The Rambles of an Idler 



Nature does not demand silent adoration. 

 Grand as is the outlook in all respects, no crea- 

 ture is awed to the point of silence, nor is there 

 blank astonishment because of the magnificence. 

 It is no transient phenomenon. The greater the 

 brilliancy of a sunset sky the more quickly it 

 fades; but here is equally lavish display of 

 color, which is not evanescent. It is here to be 

 enjoyed, and stays long enough to color our 

 thoughts, to teach us, if we are willing to be 

 taught. 



From every foot of ground rises that rhyth- 

 mic stridulation of the mole-crickets, which, 

 heard from all sides, is as the meadows breath- 

 ing. I look to see if the sod does not rise and 

 fall as the pulsing sound swells loudly or almost 

 dies away. 



Difficult as it is to define and hopeless to de- 

 scribe adequately, an unmistakable presence 

 pervades the meadows now. This vast sheet of 

 color and accompanying volume of sound unite 

 to exert a controlling influence over all life with- 

 in its bounds. We, too, feel this influence, if in 

 a proper frame of mind. 



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