OUR COUNTRY LIFE 



in the east into flame against tender beryl tints; 

 when the air is so still that every shade and form is 

 repeated in the mirror-like waters of the lake; when 

 the insect chorus has ceased its roundelay and the 

 delicious freshness of the early morn is filled with fra- 

 grance from each opening flower, until the sun itself, 

 a crimson orb, sparkles into being above the golden 

 horizon — how can one look at such a scene without 

 perceiving its precious imagery? Each one of us 

 must at times live beneath a dull gray cloud, but happy 

 is he who knows that sometime it will surely be turned 

 to rose by that same magic hand which so transforms 

 this physical world. 



How exquisite comes the light borne upon the 

 melodies of enchanted songsters — the pathos of the 

 whitethroat's whistle, the merry trill of the wren, 

 the call of the song sparrow from the shore, and the soul- 

 ful voice of the thrush from the wood! As the sense 

 of hearing is the last one to leave us when we sleep 

 and the first one to awaken in us, so this birth of a 

 new day is foreshadowed by sounds of refreshment and 



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