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PREFACE.
With what aim I have gathered these sketches into a
volume, I can hardly say. I certainly have never aspired
to be a professional book-maker, and my highest ambition
is to find friends among my readers; those who dream
over my pages beneath the trees in summer, or turn the
leaves beside the cottage hearth in winter.
I have not borrowed from the dead world of books. I
have only grouped together such fancies as the country
sunshine writes out upon the meadow-grass, or the wild
birds sing to each other while they build their nests. I
have always found the world so kind, I do not doubt
that there are some who will remember that my flowers are
only violets of the spring, and will pardon me when they
fail to find the splendor of summer or the mellow ripeness
of autumn.
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