The Rambles of an Idler 



way, and so, too, the summer warblers, with 

 their endless hilling and cooing and languid 

 love songs; but it cloys at last. Even if the 

 lightning strikes near, the thunder gust is wel- 

 comed by a healthy man and the rasping cry 

 and gruff, stringent intensity of purpose of a 

 blue-jay find a welcome. Energy, not lassitude, 

 is now uppermost, and better in November a 

 blue-jay, fretful and in its way profane, than 

 the amiable blue-bird, never of the earth, 

 earthy. 



While a single tree may profitably fill our day, 

 it is well to keep on the move and hear more 

 than one story ; but never move for mere loco- 

 motion 's sake; that is the practice of fools. A 

 sloping bluff, which once hemmed in the river, 

 is now a respectable woodland tract, boasting 

 many an old tree, and not the rudest blasts of 

 November gales rob it of all its interest. The 

 summer birds have gone, but other birds have 

 come ; and, better than birds, now, are the squir- 

 rels and mice, and a stray opossum and the 

 dreaded skunk. A glimpse of any of these, even 

 the mice, is exhilarating. 



A line in the poem of creation is a white- 

 footed mouse breakfasting on apple seeds. 



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