102 BOULDER REVERIES. 



comparison. At twenty one wishes for clang 

 and clatter for rush and turmoil. At thirty 

 he is often in the midst of them. By the time 

 another decade is passed he has had enough, and 

 longs for green pastures and running waters, 

 far from the artificial sounds of man. 



Ah, the sunshine and the shadows, how they 

 intermingle in this world of ours in this life 

 of mine ! The notes of the mourning dove and 

 of the wood thrush come from the coverts be- 

 hind me one seemingly full of melancholy, the 

 other clear, bell-like, full of joyous greeting. 



'Tis even-tide. The shadows of maple and 

 hickory, long slanting to the eastward, encom- 

 pass me. The peaceful quiet of a Sabbath 

 afternoon in mid- July enthralls my spirit. The 

 sounds which at intervals are heard, are those 

 of nature, not of art or commerce. No clang- 

 ing bell, no shrieking whistle, no grit of wheel 

 on gravel or grind of iron on iron jars my 

 nerves. Only the peaceful warble of the blue- 

 bird and distant, subdued caw of crow greet my 

 ears. Only the odor of the moistened mold or 

 that of the new-mown clover, instilling my spirit 



