The Rambles of an Idler 



its thought of a moment ago and then the still 

 woods ring with an emphatic "It is, It is, It is, 

 IT IS!" 



Fiddle-heads are fuzzy, bright brown and 

 shapely as a bishop's crosier; — some without 

 the crook and green. In every stage of ad- 

 vancement toward completion and the reason is 

 evident. A matter wholly of the temperature 

 of earth and air; for I find many a nook where 

 it stays cold as charity all through the month, 

 and yet the fern is plucky enough to hold on and 

 in June will make the spot luxuriant as a trop- 

 ical jungle. Where ferns flourish, the world is 

 pretty enough for the most exacting creature, — 

 fit for humming birds and the summer warbler; 

 yet to-day a stolid rough-backed terrapin crept 

 over the mud and seemingly paid nO' heed to the 

 beautiful foliage waving gracefully over him. 

 It was, from a human standpoint, an example of 

 the sublime and the ridiculous. Turtles are 

 well enough in their way, but sometimes they 

 may be in the way. This rough-back crawled to 

 a higher point and surveyed the world from a 

 hillock of dry sand. It surely never saw a fairer 

 landscape, but chelonian utility was perhaps its 



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