rit passion has attuned to all the harmonies of earth, and
made but too susceptible! Disturbed as I was by the anticipation of my
joy, and by the consequent unrest, with the first sight of day, and all
its charms, came _peace_--actual and profound. The agitation of my soul
was overwhelmed by the prevailing stillness, and I grew tranquil and
subdued. Love existed yet--what could extinguish that?--but heightened
and sublimed. It was as though, in contemplating the palpable and lovely
work of heaven, all selfishness had at once departed from my breast--all
dross had separated from my best affections, and left them pure and
free. And so I walked on, happiest of the happy, from field to field,
from hill to hill, with no companion on the way, no traveller within my
view--alone with nature and my heart's delight. "And men pent up in
cities," thought I, as I went along, "would call this--_solitude_." I
remembered how lonely I had felt in the busy crowds of London--how
chill, how desolate and forlorn, and marvelled at the reasoning of man.
And came no other thoughts of London and the weary hours passed there,
as I proceeded on my delightful walk? Yes, many, as Heaven knows, who
heard the involuntary matin prayer, offered in gratefulness of heart,
upon my knees, and in the open fields, where no eye but one could look
upon the worshipper, and call the fitness of the time and place in
question. The early mowers were soon a-foot; they saluted me and passed.
Then, from the humblest cottages issued the straight thin column of
white smoke--white as the snowy cloud--telling of industry within, and
the return of toil. Now labourers were busy in their garden plots,
labouring for pleasure and delight, ere they strove abroad for hire,
their children at their side, giving the utmost of their small
help--young, ruddy, wild, and earnest workmen all! The country day is up
some hours before the day in town. Life sleeps in cities, whilst it
moves in active usefulness away from them. The hills were dotted with
the forms of men before I reached the parsonage, and when I reached it,
a golden lustre from the mounting sun lit up the lovely house with
fire--streaming through the casements already opened to the sweet and
balmy air.

If I had found it difficult to rest on this eventful morning, so also
had another--even here--in this most peaceful mansion. The parsonage
gate was at this early hour unclosed. I entered. Upon the borders of the
velvet lawn,