Vol. VI. JULY, 1843. No. 1.
A Midsummer Morning.
Who can tell the pleasures of a midsummer morning! In order fully to enjoy these, you must be up before the sun: you must hear the robin, when it timidly begins its song; and the sparrows, when, with a gentle peep, peep, they say good morning to one another,—and hop from bush to bush to see if all is well; and the boblink, when he clucks in the grass, just before he enters upon his song of “Tom Denny, Tom Denny;” and you must see the first red light which the sun throws upon the clouds and hill tops; you must hear all the joyous sounds that rise upward to heaven, as if in thanksgiving, from the birds, the insects, the cattle upon a thousand hills, and the voices of glad human beings, far and near; and you must have a heart to appreciate all this, as a sweet anthem of praise to God.
And you must have an eye that takes in the beauty of flowers and dew-drops around you, as well as of far-off landscapes, embracing hills and vales, cloud, sky and sea; your soul must be a pure canvass for the Almighty’s pencil; your ear a justly tuned instrument, for the touch of a Divine musician. Who can go forth of a midsummer morning, and not deeply feel the loveliness of nature, and the benignity of that Being, who in goodness has made it all?
It is well to hold communion with nature in her gentler moods; and I always esteem those persons happy who are brought up in the country, among green fields and shady woods, especially if they have friends around them, who can lift their thoughts, step by step, from nature up to nature’s God. This world, without a God, without a Creator, a Governor, a Preserver—would be indeed a mystery; but when we can connect all the wonders we behold with a great and good Being, who is at once our Father in heaven, and the Architect of the earth and the skies—these things acquire a new and touching interest.
Look at the children in the picture. The dew hangs on the stems of flowers and the leaves of shrubs, like myriads of trembling diamonds; the sun-light is gushing through the trees—a glorious flood of silver; the birds are pouring out their songs of merriment and affection. All around is beautiful. Happy children—lovely midsummer morning!
Listening.
Much has been said of the art of speaking, and comparatively little on the art of listening. Not to listen is an offence against the laws of politeness. Conversation is a species of commerce, where every one has a right to bring and to dispose of his commodities, and to supply others with what he supposes they stand in need of: therefore it ought to be an exchange—a barter.