The Eambles of an Idler 



pond. It contradicted the outlook, as if water 

 was running uphill. "How pretty!" exclaims 

 the casual passer-by. How grand the valley 

 with its brook, is my impression. A slab of 

 polished wood is very attractive, I admit, but I 

 love better the tree as it stands. I have a few 

 friends, and trust I appreciate them; but I 

 should not care to have a piece of one of them, 

 however skillfully preserved, standing about as 

 bric-a-brac. A submerged section of a valley 

 is not to be preferred to the handiwork of Na- 

 ture. What Nature herself submerges is beau- 

 tiful and fitting, but mill-ponds and Nature are 

 ever at war, and I march, as a private, in the 

 latter 's company. 



The empty mill-pond sets one to thinking. It 

 would do so, whatever the conditions of the day, 

 but now it is superb Indian summer and a col- 

 ored landscape is more intoxicating than one 

 uniformly green. Not all browns are dingy and 

 suggestive of decay. Now, there is no dull pro- 

 cession of sober thought, no serious occupation 

 with life's imperious problems, but all is merri- 

 ment, laughter, song. The sun shines on us 

 with approving smile ; there is invigorating, not 

 depressing, warmth, and wandering warblers 



274 



