But for that force he would be the helpless victim of every little -breeze, like a balloon, which is unable to shape a course or do anything -but float helplessly before the wind. The balloon floats because it is -lighter than the air, but the air which the bird displaces is lighter -than he, and he only moves in it by virtue of his ability to extract -from it, by the motion of his wings, sufficient recoil to propel himself -forward. He rises, as do we humans, by means of that which resists him ❧ - -I love to watch the seagulls. They do this so perfectly, and seem to -delight to give us lessons in ærial navigation as they dip and whirl and -call about the steamers, on the Bay. Their wings are so easy to study -while in action. The first joint, to where the wing bends back and -outward, is strong and compact, cup shaped underneath. The second joint -tapers. The feathers are long and do not overlap so closely as do those -of the first joint, and at the free end they spread out and turn upward. -The upper surface of the wing is convex, the lower surface concave. In -flying the wings are thrown forward and downward. Flying is not a -flapping of the wings up and down, and if a bird were to strike its -wings backward and downward, as its manner of flight is so often -pictured, it would turn a forward somersault in the air. - - -Structurally the wing of a bird is a screw. It twists in opposite -directions during the up and down strokes, and describes a figure of 8 -in the air. The bird throws its wings forward and downward. The air is -forced back and compressed in the cup-shaped hollows of the wings, and -these latter, by the recoil thus obtained, drag the body forward ☙ This -resistance of the air is absolutely essential to flight. We who think -that, but for the buffetings of hard fate, we, too, might soar high and -fly free in the upper realm of endeavor, should watch the efforts of the -birds in a calm. We shall scarcely see them flying. If impelled to -flight, by necessity, the process is a most laborious one. There being -no resisting wind on which to climb (birds always fly against the wind) -the climber must, by the rapid action of his wings, establish a recoil -that will send him along. Watch the little mud-hen, flying close to the -surface of the water, ready to dive the instant its timidity takes -fright. Its wings vibrate swiftly, unceasingly, for it rarely rises high -enough above the water to have advantage of the air currents. For it -there are no long, soaring sweeps through the air; no freedom from the -labors of its cautious flight. It is a very spendthrift of effort -because of the timidity that never lets it rise to the sustaining forces -just above its head. To climb the sky is not for him who hugs cover. - - -To fly! The very thought sets the nerves atingle. It is joy to be -afloat, “with a wet sheet and a flowing sea and a wind that follows -fast.” It is a joy to be on the back of a swiftly running horse, with -the wind rushing away from your face as you ride, bearing every care -from your brain ❧ But to traverse the air—to fly! This joy we long for: -we have an indisputable, an inalienable right to long for it. To what -heights may we rise? This, after all, is the question that concerns us. -Sordid, creeping wights that we are, constantly referring our heavenward -aspiration to the desire of the mortal, we still - - “To man propose this test— - Thy body, at its best, - How far can that project its soul on its lone way?” - - -Our very protests, our kicking against the pricks that would incite us -to higher effort are but our blind fear lest, after all, they should not -mean flight. We are afraid of our moments of faith; ashamed of our -aspiring impulse, the upward impulse that throbbed through all life -since the world was born. We send forward our souls if haply they should -find God, while we remain behind to weigh and test their evidence when -they return to us—if they ever do, hugging the surface the while, lest a -sustaining breath of spiritual force lift us clean above the safe -shelter in which we may dive altogether should our returning souls bring -back news of the meanings of life, scaring us to cover, after all, by -the thought that we ourselves, are heaven and hell ❧ - -[Illustration] - -Usually we are content to grovel. We traverse our little round and -declare it to be destiny. We prate of the limitations of our humanity, -forgetful of that humanity’s limitless capacity to receive. With -insincere self-abasement we declare ourselves to be worms of the dust, -and the spirits of light who look upon us may readily believe our -assertions ☙ - -But there are moments when the scales fall from our eyes. We get -fleeting glimpses, then, of the meaning and the end of our human nature. -We know that it is in the skies. We know that we have ourselves -fashioned the chain that binds us to earth. We know that we were made -for flight, and we know that we know all this. Still afar in the sky the -hawk soars, with downward gaze seeking his desire. Still, tho’ my feet -are upon the earth, my spirit fares upward in its flight toward its -desire, above and beyond its strong wings’ farthest flight. - -[Illustration: ❧] - -[Illustration] - - - - -I wonder whether the restless impulse that sends city folks hill-ward in -the springtime is not a part of the Divine Plan that would lead us all -to lift up our eyes to the hills whence our help cometh. They flock up -here, the city folks, during these first spring days, to eat their -luncheons by the roadside and to fill their hands with the poppies and -wild hyacinth, the blue-eyed grass and pimpernel that everywhere dot the -young meadows’ glowing green. I hear, at night-fall, mother’s voices -calling the little ones to prepare for home-going, and I love to see the -contented parties go wandering down, the tiniest tired climber usually -sound asleep in his father’s arms with the sun’s last rays caressing the -small face. It is good for them to be here. There is, in the dumbest of -us, a faint stirring of recognition that the hope and promise of life -are in the young year. This love of the childhood of things is the best -thing our human nature knows: the best because there is in it the least -of self. It is a different thing from the love of new beginnings. It is -not new beginnings, but first principles that the soul seeks, now, and -so we climb the hills, as naturally as the daisies look upward, leaving -behind us the pitiful aims that end in self and belong to the dead -level. - - -In the springtime love awakens, born anew in the green wonder of the -season’s childhood. Yonder where the road climbs the hill the sunlight -is sifting in long bars through the eucalyptus trees, making a brown and -golden ladder all along the way. In everything is the fresh, tender -suggestion of a Sunday afternoon in the springtime. The air is full of -the scent of swamp-willow and laurel, and the breath of feeding cattle -on the hills ❧ - -By the roadside He and She walk shyly apart. They could scarcely clasp -hands across the space that separates them, yet one seeing them knows -their hearts are close together. The blue sky arches over them: the soft -clouds pass lightly above their heads: the sunbeams bring brighter -rounds for the brown and golden ladder his feet and hers tread lightly. -They are palpably “of the people.” Her hands are roughened and red from -toil. His shoulders are bent by the early bearings of heavy burdens. -Neither He nor She is over twenty years old, and they are poor, as some -count riches, but to them, together, has come the sweetness of life, and -He and She are walking on the heights ❧ - - -Yesterday they were but a boy and a girl, but today He to her is -Manhood; She, to him, is Womanhood, and in this great human wilderness -they have reached out and found each other. Could anything be more -wonderful than this? Could anything exceed in beauty this secret of -theirs that he who runs may read in every line of their illumined -faces? ❧ - -Students versed in the ’ologies: sociologists, philanthropists, -economists and progressionists of every sort, we know all that you would -say. We have heard your arguments time and again. We have listened to -your statistics and watched the shaking of your head over these unions -of the poor. But the wisdom of life is wiser than men, else He and She -would do well to listen to you instead of walking together here on the -hill road. They do not know these things that we are seeking to reduce -to what we call social science; and if they should know them, what then? -Are they not of more value than many sparrows? ❧ - -[Illustration] - -The afternoon shadows lengthen. Home-going groups are beginning the long -descent. The voices of little children calling to one another silverly -over the hillside. He and She are not hastening. They have loitered -along to where a bend in the road affords a wide outlook upon the city -below, the gleaming bay, the white-winged ships coming in through the -Golden Gate, the distant hills. In her hand are some poppies which he -gathered. - - -Down to the western horizon sinks the sun. The gold has faded from the -road, leaving it a winding ribbon of grey. The crests of the hills and -the gently swelling uplands are flooded with crimson light. It touches -the eucalyptus trees into glory and flames in splendor along the western -sky. It lights her face and his as they stand transformed before each -other. They do not know that the crimson light has made them beautiful. -They think the beauty each sees is the other’s, a part of their -wonderful discovery, and who shall say that either is wrong? It is we -who are blind, and not love. Indeed, love, alone, sees clearly. -External, temporal conditions have made his body less than noble; have -crossed his face with dull, heavy lines. They have narrowed her mental -horizon and imprisoned her soul in a poor little cage, but He and She -are held above these, now. They have been touched by the finger of God, -and have seen each other’s beauty, the beauty that is their human right; -that once seen is never, again, wholly lost. - - -The crimson has faded to rose, the rose to ☘ wonderful green—the green -has turned to ❧ white. The early moon has come out to light the hill. -Hand in hand they are passing down the road. Hand in hand they are going -through life, toiling together, bearing together the burdens Fate brings -to them. They know not what these may be. It is not given them to know -the future, or by taking thought to lighten its ills or explain the -blunders that have heaped these up. They have no strength or power, but -to them has been given love ❦ - -Will love be theirs when Spring is gone and the summer drouth is upon -them; when Autumn’s harvest time is passed them by and Winter’s breath -has chilled their blood? Will love be theirs when, hand in hand, in the -uncertain white light, they journey down the hill of life? ❧ - -The cynic smiles at the question. The scientist deprecates it. -Philanthropist and sociologist shake their heads ⚜ - -Let it pass. Love is theirs now. The universe is theirs, for each to -each is universal. The Life of the universe is in them, and in the -shimmering radiance that lights the way, silvering the city and making -long, shining paths across the distant water as they go walking down the -hill road. - -[Illustration: ❦] - -[Illustration] - - SO HERE THEN ENDETH UPLAND ☘ - PASTURES BY ADELINE KNAPP AS - PRINTED BY ME, ELBERT HUBBARD, - AT THE ROYCROFT PRINTING SHOP - IN EAST AURORA, NEW YORK, U.S.A. - -[Illustration] - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES - - - 1. Silently corrected typographical errors and variations in spelling. - 2. Archaic, non-standard, and uncertain spellings retained as printed. - 3. The author often used the small plant symbols as end of sentence - punctuation. - 4. 