Produced by Al Haines

UNDER THE TREES AND ELSEWHERE

BY

HAMILTON WRIGHT MABIE

NEW YORK: PUBLISHED BY

DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY

MDCCCCIV

BY DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY

TO

MY FRIENDS IN ARDEN

C. B. Y.

AND

M. Y. W.

Contents

CHAPTER

I. AN APRIL DAY II. UNDER THE APPLE BOUGHS III. ALONG THE ROAD—I IV. ALONG THE ROAD—II V. THE OPEN FIELDS VI. EARTH AND SKY VII. THE MYSTERY OF NIGHT VIII. OFF SHORE IX. A MOUNTAIN RIVULET X. THE EARLIEST INSIGHTS XI. THE HEART OF THE WOODS XII. BESIDE THE RIVER XIII. AT THE SPRING XIV. ON THE HEIGHTS XV. UNDER COLLEGE ELMS XVI. A SUMMER MORNING XVII. A SUMMER NOON XVIII. EVENTIDE XIX. THE TURN OF THE TIDE XX. A MEMORY OF SUMMER XXI. IN THE FOREST OF ARDEN, I-XI XXII. AN UNDISCOVERED ISLAND, I-VI

Under the Trees and Elsewhere

Chapter I

An April Day

My study has been a dull place of late; even the open fire, which stilllingers on the hearth, has failed to exorcise a certain gray and wearyspirit which has somehow taken possession of the premises. As I wasthinking this morning about the best way of ejecting this unwelcomeinmate, it suddenly occurred to me that for some time past my study hasbeen simply a workshop; the fire has been lighted early and burnedlate, the windows have been closed to keep out all disturbing sounds,and the pile of manuscript on the table has steadily grown higher andhigher. "After all," I said to myself, "it is I that ought to beejected." Acting on this conclusion, and without waiting for theservice of process of formal dislodgment, I have let the fire go out,opened the windows, locked the door, and put myself into the hands ofmy old friend, Nature, for refreshment and society. I find that I havecome a little prematurely, although my welcome has been even warmerthan it would have been later.

"This is what I like," my old friend seemed to say. "You have notwaited until I have set my house in order and embellished my grounds.You have come because you love me even more than my surroundings. Ihave a good many friends who know me only from May to October: the restof the year they give me cold glances of surprised recognition, or theypass me by without so much as a look. Their ardent devotion in summerfills me with a deep disdain; their admiration for great masses ofcolour, for high, striking effects, and for the general lavishness andprodigality of my passing mood, betrays their lack of discernment,their defect of taste, and their slight acquaintance with myself. Ishould much prefer that they would leave my woods and fields untrodden,and not disturb my mountain solitudes with their ignorant and vulgarraptures. The people who really know me and love me seek me oftener atother seasons, when I am more at leisure, and can bid them to a moreintimate companionship. They come to understand my finer moods anddeeper secrets of beauty; the elusive loveliness which I leave behindme to lure on my true friends through the late autumn, they find andfollow with the eye and heart of love; the rare and splendid aspects inwhich I often discover my p

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