The Rambles of an Idler 



I feel that I am lifted to the level of life's 

 significance when the rose-breasted grosbeak 

 sings. Cheerfulness, earnestness and the in- 

 wardness of labor are voiced by it above all 

 other birds. That song alone is a message from 

 one who has eliminated doubt from the earth's 

 problems and bids us go forth and possess the 

 land. I am urged, when I hear it, to serious 

 undertakings, to transplanting oaks rather 

 than idly dropping seeds that transient flowers 

 may bloom. 



May-day can be as commonplace a date as 

 any other of the series making the round year. 

 We make much of many a holiday of our own 

 appointment and practically nothing of this 

 one, set apart by Nature herself as a time to 

 rejoice, yet no occurrence concerning man is 

 fuller of significance to the natural world. Man 

 Nature; they are far apart. Which the 

 greater it matters not, but he is wiser than his 

 brother if on this auspicious day he flees from 

 the entanglements of civilization and turns sav- 

 age; gets again as near Nature as he can, and 

 asks every bird and tree and flower to be his 

 boon companion. There is many a word in our 

 common speech of which we know but half the 



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