TANGLE-LEAF PAPERS. 67 



heard, and felt in a little while under the 

 ordinary circumstances of a run ; or rather 

 what a mass of observations one can record 

 by the industrious use of one's eyes, ears, and 

 note-book, and pencil, even when nothing 

 really unusual occurs. 



I set out quite early in the morning over 

 a good road. A slight rain had fallen the 

 clay before, and there were a few puddles here 

 and there, but no real mud. The spring had 

 been a little slow coming, though the wheat- 

 fields were waving ankle-high with a rich 

 sward, and the woods were washed over with 

 the tender green of tassels and leaves. A 

 bracing freshness pervaded the air, which was 

 from the south — a mere breath with a hint of 

 summer warmth in it. No sooner had I 

 cleared the town and got rid of the half-dozen 

 ragged urchins that ran howling after me, as 

 if I might have been mistaken for the advance 

 agent of a circus, than I put on a spurt of 

 power, bowling along in a level lane, with a 

 hedge of bois d'arc on one hand and a high 

 board fence on the other. A man walking in 

 the middle of the road ahead of me evidently 

 did not hear me coming, for when I whisked 

 past him he shied like a young colt and 

 glared at me as if he meant to attack me, but 

 I left him so suddenly that I could not analyze 

 his expression further. Somehow this little 

 incident called up De Quincey's Vision of 

 Sudden Death — a story which has always 

 seemed to me a most perfect piece of art-work. 

 If you have not read it, I advise you to take 

 it with you on your first outing. It will 

 fill an hour of rest with an enjoyment wholly 