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page-break-before: always; - page-break-after: always; } - div.titlepage p {text-align: center; text-indent: 0em; font-weight: bold; - line-height: 1.5; margin-top: 3em; } - .ph2 { text-indent: 0em; font-weight: bold; font-size: x-large; margin: .75em auto; - page-break-before: always; } - .x-ebookmaker p.dropcap:first-letter { float: left; } - .img {height: 1em; } - </style> - </head> - <body> - -<div style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of This Then is Upland Pastures, by Adeline Knapp</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online -at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you -are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this eBook. -</div> - -<div style='display:table'> - <div style='display:table-row'> - <div style='display:table-cell; padding-right:0.5em'>Title:</div> - <div style='display:table-cell; padding-right:0.5em'>This Then is Upland Pastures</div> - </div> - <div style='display:table-row;'> - <div style='display:table-cell'></div> - <div style='display:table-cell'>Being some out-door essays dealing with the beautiful things that the spring and summer bring</div> - </div> -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Adeline Knapp</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: June 4, 2021 [eBook #65511]</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: Richard Tonsing and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive)</div> - -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THIS THEN IS UPLAND PASTURES ***</div> - -<div class='tnotes covernote'> - -<p class='c000'><strong>Transcriber’s Note:</strong></p> - -<p class='c000'>The cover image was created by the transcriber and is placed in the public domain.</p> - -</div> - -<div class='titlepage'> - -<div> - <h1 class='c001'><span class='color_red'><span class='large'>THIS THEN IS</span></span><br /> <span class='sc'>Upland Pastures</span><br /> <br /> <span class='large'>BEING SOME OUT-DOOR<br /> ESSAYS DEALING WITH<br /> THE BEAUTIFUL THINGS<br /> THAT THE SPRING AND<br /> SUMMER BRING <img src='images/i_titlea.jpg' alt='' class='img' /></span></h1> -</div> - -<div class='nf-center-c1'> -<div class='nf-center c002'> - <div><span class='xlarge'>By ADELINE KNAPP</span></div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='figcenter id001'> -<img src='images/i_titleb.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' /> -</div> - -<div class='figright id002'> -<img src='images/i_titlec.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' /> -</div> - -<div class='nf-center-c1'> - <div class='nf-center'> - <div>Done into a book at the Roycroft Printing Shop in East Aurora, New York</div> - <div class='c003'><span class='color_red'>MDCCCXCVII</span></div> - </div> -</div> - -</div> - -<div class='nf-center-c1'> -<div class='nf-center c004'> - <div><span class='color_red'><span class='small'>Copyrighted by</span></span></div> - <div><span class='color_red'><span class='small'>The Roycroft Printing Shop</span></span></div> - <div><span class='color_red'><span class='small'>1897</span></span></div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-l c004'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'><span class='color_red'><img src='images/i_007a.jpg' alt='' class='img' /> OF THIS EDITION THERE WERE</span></div> - <div class='line'><span class='color_red'>PRINTED BUT SIX HUNDRED COPIES</span></div> - <div class='line'><span class='color_red'><img src='images/i_007b.jpg' alt='' class='img' /> EACH BOOK IS SIGNED AND NUMBERED:</span></div> - <div class='line'><span class='color_red'>THIS BOOK IS NUMBER</span> <i>101</i></div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<div><span class='pageno' id='Page_9'>9</span></div> -<div class='chapter'> - -</div> -<div class='c005'> - <img class='drop-capi' src='images/di_009.jpg' width='100' alt='' /> -</div><p class='drop-capi_8'> -When the warm rains -succeed winter’s driving -downpours, and the -young grass begins to -mantle the meadows <img src='images/i_009a.jpg' alt='' class='img' /> -with tender green, is -the time, of all the year, -to be out of doors <img src='images/i_009b.jpg' alt='' class='img' /> -All the woodsy places are cool and dripping -and dim and delicious. A month later they -will be not less beautiful, perhaps, but less -approachable. The things of Nature grow sophisticated -as the season advances. In the -early springtime they are frank and confiding, -and willingly tell the secrets of their growth -to him who asks <img src='images/i_009c.jpg' alt='' class='img' /> They have time, in these -first beginnings of things, for friendly sociability: -to show their tiny roots and bulbs, -and let us study the delicate, gracious unfoldings -of leaf and bud and blossom. In a few -weeks they will all be too busy, keeping up -with the season’s swift march, to stop and -visit with the lovingest of human friends.</p> - -<div class='figright id003'> -<img src='images/i_009-w.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' /> -</div> - -<p class='c000'>Do we forget, from springtime to springtime, -how lovely will be the year’s awakening? -Each winter of our discontent I think that I -remember, as my longing imagination looks -forward, the tender charm of the springtime -wonder, yet with each recurring year it comes -to me as a new and unknown joy <img src='images/i_009d.jpg' alt='' class='img' /></p> - -<p class='c000'><span class='pageno' id='Page_10'>10</span>The whole world seems to welcome the new -year-child. Even before the first growths appear -there is a hushed awareness throughout -Nature that moves the heart to thankfulness -and remembered expectation <img src='images/i_010a.jpg' alt='' class='img' /> The hope of -springtime comes without stint, and without -fail, bringing each one of us the message his -heart is prepared to receive, and quickening -our purest, least sordid impulses. The best -that is in us seems possible, in the springtime. -Who of us does not then dream that -this best will yet gain strength to withstand -the heat and drouth of summer’s fierce searching? -We turn to Mother Nature like children -who long to be good. The worshipping instinct -that lies deep within each soul goes -out to her, vesting her in that personality -which we have long since pronounced unthinkable -when applied to God. There is a -suggestion in the situation that is not without -a certain saving humor to relieve it from -grotesqueness. We are not far from a personal -god when we send our souls out in loving -contemplation of personified Nature, yet -we still go on asking if God is, and if He is -Truth. Whom do we ask, and why does the -question rise? If God is Truth, He must be -universal; and to be perceived by each soul -for himself <img src='images/i_010b.jpg' alt='' class='img' /> If, then, I perceive him not, -either He is not the truth or else I am simple -<span class='pageno' id='Page_11'>11</span>and sincere in desiring the truth. If He is not -the truth, do I then desire human persuasion -that He is? Or, if I am not simple and sincere, -who can make me so?</p> - -<div class='section'> - -</div> - -<div class='c006'> - <img class='drop-capi' src='images/di_011.jpg' width='100' alt='' /> -</div><p class='drop-capi_8'> -Nature will help us if we turn to -her. We have filled our lives so -full of complexities and problems -that it is well for us to have her -annual reminder that even without our taking -thought about it the real world, that will be -here when we, with all our busyness, shall -have passed from sight, has renewed itself, -and stands bidding us come and find peace.</p> - -<p class='c000'>For Nature keeps open house for us, and even -when we visit her and leave a trail of dust -and desolation behind us, like the stupid, untidy -children we are, she only sets herself, -with the silent, persistent patience of her -age-wise motherhood, to cover and remove -it. Down in the canyon, this morning, among -the trillium and loosestrife and wild potato, -I found the inevitable tin can left by some -picnicker to mar and desecrate the landscape, -but now completely filled with soft -brown mold, and growing in it a mass of -happy green wood-sorrel <img src='images/i_011a.jpg' alt='' class='img' /></p> - -<p class='c000'>This is better than going at things with a -broom, gathering them up and removing them -from one place to another, which is about as -far as we humans have progressed in our -<span class='pageno' id='Page_12'>12</span>science of cleaning up <img src='images/i_012a.jpg' alt='' class='img' /> I was glad to welcome -the trillium. How one loves its quaint -old name of wake-robin, fitting title for this -first harbinger of spring, that comes to us -even before the robin’s note is heard. Many -of our common wild-flowers have several -names, but there is none with such invariably -pretty ones as all ages have united in -bestowing upon wake-robin. Birth-root, our -forefathers called it, seeing the birth of the -new year in its early blossoming, and -how many generations have known -it as the trinity-flower! But ’tis -best known, I think, as wake-robin, -and the very -breath of spring is -in the name.</p> - -<div class='figcenter id004'> -<img src='images/i_012b.jpg' alt='❦' class='ig001' /> -</div> - -<div><span class='pageno' id='Page_13'>13</span></div> -<div class='chapter'> - -</div> - -<div class='c005'> - <img class='drop-capi' src='images/di_013.jpg' width='100' alt='' /> -</div><p class='drop-capi_8'> -A member of the great lily family -is wake-robin <img src='images/i_013a.jpg' alt='' class='img' /> It loves damp, -shady places and moist, rich valleys. -On the Pacific Coast we do -not find the typical Eastern variety, but we -have a variety of our own, tho’ unmistakably -wake-robin. Its color varies from rich madder-red -to pale-pink, sometimes almost white. It -grows from a thick, tuber-like root, and the -calyx has, surrounding its three red petals -and three green sepals, three broad, mottled-green -leaves which, for some unaccountable -reason, our florists remove when they offer -the flower for sale. A strange whimsy, this. -The poor blossoms, thus denuded, have a bewildered, -self-conscious air, such as may -have been worn by the little egg-selling woman -of old, who awoke from her nap by the -king’s highway to find her petticoats shorn. -Well may wake-robin thus question its own -identity. It is no longer the trillium of the -forest: it is only the trillium of commerce, a -sad, unlovely object <img src='images/i_013b.jpg' alt='' class='img' /></p> - -<div class='figright id005'> -<img src='images/i_013-w.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' /> -</div> - -<p class='c000'>A bank where wake-robin lifts its bonny head -is always fair to see. The plant has certain -boon companions always sure to be close at -hand. The Solomon’s seal is one of these, its -roots bearing to this day the round marks imagined -by the early foresters to be none other -than the seal of Solomon, the son of David, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_14'>14</span>(on both of whom be peace!) <img src='images/i_014a.jpg' alt='' class='img' /> There is -no more exquisite green than the beautiful, -shining leaves of this plant, with its tiny -white bells of flowers. It has a near relative -almost always growing near it, that, with -singular paucity of imagination, our botanists -have called “False Solomon’s Seal.”