Peripatetic Meditations 



What, now, of out-of-doors? Is there nothing 

 but serenity under the bright blue sky? Let us 

 see. I hold no tree is so happy as that with 

 the stump of a dead branch projecting where 

 it is surest to be in the way. He who loves to 

 climb well knows how often it happens that de- 

 scending from a tree-top, we give an eager 

 jump at last, glad to reach the ground. We 

 leap into space — and halt there. With what 

 solid satisfaction that stump, all innocence in 

 appearance, stops us in mid-air, and we dangle 

 until some important portion of an important 

 garment yields and we find ourselves sprawling 

 on the ground, released, it is true, but oh, so 

 ragged I 



It is not conducive to good humor, when ang- 

 ling and reasonable anticipation is at its height, 

 to be teased by hope-inspiring nibbles, and then 

 apparently rewarded by a vigorous tug at the 

 line, to haul in exultantly, hand over hand, and 

 as the fish appears, a splendid catch — to have 

 the line break. How very suddenly the green 

 world turns blue. 



Whether cotton, hemp or silk, that line was 

 once alive ; product of plant or worm, it matters 



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