第2部分(第4/7 頁)

　it　shines　beside　my　path。　If　the　plant　be　rare；　its　discovery　gives　me　joy。　Nature；　the　great　Artist；　makes　her　mon　flowers　in　the　mon　view；　no　word　in　human　language　can　express　the　marvel　and　the　loveliness　even　of　what　we　call　the　vulgarest　weed；　but　these　are　fashioned　under　the　gaze　of　every　passer…by。　The　rare　flower　is　shaped　apart；　in　places　secret；　in　the　Artist's　subtler　mood；　to　find　it　is　to　enjoy　the　sense　of　admission　to　a　holier　precinct。　Even　in　my　gladness　I　am　awed。

To…day　I　have　walked　far；　and　at　the　end　of　my　walk　I　found　the　little　white…flowered　wood…ruff。　It　grew　in　a　copse　of　young　ash。　When　I　had　looked　long　at　the　flower；　I　delighted　myself　with　the　grace　of　the　slim　trees　about　it……their　shining　smoothness；　their　olive　hue。　Hard　by　stood　a　bush　of　wych　elm；　its　tettered　bark；　overlined　as　if　with　the　character　of　some　unknown　tongue；　made　the　young　ashes　yet　more　beautiful。

It　matters　not　how　long　I　wander。　There　is　no　task　to　bring　me　back；　no　one　will　be　vexed　or　uneasy；　linger　I　ever　so　late。　Spring　is　shining　upon　these　lanes　and　meadows；　I　feel　as　if　I　must　follow　every　winding　track　that　opens　by　my　way。　Spring　has　restored　to　me　something　of　the　long…forgotten　vigour　of　youth；　I　walk　without　weariness；　I　sing　to　myself　like　a　boy；　and　the　song　is　one　I　knew　in　boyhood。

That　reminds　me　of　an　incident。　Near　a　hamlet；　in　a　lonely　spot　by　a　woodside；　I　came　upon　a　little　lad　of　perhaps　ten　years　old；　who；　his　head　hidden　in　his　arms　against　a　tree　trunk；　was　crying　bitterly。　I　asked　him　what　was　the　matter；　and；　after　a　little　trouble……he　was　better　than　a　mere　bumpkin……I　learnt　that；　having　been　sent　with　sixpence　to　pay　a　debt；　he　had　lost　the　money。　The　poor　little　fellow　was　in　a　state　of　mind　which　in　a　grave　man