</p> - -<div class='section'> - -</div> - -<div class='c006'> - <img class='drop-capi' src='images/di_014.jpg' width='100' alt='' /> -</div><p class='drop-capi_8'> -Now we reveal our mental habits -through this trick we have of falsifying -plants. We say “false” -asphodel, “false” rice, “false” -hellebore, “false” spikenard and mitrewort, -but the falsity is in our own vain imaginings. -The plants are as true as the earth that bears -them, or the rain and the sunshine that bring -them to perfection. The Solomon’s seal is -one lily, the “false” Solomon’s seal another. -Man may be false, “perilous Godheads of -choosing” are his, but the wild things of the -woods are true, each in the order of its nature -<img src='images/i_014b.jpg' alt='' class='img' /> There are no complexities or subtilities -about wake-robin, here by the streamside. -You may see it at a glance, for its principles -are brief and fundamental, as wise old -Marcus Aurelius bids us let our own be, and -yet, the plant has had its vicissitudes; has -met and solved its problems. Reasoning from -analogies, time must have been when, like -others of its great family, it grew in the -water, floating out its broad leaves, lolling at -<span class='pageno' id='Page_15'>15</span>ease on the surface of swampy, watery places -and still ponds. Times changed. Lands rose -and waters subsided, and wake-robin found -itself in the midst of new conditions. The -problem of self-support confronted it, and the -plant solved it by divesting from its broad, -sustaining sepals nutriment to enable the -long, swaying stem to meet the new demands -upon it. It still loves water and seeks cool, -damp woods and deep canyons, growing beside -little streams where it lifts its face to -greet the springtime. It is probably not so big -as when it rested luxuriously upon the water, -but it is wake-robin, still, and it does more -than summon the birds: it calls each of -us back to Nature, bidding us keep -our hearts and souls alive to see, -with each renewing of springtime, -and to love afresh, -the miracles of Nature’s -redemptive -force.</p> -<div class='figcenter id004'> -<img src='images/i_015a.jpg' alt='❦' class='ig001' /> -</div> - -<div><span class='pageno' id='Page_16'>16</span></div> -<div class='chapter'> - -</div> - -<div class='c005'> - <img class='drop-capi' src='images/di_016.jpg' width='100' alt='' /> -</div><p class='drop-capi_8'> -The beauty of springtime, -like the beauty of childhood, -is always new. All -about me the things of Nature -are still in the mystical, -subtile tenderness of -their young, green growth. -The golden days of autumn -are full of their own beauty. -The grey days of winter’s -mist and fog have theirs, -but there is something in -the tender blue days of the -rainy springtime that sets -the heart apraise, and <img src='images/i_016a.jpg' alt='' class='img' /> -brings out as nothing else -can, the meanings of leaf -and bud, of flower and tree. -It is raining, now. Up above -me, on the road, several -picnickers who have been -caught in this April shower -are hurrying to shelter <img src='images/i_016b.jpg' alt='' class='img' /> -They look down curiously -at me, here under the willow, -and I have some misgiving -as to whether they -are not setting an example -that I should follow <img src='images/i_016c.jpg' alt='' class='img' /> -But I am sure that it is a -<span class='pageno' id='Page_17'>17</span>great mistake always to know enough to go -in when it rains. One may keep snug and dry -by such knowledge, but one misses a world -of loveliness. There is, after all, a certain selective -wisdom that sees the desirability of -taking the showers as they come.</p> - -<div class='section'> - -</div> - -<div class='c006'> - <img class='drop-capi' src='images/di_017.jpg' width='100' alt='' /> -</div><p class='drop-capi_8'> -There is something peculiarly -tender and loving about an -April shower. One is so fully -conscious, even while the drops -are falling, that the sun is shining -behind the light clouds. -And the drops themselves come down so -gently, tentatively offering themselves, as it -were, to the welcoming earth—pattering lightly -on the leaves, and softly rippling the surface -of the little pool under the willows. That -is a wonderful sort of comparison the Hebrew -poet gives us when he likens the teaching of -truth to the small rain upon the tender herb: -the showers upon the green grass <img src='images/i_017a.jpg' alt='' class='img' /></p> - -<p class='c000'>The young colt in the stall, yonder, thrusts -an eager head over the half-door, and with -soft black muzzle in the air, stands with open -mouth to catch the delicious trickle. The -cattle on the hills seem glad of the wetting. -Even the birds have not sought shelter, and -why should I? <img src='images/i_017b.jpg' alt='' class='img' /> I love to watch the leaves of -the trees and plants, in the rain. They tell us -so many secrets about the life of which they -<span class='pageno' id='Page_18'>18</span>are a part. Why, for instance, does this pond -lily spread out its broad, pleasant leaves upon -the water’s surface, while its cousin the -brodeia has long, narrow, grass-like leaves? -Why do the leaves of the pungent wormwood, -here, stand rigidly pointing upwards, -while those of this big oak are spread out before -the descending rain?</p> - -<div class='section'> - -</div> - -<div class='c006'> - <img class='drop-capi' src='images/di_018.jpg' width='100' alt='' /> -</div><p class='drop-capi_8'> -Watch the wormwood. See how -the raindrops quiver for an instant -on the tips of the pinnate -leaves, then follow one another -in a mad chase down the groove that traverses -the center of each leaf. Notice that the -leaf itself rises from three ridges on the stem -of the plant, and that between these ridges -lie shallow grooves down which the raindrops -run to the plant’s root. Now, we can -tell from these signs what sort of a root the -wormwood has. I never pulled one of the -plants, but I am sure that if we were to do so -we should find it to have a main tap-root, -with no branches. All such plants have leaves -pointing upwards, and grooved stems, admirably -adapted to bring water to the thirsty -roots. The beets and the radishes afford us -capital examples of this provision <img src='images/i_018a.jpg' alt='' class='img' /></p> - -<p class='c000'>This alfileria has another arrangement of leaf, -for this same purpose. It is a widely spreading -forage-plant, with an absurdly small root. -<span class='pageno' id='Page_19'>19</span>It needs a great deal of moisture, and so its -stems are thickly set with soft, fuzzy hairs, -that catch the water and convey it to the -root <img src='images/i_019a.jpg' alt='' class='img' /> Growing all along the bank is the -little chickweed, with its tiny white star of a -blossom. If it were not so common we should -wax enthusiastic over its beauty, and seek it -for our garden borders. It has a running, -thread-like root, which receives the -raindrops caught by the stem in -a single row of tiny hairs -along its lower side, -and sprinkled gently -down.</p> -<div class='figcenter id004'> -<img src='images/i_019b.jpg' alt='❧' class='ig001' /> -</div> - -<div class='figright id005'> -<img src='images/i_019-w.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' /> -</div> - -<div><span class='pageno' id='Page_20'>20</span></div> -<div class='chapter'> - -</div> - -<div class='c005'> - <img class='drop-capi' src='images/di_020.jpg' width='100' alt='' /> -</div><p class='drop-capi_8'> -When a plant has a spreading root -such as the willow, yonder, sends -down, the leaves spread outward -and downward, from base to tip, -letting their gathered moisture down upon -it. When the plant grows under water its -leaves are long and thread-like; for the supply -of carbon is limited, and they divide minutely, -that the greatest possible surface may -be exposed to absorb it. If the stem grows -until the leaves reach the surface of the -water they broaden and spread out, for here -they get an abundant food supply which they -may freely appropriate, as none of it need be -diverted to build up a supporting stem. The -water affords the leaves ample support <img src='images/i_020a.jpg' alt='' class='img' /> -The grasses grow in blades for the same reason -that the plants growing under water put -out slender, thread-like leaves. The air-supply -would seem abundant, but the grass-leaves -are many, and low-growing plants are numerous. -So they divide and sub-divide, that -greater surface may be presented to the sunlight -and the air. In this form the blades are -fittest to obtain their necessary food supply -and thus to survive. We see this same tendency -in the leaves of the wild poppy, the -buttercup and all the great crowfoot family. -Across the road stretches a line of locusts, -just now in dainty, snowy, fragrant blossom. -<span class='pageno' id='Page_21'>21</span>The individuality of a tree is a constant and -delightful fact in Nature. The locust is as unlike -the oak or the willow as can well be imagined, -yet like them in taking on an added -and characteristic loveliness in the rain. How -delicately the branches pencil themselves -against the blue and silver of the cloudy sky -and the dark green of the orchard beyond -them! The leaves have such a purely incidental -air. The lines of the tree were, themselves, -lovely enough in their green and mossy -wetness, to delight the eye. To deck them so -laceywise in an openwork of leaf and blossom -was beneficent gratuity on the part of -Mother Nature, for the pleasing of her children.</p> - -<div class='section'> - -</div> - -<div class='c006'> - <img class='drop-capi' src='images/di_021.jpg' width='100' alt='' /> -</div><p class='drop-capi_8'> -Down below, where the creek widens, -the sycamores have grown to -great size. How they help the heart, -these gnarly giants, with the white -patches against the greys and blacks of their -rough trunks! <img src='images/i_021a.jpg' alt='' class='img' /> How they spread their -patches against the sky and beckon and -point the beholder upwards. The sylvan -prophet bears a promise of good, and demands -of every passer-by the query of the wise old -stoic: “Who is he that shall hinder thee -from being good and simple?”</p> - -<p class='c000'>Over the rounded hill, stealing softly, in Indian -file, through the mist, a row of eucalyptus -trees climb, fringing up the slopes. These -<span class='pageno' id='Page_22'>22</span>ladies of the hilltop have a fashion of growing -thus, and in no other position is their delicate, -suggestive beauty more apparent. The eucalyptus -is an original genius among trees, never -repeating itself. It stands for endless variety, -for strong good cheer, for faith that seeks and -reaches and goes on, never wavering <img src='images/i_022a.jpg' alt='' class='img' /> It -blesses as well as delights its friends. I love -its wonderful, ever varying leaves, its up-reaching, -outstretching branches, and the annual -surprise of its mystic blossoming. Each -tree is distinct and individual in its growth, -yet every one is typical of the genus.</p> - -<div class='section'> - -</div> - -<div class='c006'> - <img class='drop-capi' src='images/di_022.jpg' width='100' alt='' /> -</div><p class='drop-capi_8'> -It is a tree of the wind and the storm. -See how those in yonder group sway -and courtesy, bow and beckon, advance -and retreat in the light breeze! And the -rain does such marvels to them in the -way of color, tinting the leaves into -wondrous things of glistening black-and-silver, -and bringing out exquisite, evasive greens -and browns, red and rose colors, tender blues -and greys, from the trunks and branches <img src='images/i_022b.jpg' alt='' class='img' /> -All the things of Nature are for man’s use -and joy, but perhaps they serve their very -highest use when we return God thanks for -their beauty <img src='images/i_022c.jpg' alt='' class='img' /></p> - -<p class='c000'>Yes, I am sure that there is a wisdom wiser -than the prudence which sends us in out of -the rain. The flowers and the grasses teach -<span class='pageno' id='Page_23'>23</span>us more than has ever been put between the -covers of books. The trees bring us the real -news of the real world long before they are -crushed into pulp and made into the paper -on which is printed our morning service from -the scandal monger and the stock broker. It -was heralded as a marvelous triumph of modern -ingenuity when, the other day, a forest -tree was cut down and made into paper on -which the news of the world was printed and -hawked along the streets within four and one-half -hours from the moment when the axe -was laid at the root of the tree. Marvelously -clever, that, but shall we ever be wise enough -to bring the trees themselves to the city, instead? -If we were but able to read the message -they bear, the newspaper might go away -into outer darkness, whence it sprang.