for them, which in riper years is gradually and
irretrievably consoled.

But, on the other hand, childhood has so
quickly learned to find daily things tedious,
and familiar things importunate, that it has no
great delight in the mere middle of the day, and
feels weariness of the summer that has ceased
to change visibly. The poetry of mere day and
of late summer becomes perceptible to mature
eyes that have long ceased to be sated, have
taken leave of weariness, and cannot now find
anything in nature too familiar; eyes which
have, indeed, lost sight of the further awe of
midsummer daybreak, and no longer see so
much of the past in April twilight as they saw
when they had no past; but which look freshly
at the dailiness of green summer, of early after-
noon, of every sky of any form that comes to
pass, and of the darkened elms.

Not unbeloved is this serious tree, the elm,
with its leaf sitting close, unthrilled. Its stat-
ure gives it a dark gold head when it looks
alone to a late sun. But if one could go by
all the woods, across all the old forests that
are now meadowlands set with trees, and
could walk a county gathering trees of a
single kind in the mind, as one walks a gar-

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