Under the Trees and Elsewhere

the Trees and Elsewhere, by
Hamilton Wright Mabie

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Title: Under the Trees and Elsewhere
Author: Hamilton Wright Mabie
Release Date: October 27, 2006 [EBook #19645]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK UNDER
THE TREES AND ELSEWHERE ***

Produced by Al Haines

UNDER THE TREES AND ELSEWHERE
BY
HAMILTON WRIGHT MABIE

NEW YORK: PUBLISHED BY
DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY
MDCCCCIV

Copyright, 1891 and 1893
BY DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY
All rights reserved

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 still
lingers on the hearth, has failed to exorcise a certain gray and weary
spirit which has somehow taken possession of the premises. As I was
thinking this morning about the best way of ejecting this unwelcome
inmate, it suddenly occurred to me that for some time past my study
has been simply a workshop; the fire has been lighted early and burned
late, the windows have been closed to keep out all disturbing sounds,
and the pile of manuscript on the table has steadily grown higher and
higher. "After all," I said to myself, "it is I that ought to be ejected."
Acting on this conclusion, and without waiting for the service of
process of formal dislodgment, I have let the fire go out, opened the
windows, locked the door, and put myself into the hands of my old
friend, Nature, for refreshment and society. I find that I have come a
little prematurely, although my welcome has been even warmer than it
would have been later.
"This is what I like," my old friend seemed to say. "You have not
waited until I have set my house in order and embellished my grounds.
You have come because you love me even more than my surroundings.
I have a good many friends who know me only from May to October:
the rest of the year they give me cold glances of surprised recognition,
or they pass me by without so much as a look. Their ardent devotion in
summer fills me with a deep disdain; their admiration for great masses
of colour, for high, striking effects, and for the general lavishness and

prodigality of my passing mood, betrays their lack of discernment, their
defect of taste, and their slight acquaintance with myself. I should
much prefer that they would leave my woods and fields untrodden, and
not disturb my mountain solitudes with their ignorant and vulgar
raptures. The people who really know me and love me seek me oftener
at other seasons, when I am more at leisure, and can bid them to a more
intimate companionship. They come to understand my finer moods and
deeper secrets of beauty; the elusive loveliness which I leave behind me
to lure on my true friends through the late autumn, they find and follow
with the eye and heart of love; the rare and splendid aspects in which I
often discover my presence in midwinter they enjoy all the more
because I have withdrawn myself from the gaze of the crowd; and the
first faint touches of colour and soft breathings of life, which announce
my return in the early spring, they greet with the deep joy of true lovers.
Those only who discern the beauty of branches from which I have
stripped the leaves to uncover their exquisite outline and symmetry,
who can look over bare fields and into the faded copse and find there
the elusive beauty which hides in soft tones and low colours, are my
true friends; all others are either pretenders or distant acquaintances."
I was not at all surprised to hear my old friend express sentiments so
utterly at variance with those held by many