A Thousand'Mik Walk 



tributes of matter, into whatever forms it may- 

 be organized. Drops and sprays of air are 

 specialized, and made to plash and churn in the 

 bosom of a lark, as infinitesimal portions of 

 air plash and sing about the angles and hollows 

 of sand-grains, as perfectly composed and pre- 

 destined as the rejoicing anthems of worlds; 

 but our senses are not fine enough to catch 

 the tones. Fancy the waving, pulsing melody 

 of the vast flower-congregations of the Hollow 

 flowing from myriad voices of tuned petal and 

 pistil, and heaps of sculptured pollen. Scarce 

 one note is for us ; nevertheless, God be thanked 

 for this blessed instrument hid beneath the 

 feathers of a lark. 



The eagle does not dwell in the Hollow; he 

 only floats there to hunt the long-eared hare. 

 One day I saw a fine specimen alight upon a 

 hillside. I was at first puzzled to know what 

 power could fetch the sky-king down into the 

 grass with the larks. Watching him attentively, 

 I soon discovered the cause of his earthiness. 

 He was hungry and stood watching a long- 



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