In The Printed Page The Only Real

The Simplicity Of Winter Has A Deep Moral. The Return Of Nature, After Such A Career Of Splendor And Prodigality, To Habits So Simple And Austere, Is Not Lost Either Upon The Head Or The Heart. It Is The Philosopher Coming Back From The Banquet And The Wine To A Cup Of Water And A Crust Of Bread.

I Am Not Going To Advocate ... The Abandoning Of The Improved Modes Of Travel; But I Am Going To Brag As Lustily As I Can On Behalf Of The Pedestrian, And Show How All The Shining Angels Second And Accompany The Man Who Goes Afoot, While All The Dark Spirits Are Ever Looking Out For A Chance To Ride.

For Two Summers Not A Blue Wing, Not A Blue Warble. I Seemed To Miss Something Kindred And Precious From My Environment--the Visible Embodiment Of The Tender Sky And Wistful Soil. What A Loss, I Said, To Coming Generations Of Dwellers In The Country--no Bluebird In Spring!

The Kingdom Of Heaven Is Not A Place, But A State Of Mind.

I Came From A Race Of Fishers; Trout Streams Gurgled About The Roots Of My Family Tree.