Impressions 



humor. Remain flexible enough to laugh. 

 Knowledge should not become a dead weight. 



The fitful sunshine seeks the whistling bird. 

 The glint of sunbeams stirs its responsive pulse 

 and a yet livelier song comes up the glen. I, 

 too, am stirred. A sun-lit summer moment has 

 returned. The woods are lovelier than they 

 were anon, the water sparkles where it has been 

 dull. The bird's song is a voice silent long 

 years — a cloud passes, the tit murmurs but a 

 single note. The past is past, indeed ; the pres- 

 ent faces me as a grim fact. Life plays many 

 a prank upon our peace of mind. 



The birds are not always with us in winter 

 and peopling such vacuous days is a dangerous 

 pastime. We cannot choose our companions 

 and how often more the unwelcome than the 

 welcome guests. Regret, the aftermath of ill- 

 bom thought, fills the vast charnel-house of 

 days gone by. The breeze that stirs the few, 

 dry, rotting leaves remaining tells us that sum- 

 mer has been, but are we the wiser? What 

 might we not have learned: how little knowl- 

 edge has been added to our store. We recall 

 the pricking of the thorns, with all the attend- 

 ant pain and sorrow, but have no roses to show. 



29 



