A * MATUTINAL HOUR.' 145 



secret, in return, about those dark and mis-abused 

 November days as she is prone to do to those who 

 persevere with her which have made me prize her, 

 and them, and the land they love and lave, the bet- 

 ter ; and feel that there is a rough poetry and truth 

 in its iron-grey mists and showers, which have made 

 true of the Farmer what was said of the good and 

 brave man under life's trials : 



He does not run all helter-skelter 

 To seek a temporary shelter ; 

 Nor does he fume and fret and foam 

 Because he's distant far from home ; 

 For well he knows, each trouble past, 

 He's sure to find a HOME at last ! 



It was to some such inward thought I was in- 

 debted, and as a faithful chronicler I ought to tell 

 it, for the courage with which, after tossing off 

 the blankets an hour earlier than usual, I threw my 

 window open to such a Monday Morning ! pre- 

 falsified by the brighest stars and clearest sky that 

 ever closed the day of Christian Rest. 



One universal soaking drizzle seemed to have 

 taken secure possession of earth, sky, and the day. 

 The small rain gathering on the trees dripped larger 

 from leaf to leaf, falling in the most hopeless and 



L 



