The Rambles of an Idler 



in spite of the persistent malevolence of the 

 inanimate world. 



There is no hour like that of sunrise after a 

 three days' storm. The pent-up energies are 

 all set free. Nature rejoices now with a vim 

 that bewilders. Nothing is still. The morning 

 breeze reaches the lowest blade of grass. The 

 human brain needs all its joints well oiled at 

 such a time. Thinking can be too slow a process 

 when Nature hustles. A hundred birds about 

 you and all shouting at once demand more than 

 the brain can accomplish. To-day, only the 

 clouds were leisurely paced. They would not 

 be hurried, though the heavens fell. The eagle 

 that darted among them moved them not. 



It is exhilarating at first, but wearying soon, 

 not to know which way to turn. To-day, at sun- 

 rise, was the ornithological high tide of the year. 

 An opportunity to consider birds in general ; to 

 consider any one in particular was impossible. 

 Each endeavored to out-sing his neighbor. Not 

 one chirped, all shouted. There was no ob- 

 structing dust or moisture in the air, nor en- 

 vious wind to carry off the sound. It was on 

 my part a breathing of music, and with it that 



190 



