THE COUNTRY.


of sunshine; but along the banks, under the
shadows of the leaves, it is only an occasional
sunbeam which falls like an arrow through
the gloom, giving a silver mystery to the still-
ness and green dusk of the woods, and touch-
ing a gray knee with a line of powdery light;
often pale violets grow close to its shaggy
side; or sometimes a lily strikes her thread-
like roots into its wet, warm heart, and rests
her exquisite whiteness against its rough
bark.
 Cypress knees are like occasional human
lives,-most useful and most necessary, but
not beautiful even to the kindest eyes, still less
to their own. Still, what would become of pro-
gress if the strong and joyous souls, nourished
by sacrifice of others, should suddenly and with
dismay realize the cost of their lives, and refuse
such growth?
 These unlovely gray stumps of the swamp
are never done with usefulness. They go down
to the sea in ships, but it is not for them to
feel the rush of spray, nor the dash through
the green curve of a beckoning wave; they