The Rambles of an Idler 



but the host remains. Though bent with the 

 weight of days, many a proud plant is excellent 

 company. Suggestive friends are as desirable 

 as communicative ones. Who has not known 

 the latter to say too much? The marsh is not 

 "open" only for a season. The summer guests 

 are gone, but as noble a company of autumn 

 friends have come or are coming. How, then, 

 can all things Edenic be ever wanting? My 

 friends, the birds, are never absent long. Sit- 

 ting by the marsh, I join with the plants and 

 play the part of host. Though its leaves are 

 falling, the noble hickory is no less a tree, and 

 brown meadows are as firm and upholding as 

 when grass was green. Birds are singing, too. 

 The lark, the redwing, and the crested tit an- 

 nounce the goodness of all they see, but no- 

 where do we find evidence of a world begun. 

 All points to maturity. The present Eden never 

 flashed into being in October. 



Hidden from the truth-telling out-door world 

 by walls of musty tomes, I fancy I can see the 

 learned Dr. Lightfoot delving industriously for 

 the fact that in grotesque shape finally made 

 him ridiculous. Let us turn from so sad a sight 

 and have the meadows again before us. Such 



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