spot the rambler can afford to tarry. But perhaps I am partial, for this was my playground, forty years ago; still, I would say— Let not the wayside dells go unregarded; Why ever longing for the hills or sea? Who loves earth’s modest gifts is well rewarded, And hears the wood-thrush sing as cheerily As when by mountain brooks it trills its lay, To soothe the dying moments of the day. Here, where no busy toilers ever rest, Where but the wayside weeds reach from the sod, I love to be the merry cricket’s guest, And find, though all is mean, no soulless clod; The bubbling spring, the mossy pebbles near, The stunted beech, they all are justly dear. Like-minded birds—so I am not alone— Linger as lovingly around the spot, Whose subtle charm such mighty spell has thrown, That wander where I will, ’tis ne’er forgot; Here, child and bird learned first to love the sky, The tree, the spring, the grass whereon I lie. When timid Spring warms with her smile the way, With all-impatient steps I hasten here; No bloom so bright in all the bowers of May, As the pale violets that cluster near: Bright grow the skies, nor troubling shadows fall; Childhood returns, when joy encompassed all. Wayside Trees. Who that has ever walked in the country has not blessed the farmer who planted, or early settler who spared, the wayside trees? The average country road, especially in the poorer farming districts, is something deplorable. Only too often, even when shady and otherwise attractive, there lies only the choice of wallowing through sand, stumbling over rocks, or tripping over briers that would shame the Gordian knot for close entanglement. It is unreasonable to expect well-worn paths, far from the town’s limits, unless Nature has provided them: but something a little better than the remote highways, as they now are, might certainly be had. Is there not sufficient tax collected in every township to secure this? Probably the farmer who never walks to the village, and finds the wagon-way fairly passable, may insist that the pedestrian can pick his way, however rough the ground. True, but this does not dissipate the pedestrian’s just claims. A man that must walk, because too poor to ride, is none the less worthy of consideration, and may well grumble if his right of way is blocked. Of course, man must take the world as he finds it, and alter it if he can; and such an alteration is practicable where good roads or foot-paths can not be, in the planting and preservation of wayside trees.