As in the eye of Nature he has lived,
So in the eye of Nature let him die.”
Wordsworth.
The morning after the storm was calm and beautiful; just one of those days so dear to every lover of Nature; for every true worshipper of our all-bountiful Mother is a poet at heart, though his lips may often fail to utter the rich experience of his soul. The air was full of fragrance and the songs of birds. Here and there a gentle breeze would shower down the drops of moisture from the trees, forming a mimic rain; every bush and shrub, and each separate blade of grass, glittered in the morning sunlight, as if hung with brightest jewels. The stillness was in harmony with the day of rest, and only the most peaceful thoughts were suggested by this glorious calm, returning after the tempest.
The late proprietor of the Leigh Manor had presented a small, though very perfect, chime of bells to Leighton Church; they had never been successfully played until now, when the ringers, having become more skilful, they for the first time pealed a regular chant; and right merrily did the sound go forth over the quiet plain.
To God the mighty Lord,
Your joyful songs repeat;
To Him your praise accord,
As good as He is great.