SometimesIrambledtopinegroves,standingliketemples,orlikefleetsatsea,full-rigged,withwavyboughs,andripplingwithlight,sosoftandgreenandshadythattheDruidswouldhaveforsakentheiroakstoworshipinthemortothecedarwoodbeyondFlint’sPond,wherethetrees,coveredwithhoaryblueberries,spiringhigherandhigher,arefittostandbeforeValhalla,andthecreepingjunipercoversthegroundwithwreathsfulloffruitortoswampswheretheusnealichenhangsinfestoonsfromthewhite-sprucetrees,andtoad-stools,roundtablesoftheswampgods,covertheground,andmorebeautifulfungiadornthestumps,likebutterfliesorshells,vegetablewinkleswheretheswamp-pinkanddogwoodgrow,theredalder-berryglowslikeeyesofimps,thewaxworkgroovesandcrushesthehardestwoodsinitsfolds,andthewild-hollyberriesmakethebeholderforgethishomewiththeirbeauty,andheisdazzledandtemptedbynamelessotherwildforbiddenfruits,toofairformortaltaste.Insteadofcallingonsomescholar,Ipaidmanyavisittoparticulartrees,ofkindswhicharerareinthisneighborhood,standingfarawayinthemiddleofsomepasture,orinthedepthsofawoodorswamp,oronahill-topsuchastheblack-birch,ofwhichwehavesomehandsomespecimenstwofeetindiameteritscousin,theyellowbirch,withitsloosegoldenvest,perfumedlikethefirstthebeech,whichhassoneataboleandbeautifullylichen-painted,perfectinallitsdetails,ofwhich,exceptingscatteredspecimens,Iknowbutonesmallgroveofsizabletreesleftinthetownship,supposedbysometohavebeenplantedbythepigeonsthatwereoncebaitedwithbeechnutsnearbyitisworththewhiletoseethesilvergrainsparklewhenyousplitthiswoodthebassthehornbeamtheCeltisoccidentalis,orfalseelm,ofwhichwehavebutonewell-grownsometallermastofapine,ashingletree,oramoreperfecthemlockthanusual,standinglikeapagodainthemidstofthewoodsandmanyothersIcouldmention.TheseweretheshrinesIvisitedbothsummerandwinter.
OnceitchancedthatIstoodintheveryabutmentofarainbow’sarch,whichfilledthelowerstratumoftheatmosphere,tingingthegrassandleavesaround,anddazzlingmeasifIlookedthrough