MOUNTAIN-TOP AND VALLEY 65 



scarcely noticeable to one fresh from the steep- 

 ness of a mountain cone, I found myself gazing 

 down upon one of the most engaging scenes in 

 the world; a sequestered valley farm, thrifty- 

 looking, snugly kept, nestled among low hills, 

 with a mountain river winding along the farther 

 side of it, between the meadow and the woodland, 

 now lost to sight, now shining in the sun. I had 

 known the place for years, as I had known the 

 worthy man who owns it ; and I had looked at 

 it many times from this very point ; but I had 

 never seen it till this morning. A pleasant thing 

 it is when an old picture or an old poem, or both 

 in one, is thus made new. If our eyes could but 

 oftener be anointed ! 



The softness of the meadow, freshly sprung 

 after the summer mowing, the glistening of the 

 corn leaves, the narrow road, a brown ribbon 

 laid upon the green carpet, that runs to the 

 door and stops (for nothing goes by nothing 

 but the river, the clouds, and the birds), the shade 

 trees clustered lovingly about the house, the whole 

 pastoral scene, I saw it all with the vision of one 

 who had been looking at a vaguely defined, far- 

 away world, over which the eye wandered as the 

 dove wandered over the face of the waters, and 

 now had come suddenly in sight of home. 



Yes, distance is a good painter, but nearness 



