Among the minds powers is one that comes of itself to many children and artists. It need n

ot be lost, to the end of his day, by anyone who has ever had it. This is the power of taking delight in a thing, rather than in anything, everything, not as a means to some other end, but just because it is what it is, as the lover dotes on whatever may be traits of the beloved object. A child in the full health of his mind will put his hand flat on the summer turf, feel it and give a little shiver of private glee at the elastic firmness of the globe. He is not thinking how it will do for some game or to feed sheep upon. That would be the way of the wooer whose mind runs on his mistresss money. The childs is sheer affection, the true ecstatic sense of the things inherent characteristics. No matter what the things may be, no matter what they are good or bad for, there they are, each with a thrilling unique look and feel of its own, like a face; the iron astringently cool under its paint, the painted wood familiarly warmer, the cold crumbling enchantingly down in the hands, with its little dry smell of the sun and of hot nettles; each common thing a personality marked by delicious differences.