64 THE FACE OF THE FIELDS 



to spend one's precious time watching screech- 

 owls. 



And so one is, indeed, — sixteen miles re- 

 moved by space, one whole day by post, one 

 whole hour by engine and horse, one whole half- 

 minute by the telephone in the back hall. Lost ! 

 cut off completely ! hopelessly marooned ! 



I fear so. Perhaps I must admit that the watch- 

 ing of owls is for babes and sucklings, not for 

 men with great work to do, that is, with money 

 to make, news to get, office to hold, and clubs to 

 address. For babes and sucklings, and, possibly, 

 for those with a soul to save, yet I hasten to 

 avow that the watching of owls is not religion ; 

 for I entirely agree with our Shelburne essayist 

 when he finds, " in all this worship of nature," 

 — by Traherne, Rousseau, Wordsworth, Thoreau, 

 and those who seek the transfigured world of 

 the woods, — "there is a strain of illusion which 

 melts away at the touch of the greater realities 

 . . . and there are evils against which its seduc- 

 tion is of no avail." 



But let the illusion melt. Other worships have 

 shown a strain of illusion at times, and against 

 certain evils been of small avail. And let it be 