</p> - -<div class='section'> - -</div> -<div class='figright id005'> -<img src='images/i_023-w.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' /> -</div> - -<div class='c006'> - <img class='drop-capi' src='images/di_023.jpg' width='100' alt='' /> -</div><p class='drop-capi_8'> -There is a fearful moment of reckoning -before us should it ever -chance that when all our trees -shall have been sacrificed on the -altar of the patron-fiend of news, the newspaper -supply shall suddenly be cut off and -we find ourselves some fine morning minus -our tidbits of shame and failure and disaster, -left to the companionship of our own -thoughts <img src='images/i_023a.jpg' alt='' class='img' /> Dante never imagined a terror -like this <img src='images/i_023b.jpg' alt='' class='img' /></p> - -<p class='c000'>But the sun has come out again. The rain is -<span class='pageno' id='Page_24'>24</span>over and gone. Only the last treasured drops -chase one another along the leaves and down -the stems of the plants. Our picnickers are -venturing forth <img src='images/i_024a.jpg' alt='' class='img' /> The wet blades of grass -sparkle in the sunlight. Over on the bank a -ruby-throated hummer is flying back and -forth across a tiny stream that patters and -splashes against a rock. These morsels of -birds love a shower-bath and this fellow -now has one exactly to his mind. -The clouds have drifted down the -sky and everything seems -glad and grateful for -“the useful trouble -of the rain.”</p> -<div class='figcenter id004'> -<img src='images/i_024b.jpg' alt='❦' class='ig001' /> -</div> - -<div><span class='pageno' id='Page_25'>25</span></div> -<div class='chapter'> - -</div> - -<div class='c005'> - <img class='drop-capi' src='images/di_025.jpg' width='100' alt='' /> -</div><p class='drop-capi_8'> -Once upon a time man conceived -the belief that this universe, -with its many worlds -swinging through space, was -created for him. He fancied -that the sun shone by day to -warm and vivify him; that the stars of night -were none other than lamps to his feet; that -the other animals existed to afford him food -and clothing—and sport; that the very flowers -of the field blossomed and fruited and -were beautiful for his gratification. In fact, -man conceived the belief that instead of being -the wise brother and helper of this creation -amidst which he moves, he was the great central -pivot upon which all revolves <img src='images/i_025a.jpg' alt='' class='img' /></p> - -<div class='figright id005'> -<img src='images/i_025-w.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' /> -</div> - -<p class='c000'>A sorry lesson, surely, for man to read into -the broad, open page of Nature’s great book. -Small wonder that to him in his meanness -its message came as “the painful riddle of -the earth.” But it was the best he could do: -it is the best any of us can do until we have -learned the great lesson which the ancient -Wise One has written out for us—which she -will teach us, in time, through death, if we -will not let her teach it through life: the lesson -that use is not appropriation; that appropriation -sets use to groan and sweat under -fardels of evil <img src='images/i_025b.jpg' alt='' class='img' /></p> - -<p class='c000'>We are learning this lesson, with a bad grace, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_26'>26</span>like blundering school boys, fumbling at our -hornbook, stuttering and stammering over -the alphabet of life, the while our minds wander -stupidly off to the playthings of our unholy -civilization. Perhaps some day we shall -spell out something of this riddle which we -have made so painful, and with the lesson -get somewhat of the humility that comes -with knowing <img src='images/i_026a.jpg' alt='' class='img' /></p> - -<p class='c000'>But now man does not read the book of Nature -to much better purpose than he reads -those other volumes, written by himself, and -bought by himself, in bulk, to adorn his -libraries: portly tomes to which he may point -with pride as evidence that at least his shelves -hold wisdom, tho’ his head may never.</p> - -<div class='section'> - -</div> - -<div class='c006'> - <img class='drop-capi' src='images/di_026.jpg' width='100' alt='' /> -</div><p class='drop-capi_8'> -I use no figure of speech when I -say that we may now buy our books -in bulk. I saw, only this morning, -the advertisement of a large dry -goods “emporium” (’tis laces and literature -now) wherein is announced for sale the bound -volumes of a popular magazine. “Over eight -pounds of the choicest reading, bound in the -usual style—olive green.” <img src='images/i_026b.jpg' alt='' class='img' /></p> - -<p class='c000'>Nature has olive greens, too, in styles usual -and unusual, and she has marvelous messages -for her lovers, but she cannot be bought in -bulk, nor put upon shelves, nor even carried -in the head until she first be received into the -<span class='pageno' id='Page_27'>27</span>heart <img src='images/i_027a.jpg' alt='' class='img' /> A little flaxen haired girl brought -me, this morning, a pure white buttercup on -the stem with three yellow ones.</p> - -<p class='c000'>“See,” she said, “Here is one buttercup they -forgot to paint.” <img src='images/i_027b.jpg' alt='' class='img' /></p> - -<p class='c000'>I took the flower from her hand. I could not -tell her just how it happened that this one -perianth was white, but I explained to her -something of how the others came to be -yellow <img src='images/i_027c.jpg' alt='' class='img' /> What we call a flower is not, usually, -the flower at all, but merely its petals. The -real flower is the cluster, in the center of the -calyx, of pistils and their surrounding pollen-bearing -stamens. Away back in the ages when -man had not yet developed his æsthetic sense, -perhaps even before he had learned to make -fire, the primitive flower bore only these pistils -and stamens, with a little outer protective -whorl of green petals. It was fertilized by -the pollen falling upon the pistils.</p> - -<div class='section'> - -</div> - -<div class='c006'> - <img class='drop-capi' src='images/di_027.jpg' width='100' alt='' /> -</div><p class='drop-capi_8'> -But this was not good for the plant. -Those flowers that in some way became -fertilized by pollen from other -plants of the same variety, by cross-fertilization, -in fact, were healthier and stronger -than those fertilized by their own pollen. -In such plants as wind-blown pollen reached -this cross-fertilization was an easy matter, -but the buttercup is not one of these. It is -forced to rely upon insects for fertilization. -<span class='pageno' id='Page_28'>28</span>So the plant began to secrete a sweet drop at -the base of each green petal. Such insects as -discovered this nectar and stopped to sip -were dusted with the pollen of the plant and -carried it to other flowers, where it fertilized -the pistils, the insect gathering from every -blossom a fresh burden of pollen to be carried -along on his nectar-seeking round. This -was very good, so far as it went, but the flowers -were pale and inconspicuous, and many -of them, overlooked by the insects, were -never visited. Certain ones, however, owing -to accidents or conditions of soil and moisture, -had the calyx a little larger, or brighter -colored than their fellows, and these the insects -found. It happened, therefore, if anything -ever does merely happen, that the flowers -with bright petals were fertilized, and -their descendants were even brighter colored. -Thus, in time, the buttercup, by the process -which, for lack of a better name, we call natural -selection, came to have bright yellow -petals, because these attract the insect best -adapted to fertilize it <img src='images/i_028a.jpg' alt='' class='img' /> If man’s æsthetic -sense is gratified by the flower’s beauty, why -man is by so much the better off, but that -man is pleased by the bright color is not half -so important to the buttercup as is the pleasure -of a certain little winged beetle which -sees the shining golden cup and knows that -<span class='pageno' id='Page_29'>29</span>it means honey <img src='images/i_029a.jpg' alt='' class='img' /> In the same way the lupin, -yonder, with its pretty blue and white blossoms, -has developed its blue petals because -it is fertilized by the bees. They seek it as -they do other blossoms, not only for honey, -but for the pollen itself, which stands them -in place of bread <img src='images/i_029b.jpg' alt='' class='img' /> The very shape of the -flower is due to the visits of countless generations -of this insect. The bee is the insect -best adapted to fertilize the lupin, and when -he alights upon the threshold of a blossom -his weight draws the lower petal down, and -entering to suck the sweets he gets his head -dusted with pollen. If a fly were to gain -entrance to the flower, he would carry away no -pollen. He is smaller than the bee, and his -head could not reach it. So honey-seeking -flies alight in vain; their weight is not enough -to press the calyx open, so they may not enter -and drink of its sweets. Yonder on a blossom -of the mimulus, the odd-looking monkey-plant, -a honeybee just had this same experience. -The bumblebee is the only insect that -is large enough to reach the pollen in this -blossom, and so its doors will open only to -him. Botanists tell us that all this great family, -to which belong the various peas blossoms -and their cousins, were once five-petaled -plants, but natural selection has brought about -their present shape, which is an admirable -<span class='pageno' id='Page_30'>30</span>protection against the depredations of small -insects that could only rob but could not fertilize -the flowers <img src='images/i_030a.jpg' alt='' class='img' /></p> - -<div class='figright id005'> -<img src='images/i_029-w.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' /> -</div> - -<p class='c000'>Blue is the favorite color of the honeybee, -and next to blue he prefers red. So bee blossoms -are blue or red.</p> - -<div class='section'> - -</div> - -<div class='c006'> - <img class='drop-capi' src='images/di_030.jpg' width='100' alt='' /> -</div><p class='drop-capi_8'> -Most of our small white flowers -are fertilized by insects that fly at -night. This is the reason why white -blossoms are more fragrant than -their bright-hued sisters. Bright colors could -not be seen at night, but the fragrance of the -white flowers, always more noticeable by -night than by day, serves the same end—to -attract the useful insects. This is an essential -part of Nature’s wonderful plan. The flower -lives by giving <img src='images/i_030b.jpg' alt='' class='img' /></p> - -<p class='c000'>There is an endless fascination in this page -which Nature opens out before us, in her upland -pastures. A wise teacher once told me -his experience with a restless, unmanageable -boy <img src='images/i_030c.jpg' alt='' class='img' /> “I could do nothing with him,” the -teacher said, “until I got him interested in -field life.” One day this boy went off on a holiday -tramp, returning the day following. His -teacher asked him what he had seen, and -this is what he remembered of his outing: -“I camped in a field for the night,” said he, -“and I saw a bee light on a poppy and crawl -in. The poppy shut up and caught him. Next -<span class='pageno' id='Page_31'>31</span>morning I woke up early and watched, and -by and by the poppy opened and the bee -came out.” <img src='images/i_031a.jpg' alt='' class='img' /> There are those who might -have missed the sacred significance of such a -narrative, but that teacher was a very wise -man and he knew that the reading lesson -given him then was a page from his rough -boy’s soul-life, and he conned it with reverent -delight. Life together was more real for them -both after that day.