The Durham daily globe. (Durham, N.C.) 1889-1894, 1893-02-10
AN IDEAL IDLENESS.
A SUMNER DAY IN MOSS GROWN
WOODS BY A eAeBLING BROOK.

Thoughts Suggested by an Afternoon In
Midsummer Spent In the Shade of Grow
ing Trees on a Couch of Natures Down.
Tireless Nature Never Rests.
1t Is a warm day in midsummer, and a
fisherman is following along a trout
brook. The stream runs through the for
est-through hardwood groves, which,
owing to their scant underbrush, look al
like English parks; through messy
evergreen glades, where every sound and
: color is subdued; through rocky r~avines,
down which the water hurries with fret
full plants against the powders in is
path, till at last it finds an outlet in a
mountain lake.
Today it is evident that all the wood
life is prepared to be lazy-even the
trout that are wont to rush 80 eagerly
at worm or fly. Now the fisherman be-
gins to feel the influence Of this all per
vading inertia, and finally he lays down
his pole and stretches himself out on the
brooks bank. Close to his side is a
sound of ripping water, cool and sooth-
ing, while the spreading top Of a maple
keeps off the sun.
The bank here is covered with thick
moss-a pleasant couch waiting for some
n to come and use it. In the economy
of the woods nothing is permitted to
exist for itself only; the saplings have
their own life, but must also furnish
leaves and twigs to the deer, and bark
to the nibbling hares. No plant or ami
NAL is entirely selfish, and so this hum
bic moss, since it can do little else, is
ready to serve as a resting place for the
weary.
There is an old saying that goes, "Best
ease Is free ease"-Or the ease bought
with too much labor of preparation is
hardly worth having. And this thought,
though it may not be very profound,
suggests one great delight Of the woods,
everything is free-is natural. No one
but ~tireless nature has labored. No eyes
have ached, no back has become bent, in
the making of this couch of moss; no
hands have toiled to rear the grateful
shade of the maple. The refreshing
splash and ripple of the brook is freely,
uncOnsciously given.
The voluptuaries of the east were close
luhCL1Co VI l1O VI 4O4C14COcs AOuuS-
ing on their cushions, they listened to
soft music and watched the movements
Of dancing slaves. Other slaves waved
cooling fans, and, If their masters were
exposed to the sun, held silken canopies
above them. The eastern prince thought
that the pleasures of idleness could be
no further perfected.
But the dancers must often have grown
weary; the slaves holding the canopies
tainted in the sun; the fan bearers and
the musicians doubtless wondered at the
unjust fate which condemned them to
labor in order that others might enjoy.
No Indian rajah or Persian lord ever
reclined upon an easier couch than this
one on which the fisherman stretches
himself. The brook makes the most de-
lightful Of music. Sunbeams dancing
on leaf and moss and ripples are as
pleasant to watch as the movement of
weary slaves.
Nor do the sights and sounds Of the
woods lack variety. The music of the
water is mingled with the twitter of
forest birds-thrushes and wood spar
rows; the songful enthusiasm of their
annual youth is past, but the midsum-
mer notes are full of happiness, and tell
of nests well stocked with little ones.
Squirrels chirp and chatter. The dead
leaves strewing the ground are of every
shade of brown and red and yellow, and
the slender shafts of sunlight, which dart
down through the breeze stirred foliage
overhead, never fall twice upon colors
that are exactly similar.
The trout fisherman, half dreamy,
half observant, and wholly happy, has
lain there till the long, warm summer
afternoon is drawing to a close. The shy
little wood creatures that love the dusk
come out of their hiding places and I'll
neal him, quite fearless of his motionless
figure. Delicate, mouselike creatures
are here, the flying squirrels, in soft
gray draperies. A mink trots over the
wet powders in the brooks bed, and,
conscious of its own Importance, eyes
the man suspiciously.
Darkness is coming on, and it is time
for the trout fisherman to go home. He
leaves the messy bank regretfully, half
persuaded that idleness, and not work,
is mans chief blessing. -Francis S.
Palmer in Christian Union.