THE EARLY MORNING. 165 



hence is rather a tardy mover ; but it is always ready 

 for food, and seems to listen to what is going forward. 

 We see it now peeping from its penthouse, inquisitively 

 surveying the land ; and, should provision be obtainable, 

 it immediately descends upon it without any scruple,' 

 and makes itself a welcome guest with all. It retires 

 early to rest. The blackbird quits its leafy roost in the 

 ivied ash; its "chink, chink" is heard in the hedge 

 and, mounting on some neighboring oak, with mellow, 

 sober voice it gratulates the coming day. " The plain- 

 song cuckoo gray " from some tall tree now tells its tale. 

 The lark is in the air, the " marten twitters from her 

 earth-built shed," all the choristers are tuning in the 

 grove ; and amid such tokens of awakening pleasure it 

 becomes difficult to note priority of voice. These are 

 the matin voices of the summer season : in winter a 

 cheerless chirp, or a hungry twit, is all we hear ; the 

 families of voice are away, or silent ; we have little to 

 note, and perhaps as little inclination to observe. 



During no portion of the day can the general opera- 

 tions of nature be more satisfactorily observed than in 

 the early morning. Rosy June -the very thoughts of 

 an early summer's morning in the country, like en- 

 chantment, gives action to the current of our .blood, 

 and seems to breathe through our veins a stream of 

 health and enjoyment ! All things appear fresh and un- 

 soiled; the little birds, animated and gratulous, are 

 frisking about the sprays; others, proceeding to their 

 morning's meal, or occupied in the callings of their 

 nature, give utterance by every variety of voice to the 

 pleasures that they feel: the world has not, yet called 

 us, and with faculties unworn, we unite with them, 

 partake of this general hilarity and joy, feel disposed 

 to be happy, and enjoy the blessings around us : the 

 very air itself, as yet uninhaled by any, circulates about 

 us replete with vitality, conveying more than its usual 

 portion of sustenance and health, " and man goeth forth 

 unto his labor." Night-feeding creatures, feeling the 

 freshness of light, and the coming day, are all upon the 

 move, retiring from danger and observation; and we 

 can note them now unhidden in their lairs, unconcealed 



