The Rambles of an Idler 



shrubbery stood boldly out, but it did command 

 all things to silence, save that lonely thrush. 



My thoughts were quickly attuned to the de- 

 lightful strains I heard. It was a season of 

 meditation such as, I think, the one-time 

 Friends enjoyed at Meeting, when their House 

 stood in a spacious yard aloof from life's activ- 

 ities. Vexing problems of life disappear at 

 such a time; there is neither a remembering 

 of trouble nor undue eagerness born of vain 

 hope; content prevails and a willingness to re- 

 main completely passive, awaiting in fullest 

 confidence the decree of fate. Into such a sun- 

 set light there comes no fear. Life is luxury, 

 but to leave it then and there, no shock to us. 

 It is, for the time, so near an approach to beat- 

 itude that death would seem but swift transition 

 to where such blissfulness prevails forever. 



Then, without warning, came a wondrous 

 change. A rift in the leaden clouds let the red 

 sunbeams through. Swift as the lightning, all 

 nature was astir. The lonely thrush was 

 roused to vigorous song and every warbler, 

 quiet until now, joined in the chorus. All again 

 was action; life was busy, full of aim and am- 

 bition; the old story of struggle, victory and 

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