A River View. 49 



frowned at storm and tempest before man's crea- 

 tion, now seemed cowardly to slink away, as 

 though rebuked and ashamed. The final change 

 from life to death was typified. 



However it may be with the more philosophical 

 rambler, the lazy man, when on his outing, has no 

 desire to encounter gloom. The restful couch 

 that the chance bowlder has proved for so long 

 began to grow irksome ; the sloping bank sank to 

 the level of the fields ; the chill west wind came 

 on apace; there was no longer a sprightly river 

 view, but a mere view of a languid river. Less 

 and less the niched bowlder is a bed of down, and 

 as we shift our aching bones, hoping against hope 

 that the waters will again grow glad, a mist slowly 

 arises to meet the overhanging cloud. At first in 

 curling lines, as though the Indians' camp-fires 

 were not yet quenched; and then with a filmy 

 shroud, enwrapping river, valley, and the distant 

 hills beyond. Why tarry? There is no river- 

 view in the outlook now. The muffled murmur 

 of the changing tide alone assures us that the 

 earth itself has not passed away and left us 

 perched upon a rock in chaos. But is chaos 

 c d 5 



