THE FIRST, DEATH IN THE CLEARING. 155 



Nature herself had as it were' been enjoying perfect 

 rest, and with the sun had awakened to a newness of 

 life. The living creatures were lifting up their voices 

 in hymns of praise and thanksgiving to Him from whom 

 all blessings flow, whose goodness had protected them 

 through the night, and whose bounty was still to pre- 

 serve them through the coming day. 



There were songs and twitterings from birds rarely 

 heard in the full glare of day. The red squirrels were 

 out and abroad, crossing my path, while the little 

 chipmunk stopped and set up his furry tail and chat- 

 tered as if he would inquire what business I had out 

 among his haunts at that early hour in the morning. 



The robins had just arrived in the clearing, and it was 

 a treat to hear the full song they poured forth. The 

 rapping of the woodpecker and sharp shrill note of the 

 blue jay jarred on my ear as I listened for the soft 

 whispering of the little brown certhia or the livelier 

 trill of the wren. 



All these sweet sounds came with a soothing influence 

 to my spirit, and in after years the memories of them 

 come back to the mind wearied with the toil and moil of 

 life, like the psalms and hymns we learned as children, 

 to refresh us and lead us back from earth to heaven. 



That evening I went back to the Falls to find the 

 poor mother overwhelmed with grief. The child had 

 died in that last sleep. It was her first-born treasure, 

 and her grief was sore. I did my best to comfort her, 



