128 THE CLERK OF THE WOODS 



he assures himself. He will " take the 

 shortest way round and stay at home." 

 " Think of the consummate folly of attempt- 

 ing to go away from here," he says, under- 

 scoring the final word. As if whatever 

 place a man might move to would not be 

 " here " to him ! As if he could run away 

 from his own shadow ! So I interpret the 

 italics. 



His protestations, characteristically un- 

 qualified and emphatic, imply that thoughts 

 of travel have beset him. Probably they 

 beset every outdoor philosopher at this short- 

 day season. They are part of the autumnal 

 crop. Our northern world begins to look 

 in cloudy moods like a place to escape 

 from. The birds have gone, the leaves have 

 fallen, the year is done. " Let us arise and 

 go also," an inward voice seems to whisper. 

 Not unlikely there is in us all the dormant 

 remainder of an outworn migratory instinct. 

 Civilization has caged us and tamed us; 

 " hungry generations " have trodden us 

 down ; but below consciousness and memory 

 there still persists the blind stirring of an- 

 cestral impulse. The fathers were nomads, 