</p> - -<div class='section'> - -</div> - -<div class='c006'> - <img class='drop-capi' src='images/di_031.jpg' width='100' alt='' /> -</div><p class='drop-capi_8'> -The keener our realization of the -human love that is in the flowers, -in the trees, in all the wild life about -us, the richer is our humanity, the -fuller our reception of life and love, the more -thoughtful our use of all the things of Nature -becomes <img src='images/i_031b.jpg' alt='' class='img' /> Once I saw an oriole weaving -some bits of string into his nest. He hung -head downwards, by one string, from a projecting -branch, and worked, for nearly an -hour, with beak and claws. Then he flew -away, triumphant. Later I saw his nest and -understood his action. He tied two pieces of -string together in a very respectable sort of -knot: had wound the long cord thus obtained -in and out among the meshes of his nest and -then, giving it a half-hitch about a twig, had -brought the free end up and tied it securely -to another small branch <img src='images/i_031c.jpg' alt='' class='img' /></p> - -<p class='c000'>I felt grateful for what that bird had accomplished. -<span class='pageno' id='Page_32'>32</span>All human achievements seemed to -me worthier after seeing him do this thing. -Nature teaches us so much if we will but -keep still long enough to let her: if we will -only empty ourselves of conceit and knowingness, -and get rid of the notion that all things, -Nature included, are made for us. We are -not the lords of creation. We are only -a small part, albeit the highest -part, of it all, and the better -we learn this lesson the -better men and women -we shall become.</p> -<div class='figcenter id004'> -<img src='images/i_032a.jpg' alt='❦' class='ig001' /> -</div> - -<div class='figcenter id006'> -<img src='images/i_032b.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' /> -</div> - -<div><span class='pageno' id='Page_33'>33</span></div> -<div class='chapter'> - -</div> - -<div class='c005'> - <img class='drop-capi' src='images/di_033.jpg' width='100' alt='' /> -</div><p class='drop-capi_8'> -I was sitting here beside the -stream, watching the bees swarm -in and out at the entrance to their -hive, when Hercules passed by. -“Come and watch the bees,” I -called as he passed. “They are -interesting.” <img src='images/i_033a.jpg' alt='' class='img' /></p> - -<p class='c000'>He stood and studied the busy -workers, intent upon the business -of their miniature society <img src='images/i_033b.jpg' alt='' class='img' /></p> - -<p class='c000'>“I wonder,” he said at last, “if -our human reason shall ever evolve -a system half so perfect as -the one that mere instinct has -taught these feeble insects.” As I -was silent he continued:</p> - -<p class='c000'>“Well, at all events, I can learn -one lesson from the bees, and be -about my business. If society is -ever to be freed from its burdens -every soul must do its full duty. -One life wasted means a whole -world hindered just that much.” -And Hercules was gone to his -labors <img src='images/i_033c.jpg' alt='' class='img' /></p> - -<p class='c000'>How fearful we all are of wasting -our lives, yet so rarely fearful for -the results of the ceaseless activity -with which we crowd them <img src='images/i_033d.jpg' alt='' class='img' /> -But Hercules’ words are full of -<span class='pageno' id='Page_34'>34</span>suggestiveness. Is our boasted human reason -really less adequate to the needs of our life -than is what we call the instinct, this thing -that looks so much more reasonable than our -reason, of the lower orders? What if, after -all, we are making a desperate mistake in -supposing that it is this faculty which we -call reason that distinguishes us from the -brute creation?</p> - -<div class='section'> - -</div> - -<div class='c006'> - <img class='drop-capi' src='images/di_034.jpg' width='100' alt='' /> -</div><p class='drop-capi_8'> -It is because the bees and the other -dumb creatures have nothing more than -this measure of reason which we call -instinct, that it serves them perfectly. -Man has something else, that draws -him higher; that prompts him further. -But alas for us! With the destiny to live perfectly -as human beings, we yet long for the -restrictions through which we may live perfectly -as the beasts. We seek our lessons -from the brutes while the Eternal waits to -teach us. We cannot live like the beasts. The -divine human spark within us will not let us. -We must live higher than they or we shall -live lower, for our perfection of order is infinitely -higher than theirs, and our failure immeasurably -lower than they can sink <img src='images/i_034a.jpg' alt='' class='img' /></p> - -<p class='c000'>But we go on, we modern Athenians, seeking -to ameliorate the conditions we have brought -upon society by our own stupid disobedience -and inhumanity, and only now and then do -<span class='pageno' id='Page_35'>35</span>we have a faint suspicion that our newest -thoughts are but mere rephrasings of ideas -old as thought itself <img src='images/i_035a.jpg' alt='' class='img' /></p> - -<p class='c000'>Men get these new sets of phrases and dress -therein the ideas that underlie the universe. -We apply the terms of science to the old -faiths and think we have invented a new religion. -We find new names for God Himself, -and believe ourselves to have discovered a -new life-principle <img src='images/i_035b.jpg' alt='' class='img' /> Loving the neighbor -becomes enlightened altruism, and lo, faith is -born anew, with a subtiler power to redeem -the world.</p> - -<div class='section'> - -</div> - -<div class='figright id005'> -<img src='images/i_035-w.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' /> -</div> - -<div class='c006'> - <img class='drop-capi' src='images/di_035.jpg' width='100' alt='' /> -</div><p class='drop-capi_8'> -Hercules is a Socialist. He -always spells society with a -great S, and he declares -in the present state of -Society we can take no thought -for individuals <img src='images/i_035c.jpg' alt='' class='img' /> “The individual -may perish,” he says, in moments of eloquence, -“but the integrity of Society must be -jealously maintained.” <img src='images/i_035d.jpg' alt='' class='img' /></p> - -<p class='c000'>I wonder, as I sit here watching the bees, -whether Society might not, after all, find -easement from its ails if each individual of us, -myself and Hercules included, should pay -strict attention to our individual business of -growing, or becoming humanized? <img src='images/i_035e.jpg' alt='' class='img' /></p> - -<p class='c000'>Just here at my hand a bee has alighted and -is burying its nose in a clover blossom. Here -<span class='pageno' id='Page_36'>36</span>is an example of a life that is lived only for -Society, yet so important is the individual in -the opinion of this highly perfected body social, -that I have seen half a dozen bees, when -a laden worker has arrived at the hive opening, -weighted down, too exhausted to do -other than drop, helpless, upon the threshold, -rush to its assistance, relieve it of its heavy -load and help it to pass within to gather -strength for further effort. The strict individualist -complains, in turn, of the bees because -they have no individual life; no existence -separate from the hive. This is true, but -what higher individuality can any creature -desire than is comprised and summed up in -the divine opportunity to bring his individual -gift to the common store?</p> - -<div class='section'> - -</div> - -<div class='c006'> - <img class='drop-capi' src='images/di_036.jpg' width='100' alt='' /> -</div><p class='drop-capi_8'> -I have picked the clover blossom -that the bee just left. Beside it are -growing other blossoms, and I gather -a couple. They are the veriest -wayside weeds—dandelion and dog-fennel—but -they are important because they are typical -representatives of the largest order in -the floral kingdom; an order which, although -it was the last to appear in the vegetable -world, has outstripped every other and leads -them all today. Botanists call it the Composite -Order. Its members are really floral socialists, -just as Hercules and the rest of us -<span class='pageno' id='Page_37'>37</span>who believe that government is an order of -nature, and good for the race, are human socialists, -whether we know it or not.</p> - -<div class='section'> - -</div> - -<div class='c006'> - <img class='drop-capi' src='images/di_037.jpg' width='100' alt='' /> -</div><p class='drop-capi_8'> -But most of us hold a mistaken idea -about the relation of the individual -to the whole. We are apt to theorize -that it is the duty of the individual -to keep the whole in order, and a good many -of us are fully convinced that the world -owes us a living. So it does, and it behooves -each one of us to be faithful in discharging -his individual share of the aggregate debt <img src='images/i_037a.jpg' alt='' class='img' /> -Nature has a whole page about that in her -wonderful volume <img src='images/i_037b.jpg' alt='' class='img' /></p> - -<p class='c000'>Take, for instance, this clover. What we call -the blossom is, in reality, many blossoms <img src='images/i_037c.jpg' alt='' class='img' /> -Look at the mass under a glass. You will see -that the clover head is made up of numerous -minute cups in a compact cluster. Each cup -is a perfect blossom. As we now see it in the -clover it is a tiny tube, but it once possessed -five slender petals which are now united <img src='images/i_037d.jpg' alt='' class='img' /> -The little pointed scollops that rim the cup -suggest these petals. Now, the tiny cup is -descended from a five-petaled ancestor, growing -upon its individual stem and depending -upon insects for its fertilization. The flower -was small, however, and many of them must -have been overlooked by the insects <img src='images/i_037e.jpg' alt='' class='img' /></p> - -<p class='c000'>But those blossoms that, growing very close -<span class='pageno' id='Page_38'>38</span>together, formed little clusters, were more -conspicuous than the solitary ones, and were -discovered, visited for their honey and incidentally -fertilized by the winged freebooters. -These blossoms bore fruit and their descendants -inherited the social instinct prompting -them to draw together that each might give -the other its help and co-operation in attracting -the insects. So, by degrees, the co-operative -habit became fixed in the clover, and in -many other plants, until the compositæ became -a botanical fact. In other words, the individuals -formed a body social of their own, -growing from a compact cluster from a common -stem, each giving and receiving, constantly, -its use and share in the common life. -The many-petaled flowers found it inconvenient -to arrange themselves in the composite -order, and so, as we see in the clover, the -petals have pressed closely together and united -to form a tube-shaped flower, and as the -tubular form is best adapted to receive fertilization -by the bee, which insect is the most -useful to the clover blossom, that form has -been perpetuated in this plant.