小说园

第5部分（第2页）

or　stone　severed　from　stone；　but　a　music　of　rustles　and　ripe　thumps　on

the　grass　e　the　fluttering　leaves　and　mellow　fruits　which　the　wind

tumbles　all　day　from　the　branches。　Silently　all　droops；　all　withers；　all

is　poured　back　into　the　earth　that　it　may　recreate；　all　sleeps　while　the

busy　architects　of　day　and　night　ply　their　silent　work　elsewhere。　The

same　serenity　reigns　when　all　at　once　the　soil　yields　up　a　newly　wrought

creation。　Softly　the　ocean　of　grass；　moss；　and　flowers　rolls　surge　upon

surge　across　the　earth。　Curtains　of　foliage　drape　the　bare　branches。

Great　trees　make　ready　in　their　sturdy　hearts　to　receive　again　birds

which　occupy　their　spacious　chambers　to　the　south　and　west。　Nay；　there

is　no　place　so　lowly　that　it　may　not　lodge　some　happy　creature。　The

meadow　brook　undoes　its　icy　fetters　with　rippling　notes；　gurgles；　and

runs　free。　And　all　this　is　wrought　in　less　than　two　months　to　the　music

of　natures　orchestra；　in　the　midst　of　balmy　incense。

The　thousand　soft　voices　of　the　earth　have　truly　found　their　way　to

me……the　small　rustle　in　tufts　of　grass；　the　silky　swish　of　leaves；　the

buzz　of　insects；　the　hum　of　bees　in　blossoms　I　have　plucked；　the　flutter

of　a　birds　wings　after　his　bath；　and　the　slender　rippling　vibration

of　water　running　over　pebbles。　Once　having　been　felt；　these　loved　voices

rustle；　buzz；　hum；　flutter；　and　ripple　in　my　thought　forever；　an　undying

part　of　happy　memories。

Between　my　experiences　and　the　experiences　of　others　there　is　no　gulf　of

mute　space　which　I　may　not　bridge。　For　I　have　endlessly　varied；

instructive　contacts　with　all　the　world；　with　life；　with　the　atmosphere

whose　radiant　activity　enfolds　us　all。　The　thrilling　energy　of　the

all…encasing　air　is　warm　and　rapturous。　Heat…waves　and　sound…waves　play

upon　my　face　in　infinite　variety　and　bination；　until　I　am　able　to

surmise　what　must　be　the　myriad　sounds　that　my　senseless　ears　have　not

heard。

The　air　varies　in　different　regions；　at　different　seasons　of　the　year；

and　even　different　hours　of　the　day。　The　odorous；　fresh　sea…breezes　are

distinct　from　the　fitful　breezes　along　river　banks；　which　are　humid　and

freighted　with　inland　smells。　The　bracing；　light；　dry　air　of　the

mountains　can　never　be　mistaken　for　the　pungent　salt　air　of　the　ocean。

The　air　of　winter　is　dense；　hard；　pressed。　In　the　spring　it　has　new

vitality。　It　is　light；　mobile；　and　laden　with　a　thousand　palpitating