The Rambles of an Idler 



whistle of the cardinal, for example, is a re- 

 juvenating sound. It not only falls upon the 

 ear, but fills us from top to toe with music. We 

 are thrilled. We heed as well as hear it and 

 respond. It is as natural to shout our gladness 

 on a bright May morning as it is to remark sol- 

 emnly upon the weather during other times and 

 seasons. We repeat the messages of the birds 

 and find scant charm even in our own conceits. 

 One with Nature on a May day is a full measure 

 of delight. It is easy to forget that we are of 

 many millions of people, if these many millions 

 will kindly keep out of sight and hearing. 



O Solitude, where are thy charms'? 



Where? Here, in these old woods. 



"But when these woods are silent, what 

 then?" 



Silence is a rare occurrence in the woods or 

 out of them. If there is not breeze enough to 

 stir the fresh, green leaves on the trees, there 

 is pretty sure to be a mouse to stir the dead 

 leaves on the ground. Somewhere a shrill 

 voice is shouting all the time, and if we hear 

 nothing of what immediately surrounds us, the 

 voice in the distance will reach us even if but as 



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