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THE BARNYARD GATE.
HIS is but a small sheaf among many others; for, as the floor of the woods is covered with fallen leaves and pieces of detached bark, so the little woodland of my thoughts is strewn over with these rough fragments and memories.
Yet the old homestead still stands as I have written it. There is no latchstring. It is always open to receive us.
I wish I could say that I have in this
book made some distinct contribution of my own to the appreciation and enjoyment of the beauty of life. But it has at least expressed my trying, and the intent perforce must be taken for the deed.
We can not all realize in our individual experiences the life-thoughts of many diverse minds. We can have but one attitude toward the world. I should feel, then, at least repaid, if these pages, written at odd moments among the fields and in the woods and before the open fireplace, and again beside the waters of remembrance, could join some other pilgrim with myself, at this wayside shrine, in the worship of what we shall call Nature, the beautiful, and the things of the spirit.
PAUL GRISWOLD HUSTON.