d where the distance, as it
were, was in ambush, we now command at a glance. Big views expand the
mind as deep inhalations of air expand the lungs.

Yesterday I stood on the top of Grossmont,[5] probably a thousand feet
above the landscape, and looked out over a wide expanse of what seemed
to be parched, barren country; a few artificial lakes or ponds of
impounded rains, but not a green thing in sight, and yet I was filled
with pleasurable emotion. I lingered and lingered and gazed and gazed.
The eye is freed at such times, like a caged bird, and darts far and
near without hindrance.

[Footnote 5: In San Diego County, California.]

* * * * *

"The wings of time are black and white,
Pied with morning and with night."

Thus do we objectify that which has no objective existence, but is
purely a subjective experience. Do we objectify light and sound in the
same way? No. One can conceive of the vibrations in the ether that
give us the sensation of light, and in the air that give us sound.
These vibrations do not depend upon our organs. Time and tide, we say,
wait for no man. Certainly the tide does not, as it has a real
objective existence. But time does not wait or hurry. It neither lags
nor hastens. Yesterday does not exist, nor to-morrow, nor the Now, for
that matter. Before we can say the moment has come, it is gone. The
only change there is is in our states of consciousness. How the hours
lag when we are waiting for a train, and how they hurry when we are
happily employed! Can we draw a line between the past and the present?
Can you find a point in the current of the stream that is stationary?
We speak of being lavish of time and of husbanding time, of improving
time, and so on. We divide it into seconds and minutes, hours and
days, weeks, and months, and years. Civilized man is compelled to do
this; he lives and works by schedule, but it is his states of
consciousness that he divides and measures. "Time is but a stream I go
fishing in," says Thoreau. The stream goes by, but the fish stay. The
river of Time, the tooth of Time--happy comparisons.

"I wasted time and now time wastes me," says Shakespeare. "I have no
time." "You have all there is," replied the old Indian.

If time, like money, could be hoarded up, we could get all our work
done. Is there any time outside of man? The animals take no note of
time.

* * * * *

That is a good say