Camp-fire musings : life and good times in the woods . hadows of the high pine-tops came through it in longdivergent bars, just like those shown by the settingsun when it shines through clouds upon a humidatmosphere, only that the glory was white and black,the ghost of the dead sunset. Some things are bet-ter because of the absence of sharp definition; moon-beams sifting through the pines, sunbeams shot Camp ,Jire ^(^eology 127 through evening clouds, and the great truths of ourholy religion. When a learned man undertakes tomark it out with his little brad-awl, and circumscribeit with his litt
Camp-fire musings : life and good times in the woods . hadows of the high pine-tops came through it in longdivergent bars, just like those shown by the settingsun when it shines through clouds upon a humidatmosphere, only that the glory was white and black,the ghost of the dead sunset. Some things are bet-ter because of the absence of sharp definition; moon-beams sifting through the pines, sunbeams shot Camp ,Jire ^(^eology 127 through evening clouds, and the great truths of ourholy religion. When a learned man undertakes tomark it out with his little brad-awl, and circumscribeit with his little dividers, and cut it into blocks withhis little panel-saw, some way I can not catch onto the interest of it. Theology—theo-logy—Job gaveit up after long and arduous study. Canst thou bysearching find out God? No doubt the cumuloseclouds hung high and snowy over the Euphrates, orpossibly over the Indian Sea, in his sight; heavenabove, the salt blue depths below, but this greatthought was higher than heaven, deeper than sheol—what can we know?. MUSING XIV SCARED-UP PHILOSOPHY I do not remember the name of that youth whowent on a stately Johnsonese walk, was beset withmany diversions on the way, and as night drew on,was sheltered by a philosopher in his cave. Youknow whom I mean; and who wrote the it was Johnson himself, though I think ofAddison. I wish to express my sympathy with thatyoung man. I wished to go to Wolf Lake to seeabout the haying, and was told to go to the Norways,the location of which I knew, and then run by thecompass five miles due east. But there is so muchphilosophy lying around loose in those woods that Ineglected my compass, and it cost me two milesextra tramping. A night-hawk fluttered from my feet,and she so successfully imitated a young bird whichcould not fly much that I was deceived, until she hadme well away from her nest, and then she soaredaway. All the ground-nesters, including the ducks,do this, some of them pretending to be wo
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