</p> - -<div class='section'> - -</div> - -<div class='c006'> - <img class='drop-capi' src='images/di_038.jpg' width='100' alt='' /> -</div><p class='drop-capi_8'> -Thus by the simple process of each -individual giving itself to the -common life, the mutual protection and -development of the whole, this order -of plants has become the largest in the -<span class='pageno' id='Page_39'>39</span>floral kingdom. The compositæ have circled -the globe. They fill our hothouses and flourish -in our gardens; they greet us by the dusty -road, and in the summer woods. The lovely -golden-rod, the sturdy asters, the aristocratic -chrysanthemums, the dainty daisies all belong -to this great order. So does helianthus, -the big, beaming sunflower.</p> - -<div class='section'> - -</div> - -<div class='c006'> - <img class='drop-capi' src='images/di_039.jpg' width='100' alt='' /> -</div><p class='drop-capi_8'> -It is quite true that each blossom of -the compositæ has given its life to -the race. But what if, after all, life -with our fellows is a giving instead -of the receiving we are wont to think it? <img src='images/i_039a.jpg' alt='' class='img' /> -What if, after all, the true outlook upon Society -will one day show us that our neighbor -is put here that we may have the great, the -inestimable joy of living for him? <img src='images/i_039b.jpg' alt='' class='img' /></p> - -<p class='c000'>All matter is made up of molecules, Science -tells us, and there is another Voice as of one -having authority, which tells us that One -hath made of one blood all nations of men for -to dwell upon the face of the earth <img src='images/i_039c.jpg' alt='' class='img' /></p> - -<div class='figright id005'> -<img src='images/i_039-w.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' /> -</div> - -<p class='c000'>We humans are but larger molecules in the -body social. We live only in so far as the -common life flows through us. We never -fully, in our plans, and by a wonderful provision -of Divine Wisdom we cannot give one -another that which is really and unmistakably -our own. No human thought, even, ever -traveled a straight course from one human -<span class='pageno' id='Page_40'>40</span>soul to another and was received exactly as -it was sent. We live our lives each within the -molecular envelope of his individual body, -and we can no more mix, in reality, than the -molecules mix. We live only in the flux and -reflux of the Life of all, and only as we pass -this on have power to receive.</p> - -<div class='section'> - -</div> - -<div class='c006'> - <img class='drop-capi' src='images/di_040.jpg' width='100' alt='' /> -</div><p class='drop-capi_8'> -It is when life is fullest that we turn -to our fellows. Those of us who are -true know that then we need them -most, and so, our real drawings together -are in order that we may give. We -know this in that secret part of us where lies -what most of us call our human weakness, -but we are faithless to the knowledge, and -choose to live on a lower plane, within that -outer circle which we call knowing <img src='images/i_040a.jpg' alt='' class='img' /> We -think we come together to receive, but who -of us does not know the emptiness of death -that lies in such coming? We are all a little -better than this. In secret we know that it is -more blessed to give than receive, but we are -ashamed of the knowledge <img src='images/i_040b.jpg' alt='' class='img' /></p> - -<p class='c000'>We are less simple and true than the dandelion, -the dog-fennel and the sweet-clover here -in the grass. The small common blossoms -grow so cheerily one is glad to come back to -them. It is true that not one wee tube or -strap or head in any cluster could have much -life outside the aggregate blossom, but the integrity -<span class='pageno' id='Page_41'>41</span>and perfection of each is an essential -factor in the integrity and perfection of the -whole. The tiny single flower that I can pull -from this dandelion seems but an insignificant -speck, but, by and by, could it have -been let alone, it would, its ripeness and perfection -attained, have taken to itself wings -and sailed fluffily off upon the breeze to renew -its life perhaps a thousand miles from -here. Seeing it float through the air a poet -might have found it a theme for a sonnet. A -scientist might have seen universal law embodied -in its structure, or a seer have reasoned -from it to life eternal.</p> - -<div class='section'> - -</div> - -<div class='figright id005'> -<img src='images/i_041-w.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' /> -</div> - -<div class='c006'> - <img class='drop-capi' src='images/di_041.jpg' width='100' alt='' /> -</div><p class='drop-capi_8'> -Yet, but for the co-operation of its -fellows in the body floral, it could -not have lived any more than, save -for its fellows, what we know as -the dandelion could have lived. The law of -co-operation, like all of Nature’s laws, makes -for rightness and fitness all along the line <img src='images/i_041a.jpg' alt='' class='img' /> -She teaches us, with ever-repeated emphasis, -the lesson of independence of kind. The isolated -being is, everywhere, the comparatively -helpless being. The tree growing by itself in -the open field often attains to more symmetrical -perfection and beauty than the tree in the -crowded forest, but woodmen tell us that the -forest tree makes better timber <img src='images/i_041b.jpg' alt='' class='img' /></p> - -<p class='c000'>We must live with and for our fellows, but he -<span class='pageno' id='Page_42'>42</span>does this best who, in the quiet order of the -common life, opens widest his soul to the -Source thereof, and growing to the full -stature of a man helps on to perfection -what should be that -composite flower of the -race, our human civilization.</p> -<div class='figcenter id004'> -<img src='images/i_042a.jpg' alt='❦' class='ig001' /> -</div> - -<div class='figcenter id006'> -<img src='images/i_042b.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' /> -</div> - -<div><span class='pageno' id='Page_43'>43</span></div> -<div class='chapter'> - -</div> - -<div class='c005'> - <img class='drop-capi' src='images/di_043.jpg' width='100' alt='' /> -</div><p class='drop-capi_8'> -The little spring here gushes -up and then sweeps -away along a stony bed -overgrown with brakes and -tares. On its margin, amid -a tangle of wild blackberry, -I have come upon a forest -of scouring-rush <img src='images/i_043a.jpg' alt='' class='img' /></p> - -<p class='c000'>It is a quaint growth. I love -to put my face close to the -earth and, looking through -the rushes’ green stems, to -fancy myself a wee brownie, -wandering among a <img src='images/i_043b.jpg' alt='' class='img' /> -dense wilderness of pines. -The development of the -miniature trees is an interesting -process <img src='images/i_043c.jpg' alt='' class='img' /> First the -ground is covered with -slender brown fingers <img src='images/i_043d.jpg' alt='' class='img' /> -thrusting up through the -soil. These grow rapidly, -and in a few days spread -out their brief, verticillate -branches to the breeze, as -proudly as any great tree -might do. Here is a tiny finger -just pointing upward; -yonder towers the giant -of the lilliputian forest, fully -<span class='pageno' id='Page_44'>44</span>half-a-foot high. “Scouring-weed,” says -the farmer, contemptuously, “they aint no -good. Some call ’em horsetail.”</p> - -<div class='section'> - -</div> - -<div class='c006'> - <img class='drop-capi' src='images/di_044.jpg' width='100' alt='' /> -</div><p class='drop-capi_8'> -In fact, the queer, witchy little things -have a number of names: candle-rush, -scouring-rush, horsetail, and their own -proper appellation, equisetum. I have -gathered a number of the little trees -and they lie side by side in my palm -while my mind tries to recall a few of the -facts that go to make up the plant’s wonderful -history. Our grandmothers used to strew their -floors with it, that no careless tread might -soil the snowy boards. They used it, as well, -for scouring, hence its name. Those who seek -correspondences between the natural and -physical kingdoms find the rush an emblem -of cleansing, and this is precisely the office -which, since earliest creation, it has filled for -the world. For our scouring-rush was not always -the puny, insignificant thing we see it. -It belongs to the carboniferous age. It has -nothing to do with our modern civilization. It -had reached its highest perfection and entered -upon its downward career before man appeared -on the earth. Its progenitors flourished -with the giant ferns, the great, rank mosses, -and all the rest of the carbon-storing vegetation. -A mighty tree was our little rush in -those days, growing several hundred feet tall -<span class='pageno' id='Page_45'>45</span>and spreading out its huge whorls of branches -in every direction. So we find it today, in the -anthracite beds of the eastern slope. What -happened to it that we should know it, living, -as this degenerate creature of the bog?</p> - -<div class='section'> - -</div> - -<div class='c006'> - <img class='drop-capi' src='images/di_045.jpg' width='100' alt='' /> -</div><p class='drop-capi_8'> -In the carboniferous age the air surrounding -the earth was much warmer -than at present, warmer than we -find it in the tropics. The great mass -which constitutes this globe was not yet cool -enough to support any very high forms of life. -There were no trees, as we now understand -the word, and there was very little animal -life. Beetles crawled about, spiders and scorpions, -and salamanders big as alligators, but -there were no mammals, no birds <img src='images/i_045a.jpg' alt='' class='img' /> The -world was in twilight, reeking with moisture, -steaming in the warm air which it filled -with all sorts of noxious gases. It rained aquafortis -and brimstone, and the sweating earth -sent these up again in deadly fog-banks of -poisonous vapor <img src='images/i_045b.jpg' alt='' class='img' /></p> - -<div class='figright id005'> -<img src='images/i_045-w.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' /> -</div> - -<p class='c000'>These were the conditions that our big rush -loved. Its huge spongy stem and branches -drank in life from the death-laden atmosphere. -Its great creeping rootstocks soaked it up from -the morass beneath and the rush grew luxuriantly. -Its office was indeed a cleansing one, -to purify the atmosphere and make it fit to -sustain animal life. In time, as the huge primeval -<span class='pageno' id='Page_46'>46</span>trees reached maturity, they died, and -the mighty stems fell back in the bog. Then -came some great upheaval, some cataclysm -of nature such as we find everywhere recorded -in her rocky books. The land rose or sank, -and the rocks and debris of the sea floor were -thrown upon the decaying vegetation. It was -pressed and compressed beneath this weight. -The fronds of the huge ferns; the tall stems -of the giant rushes; the monstrous club-mosses, -and the primeval forest became a peat-bog. -Still greater pressure—a longer lapse of -aeons, and the peat became coal.</p> - -<div class='section'> - -</div> - -<div class='c006'> - <img class='drop-capi' src='images/di_046.jpg' width='100' alt='' /> -</div><p class='drop-capi_8'> -We burn them now, in our grates, -the progenitors of these feeble -things lying here, limply, in my -palm. Is it not, as I said, a wonderful -history the frail thing has. A degenerate -stock, botanists call it. So are its cousins -the ferns degenerate, with no botanical Nordau -to sound warning against them. But degenerates -tho’ they all are, they have still the -spirit of the pioneer. They dwell in the outposts -of vegetable civilization. We do not find -them flourishing where Nature is in her gentlest -moods <img src='images/i_046a.jpg' alt='' class='img' /> Once, down in the crater of -an active volcano, half-a-mile from any soil, -growing from a sulphur-stained black-lava -floor, I found a clump of waving green ferns, -as high as my head, spreading out their broad -<span class='pageno' id='Page_47'>47</span>fronds as though to cover and hide the terrible -nakedness of the unfinished earth. A thousand -years from now a grain-field may spread -where now those frail green plumes have just -begun their gracious work.