In heaven the trees
Of life ambrosial fruitage bear, and vines
Yield nectar.
And, having all this in mind, is it not pleasant to notice that the very last chapter of the Bible tells [236] of the tree that waves by the side of the river of life? There is something sacramental about trees. George Gissing says that Odysseus cutting down the olive in order to build for himself a home is a picture of man performing a supreme act of piety. ‘Through all the ages,’ he says, ‘that picture must retain its profound significance.’ The trees of Medicine Woods yielded up their life to the Harvester’s axe, that he and his dream-girl might dwell in security and bliss. And, on a green hill far away without a city wall, another tree was cut down years ago, that it might represent to all men everywhere the means of grace and the hope of glory. And even more than all the other trees, the leaves of that tree are for the healing of the nations.
[237]
IV
SPOIL!
We were sitting round the fire last night when a boy came rushing up the street shouting, ‘The latest war news.’ I went to the door, bought a paper, and settled down again to read it. All at once the word ‘siege’ caught my eye, and, after glancing over the cablegram to which it referred, I lay back in the chair and allowed my mind to roam among the romantic recollections that the great word had suggested. I thought of the Siege of Lucknow in the East, of the Siege of Mexico in the West, and of the Siege of Londonderry midway between. Who that has once read the thrilling narratives of these famous exploits can resist the temptation occasionally to set his fancy free to revisit the scenes of those tremendous struggles? My reverie was rudely interrupted.
‘Run along, Wroxie, dear, it’s past bedtime!’ a maternal voice from the opposite chair suddenly expostulated.
‘But, mother, I must do my Scripture-lesson, and I’ve nearly finished!’
[238]
‘What have you to do, Wroxie?’ I inquired, appointing myself arbitrator on the instant.