Townsmen in the country look long and say what they have seen, but they miss many things.

A farmer stands stolidly among the graces of his frisky lambs and seems to miss their meaning, but this is because the manners cultivated in his calling do not allow the expression of feeling.

It is all in his soul somewhere, deeply at home, but impossible to utter.

The townsman looks eagerly, expresses a great deal, expresses it well, but misses the spirit from want of a background to his picture.

One must know the whole round of the year in the country to catch the spirit of any season and perceive whence it comes and whither it goes.
On the other hand, the countryman in town thinks that there is no beauty of the world left for him to see, because the spirit there is a spirit of the hour and not of the season, and natural beauty has to be caught in evanescent appearances--a florist's window full of orchids in place of his woodlands--and his mind is too slow to catch these.