A journey to nature . e that could be found in all our rooms withdiligent searching, but generally poked in be-tween Dumas and Daudet. From that smalllibrary Bannister drew refreshment that we knewnothing of, and now that the years have givenme a clearer vision of Nature and man, I can seethat those books opened vistas to him not unlikethose he had seen when lying on his back. And now that I have run afield in this inex-cusable manner, I ought to apologize. I set outto exalt the small things and have not said aword about myself Thus is ones most preciousegotism reduced to a postscript when he
A journey to nature . e that could be found in all our rooms withdiligent searching, but generally poked in be-tween Dumas and Daudet. From that smalllibrary Bannister drew refreshment that we knewnothing of, and now that the years have givenme a clearer vision of Nature and man, I can seethat those books opened vistas to him not unlikethose he had seen when lying on his back. And now that I have run afield in this inex-cusable manner, I ought to apologize. I set outto exalt the small things and have not said aword about myself Thus is ones most preciousegotism reduced to a postscript when he remem-bers. I was reminded of Bannister by the richAugust hedgerows, where the cardinal-flower al-ready burns and the fringed gentian will follow inunexpected places, and the smell of the wildgrapes will make the air reel with a Grecian tipsi-ness. All these wildings of Nature have disap-peared from the haunts of man. He plucks themup by the roots and plants his hard, dry chrysan-themums in geometrical dreariness. 119. CHAPTER XI ON A PORCH IT takes ordinary men like myself about fortyyears to learn the alphabet of living. Westart in with a conquering sword, shouting Excelsior/* and mistaking intensity of emotionfor integrity of being. At ten we believe allthings; at twenty we dare all things; at thirtywe obtain all things; at forty, we question allthings. If we arrive at fifty, we bow our headsand are silent. We have arrived with many scarsat either a conclusion or a conviction. If by anymeans we reach a conviction, it will be shadowedby an enormous waste and tinged with a reproachthat we have missed the preservative of a lost condition peer and smile ironi-cally in our memories and glide through ourdreams. I suppose the ultimate punishment of manin this world is the accomplishment of his looking back at my summer in the solitary 120 ON A PORCH woods, I find that very little of it remains butthe equable and uneventful light of it. If 1 tryto recal
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