The Rambles of an Idler 



outlook is dreariest. Never the day so dismal 

 that there is no redeeming feature. The voice 

 of a bird above the roar of the tempest bears a 

 weightier message than many a cherished pro- 

 verb. Nature does not waste words with us. 

 There is abundant reason for so doing when 

 the Carolina wren sends this cheerful query 

 ringing through the woods: Why heed it? 

 Why heed it? Though the impenetrable clouds 

 droop earthward until upland and meadow are 

 covered as with a pall; though there be but 

 dripping branches and sodden grass, and the 

 air chilling, as we breathe it, until we shudder 

 and long for the cheerful glow of the fire-side, 

 why heed it? Destruction is not being dealt 

 out to us. The world is worth a visit, even at 

 such a time, or why the unsheltered wren so 

 cheerful? The meaning of its words will be 

 made plain, if we walk yet a little farther into 

 the fields. There still remain, even in Febru- 

 ary, a red berry and a green leaf. 



I interpret the wren's enthusiasm to thank- 

 fulness that trifles remain, and a word here as 

 to Nature's trifles. Are we so very wise that a 

 single leaf can be overlooked or a red berry be 

 disregarded? Tell me, first, why any leaf is 



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