"This bank; and these pillars of tree-stems; and these wonderful Gothic windows of tree-branches, through which the light comes broken by transom and mullion. And the incense which fills nature's cathedral. And the stillness. And the preaching."
"Don't get highfaluten, Meredith," said his sister.
"No; that would be a pity, here."
"I never heard of silent preaching before."
"The strongest of all."
"Is it? Well, go on and read. My work gets on best then."
"It is too lovely to do anything but look and breathe. The air is most delicious. And nature seems so wide and free. I have an odd feeling that I am floating with those clouds yonder, and flowing softly with the river, and hovering about generally, like those eagles. Do you see those eagles?"
"Highfaluten again, Meredith," said his sister.
"Well, one good poet has been highfaluten then before me. Don't you remember, Maggie, something your uncle was repeating one day? I have never forgotten it—
"'My soul into the boughs does glide.'