</p> - -<div class='section'> - -</div> - -<div class='c006'> - <img class='drop-capi' src='images/di_047.jpg' width='100' alt='' /> -</div><p class='drop-capi_8'> -This clothing of the earth and the -cleansing of the air are the tasks the -giant rushes helped to perform for -the young world. During the process -the rank gases of the atmosphere were -gradually stored up within their great stems. -Liberated, now, in our grates and retorts they -give us heat and light. Then, the atmosphere -becoming purer, the earth cooled and life sustaining, -new growths appeared. All the conditions -were improved, but the improvement -meant death to the big rush. It was starving. -It could not find food in the thin air. Its roots -could not suck up enough moisture to sustain -life. It became smaller and smaller. Flowers -and seeds it had never borne. It now gave up -its leaves. Between every two whorls of -branches on the scouring-rush we find a little -brown, toothed sheath encircling the stem. -In the days of the plants’ prosperity each of -these teeth was a leaf, but now the rush can -maintain no such extravagance as leaves, so -there remain only these poor survivals. The -stem is hollow, and is divided, between the -whorls of branches, into closed sections, or -<span class='pageno' id='Page_48'>48</span>joints. It has also an outer ring of hollow -tubes, through which moisture is drawn up -from the soil, to feed the branches. The rush -is a little higher order of creation than the -fern, but it is a cryptogram; that is, a plant -never bearing true seeds, but propagating by -spores <img src='images/i_048a.jpg' alt='' class='img' /></p> - -<p class='c000'>And so, fallen upon hard lines, chilled, stunted -by the cold, but having a brief span of life -when the spring rains have made the -earth wet and warm, and before -the summer heat has come -to wither it, we have our -scouring-rush only -a few inches -high.</p> -<div class='figcenter id004'> -<img src='images/i_048b.jpg' alt='☘' class='ig001' /> -</div> - -<div class='figcenter id006'> -<img src='images/i_048c.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' /> -</div> - -<div><span class='pageno' id='Page_49'>49</span></div> -<div class='chapter'> - -</div> - -<div class='c005'> - <img class='drop-capi' src='images/di_049.jpg' width='100' alt='' /> -</div><p class='drop-capi_8'> -And this branched stem which we -see is not fertile. ’Tis enough for -it to support its waving green -feather. The fertile stems are not -branched. They appear above the earth, pale -and shrinking; put forth no branches, but live -a brief season, develop their spores and disappear <img src='images/i_049a.jpg' alt='' class='img' /></p> - -<p class='c000'>The growth of the scouring-rush seems to me -to show something beautiful, as well as interesting. There -is a certain light-hearted gaiety -in the waving, tree-like thing which makes -one forget that it is a degenerate stock, and -doomed to destruction. Still a little work remains -for it to do: still some waste places and -miasmatic bogs to be cleansed and purified, -and so the little rush grows on, the merest -shadow of its once opulent self. I am sure that -the last horsetail to be seen on earth will grow -just as breezily, as greenly and as cheerily as -any now waving in this make-believe enchanted -forest at my feet <img src='images/i_049b.jpg' alt='' class='img' /></p> - -<p class='c000'>And who knows what may be the fate of that -which was the real life of that ancient plant—the -forces of light and heat set free in our -furnaces and forges, to begin, again, their office -of ministering use? <img src='images/i_049c.jpg' alt='' class='img' /></p> - -<p class='c000'>Did the giant rush die? Does anything die? -Ages have seen the rushes fall and pass from -sight, to wake to glorious light in the leaping -<span class='pageno' id='Page_50'>50</span>flames. We see leaves fall each year and turn -to mold from which other life-forms spring. -There will be other poppies, next year, where -yonder orange-red blossoms nod in the breeze. -The waving grain, already headed out and -bowing under its burden of raindrops, was but -a few months since a mere handful of dry kernels. -They were cast upon the ground, and -they died, if that tossing sea of green is death. -We see these things recurring upon every -side of us, yet we still go up and down the -earth demanding of prophet, priest and poet: -“If a man die shall he live again?” <img src='images/i_050a.jpg' alt='' class='img' /></p> - -<p class='c000'>A far cry from the little sprigs of scouring-rush -in my hand? But Life is a far cry, -from Everlasting through Eternity, -and who shall say, of the -least of these, its manifestations, -“It is -no good?”</p> -<div class='figcenter id004'> -<img src='images/i_050b.jpg' alt='❦' class='ig001' /> -</div> - -<div class='figcenter id006'> -<img src='images/i_050c.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' /> -</div> - -<div><span class='pageno' id='Page_51'>51</span></div> -<div class='chapter'> - -</div> - -<div class='c005'> - <img class='drop-capi' src='images/di_051.jpg' width='100' alt='' /> -</div><p class='drop-capi_8'> -Down among the watercresses, -an hour ago, studying -the movements of a -mammoth slug, I was startled -by a shadow that fell -directly across my hands. -At the same moment there -was an excited flurry and -scurrying to shelter, among a tuneful mob of -song-sparrows who, all unmindful of my presence, -were teetering close beside me upon the -tall mustard stalks that swayed beneath their -weight <img src='images/i_051a.jpg' alt='' class='img' /></p> - -<div class='figright id005'> -<img src='images/i_051-w.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' /> -</div> - -<p class='c000'>Looking upward I saw, between me and the -sun, a pigeon-hawk soaring on motionless -wings in the freedom of the upper air. I -watched him with a joy that had no touch of -envy, as he circled widely against the sky, -rising, falling, swerving, returning, with scarcely -a dip of the strong, outstretched wings <img src='images/i_051b.jpg' alt='' class='img' /> -High though he poised, my thought could reach -him; strong though his flight, my fancy could -follow and outstrip him. He, high above the -mountain-tops, gazed downward to the earth. -His thoughts, his desires were here. To materialize -them he mounted the air. With my feet -upon the earth; with no palpable pinions -wherewith to climb the ether, yet have I moments -of being, more trusty than he, a creature -of the sky <img src='images/i_051c.jpg' alt='' class='img' /></p> - -<div><span class='pageno' id='Page_52'>52</span></div> -<div class='chapter'> - -</div> - -<div class='c005'> - <img class='drop-capi' src='images/di_052.jpg' width='100' alt='' /> -</div><p class='drop-capi_8'> -Something of this <img src='images/i_052a.jpg' alt='' class='img' /> -passed through my brain -as I watched the circling -hawk. Once, with a flash -of his strong wings, he -made a downward turn -and, swift and still, he -dropped earthward <img src='images/i_052b.jpg' alt='' class='img' /> -Then, as if frustrated in whatever had been -his design, he wheeled again and climbed as -swiftly up the air <img src='images/i_052c.jpg' alt='' class='img' /></p> - -<p class='c000'>I like that phrase as describing the flight of a -bird. It is so literally what the creature does. -A bird is not superior to gravitation. But for -that force he would be the helpless victim of -every little breeze, like a balloon, which is unable -to shape a course or do anything but float -helplessly before the wind. The balloon floats -because it is lighter than the air, but the air -which the bird displaces is lighter than he, -and he only moves in it by virtue of his ability -to extract from it, by the motion of his wings, -sufficient recoil to propel himself forward. -He rises, as do we humans, by means of that -which resists him <img src='images/i_052d.jpg' alt='' class='img' /></p> - -<p class='c000'>I love to watch the seagulls. They do this so -perfectly, and seem to delight to give us lessons -in ærial navigation as they dip and whirl -and call about the steamers, on the Bay. -Their wings are so easy to study while in action. -<span class='pageno' id='Page_53'>53</span>The first joint, to where the wing bends -back and outward, is strong and compact, cup -shaped underneath. The second joint tapers. -The feathers are long and do not overlap so -closely as do those of the first joint, and at the -free end they spread out and turn upward. -The upper surface of the wing is convex, the -lower surface concave. In flying the wings are -thrown forward and downward. Flying is not -a flapping of the wings up and down, and if a -bird were to strike its wings backward and -downward, as its manner of flight is so often -pictured, it would turn a forward somersault -in the air.</p> - -<div class='section'> - -</div> - -<div class='c006'> - <img class='drop-capi' src='images/di_053.jpg' width='100' alt='' /> -</div><p class='drop-capi_8'> -Structurally the wing of a -bird is a screw. It twists in opposite -directions during the up and -down strokes, and describes a figure -of 8 in the air. The bird throws its wings -forward and downward. The air is forced -back and compressed in the cup-shaped hollows -of the wings, and these latter, by the recoil -thus obtained, drag the body forward <img src='images/i_053a.jpg' alt='' class='img' /> -This resistance of the air is absolutely essential -to flight. We who think that, but for the -buffetings of hard fate, we, too, might soar -high and fly free in the upper realm of endeavor, -should watch the efforts of the birds in a -calm. We shall scarcely see them flying. If -impelled to flight, by necessity, the process is -<span class='pageno' id='Page_54'>54</span>a most laborious one. There being no resisting -wind on which to climb (birds always fly -against the wind) the climber must, by the -rapid action of his wings, establish a recoil -that will send him along. Watch the little -mud-hen, flying close to the surface of the water, -ready to dive the instant its timidity takes -fright. Its wings vibrate swiftly, unceasingly, -for it rarely rises high enough above the water -to have advantage of the air currents. For it -there are no long, soaring sweeps through the -air; no freedom from the labors of its cautious -flight. It is a very spendthrift of effort because -of the timidity that never lets it rise to the -sustaining forces just above its head. To climb -the sky is not for him who hugs cover.</p> - -<div class='section'> - -</div> - -<div class='c006'> - <img class='drop-capi' src='images/di_054.jpg' width='100' alt='' /> -</div><p class='drop-capi_8'> -To fly! The very thought sets -the nerves atingle. It is joy to be -afloat, “with a wet sheet -and a flowing sea and a wind -that follows fast.” It is a joy -to be on the back of a swiftly -running horse, with the wind rushing away -from your face as you ride, bearing every -care from your brain <img src='images/i_054a.jpg' alt='' class='img' /> But to traverse -the air—to fly! This joy we long for: we -have an indisputable, an inalienable right to -long for it. To what heights may we rise? -This, after all, is the question that concerns -us. Sordid, creeping wights that we are, constantly -<span class='pageno' id='Page_55'>55</span>referring our heavenward aspiration -to the desire of the mortal, we still</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c007'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in6'>“To man propose this test—</div> - <div class='line in6'>Thy body, at its best,</div> - <div class='line'>How far can that project its soul on its lone way?”