This is a delicious evening, when the whole body is 
one sense, and imbibes delight through every pore. I 
go and come with a strange liberty in Nature, a part of 
herself. As I walk along the stony shore of the pond 
in my shirt sleeves, though it is cool as well as cloudy 
and windy, and I see nothing special to attract me, all 
the elements are unusually congenial to me. The bull¬ 
frogs trump to usher in the night, and the note of 
the whippoorwill is borne on the rippling wind from 
over the water. Sympathy with the fluttering alder 
and poplar leaves almost takes away my breath; yet, 
like the lake, my serenity is rippled but not ruffled. 
These small waves raised by the evening wind are as 
remote from storm as the smooth reflecting surface. 
Though it is now dark, the wind still blows and roars in 
the wood, the waves still dash, and some creatures lull 
the rest with their notes. The repose is never com¬ 
plete. The wildest animals do not repose, but seek 
their prey now; the fox, and skunk, and rabbit, now 
roam the fields and woods without fear. They are Na¬ 
ture’s watchmen, — links which connect the days of 
animated life. ( 140 ) 
