The Rambles of an Idler 



doors in darkened rooms and ill-placed bric-a 

 brae! 



"I didn't know it was there!" exclaimed a 

 friend, recently, as he sent a bit of glassware to 

 the floor; "why didn't it get out of my way?" 

 Sure enough, why didn't it? If crystals be 

 alive, as it is said, why not cut-glass and egg- 

 shell china and all the fragile tribe of art pro- 

 duction? It is an old way of thinking which 

 should be discarded, that the fault when acci- 

 dent occurs is all our own. There is nothing we 

 prize that is really not our enemy and forever 

 on the alert to take advantage of us. With what 

 a joyful splash goes the extra drop of ink to 

 mar the paper when timidity attempts a love 

 letter. It is enough to make one suspicious. That 

 drop of ink was as malicious as it was black. 

 Neither youth nor pen had any control over it. 

 It leapt into mischief in spite of them. There 

 may be much that is illogical, but nothing truly 

 remarkable in idolatry. The mind in Nature's 

 children, not weighted down with learning, sees 

 with keener vision than is true of ourselves and 

 the foxy animation of inanimateness is very 

 evident to them. 



186 



