112 Clear Skies and Cloudy. 



storm no respecter of persons, and to be forced, 

 like any bird of the air or beast of the field, to 

 seek the nearest shelter. With no time allowed 

 us for selection, we accept the first offer of a 

 shield from the pitiless storm, and our thank- 

 fulness converts, or should convert, the hovel 

 into a palace. 



Herein lies the poetry of shelter. Contra- 

 dictory as it may seem, I have been much of 

 late in palatial hovels. Of course we are never 

 satisfied ; that is out of the question. Com- 

 fortably sheltered from the rain, within arm's 

 length of the best bit of wildness in a day's 

 journey, with birds so near we can see their 

 eyes, and snakes in such proximity we can 

 count their scales, we delude ourselves into 

 thinking such opportunities can be had on de- 

 mand, and, peering out from our shed, cave, or 

 hollow tree, continually ask ourselves the ques- 

 tion, Is it going to clear ? Do our clear- weather 

 days yield us such profit that an occasional rainy 

 one can justly cause us regret ? The anxiety 

 for the storm's cessation had better be set aside 

 for an hour, and the best made of a passing op- 

 portunity. How many pages have been printed 



