The Rambles of an Idler 



the evil designs of all that surrounds us and 

 transforms friends to foes; but helplessness in 

 the black colonial cellar is an exaggeration be- 

 yond language. We would delight in overhear- 

 ing some people we know, when in such a fix. 

 The mind flounders and has no use for common 

 words. It is drowning, without the loss of 

 breath and worse, not a movement is possible 

 without collision. The implacable walls and 

 immovable beams are loosened. One can stand 

 rigid as a statue, so he thinks, but every beam 

 proves a battering ram. Crouching is the only 

 chance to escape annihilation and so, following 

 what might be a solitary ray of light, as great 

 a fool as myself to enter here, I sought the 

 outer world. 



Doubtless colonial treasure galore, I left be- 

 hind me, bijt there it may remain. Better to 

 read what others have imagined of the good old 

 days than seek for subterranean tangible evi- 

 dences thereof ; at least, it is wiser to wait until 

 the house that covers it is removed and the 

 blessed sunshine is your constant companion. 



The recent excessive rainfalls covering many 

 days have had such effect upon the forest trees 



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