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='section'> - -</div> - -<div class='c006'> - <img class='drop-capi' src='images/di_055.jpg' width='100' alt='' /> -</div><p class='drop-capi_8'> -Our very protests, our kicking -against the pricks that would incite -us to higher effort are but our blind -fear lest, after all, they should not -mean flight. We are afraid of our moments of -faith; ashamed of our aspiring impulse, the -upward impulse that throbbed through all life -since the world was born. We send forward -our souls if haply they should find God, while -we remain behind to weigh and test their evidence -when they return to us—if they ever -do, hugging the surface the while, lest a sustaining -breath of spiritual force lift us clean -above the safe shelter in which we may dive -altogether should our returning souls bring -back news of the meanings of life, scaring us -to cover, after all, by the thought that we -ourselves, are heaven and hell <img src='images/i_055a.jpg' alt='' class='img' /></p> - -<div class='figright id005'> -<img src='images/i_055-w.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' /> -</div> - -<p class='c000'>Usually we are content to grovel. We traverse -our little round and declare it to be destiny. -We prate of the limitations of our humanity, -forgetful of that humanity’s limitless capacity -to receive. With insincere self-abasement -we declare ourselves to be worms of the dust, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_56'>56</span>and the spirits of light who look upon us may -readily believe our assertions <img src='images/i_056a.jpg' alt='' class='img' /></p> - -<p class='c000'>But there are moments when the scales fall -from our eyes. We get fleeting glimpses, then, -of the meaning and the end of our human nature. -We know that it is in the skies. We -know that we have ourselves fashioned the -chain that binds us to earth. We know that -we were made for flight, and we know that -we know all this. Still afar in the sky -the hawk soars, with downward gaze -seeking his desire. Still, tho’ my feet -are upon the earth, my spirit -fares upward in its flight toward -its desire, above and -beyond its strong -wings’ farthest -flight.</p> -<div class='figcenter id004'> -<img src='images/i_056b.jpg' alt='❧' class='ig001' /> -</div> - -<div class='figcenter id006'> -<img src='images/i_056c.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' /> -</div> - -<div><span class='pageno' id='Page_57'>57</span></div> -<div class='chapter'> - -</div> - -<div class='c005'> - <img class='drop-capi' src='images/di_057.jpg' width='100' alt='' /> -</div><p class='drop-capi_8'> -I wonder whether the restless -impulse that sends city folks hill-ward -in the springtime is not a -part of the Divine Plan that -would lead us all to lift up our -eyes to the hills whence our help -cometh. They flock up here, the -city folks, during these first spring -days, to eat their luncheons by -the roadside and to fill their hands -with the poppies and wild hyacinth, -the blue-eyed grass and -pimpernel that everywhere dot -the young meadows’ glowing -green. I hear, at night-fall, mother’s -voices calling the little ones -to prepare for home-going, and I -love to see the contented parties -go wandering down, the tiniest -tired climber usually sound asleep -in his father’s arms with the sun’s -last rays caressing the small face. -It is good for them to be here. -There is, in the dumbest of us, a -faint stirring of recognition that -the hope and promise of life are -in the young year. This love of -the childhood of things is the best -thing our human nature knows: -the best because there is in it the -<span class='pageno' id='Page_58'>58</span>least of self. It is a different thing from the -love of new beginnings. It is not new beginnings, -but first principles that the soul seeks, -now, and so we climb the hills, as naturally as -the daisies look upward, leaving behind us the -pitiful aims that end in self and belong to the -dead level.</p> - -<div class='section'> - -</div> - -<div class='c006'> - <img class='drop-capi' src='images/di_058.jpg' width='100' alt='' /> -</div><p class='drop-capi_8'> -In the springtime love awakens, born -anew in the green wonder of the season’s -childhood. Yonder where the road -climbs the hill the sunlight is sifting in -long bars through the eucalyptus trees, -making a brown and golden ladder all -along the way. In everything is the fresh, -tender suggestion of a Sunday afternoon in -the springtime. The air is full of the scent of -swamp-willow and laurel, and the breath of -feeding cattle on the hills <img src='images/i_058a.jpg' alt='' class='img' /></p> - -<p class='c000'>By the roadside He and She walk shyly apart. -They could scarcely clasp hands across the -space that separates them, yet one seeing -them knows their hearts are close together. -The blue sky arches over them: the soft -clouds pass lightly above their heads: the -sunbeams bring brighter rounds for the brown -and golden ladder his feet and hers tread lightly. -They are palpably “of the people.” Her -hands are roughened and red from toil. His -shoulders are bent by the early bearings of -heavy burdens. Neither He nor She is over -<span class='pageno' id='Page_59'>59</span>twenty years old, and they are poor, as some -count riches, but to them, together, has come -the sweetness of life, and He and She are -walking on the heights <img src='images/i_059a.jpg' alt='' class='img' /></p> - -<div class='section'> - -</div> - -<div class='c006'> - <img class='drop-capi' src='images/di_059.jpg' width='100' alt='' /> -</div><p class='drop-capi_8'> -Yesterday they were but a boy -and a girl, but today He to her is -Manhood; She, to him, is Womanhood, -and in this great human wilderness -they have reached out and found each -other. Could anything be more wonderful than -this? Could anything exceed in beauty this secret -of theirs that he who runs may read in -every line of their illumined faces? <img src='images/i_059b.jpg' alt='' class='img' /></p> - -<p class='c000'>Students versed in the ’ologies: sociologists, -philanthropists, economists and progressionists -of every sort, we know all that you would -say. We have heard your arguments time and -again. We have listened to your statistics and -watched the shaking of your head over these -unions of the poor. But the wisdom of life is -wiser than men, else He and She would do -well to listen to you instead of walking together -here on the hill road. They do not know -these things that we are seeking to reduce to -what we call social science; and if they should -know them, what then? Are they not of more -value than many sparrows? <img src='images/i_059c.jpg' alt='' class='img' /></p> - -<div class='figright id005'> -<img src='images/i_059-w.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' /> -</div> - -<p class='c000'>The afternoon shadows lengthen. Home-going -groups are beginning the long descent. The -voices of little children calling to one another -<span class='pageno' id='Page_60'>60</span>silverly over the hillside. He and She are -not hastening. They have loitered along to -where a bend in the road affords a wide outlook -upon the city below, the gleaming bay, -the white-winged ships coming in through the -Golden Gate, the distant hills. In her hand are -some poppies which he gathered.</p> - -<div class='section'> - -</div> - -<div class='c006'> - <img class='drop-capi' src='images/di_060.jpg' width='100' alt='' /> -</div><p class='drop-capi_8'> -Down to the western horizon -sinks the sun. The gold has -faded from the road, leaving it -a winding ribbon of grey. The -crests of the hills and the gently -swelling uplands are flooded -with crimson light. It touches the eucalyptus -trees into glory and flames in splendor along -the western sky. It lights her face and his as -they stand transformed before each other. -They do not know that the crimson light has -made them beautiful. They think the beauty -each sees is the other’s, a part of their wonderful -discovery, and who shall say that either -is wrong? It is we who are blind, and not -love. Indeed, love, alone, sees clearly. External, -temporal conditions have made his body -less than noble; have crossed his face with -dull, heavy lines. They have narrowed her -mental horizon and imprisoned her soul in a -poor little cage, but He and She are held above -these, now. They have been touched by the -finger of God, and have seen each other’s -<span class='pageno' id='Page_61'>61</span>beauty, the beauty that is their human right; -that once seen is never, again, wholly lost.</p> - -<div class='section'> - -</div> - -<div class='c006'> - <img class='drop-capi' src='images/di_061.jpg' width='100' alt='' /> -</div><p class='drop-capi_8'> -The crimson has faded -to rose, the rose to <img src='images/i_061a.jpg' alt='' class='img' /> -wonderful green—the green -has turned to <img src='images/i_061b.jpg' alt='' class='img' /> -white. The early moon -has come out to light -the hill. Hand in hand -they are passing down -the road. Hand in hand -they are going through life, toiling together, -bearing together the burdens Fate brings to -them. They know not what these may be. It -is not given them to know the future, or by -taking thought to lighten its ills or explain the -blunders that have heaped these up. They -have no strength or power, but to them has -been given love <img src='images/i_061c.jpg' alt='' class='img' /></p> - -<p class='c000'>Will love be theirs when Spring is gone and -the summer drouth is upon them; when Autumn’s -harvest time is passed them by and -Winter’s breath has chilled their blood? Will -love be theirs when, hand in hand, in the uncertain -white light, they journey down the hill -of life? <img src='images/i_061d.jpg' alt='' class='img' /></p> - -<p class='c000'>The cynic smiles at the question. The scientist -deprecates it. Philanthropist and sociologist -shake their heads <img src='images/i_061e.jpg' alt='' class='img' /></p> - -<p class='c000'>Let it pass. Love is theirs now. The universe -<span class='pageno' id='Page_62'>62</span>is theirs, for each to each is universal. The -Life of the universe is in them, and in -the shimmering radiance that lights -the way, silvering the city and -making long, shining paths -across the distant water -as they go walking -down the -hill road.</p> -<div class='figcenter id004'> -<img src='images/i_062a.jpg' alt='❦' class='ig001' /> -</div> - -<div class='figcenter id006'> -<img src='images/i_062b.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' /> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-l'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_63'>63</span>SO HERE THEN ENDETH UPLAND <img src='images/i_063a.jpg' alt='' class='img' /></div> - <div class='line'>PASTURES BY ADELINE KNAPP AS</div> - <div class='line'>PRINTED BY ME, ELBERT HUBBARD,</div> - <div class='line'>AT THE ROYCROFT PRINTING SHOP</div> - <div class='line'>IN EAST AURORA, NEW YORK, U.S.A.</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='figcenter id007'> -<img src='images/i_063b.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' /> -</div> - -<div class='pbb'> - <hr class='pb c003' /> -</div> -<div class='tnotes x-ebookmaker'> - -<div class='section ph2'> - -<div class='nf-center-c1'> -<div class='nf-center c004'> - <div>TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES</div> - </div> -</div> - -</div> - - <ol class='ol_1 c002'> - <li>Silently corrected typographical errors and variations in spelling. - - </li> - <li>Archaic, non-standard, and uncertain spellings retained as printed. - - </li> - <li>The author often used the small plant symbols as end of sentence punctuation. - </li> - </ol> - -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THIS THEN IS UPLAND PASTURES ***</div> -<div style='text-align:left'> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will -be renamed. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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